Tara22, vix84 and myself have spent the last few days creating this interesting retelling of the 'Sound of Music.' Inspired by an afternoon viewing of the original motion picture (and a few dozen bottles of malted beverage.)
The universe that you are about to enter is so extremely alternate that it frightens even me. Hence the Alternate Alternate Universe (AAU). We invite you on this fantastic journey into the 'Sound of Music.'
A few things to explain: You can TRY to sing to the songs using the original music, but note that we used poetic license. Songs are in italics. So give it a go, but if it hurts we enclose a disclaimer for our own protection. (disclaimer) <-- see it is enclosed, now read on. Also we’ve altered the cast a bit to make things work. And to follow the tradition of kitten fic a few additional characters might sing a gay tune.
The African Thumb Harp
Authors: Tara22, vix84 & Urn of Osiris
Disclaimer: We don't own any of the original characters created by Joss (the shriveled penis) Whedon or the other @#*%$&@ at ME. We also totally ripped off the original 'Sound of Music' concept. If you are/were a fan PLEASE forgive us. We meant no harm.
Rating:PG-13 For thighs and lisps
Feedback: If you survive we'd love to hear what you have to say. (sips malt beverage)
Pertinent info: We actually spent the time creating a cast list if you care.
Maria - Willow
Mother Abbess – Miss Heteronski
Captain Von Trapp - Tara
Baroness Schreider - Riley
Liesl – Dawn
Rolfe – Janice
Friedrich – Spike
Brigitta – Cordy
Louisa – Buffy
Kurt – Sven
Marta – Xander
Gretl – Anya
-- Miss Heteronski’s Seminary for Feminine Reclamation. Salzburg, Austria. 2004
The wind blows through the corridors of the institution. A redhead struggles in the grasp of a buxom school matron. Her thoughts swirl with confusion as she reads the plaque on the door; ‘QUESTIONING’.
“I’m not questioning! I know exactly how gay I am.” Her thin frame pushes through the opening door, thrusting her into the room.
She takes a deep breath, focusing her heart and soul, and promptly bursts into song.
“My thighs are alive with the sound of music
Juxtaposed around your ears
Your hills fill my hands with the sound of music
your ecstasy,what I long to hear.”
She twirls around.
“They think all I am is some unleashed
bitch in heat, fresh escaped from the pound
My heart yearns for love deep and pure
Why can’t the world still go round?
To squeak like a mouse when it sees the panting pussy
Salivating for its prey
To sing through the night
Like a girl discovering she is gay.”
She lingers on the last word.
”I go to your hills when my hands are lonely
I know I will hear what I heard before
My thighs will be blessed
With the sound of music
And I'll sing once more.”
The redhead opens her eyes to gaze upon the shocked audience. Everyone turns toward the head table where Miss Heteronski sits.
“At least she’s past denial,” the graying woman chuckles with the co-director. They peer at the paper before them, ‘URGENT request for au pair: Traveling for business, need qualified person ASAP.’ and then up at the redhead. “Surely she’s qualified for something,” the matron mutters.
Willow folds her arms and waits. “Well?”
“So impatient, Miss Rosenberg,” the matron says, a scowl blossoming on her taut features. “I called you in here to discuss your future. You are the most challenging and,” she pauses disdainfully, “passionate student we have had here. This seminary helps ladies realize the error of their ways and find a place in 21st century post-patriarchal society. When your mother brought you here all those years back, Willow, she asked us to straighten out your thinking. It is obvious that she was right to place you in our care. You have been insubordinate and highly unresponsive to our treatment…”
“Now now, Miss Heteronski,” Mr Puddlewife, a bulbous-headed man, exclaims vehemently. “You give an impassioned yet repetitive speech. Why, I’ll bet Miss Rosenberg knows it off by heart!”
Willow looks grateful for his interruption.
“At long last we found a job for you. Willow, you will be an au pair for the respected Maclay family. You must have heard of the recent tragedy. Gosh, all of those rolls of parchment, and that skidsteer…” He pauses, taking his hat off his head, and then holds it over his heart, sniffling. “Yes, it’s a real tragedy.”
The redhead eyes him suspiciously. “Let me get this straight, so to speak. To ‘cure me’, you plan to send me to the house of a beautiful, young grieving widow?”
“Uh,” Mr Puddlewife bites his lip, “yes. Pretty much.”
She grins.
***
Willow strolls down the cobble-stone streets of Salzburg until she reaches the bus-stop. She shivers on the stone bench, wishing she were adorned in something other than the flimsy, bag-like, regulatory dress of the institution. She brightens and removes an Apple laptop from her leather satchel, gratified as the electronic heat penetrates her thighs.
A fisherman looks askance as she quietly begins to sing.
“What will this day be like, I wonder
What will my future be, I wonder...
It could be so exciting
To be out (and proud) in the world and free
My heart will be wildly rejoicing
My life will be a menagerie!”
She drops her computer and satchel to display fervent spirit fingers.
”I've always longed for my own life
But nobody ever really cared
Now here I am facing a house full of kids
And bloody hell I’m scared!
A chick with seven children...
What’s so fearsome about that?”
She steps onto the bus.
”Seven? Who can care for seven?
I was brought up on spanking over the knee
Ignoring my parents’ every word –
Those shmucks – they never listened to me.
Somehow I will control them
Impressionable minds, could be fun!
All seven children, Goddess bless them,
Will behave or learn how to run.
As for that mourning woman
She’ll get over it in time
At least by the winter solstice
Wishful thinking means she could be mine.
I’ll help her replace those black clothes
With color, like my own
I have confidence in paisley skirts, rainbow toe-socks, plaid shoes, denim jeans, fruit-patterned shirts, velvet corsettes laced tightly up the spine ...”
Her babble continues as the bus hurtles through the dark streets, toward the mansion.
When Willow approaches the front door she raises a hand to knock, and is surprised when it opens before she touches it. “Magic,” she thinks aloud.
“Miss Rosenberg, I presume?”
“One nubile Wiccan, bearing fruit for the mistress.” She raises the Apple laptop bag.
“Oh, you’re here for the PFLAG meeting?” A woman, who was decidedly not Madame Maclay, winks.
“Estrella?! Does everyone from the seminary end up here?” Willow inquires.
“Seminary? Are you PFLAG or Rosenberg?”
“Rosenberg, but I fully support every PFLAG effort since 1973.” The redhead grins. “I recognized you instantly. Miss Heteronski immortalized you in the foyer trophy case, after you were voted Reformee of the Year 1996.”
Estrella chortles, running her calloused hands through her stiffly molded hair. “I hardly think that title’s still relevant,” she muses.
Willow drops her bags on the floor beside the winding staircase, her eyes traveling the enormous walls. “Pretty impressive place.”
“And this is just the foyer.” Estrella stares at the redhead. “You should change before Madame Maclay arrives. That outfit makes you look positively sterile.”
Willow shakes her head. “This is my only dress. Maybe you’ve forgotten; upon entering the seminary one must give all wordly possessions to those of less fortune.” She looks thoughtful. “I didn’t have anything very wordly back then, either.” The redhead kneels to dig through her bag, pulling out a collection of mismatched fabrics. “I could make something, but not before...”
“Ahem!” The sound of a throat clearing echoes through the foyer.
Willow closes her bag and jumps to her feet, startled by the sound. Her eyes catch a glimpse of a gorgeous woman descending the south expanse of the staircase. Estrella lifts her hand to close the redhead’s salivating lips.
Madame Maclay descends the stairs to the foyer landing, her eyes tracing the redhead’s frame. She winces at the sight of the drab uniform. “You must be from the seminary.” Striding forward, she waves her hand in front of Willow’s outfit. “This will not do, the children will be down soon. Can you find something more appropriate?”
“This is all I have, Mrs. Maclay.”
“Madame,” the blonde corrects coldly. “I suppose that outfit will suffice for now. “She turns to the butler. “Please acquire some fabrics for Miss Rosenberg, I hear she has talent for design.”
Willow opens her mouth to correct her employer but is interrupted by an unfamiliar sound. Tara is strumming what appears to be a pocket-sized African thumb harp. The pounding of footsteps vibrates from above. A cascade of children trickles down the stairs, filing into the yoga asana (starting) position.
Tara raises her instrument again to conduct introductions. She plucks three notes and the tallest girl, with great concentration, forms the Contorted Duck. Tara nods in approval.
“Dawn, 16, the Contorted Duck.” The teenager groans, dropping her leg to the floor, and steps back to allow the next child to come forward.
Tara plucks another note.
“Spike,” a boy lisps. “14, Bicycle.” He rolls onto his back kicking his feet wildly.
Tara winces as he awkwardly tumbles back into line. She plucks another note.
“Cordelia, 13, The Bird.” A gaunt brunette forms the posture with smug confidence. She lingers in the position until Tara clears her throat dismissively. With a curtsey she rejoins her siblings.
Willow’s eyes widen as the children present themselves in such a rigid, militant fashion.
“Buffy, 12, Mountain.” The girl stiffens into an erect form.
“Sven, 11, Camel.”
Willow blanches as Sven turns, revealing a camel-esque hump on his back. Estrella whispers, “poor little dude. Apparently he was born like that.” The butler chooses her words carefully. “From what I’m told, he was a hard one to squeeze out.”
Willow clenches her pelvic muscles. “Ouch, Kegal must have been working overtime.”
Another pluck emerges from Tara’s fingertips.
A little boy pounds forward proudly. “Xander,” he winks. “7, The Woodchopper.” His arms swing as he backs into line.
Willow wonders if these introductions could possibly get worse. She turns to watch Tara continually plucking the final note. No one responds. She plucks again.
Xander continues his chopping motion, looking uncertainly at his mother.
The youngest finally steps forward, recognizing her cue. Tara plucks aggressively, looking sternly at the young girl.
Anya clumsily forms her position. “Anya, 5, I swallow.”
Tara looks horrified. Estrella fights the urge to laugh, instead gently corrects the young girl. “I am the swallow.”
Anya stares blankly. “Whatever.”
Tara plucks a final tone and Estrella springs into action. “Dinner is served. Follow me.”
The crowd files into the dining room. Estrella directs Willow to her seat and leans over to ignite the flames on the table candles.
Willow notices that the extra-large purple four-wick candle, intricately hand etched with a triple Goddess, is unlit. She makes no comment but finds this odd.
Halfway through her serving of whitened miso with enriched protein dumplings, Spike leans over to whisper to the redhead. “The purple candle isn’t lit! Quick, light it before mother notices.”
She looks at him, drawn to his panicked expression. He points at the untouched matchbox.
Sensing his anxiety, she leans over to light the nearest wick. The crowd gasps. Tara’s eyes immediately fix on the flickering flame.
“Snuff it out now!” Her voice is urgent. “Xander, my snuffer. Quickly!”
The family scatters to help the blonde. Willow, in the midst of the confusion, notices the children trying to hide giggles.
“Miss Rosenberg, I understand that you are new here but that candle is special.” She pauses to compose herself. “I-I… t-that candle is the candle that should never be lit. Never, and I do mean never, light that candle again.”
Willow, despite hating the scolding, can’t help but find the blonde’s stammer endearing.
Dawn jumps up from the dinner table as a doorbell rings. “That must be my study buddy.”
“Your study buddy? Perhaps you should do less buddy and more study.” Madame Maclay suggests.
Dawn clears her throat. “Um, yea. I’m teaching her German and she’s helping me finger that high G on the sax.”
Willow watches amused.
A shrill voice cuts the silence of the room.
“You wait little key jammed tight in a door
For someone to figure out what the hell you are for.”
Dawn realizes that Janice has, in her impatience, burst into song. The familiar round face is pressed to the dining room window.
“You’re like a klepto left to roam in a store
You’ve taken so much but you just want more. ”
Dawn pales and turns to her mother. “May I be excused?”
Madame Maclay, distracted by the lyrics, doesn’t respond. Dawn rushes out before Janice, her study buddy, can continue. She pulls Janice from the smudged glass and passionately echoes the words.
“I just want more...”
Janice folds her hands to her breast.
“You are lipstick going on dykey,
Baby it's time to think
Better beware, be canny and careful,
Baby you're on the brink."
Janice loosens the belt of her cargo pants.
“You are lipstick going on dykey,
Your ass is lookin’ fine.
Eager young lads, will rip off their pants
To give you a real good time.”
Janice grabs her and pulls her into a dirty dance.
“Totally unprepared are you,
To face a world of men
But timid and shy and scared are you,
To tell all of your kin.”
Their faces linger close to a kiss. Dawn pulls away but this doesn’t faze the singing Janice.
“You need someone - I’ve got a U-haul - moving you on your way
I am dykey, always been dykey, come with me and be gay.”
Dawn responds, quickly growing in confidence.
“I am lipstick going on dykey,
I know that I'm naive
Fellows I meet may seem like a treat,
But really they’re bad for me
I am lipstick going on dykey,
I’ve read the Monologues.
I’m not a prude,
I’m seldomly rude,
How can our love be wrong?”
She glances at Janice, hoping for compassion.
“Totally unprepared am I, to face a world of men
Timid and shy and scared am I, to tell all of my kin
I need someone - you’ve got a U-haul”,
She pokes Janice in the chest,
“- moving me on my way,
You are dykey, always been dykey, I’ll come with you and be gay.”
Janice walks over to Dawn, kisses her quickly, and runs off into the rain, leaving the 16-year-old with a lovesick smile on her face.
***
The rain outside pounds down and droplets fly in through the window. The redhead sits on her bed staring at the flowchart on her laptop. Slowly, she adds each of the children and their ages to the document.
Dawn – 16
Spike- 14
Cordy- 13
Buffy - 12
Xander- 7
Anya – 5
Spike- 14
Cordy- 13
Buffy - 12
Xander- 7
Anya – 5
She pauses, confused. “What was that boy’s name? The one with the hump. Oh, darnit! I’ll change it later.”
What’s his name – 11
“The kids are so old,” she thinks. “Yet Tara can’t be much older than me. She has got to be around 20-something…”
A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts. Estrella enters, arms loaded with bundles of different colored fabrics.
“Madame Maclay asked me to bring these to you.” The butler hands the bundles to Willow.
The redhead looks at her, askance. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
“You’re the designer,” Estrella points out. “Design something!”
“Actually,” Willow says sheepishly, “I design websites! Anyway, do I dress like I have any idea what do with these?”
Estrella looks amused. “Good point. Well, good luck on figuring something out.”
“Hey, Estrella,” Willow asks casually, “is it too prudent of me to ask how it’s possible that the mistress is so young with so many children?”
The butler smiles. “It’s not my place to say anything, but this family is more complicated then you think.”
Estrella leaves and Willow returns to her laptop. She continues typing about each of the children when she notices Dawn climbing through her window.
“You know, if you want a bath, there’s an easier way to do it.”
Dawn paces nervously. “Will you tell Mother?”
“No, I’m not going tell her.”
The teenager seems relieved.
“Dawn?” Willow asks tentatively. “Were you out in the rain taking a ‘bath’ alone?”
The girl looks at her, wanting to say yes but feeling compelled to tell the truth. “No, I wasn’t.”
The redhead nods. “Why don’t you go put these on,” she says, handing her a nightgown from her closet, “and then we can have a talk.”
Dawn dries herself and dresses, then comes back into Willow’s bedroom.
“Have a seat,” the redhead pats the bed. “Can I help? You look kinda lost.”
Dawn blushes. “I’m not sure why I want to tell you this. I just… I need to tell someone.”
“What is it, Dawn?”
“Willow, I think I’m in love.”
“In love is good,” the redhead grins, pressing her tongue through her teeth.
Dawn closes her eyes, hoping for courage, and her words spill out. “It’s with a girl. I love a girl, Willow! Oh man, I said it.” She looks panicked. “Are you going to tell on me?”
Willow is surprised by the girl’s admission. “No, of course not, Dawn. I won’t tell anyone but I think you should. Maybe you should discuss this with your mother.”
“My mother?” Dawn almost laughs. “I don’t think she wants to know about me. She… well, we’re not her real children.”
Willow looks shocked but remains silent. She’d already guessed something of the sort.
“Daddy already had us when he married Tara. Sometimes I… I feel like we’re a burden to her. Now that Daddy is gone she has no reason to care about us. I mean, it’s not like she gave birth to us or anything.”
“Dawn,” Willow says gently. “I haven’t known your mother long. I haven’t known any of you for long, but I can tell that she cares about you. I just know it. She loves you all. And I think she’ll be supportive.”
Dawn wipes her tears, looking at Willow with hopeful eyes.
“Just consider telling her. When she gets back from her trip. Just think about it, okay?”
Dawn nods and leans in for a hug. A flash of lightening illuminates the room. Moments later a clap of thunder echoes through the darkness.
Two sets of feet pad down the hallway. Xander and Anya rush into the room and press themselves against the doorframe. Another burst of thunder frightens the smallest Maclay children into the redhead’s oversized bed.
“It’s only thunder, children.” Willow’s soft voice comforts them. Another booming sound vibrates through the room. Buffy and Cordy rush through the open door and without hesitation leap into the bed. “Should I expect the boys?”
Xander shakes his head. “They’re too brave.”
Simultaneously, lightning flashes through the bedroom window and thunder crashes. Spike and Sven stand sorrowfully in the hallway. They notice the girls and Xander huddled on the bed. Puffing out their chests, they strut towards the others.
“Just coming to check on you girls,” Spike lisps. “As the eldest Maclay male I felt compelled to protect the fair maidens.”
Willow acts impressed. She turns to Sven. “And you, sir? What are your duties as second in charge?”
The redhead can see his scarlet cheeks in the darkness. “W-well,” Sven stammers, “I wanted to say sorry for before. The candle. It was my idea. I’m sorry if it made Mother mad. She’s not going to fire you, is she?”
“Ah.” Willow sees him struggling with the apology. “No, she isn’t. And I forgive you. I’m sure you meant no harm.”
He nods eagerly. “It was just to see what she’d do. Anyway, I thought y’all might need some vittles.” He lifts his white apron and presents a basket filled with sausage and crusty bread rolls. “And if you get parched,” he reaches around the door, “I brought a jug of ricemilk.”
Outside, the raging storm vibrates loudly. The two Maclay boys jump into bed.
Willow offers comfort, bursting into song.
“Laptops on networks and unlimited usage
Bright flickering modems transferring high-speed
Volumes of journals bearing new technology
These are a few of my favorite things.
Digital cameras with infinite storage
Cables and Printers,
A dawn of a new age
I-mesh and Napster for songs we can sing
These are a few of my favorite things.
Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Websites that support my fan-fic habits
Titanium shells for my new technology
These are a few of my favorite things.
When the net dumps
When my drives freeze
When I must reboot
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel...so blue.”
The children shift uncomfortably, sensing their mother’s presence. Madame Maclay is standing against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest. “Sausage and bread after 9pm. You children should know better. The two hour rule has been violated.” Her blue eyes darken. “To bed, now!”
As they leave, Xander stops to give the redhead an encouraging squeeze and Dawn rubs her shoulder.
Tara paces the large room. Her fingers examine a rainbow sticker on Willow’s laptop. She picks up a snow globe and shakes it, then puts it down before the flakes can fall.
“I don’t want you to think badly of me, Miss Rosenberg.” She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind an ear and looks at the redhead. “I’m sure where you came from, manners and rules are passé.” She looks pointedly at a stray piece of sausage on Willow’s pillow. “In my house, however, things must be a certain way. The children have suffered so much loss and I want them to feel safe. Rules and order are the only way to achieve stability.”
Willow dusts crumbs off the foot of the bed and gestures for the blonde to sit. “Madame Maclay, I assure you that stability for children is my middle name!” Her lower lip trembles. “But there was thunder and lightening. And frightened children were everywhere! Before I knew it, there was sausage and bread and crumbs and some kind of un-palatable milk, and my impulse was to sing.”
“Miss Rosenberg…”
“Please call me Willow,” she pleads with shimmering green eyes.
“W-Willow.” Tara looks away. “I’m going away in a few hours so I must be frank. This is your first day here. This is my first trip away from the children since the accident. I barely know you. I need to know that you’re not going to burst into song every time your bed gets crumbs. Your papers from the school leave a lot of my questions unanswered.”
Willow, who 24 hours ago couldn’t care less about this position, suddenly has a great need to defend herself and her job.
“Ask me anything. I’ll tell you my whole life story. Well maybe not the whole story but I can summarize. You tell me when to start and when to stop.”
Tara, who has been sitting on the edge of the bed furthest from the redhead, moves into a more comfortable position. “Do you have much experience with children?”
Willow nods eagerly. “I taught a computer class in the basement at the seminary. There were kids in it. Well, they were technically kids.”
“Technically?” Tara raises a curious brow.
“Umm, how to say this. Their school uniforms were kinda www dot practically naked dot com. They were way less interested in my experience with computers than…” she looks at Tara. “Umm, should I continue?”
Tara smiles. “No, I think I know what you mean. Do you feel that you can handle seven children while I’m away?”
“Will Estrella be here?”
“She rarely leaves.”
“As long as I don’t have to dress them or feed them, we’ll be just hunky dory. I’ve got three summers of Outward Bound survival training. We’re good for just about anything. And you can see from tonight that if they need me they feel comfortable to come to me.”
“Yes, I can see that. When you wake in the morning I’ll be gone. Any of your needs, Estrella can take care of.”
“And what about your needs, Madame Maclay?”
Tara stands up. “My needs are irrelevant. Good luck, Willow.” She leaves the room.
*** Two weeks later ***
Willow and the children sit beside the lake. Sven serves sausage and crusty bread while the children sip freshly squeezed carrot juice. “Your mother returns in a few weeks.”
“We can’t wait.” Dawn rolls her eyes.
The redhead notices the negative tone. “Shall we prepare some sort of coming home recital?”
“With music?” Spike lisps. His excitement surprises the others.
“Yes, music and maybe dancing.”
“Like a big production number?” Cordy perks up. “I could be the star.”
“Do any of you know how to sing?”
“Sing?” Buffy kicks the dirt at her feet. “We’re not like that. No one in the house sings. It makes mother sad.”
“Maybe your voices could make her happy.” Willow huddles them together. “Let me teach you what I know. Can you sing me anything?”
The children look at one another.
“Well, it’s not really a song.” Cordy explains. “It’s as close to music as Mother allows.”
Willow stares nervously as a deep sound resonates in unison.
“Ohmmmm…”
“That’s almost musical!” Willow bursts into song.
“When you read you begin with - A - B - C
When you sing you begin with DO - RE - MI
DO - RE - MI , DO - RE - MI
The first three notes just happen to be DO - RE - MI
DO - RE - MI - FA - SO - LA - TI...
Willow sees the look of confusion on the children’s faces. “Sorry, the nun that taught me how to sing was a bit past it. I’ll try to break it down for you.
DO – a ball of unbaked bread
RE – hope your Mother’s having fun
MI – the random seminary chick
FA – the distance to the sun
SO – re didn’t make any sense
LA – makes as much sense as re
TI – I recommend cinnamon and apple
That will bring us back to do, go knead it
Dough, a ball of unbaked bread
Ray, hope your Mother’s having fun
Me, the random seminary chick
Far, the distance to the sun
So, ray didn’t make any sense
La, makes as much sense as ray
Tea, I recommend cinnamon and apple
That would bring us back to DOUGH!”
They continue singing. Over the following weeks Willow guides them to performance perfection with constant practice, even in public during the day trips she organizes.
The day of Tara’s return arrives at last.
Turning off the highway the blonde stares out of the car window, nervous about being home.
“The children must have changed so much.” She turns to the passenger beside her.
“Seven certainly is a lot.” The man shrugs.
“They should be ready for your tutelage, Riley.”
He smiles enthusiastically. “How about you, Tara? Are you ready for my tutelage?” He slips a hand on her knee.
The blonde pushes his hand away. “You’re here for the children. My needs are irrelevant.”
“Nothing about you is irrelevant to me.” He winks.
Tara glares until he moves his body away from hers. “The children and only the children are relevant to you.”
She slows as kids run wildly across a nearby field. “Look at them play.”
Riley gushes. “They look like they’re having a wonderful time. When I was that age my mother had to practically drag me in by the neck. Always wanting to bounce about like a puppy I was.”
Tara makes no attempt to hide her revulsion. “Discipline and order create stability.”
“Running and jumping make fun.”
“Maybe for a puppy.”
Riley barks, sending Tara into a silent rage for the duration of the drive.
The car arrives at the house and Estrella greets them at the front door. Tara reaches for the thumb harp. Her fingers play the sound meant to summon the children.
Silence answers the call. She turns to Estrella. “Where are the children?”
“Madame, they are with Miss Rosenberg.”
“Yes, Estrella, I expected that much. But where are they?” She slipped the harp into her pocket. “How do you summon them?”
“Miss Rosenberg has fashioned the house with this two-way wireless communication system.” The butler reveals the handheld device. “Works like a charm.”
“Will you please request that they return home?”
Estrella contacts the redhead, informing her of Tara’s return. The children burst loudly through the door, singing and laughing.
“Children!” Tara scolds. The sound of her voice rips through the foyer and they quickly move into position.
“Children, this is Baron S. Riley Finn.”
~~~~ INTERMISSION ~~~~
If you can find the magic foyer, Sven is selling crusty breadrolls. (If you're lucky perhaps a bit of sausage too)
Urn of Osiris |
at: 1/26/04 5:58 am
- yes exactly like pink elephants dancing in my head offering me sugar coated goodness to keep me giggling.