Brin's Big Adventure

[jrhume]

Sorry, Brin.  You're the only female on this board I know of whose name actually works for a character.  Consequently, when I need a lady character . . . I either make one up or use yours.  :blotto:

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BRIN'S BIG ADVENTURE

Bad News for Brin

Brin's mother explained things to her on the occasion of her 16th birthday. 

â Å“Brin,â ? she said, â Å“It's time I told you about your father.â ?

â Å“My father?â ? asked Brin. â Å“What about him?â ?

â Å“Well, I feel it's time you knew who he was,â ? said Mum.  â Å“I fibbed in telling you he was dead.â ?

â Å“Now, now, Mum,â ? said Brin, patting her mother on the arm.  â Å“I always figured that was just a story just to cover up the fact that he was married.â ?

â Å“He was not!  At least . .â ? Mum thought it over. â Å“At least not that I was aware of at the time.â ?

â Å“Oh, Mum, this is exciting!  Was it that nice banker fellow from Manchester who comes over of a weekend now and then.  You know, when you sends me off to Granny's â “ so as not to be embarrassed with me around?â ?

â Å“No . . no . . it's not the banker.  And how did you know about that?â ?

â Å“Granny told me.  So it's not the banker.  Is it the butcher, Mummy?  The one from over the way who comes by of Wednesday mornings when I'm off to class?â ?

â Å“No, Brin.  It's not the butcher.  Nor is it the postman, nor the gentleman from the garage.â ?

â Å“Mummy, it's some scum of the earth, isn't it?â ? wailed Brin, â Å“Someone you're ashamed of having had to your bed when you was young and didn't think to trade favors for bank loans, cuts of lamb, and repairs on the car?â ?  Brin frowned and asked, â Å“Why the postman, Mum?  I can't think of anything he brings to the house.â ?

â Å“The postman brings Bank of England pound notes, dear,â ? explained her mother.

Brin nodded.  â Å“Of course.  Just like the notes those soldiers offered me, Mummy?â ?

â Å“Yes, dear.  I'll want to talk to you later about that.  Let's get back to your father.â ?

â Å“Oh, yes.  You've really got me wondering now. A little scared, too.â ?

â Å“Well, dear.  Your father was an . . he was . . oh, this is so difficult!  He was an American!  There, I've said it!â ?

Brin was stunned.  â Å“Mummy!  An American!  How could you?â ?

Her mother shrugged.  â Å“He was a nice man.  Good looking.  Had money.  But you haven't heard the worst of it, dear.  Your father . . . well, your father was a . . ah . . a . .  he was a US Marine!â ?

Brin couldn't speak.  She stared around, as if her world had just crashed to pieces.  â Å“Mummy!  A Marine!â ?  Her mother looked away.  Brin burst into tears.  Her mother started weeping.  Brin hugged her Mum close.  â Å“I wish you hadn't told me.  It would have been better if I'd gone on thinking he was the banker or the mechanic.â ?

â Å“I'm sorry,â ? wept her mother. â Å“I thought you should know.â ? The two women consoled one another for some time. â Å“I'm sorry you're sad,â ? said Mum, â Å“He was a nice man.  Here.â ?  Mother handed her a slip of paper.  On it was written the name 'Fusilier' and 'VMF-124'.

â Å“What's this?â ?

â Å“His name,â ? replied her mother. â Å“The other letters and numbers have something to do with his unit.  I have friends trying to find an address so you can write to him.  He doesn't know anything about you.â ?

Brin sniffed, sighed heavily and said, â Å“Well, at least he wasn't a Canadian.â ?


Brin Makes Friends

The next morning Brin shouldered her books and went off to school.  She was more than l little dismayed with the knowledge of her father's pedigree.  It made her feel strange - as if she didn't belong anymore.  Head down, she rounded a corner and plowed into two men coming the other way.  â Å“Oof!â ?  Her books fell to the sidewalk.

â Å“Sorry, miss!â ? said one - a handsome British officer. â Å“Are you all right, love?â ?  Brin nodded.  The other man stooped to gather her books.  He was an American officer.  She backed away, face glowing with embarrassment.

â Å“Here,â ? said the American, handing her the books.  He touched his cap.  â Å“Sorry about the collision, miss.  Lance and I weren't keeping an eye on where we were going, I'm afraid.â ?  In actual fact, the two men had been staring back and commenting on a rather attractive WAAF across the street.

The British officer tucked a fancy walking stick under his arm and offered her his hand.  â Å“Lance Weibe, miss - Royal Air Force.  I do hope you'll forgive us.â ?  He indicated the American.  â Å“This is Captain Guy Recce - US Army Air Corp, I'm afraid.  He's fairly harmless, as Americans go.â ?  Captain Recce grinned, eyeing her figure.  Brin blushed.  British soldiers from the big camp across town did the same thing â “ just prior to offering her money for favors.  Brin hoped this Recce chap didn't do that.  Mum said she shouldn't be dealing in favors - yet.  It embarrassed her awfully to say no and she hated having to smash the nose or kick the crotch of the occasional overly aggressive sod.  The MPs always caused such a fuss.

Brin shuffled from one foot to the other.  She didn't want to just walk away.  It wouldn't be polite.  Casting about for something to say, she gave the colonial a quick smile.  â Å“Is the Air Corp part of the Marines, sir?â ?

The two men exchanged looks, chuckling.  â Å“No, miss,â ? said Recce, â Å“the Marines are a department of the Navy.â ?  He laughed.  â Å“They claim to be the men's department of the Navy.â ?

Blinking in confusion, she said, â Å“My name is Brin and my father was a Marine named Fusilier.â ?

â Å“A US Marine?â ? asked Lance.

â Å“Yes, sir.  My Mummy said he was an embassy Marine . . . whatever that is.â ?

â Å“Those are the Marines who stand guard down at the American Embassy in London,â ? explained Lance. â Å“They're about the only US Marines in Europe.â ?

â Å“What have they done with the rest of them?â ?

â Å“Well, lass, they're mostly over in the Pacific, fighting the Japanese," said Lance. 

Brin nodded slowly.  â Å“That must be where my dad is.â ?

â Å“Embassy Marines,â ? said Recce, â Å“are usually on their second or third enlistment, Brin.  And you must be . . what? . . eighteen or nineteen?  That would mean your dad is almost certainly either retired or a very senior Marine.â ?

Embarrassed again, Brin clutched her books closer to her chest.  Men always assumed she was older than she was.  â Å“It's the boobs, girl.â ?  That's what Mum said.  â Å“You've grown a nice set and men will think you're a little more mature than you really are.â ?  The American was clearly interested in her boobs.

â Å“I . . . I better be going along,â ? she muttered.  â Å“Got to go to school, sir.â ?  Brin addressed Lance â “ ignoring Recce.  She was attracted to the handsome English officer and both attracted and repelled by the American.

Brin was aware of the theoretical aspects of sex.  After all, many of her friends were no longer in school - instead practicing the oldest profession outside military camps across England.  The terms 'wall-job' and 'knee-trembler' were known to her, from an intellectual standpoint.  The mechanics were relatively clear â “ she just hadn't moved into practical applications.

Brin had a thought.  â Å“Sir,â ? she said, addressing Lance, â Å“if you gentlemen would like friendly company, go to this address.â ?  She handed him one of her Mum's business cards.  â Å“My Mum is a handsome lady, not yet thirty-five (a lie, but only a little one).â ?  Brin smiled.  â Å“Bring pound notes.  Mummy likes to get pound notes for favors.â ?

Recce snickered.  Lance smiled slightly and asked, â Å“How many pound notes, dear?â ?

â Å“Oh my,â ? answered Brin, blushing again, â Å“I've never asked.  But if you look in I just know she'll tell you.â ?  She moved past the two men and hurried off â “ not looking at the American.  At the curb, she sneaked a look back.  They were watching her go, broad smiles all around.  She felt better now.  The American had unnerved her â “ Americans were always upsetting things.

Her thoughts settled down a bit as she walked.  It occurred to her, in a flash, that she was half American.  That made her feel odd â “ and a little lightheaded.  She wondered what it meant to be half a Yankee. 

â Å“They're not like us, Brin.â ?  That's what her Mum had said.  â Å“When they'd had enough of us they chucked us out and slammed the door.  Pretty much told us to bugger off.  Went on about their business.  Not like Canada.  Canadians can never make up their minds.  Didn't like England - liked us, wanted to be in the Empire - didn't want that at all.  Tiptoed around until they ended up as part of the Commonwealth.  Sort of like the young woman who can't decide whether to let a man into her bedroom.  She leaves the door open a crack, but can't work up the nerve to give him the old 'come on, lets get with it' and first thing she knows, it's old maid time.  That's Canada â “ the perpetual old maid.â ?

â Å“But, Mummy,â ? Brin had said, â Å“Americans don't have any manners!  They flash money around in an awful way.â ?

Mum laughed. â Å“They'll step on your toes trying to be friendly, girl.  Your average Yank hasn't any experience with money.  Money is to spend.  And, well . . . well, our Tommies have a lot less to spend than the Yank soldiers.â ?  She stretched and chuckled, deep in her throat.  â Å“A woman can only be patriotic so long.â ?

Brin thought about being half an American.  And, as she walked, she found herself thinking about the British officer and the Yankee Air Corp pilot.  Her mind wavered into that dreamlike state known only to teenage females.  She arrived at the schoolyard gate without any memory of the intervening minutes.

As Brin stepped through the gate a string of AA guns opened up in the distance.  She stopped to listen.  Now she heard the sputtering drone of a buzzbomb.  Brin hesitated.  The school had a shelter, but it was damp and uncomfortable.  Most people went to public shelters, unless there wasn't time.  She turned and started back through the gate.  The buzzing came closer.  Brin began to run.  The deadly sound stopped.  She dropped her books and sprinted for the recessed doorway of a bookstore.  Then the world came apart.

There was no sound.  It was very bright and whirly and she was flying - flying over the earth.  Things wobbled and swirled about her.  It made her feel a bit sick to her tummy.  Then she was tumbling and falling.  With a soft thump, Brin landed on the ground â “ on her back.  The thump didn't hurt, it was just sudden.  There was a bright blue sky, with small puffy clouds all around. 

Brin rolled onto one side, then sat up.  The world spun and tilted.  â Å“Oh,â ? she said in a small voice.  Groaning, she flopped over to one side - and barfed.  Up came the breakfast eggs and sausages Mummy had fixed only an hour before.  Then came the remnants of last night's dinner â “ unrecognizable now.  For a long, long moment she thought her stomach was coming up next.  Slowly, the world quit spinning and her insides settled into place.

â Å“Eeeyuck!â ? said a squeaky voice. â Å“That's awful!  Are you done with pitching prunes?â ?


(to be continued -- dang 20k limit!)

 

[jrhume]

Brin and the Little People

Brin squinted.  A small boy stood off to one side â “ well clear of the spreading pool of vomit.  No, as her vision cleared she could see that it wasn't a boy.  It was a small man.  A midget.  Other midgets were walking and running in her direction.  Her throat felt like it was on fire and her mouth tasted completely icky.  â Å“Wa . . water,â ? she croaked.  â Å“Water.â ?

â Å“What a mess,â ? said a voice behind her, â Å“where did she come from?â ?

The midget who had spoken earlier answered. â Å“Fell from the sky.  Just like the last one.â ? 

Some kind soul handed her a thick cup filled with water.  She used a little to rinse her mouth, then drank the rest.  Ten or so of the midgets stood nearby.  Most of them were clustered around a large piece of wreckage.  Brin stood up carefully.  The dizziness had passed.  She walked slowly over to the broken chunk of wall.  At least that's what it looked like.  With a start, she realized two things.  One â “ the debris was, in fact, a section of her school.  The part just to the right of the front door.  She could tell because the 'Bomb Shelter' sign was still attached.  Two â “ a pair of legs extended from under the wall section.  She felt sick again.

â Å“Poor Ned,â ? said someone.  â Å“Never had a chance.  Brains are dashed clean out.â ?

â Å“Won't be much of a mess then,â ? said another.

Brin walked away and sat down on a broken off chunk of concrete.  â Å“Where am I?â ?

A small woman patted her shoulder, â Å“Munchkin Land, dearie.  Part of Oz.â ?

â Å“And . . and I've fallen from the sky.  Just like Dorothy.â ?  It was all making a weird sort of sense.

â Å“Yep,â ? said another, â Å“Same way.  Except she dropped in with a house.  You just brought an odd bunch of junk.â ?

â Å“Shouldn't there have been a wicked witch . . . or something like that?â ? asked Brin.

â Å“Well,â ? said the woman, â Å“Dorothy killed all the witches, except the good one, of course.â ? Brin nodded.  The woman went on. â Å“So, there ain't no witches to drop things on.  Ned â “ that's him over under that piece of flotsam â “ Ned wasn't exactly evil.  But he wasn't so nice neither.  Lacking a witch, I guess fate had to drag Ned in to be squashed like a pancake.â ?  Brin's stomach lurched again.

Other people agreed.  They didn't seem too upset with Ned's unscheduled departure. 

â Å“Come on, dearie,â ? said the small woman. â Å“Let's get you cleaned up.â ?  She led the way toward a cluster of odd-looking houses.  â Å“I'm Fiddle,â ? said the woman.  â Å“Brin,â ? said Brin.

Later, crouching on a chair in Fiddle's house, Brin asked, â Å“Fiddle - that's an odd name.  Do you play the violin?â ?

The woman laughed â “ a tinkling sort of laugh â “ the sort of laugh that could get really, really irritating after only a short while.  "No dearie, I play around.â ?

Brin looked blank.  â Å“Play around?â ?  Then the light dawned.  â Å“Oh.  Just like Mum.â ?

Fiddle patted her hair.  â Å“I don't know about your Mum, but I'm the local talent in this part of Munchkin Land.â ?  She poured tea for both of them.  â Å“That's why I'm not too broken up about that damn Ned.  Always looking for treats and favors.  Never had anything to trade.  Broken bottles.  Dead toads.  That sort of stuff.  Did he ever show up with a nice chicken or even a basket of eggs?  No, he did not.â ?  She drank some tea.  â Å“I think that bastard owes me for half a dozen quickies.â ?

â Å“Why'd you let him . . ah . .â ?

â Å“Soft heart, I guess.  Soft head, too.â ?  She tinkled again.  Brin grimaced in pain.


Brin Hits the Road

â Å“Running off, are you?â ? asked a midget with the ornate watch fob and the purple vest.

â Å“Well,â ? said Brin, â Å“I was intending to walk . .â ?

â Å“And who's going to clean up the mess you brought along?â ?  retorted the midget.

â Å“I . . . â ? Brin shrugged. â Å“Not me, I guess.â ?

â Å“Dumble, leave the lass alone,â ? snapped Fiddle.  She handed Brin a shoulder bag. â Å“Here's a few snacks, dearie.  And water.  There's water on the way, but be careful of it.  Them flying monkeys has polluted some of it with their digging and mining in the hills.â ?

â Å“Dammit, Fiddle,â ? whined Dumble, â Å“I'm the mayor!  Somebody has to pick up all that trash!â ?

Fiddle sighed and pulled the mayor over where they could see the field where Brin had fallen to earth.  â Å“Look, you fat fool!  The lads are piling it all up on top of Ned.  The piece he was under was too heavy to move so they're just stacking it all up right there.  Better monument than he deserved, I'll tell you that!â ?

â Å“Well . . .â ? the mayor pouted. â Å“I guess that's all right then.â ?  He wandered off toward the field, where the workers had broached a fresh keg.  Local ladies were already showing up with plates loaded with food.

â Å“It's going to be quite a party,â ? laughed Fiddle. â Å“Maybe I'll make something off that good-for-nothing Ned yet.  I think I'll go put on one of my more scandalous outfits and see if I can't conduct some business.â ?  She pecked Brin on the cheek.  â Å“Just follow the road, dear.  It will take you to Emerald City.â ?

The afore-mentioned road wasn't in very good condition.  Once-yellow paving had faded to a dirty brown and many of the bricks were broken and scattered.  Brin regarded the barren track with suspicion.  â Å“What's at Emerald City?â ? she asked.  Fiddle and other midgets had advised her to go there, but they were a little vague on the advantages of doing so. 

â Å“Do I look like I've ever been to the place?â ? asked Fiddle. â Å“Dorothy went there and made her way home. I suppose you could do the same.  You want to go home, don't you?â ?

Brin thought about it.  â Å“There's a war on at home.  But, Mummy will certainly be worried.â ?  She sighed. â Å“I guess there's no help for it.  I'll have to try and get back.â ?

â Å“Well, there you go.  I haven't a clue as to how you can do it.  Dorothy had those fancy red shoes.â ?  She glanced at Brin's scuffed oxfords.  â Å“I don't think those will do the trick.â ?

â Å“No, I suppose not.â ? Brin was more than a little frightened.  The road wound down from the village and disappeared into a dense forest.  It looked quite forbidding. â Å“I don't suppose anyone else might be going that way?â ?

â Å“Not in an age,â ? said Fiddle, glancing over her shoulder at the growing party. â Å“I have to go, dear.  Customers, you know.  Take care.  Watch out for the flying monkeys!â ?  She waved and went off.

Brin started down - with many a backward glance.  She was beginning to suspect that Fiddle wanted her gone for some reason of her own.  Competition?  Brin snorted at the thought, then considered it.  No matter, she decided in due course.  She couldn't stay in the village anyway.  The ceilings in the houses were dangerously low and Fiddle's irritating tinkle would probably drive her to murder in no time. 

At the bottom of the slope, she paused, looking back at the village for the last time.  Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the forest.  Huge oaks overhung the road.  It was dim under the trees, but - there being little undergrowth - visibility was good.  She whistled a little tune, letting it die on her lips when she noticed how the sound seemed to echo in a weird way under the trees.  The road was not in good repair, but easily passable for one on foot.

After an hour or so, she came to a crossroad.  The paved road went on straight ahead and the crossing road was little more than a rough track climbing the hills on either hand.  The trees were a little thinner around the intersection.  She decided to rest and eat something.  Settling on a fallen log a few feet off the road, she extracted some cheese and bread from the bag.  Silence brooded over the area.  Brin ate in silence, watching the roads.

Just as she put her water jug back in the bag and stood up, she heard muffled cursing from behind - up the rude trail.  Heart pounding, she crouched down behind the log.  The noise grew louder.  Someone was coming down the trail, muttering a stream of vile words.  She glanced around - there was no real cover.  Wringing her hands, she moved back to the log.

An oddly dressed man stalked down the trail.  His garments appeared to consist of a floppy hat, red vest, and blue trousers.  The trousers were far too short, reaching only to mid-calf.  He saw the main road and  stopped, still cursing in low tones.  The accent sounded familiar.  In a flash Brin recognized the voice and the man.  It was the American pilot!  Recce!  She gasped and stood up, without thinking.  The man cried out and wheeled around, axe at the ready.  He gazed at her in open-mouthed shock.

â Å“How the hell did you get here?â ? 

â Å“I fell,â ? she answered. Then realizing that didn't explain much, she rushed on, â Å“I fell into a Munchkin village. A wall fell on Ned. It was awful. Except for Fiddle.â ? Brin burst into tears. 

Recce looked around, wary of some kind of trap. The girl was making no sense. Nothing and no one else appeared. Reassured, he turned back to the weeping Brin. â Å“I . . . uh . . . I don't have the slightest idea of what's going on. Do you?â ?

Brin calmed down and told him of everything that had happened to her since the explosion, back in England. His frown deepened as she told the story. â Å“You think we're caught in some sort of parody of the 'Wizard of Oz'?â ? 

â Å“What's a parody?â ? she asked. He explained and she nodded. â Å“Either that or we've both managed to go insane at the same time.â ?

He grinned. â Å“That might not be a long trip for me. Lance could tell you.â ?  Recce patted his vest. â Å“I took these off a scarecrow.â ?

â Å“A scarecrow?â ? Brin's eyes grew wider. â Å“There was a scarecrow in the story!â ?

â Å“Yep. And I met one up the hill there,â ? explained Recce. â Å“I woke up in this nightmare wearing an outfit resembling a set of stovepipes.â ? He saw comprehension on her face. â Å“Right. The tin man.â ?

â Å“But, why? How? What happened to the scarecrow?â ?

â Å“Have you ever tried walking in a stovepipe outfit?  Well, it was not very damn comfortable, I can tell you that!â ? His face twitched with the memory. â Å“I took that crap off right away. Then along comes this goofy scarecrow. He started raving about one damn thing and another. I think he said his name was Monk. I'm not sure.â ? 

â Å“Monk? I don't know anyone by that name. Sounds foreign.â ?

â Å“Well, I know someone by that name. If it was him, I don't want him here anyway. I figured these clothes would do me more good than some damn scarecrow so I pounded the stuffing out of him and scattered the straw to the wind. So now I have these classy duds and an axe.â ?

Brin didn't know what to think. It all sounded dreadfully violent. Finally she shrugged. â Å“I guess it's a good thing you got some clothes. Whatever's going on, I don't think a naked US Army pilot is part of the plot.â ?

Recce grinned. â Å“Not yet, anyway.â ? 

â Å“Well,â ? said Brin, ignoring the remark, â Å“I'm going to Emerald City.â ?  She pointed down the road. â Å“It's that way. You can come along if you want. I . . . I wouldn't mind the company, Mr. Recce, even . . . even if you are an American.â ?

Laughing, he essayed a sweeping bow, scruffy hat in hand, â Å“One colonial riff-raff at your service, mademoiselle.  Call me Guy.  That Mr. Recce crap sounds too religious.â ? 


Two hours travel brought the pair to the edge of a large clearing. The road continued across the open area and plunged back into the forest. Guy called a halt while they were still under the last of the trees. He hefted the axe, eyeing the clearing with suspicion. â Å“I don't like any of this.â ?

â Å“What's wrong? This is the poppy field, I think. I don't plan on taking any naps out there; you can be sure of that.â ?

â Å“I know,â ? said Recce, shaking his head. â Å“We haven't met everyone we should have and I'm worried about what Fiddle told you â “ the warning about the monkeys.â ?

Brin nodded. â Å“I wondered about that, too. What shall we do?â ?

A new voice came from the tree on their right, startling them both. â Å“What you should do,â ? said the voice, â Å“is find a way to end this bad excuse for a story and get us out of it!â ? Recce raised his axe, then let out a yell.  â Å“Lance!â ?

Indeed, it was Lance. He stepped out from behind a tree, walked over and thumped his friend on the back. â Å“I might have known I'd find you in this, Guy. But where did you come up with the fair maiden? You usually have miserable luck with the ladies.â ?

â Å“Don't you recognize her?â ? asked Recce. â Å“It's Brin. We saw her on the street this morning.â ?  He glanced around. â Å“I guess it was this morning.â ?

Lance was delighted. â Å“Of course! I remember. How on earth did you get here, love?â ? 

Brin and Recce spent the next half hour explaining their end of things. Lance was dressed in a fur suit. He nodded at their questions. â Å“Right. I'm the cowardly lion. I'll have you know this getup is frightfully hot! I tore off the headcovering with it's stupid lion face and removed the paws from the arms and legs. It's still hot, but bearable.â ? He reached back and pulled a goofy looking tail into view. â Å“I haven't been able to do anything with this. Guy, let's have a go with that axe, shall we.â ? In a moment, the tail was shortened to a nubbin.

â Å“Now we come to it,â ? said Lance. â Å“What's next?â ?

â Å“Emerald City, I guess,â ? said Recce. Brin nodded in agreement.

Lance shaded his eyes and gazed across the clearing. â Å“I've been told that the bulk of tactical planning is forced on one by circumstance. At least in this case, it's the truth.â ? He sighed heavily. â Å“Let's go. I don't fancy spending the night in the forest.â ? 


(tbc)

 

[jrhume]

Brin Goes for Broke

They trudged along for several hours. The sun sank toward the horizon. Much of the roadway had deteriorated to a dirt path with some low-lying sections washed out completely. The land was broken and hilly.  Brush choked the ravines. There were a few dwellings â “ all deserted and fallen into disrepair. In all, not a pleasant place for holiday travel.

Lance halted them at the top of a hill. A cluster of dilapidated buildings lay to the right. One shed looked to be in reasonable condition. â Å“We better hole up for the night,â ? he said. â Å“This is as good a place as I've seen in the last hour or so.â ?

Up close, the shed showed signs of recent repairs. The roof was intact and the three walls were mostly complete.  A low fence ran across the open side, but the small passage gate was broken off and lying in the dirt. Recce checked along the back wall. â Å“There's some straw here. We won't have to sleep directly on the ground.â ?

â Å“Travelers must use this shelter,â ? said Lance. â Å“I can't think of any other reason why it's still standing.â ? The other buildings were quite far gone.

â Å“I wish we could make a fire,â ? said Brin.

â Å“Well, whoever dropped us into this fine mess didn't leave me with any camping supplies,â ? said Lance. â Å“We do have Guy's axe, though.  Let's see if he can come up with the right kind of rock to strike a light. Surely an old boy scout like him can conjure up a nice fire.â ?

Recce snorted and shook his head. â Å“I never was a boy scout, Rob. Too much time in reform school, I guess.â ? He began picking up rocks and striking them against the axe.

Brin moved closer to Lance. â Å“Reform school? Isn't that sort of a prison, sir?â ?

â Å“No,â ? answered Lance, chuckling, â Å“More like a home for wayward youths, complete with untidy locked rooms and overzealous matrons, if Guy's description is any guide.â ? He patted Brin's arm. â Å“Not to worry about our companion. Sooner or later he'll try to talk you out of your knickers, I suspect. You've only to say 'no' and he'll go away.â ?

â Å“I'm glad of that, sir. When I go to the army camp dances, I frequently have to flatten the balls of some poor soldier who won't leave off trying to handle my . . . um . . . you know.â ?

Lance laughed out loud. â Å“Brin, you amaze me! Thanks for the warning. I'll be bloody careful of where I put my hands.â ?

Brin smiled inwardly.  She liked Lance.  â Å“Well . . .â ?

Recce came around the corner of the shed, carrying an armful of wood. â Å“I found one!  Look at this.â ? Dropping the wood in a heap, he held up the axe and struck it with a palm-size rock.  Fat sparks flew. He grinned at Brin. â Å“I would have made a first-rate boy scout.â ?

â Å“Aye,â ? said Lance, still chuckling, â Å“Too bad you couldn't keep your hands off the girl scouts.â ?

In a few minutes they had a cheery blaze going. The two men collected enough firewood to keep them through the night. Brin rummaged through her bag. â Å“Well,â ? she told them, â Å“we have some cheese, a few sausages, dried plums, and a some apples.â ?

â Å“It will have to do,â ? sighed Lance. â Å“I should be watching my figure anyway.â ?

â Å“I'd rather be watching Brin's figure,â ? said Recce, winking at her.  She blushed furiously and kept her head down.

â Å“Down, boy,â ? cautioned his friend. â Å“I have it on good authority that our little Brin knows where to kick the overly anxious young lad. I'd be careful â “ were I you â “ which, thank heaven, I'm not.â ?

Recce was considering a witty rejoinder when a winged creature dropped out of the dark, hit the ground awkwardly, screeched and crashed into the fence. Brin squeaked in alarm.  The two men stood up â “ Recce with his axe â “ Lance with a length of wood.

â Å“Blast and damnation!â ? the thing rasped. â Å“I hate it when that happens!â ? In the firelight, they could see that it was a monkey of sorts, clad in a dirty green weskit, short red breeches, and a natty red beret.  Carefully, the monkey untangled itself from the fence, folded its wings, and retrieved the beret from the ground.

Facing them finally, the creature bowed and announced, â Å“Monk, at your service.â ?

â Å“Monk!â ? snarled Recce, â Å“You're not supposed to be in this idiotic story!  Dammit!â ?

Monk's response was a sly smile.  â Å“And if I'm not here who's going to be the brains of the outfit?  Huh?  Who's gonna make sure the fair damsel â “ a bow toward Brin - manages to escape from this vile place and returns to Blighty, as scheduled?  Who?â ?

Lance tossed the wood into the fire.  â Å“It's no use, Guy.  He'll hang around and make trouble now, no matter what we do.â ?  Monk winked at Brin.

Recce lowered the axe.  â Å“Hell.  I suppose you're right.  Monk, how in the bloody blue blazes did you get here?  I thought . . .â ?

â Å“You thought you'd fixed me when you pounded the stuffing out of that scarecrow,â ? snarled Monk, â Å“Didn't you?  Well, it's not that easy to get rid of old Monk.  No sir.â ?  He swaggered over near Brin.  She cowered back into a corner.  â Å“Don't be afraid, sweets.  I never hurt little girls,â ? he leered at her, â Å“especially ones with boobs as nice as . . Ooooooow!  Aaaaaagh!â ?

Brin stood over Monk, â Å“Get up, you sod!  Get up so I can kick them again!â ?  Lance pulled her away from the unfortunate victim.  Monk was curled up in a ball crying, â Å“Ohgodohgodohgod.â ?

â Å“I was going to say that Monk is generally harmless,â ? said Lance. â Å“He has a pitiful attitude toward women with certain . . . ah . . . outstanding physical characteristics, but . . .â ?

â Å“Yes,â ? purred a voice from outside.  â Å“He often talks a bit out of turn.â ?

Another winged monkey alighted in front of the shed.  This one was obviously a female and very neatly dressed in black leather, tricked out with silver.  She landed with minimal fuss, folded her wings, and strolled over to Monk.  Smiling at Brin, she said, â Å“It looks like you fixed his wagon, sister.â ?  She held out a finely manicured - if hairy - hand.  â Å“Mrs. M, honey.â ? 

â Å“Brin,â ? said the girl smiling in return.  â Å“Can I kick him again?â ?

Mrs. M poked Mr. M with one booted foot.  â Å“The innocent young thing wants to kick them even further up into your worthless body.  Shall I let her, or are you going to be a good boy?â ?  Increased whimpering was her only answer.  Monk couldn't make an articulate sound.  Both of the other men kept one hand strategically placed and stayed just a bit back from the two ladies.

â Å“He's had enough, dear,â ? said Mrs. M.  â Å“I think mommy can handle any further discipline.â ?  She leaned over and dragged Monk upright, using the scruff of his neck as a handle.  â Å“Poor dear.  Can't let you out of my sight, can I?â ?

With Monk limping painfully along behind, a serene Mrs. M walked out of the shed, waved goodbye to Brin, and disappeared into the dark.  Monk cast one last despairing glance back at Recce and Lance.  Then, he too, was gone.

â Å“Poor bastard,â ? said Recce.

â Å“We won't see him for awhile,â ? added Lance.

â Å“If I see him again he's gonna be wearing his balls for a necklace,â ? promised Brin.

The rest of the night passed without further trouble.  Lance and Recce huddled in a corner opposite the one Brin decided to occupy.  She slept peacefully.  The two men discovered that one cannot sleep well â “ in fact, one cannot sleep at all - with one eye open and both hands clamped protectively between their thighs.


(tbc)

 

[jrhume]

Brin in Emerald City

Tensions eased a little as the trio made their way toward the city.  Brin plied Recce with questions about the US Marines and her father.

â Å“All I can tell you,â ? he said, â Å“is that VMF is the designation of a Marine air unit.  I'm not sure if they call them squadrons or not.  The number is simply the unit's numerical designator.  The 'F' means it's a fighter outfit.  Not bombers or patrol planes.  That's about all I can tell you.â ?

â Å“Well, that's more than I knew before.  Mummy just said he was a Marine.  Would he be an officer?  A pilot?  Fusilier is a strange name.â ?

Recce spread his hands in surrender.  â Å“No way to know, Brin.  Your mother is trying to get an address?â ?  Brin nodded.  â Å“Well,â ? he continued, â Å“Lance and I may be able to help.  If we ever get out of this mess.â ?

They emerged from the woods at mid-morning.  The city stood behind a low wall, perhaps a mile across the plain.  Turrets and other blocky structures could be seen above the wall.  With a mutual sigh, they trudged forward.

It soon became apparent that the city had come upon hard times.  Some of the crenellations had fallen off the wall.  Heaps of rubble lay undisturbed in the empty moat.  â Å“Good Lord!â ? exclaimed Lance, â Å“This place is a disaster.â ?

The road led across a rotted wooden bridge to a gate cut into an imposing blockhouse.  Stepping carefully on the still intact bridge beams, they came at last to Emerald City.  The massive gate stood ajar.  A worn path wormed through the gap.  The gate hadn't been moved in a very long time.  Recce went ahead, scouting the entrance.  He walked slowly back to the others.  â Å“No one's at home.  At least not at the front door.â ?  They made their way inside.

Most of the city was deserted and falling apart.  There were scattered signs of occupation, but no one seemed to be about.  A few goats grazing in a park constituted the only visible signs of life.  Lance led the way toward a large, turreted structure.  â Å“Must belong to someone important,â ? he reasoned.  â Å“Looks like a bloody castle.â ?  No one had any better ideas.

A ten-foot wall surrounded the castle.  They followed it around to what appeared to be the main gateway into the grounds.  A man lay in the dust just inside the open gates, snoring.  Lance prodded him with his walking stick.  Blinking, the man sat up and looked them over.

â Å“What the hell do you mean, waking me from my nap?â ? he said, scratching at his stubbly chin.

Lance apologized.  â Å“Sorry, old chap.  Is there anyone else about?  We'll go bother them.â ?

The man scowled.  â Å“Comedians then, are you?  Come for the summer fair?â ?

â Å“No,â ? growled Recce, â Å“we're not very funny.  Where is this summer fair?  Is that where everyone has gone?â ?

The man paid no attention to Recce's ill humor.  â Å“Doesn't matter.  Ain't been a summer fair for . . oh . . ten â “ twelve years.  Maybe more.  I guess you're too late for that.â ?  He chuckled and mumbled something to himself.  "Even the monkeys have left.  Gone off to join the circus."

â Å“Daft,â ? murmured Lance.  â Å“Let's see if we can find someone else.â ?  He started for the castle.

â Å“Wait!â ? called the man.  â Å“I'll just tag along.  Wouldn't want the good silver to come up missing.  I'd better just squire you around, so to speak.â ?

â Å“Right,â ? said Lance.  â Å“Do you have a name . . . or shall we call you Mr. Guide?â ?

â Å“Oh, yes, guvnor.  I've got a name.â ?  The man stood quiet for a moment, thinking.  He shrugged.  â Å“It will come to me in its own good time.  Don't use it much anymore.  No one to talk to and when company comes calling â “ such as your fine selves â “ when company comes, they think me daft when I calls my name and speaks in the third person â “ if you take my meaning, guvnor.â ?  He hobbled forward.  â Å“No â “ no.  It's better to forget a name.â ?  Then he stopped and looked at Lance.  â Å“Name's DanJanou!â ?  His wild laughter rang in the courtyard.  â Å“DanJanou!  See!  I told you it would turn up.â ?  Chuckling, he led on toward the castle.

â Å“Daft,â ? said Recce.  â Å“I think he's the only one here.  No wonder he's crazy.â ? 

Inside the castle, all was ruin and disaster.  Roof beams lay about, covered with rubble from collapsed walls.  A thick coating of plaster dust lay over everything.  DanJanou led them to a small alcove.  â Å“Here!  Here's where old DJ hangs out!  This is the place.â ?

The cramped room contained piles of old clothes, ratty blankets, melon rinds, beer bottles (empty), drifts of chicken bones, and a gritty layer of dust.  In the center stood a cluttered table with a small boxlike device on it.  Something similar to a telex or enigma keyboard sat before the device.  Lance noticed a small flashing light on the box.  It appeared to be something akin to a radar screen.  â Å“What the bloody hell's that thing?â ? he asked.

â Å“Oh, this is it!â ? said madman, capering around the room.  â Å“This is the thing!  This is what keeps old DJ sane!  My link to the outside world.  Normal people!  Real people!  Well, most of 'em are normal, or close enough as it makes no difference."  He patted the box.

â Å“Look.  I'll show you how it works.â ?  He tapped the odd looking keyboard and the screen flared to life.  Brin took a quick step backward.  Recce and Lance held their ground, but only just.  It was like nothing they had ever seen.

â Å“Here!  This is my place.  My precious place!â ?  DanJanou pointed at the top of the screen, cackling.  In large, lurid script were the words â “ ARMY.CA.  He clawed at Lance.  â Å“Come on.  Look at it!"

Lance reeled back.  â Å“Get out!  Let's get out of here!â ?  He smashed the madman's hand away.  â Å“It's the work of the Devil!  Run for it!â ?  Recce grabbed Brin and fled â “ Lance at their heels.

â Å“Wait!â ? called DanJanou, â Å“Wait!  Come back!  I'll show you some cool CF images!â ?  He slumped into his chair.  â Å“Damn!  They always run off and leave me.  It isn't fair.  Not fair.  Just because I'm a Canadian!â ?  He sniffled for a few minutes, then turned back to his infernal machine.  He typed for a few seconds.  â Å“I wonder if I can post something to get Infanteer going?â ?

Brin shook free of Recce and ran free, heart pounding.  She had never been so scared in her life.  That 'thing' would haunt her dreams for a long, long time.  Recce slowed as they reached the castle gate.  â Å“I think we're clear now,â ? he panted.  Brin turned to see where Lance was and stumbled over a loose stone.  Flinging out her arms, she tried to regain her balance.  One hand struck the open gate, pivoting her body as she fell.  Thump!  Her forehead struck the wooden gate.  Everything got all starry and red and whirly, then black.


Brin Goes Home

â Å“Brin!  Brin, dear!â ?  The voice kept calling her name.  Over and over.  Brin didn't want to answer.  She felt relaxed and comfortable.  It was too much trouble to wake up.  Wake up.  Wake up.  The message was insistent.  Stubbornly, she stayed where she was.  Comfortable.

â Å“Come on girl.  Wake up!  Brin, your mother is here.  Brin, wake up, lass.â ? 

Inside, Brin listened to the new voice.  She liked that voice.  It was . . . was . . .

She blinked.  A dirty plaster ceiling presented itself, complete with a spiderweb of cracks.  She blinked again.  Several faces came into view.  One was Mummy.  She opened her eyes for good.  â Å“Mummy!â ?

â Å“She's awake!â ? cried the woman, gathering Brin in her arms.  â Å“Oh, Lord, child!  We've been scared half to death!â ?

Brin held onto her mother and looked around.  Lance stood there, stick in hand.  He was smiling.  Recce stood a bit back leering at Mummy.  With a small sigh, Brin realized everything was back to normal.

â Å“I'm back, Mummy.â ?

â Å“Yes, Brin.  You're back.â ?


END
:dontpanic:

 

[Fishbone Jones]

OG,
That was great and thanks for the part! Not too far off the mark either! ;D

 

[Ranger]

That was very entertaining OG. Very well done.
I'm stuck at home for the rest of this week due to getting Shingles.
Nasty stuff...hurts like nothing I've ever experienced before.
Anyway, it was entertaining for a 16 yr old, so I imagine it shall be very
amusing to anyone else.

good job
and keep em coming.

 

[jrhume]

Just a bump.  Brin hasn't seen this.  Or else she's on her way her with blood on her mind. 

 

[Lance Wiebe]

Quite the imagination you have there, Old Guy!

Waiting for the next story......................................

 

[jrhume]

I've got a long one ready to go.  Thought I'd wait until next week to start posting it. 

:

 

[Ranger]

Yes, very great imagination.
Waitin for the next one.....

 

[brin11]

Old Guy,

another excellent story even though I was a bit of a loose broad!   I hadn't had a chance to read all the way through until tonight...no blood on my mind ( I like to imagine you sweating it though LOL).   Brin is my dog's name, so it doesn't matter to me.

Although, I would like to beg you for even a bit part in the future as an accomplished swordswoman..please, pretty please???  

 

[jrhume]

A swordwoman?  A woman with a sword?  Hmmm.

<rummages through story bin>

I have a female bomber pilot.  <rummage, rummage, rummage>

Wait!  By golly!  I do have a tale featuring a sword-toting lady.  There's only one problem.  Almost all the characters are female.  The story was originally written for a gardening forum, if you can believe that.  A strange sort of gardening forum, it must be admitted.

So that means I have to change gender on the other characters.  Not a small job. 

It will happen.  It will happen.  I've been thinking of doing it anyway.  The stories are comedy -- surprise, surprise! 

Watch for another tale after Fellowship, then later I'll post one of the stories derived from the garden forum.

It's called recycling.  All the rage these days, don't you know.

Jim

 

[Ranger]

lol I''d love to be in one of your stories, they're great.
Good job and keep em coming!!

 

[brin11]

Thanks Jim, looking forward to it.  Perhaps I'll be a sword toting, posie smelling loose cannon?  After all, Che got to be a pirate...sort of.  ;D

 

[winchable]

Sweeeet...a Lout Dwarf and Pirate Lord.

My god if these were movies I'd be bigger than Jesus