The next bit.

[hannahbanano]

Keeper took hold of the reigns and off they went, across the drawbridge and through the thicker part of the woods, until they came to the clearing, which indicated the edge of the town. The town was downright shabby, in comparison with the estate of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Houses were generally in good repair, and all major appliances worked in the households with occupants who had the capacity to use major appliances, but they were more modestly sized, and squarish, and painted all sorts of muted pastel colors. A few of the villagers tended vegetable gardens in their front yards. This habit always put the Evil Ferret Overlord ill at ease. She was suspicious of vegetables on principle, particularly ones that could not be distilled into liquor. Liquor, she was not at all suspicious of. Her enthusiasm for drink rivaled that of her uncle’s.
A small crowd had gathered at the clearing, having heard the creaky sound of the wheels of the chariot, and the clippity clop of the hooves of the Clydesdales. One of them mumbled some sort of phrase in wonderment that they had chosen the chariot, rather than the copter.
The Overlord did generally prefer the helicopter. It was shiny, noisy and highly useful for playing pranks on the villagers. One day, when things were hot, and terribly dull, she had devoted the day to removing a few hundred gallons of water from the moat, freezing them, and then shaving the resulting ice down into little flaky crystals. Early the next morning, when it wasn’t quite so hot the villagers awoke to a loud whirring noise, and went outside to find snow falling to the ground. They were completely and utterly confused until one of them looked up to see a low-flying helicopter, piloted by an Evil Ferret Overlord, who was, by turns, steering the helicopter, and dumping “snow” from large buckets. The villagers considered growing angry, but by noon, the snow had melted, watering their lawns quite nicely.
In any case, the Evil Ferret Overlord and her companions had arrived, and hadn’t seemed to bring a great many explosive devices with them, so the villagers bowed and let out the obligatory cheers, which the Evil Ferret Overlord loved. A few of them offered treats to Alter Ego, who accepted them eagerly. She accepted them so eagerly, in fact, that she also very nearly accepted bits of villager fingers. Villager fingers were not generally considered pleasant to munch, as they tasted of dirt and sweat, and Alter typically took great pains to avoid them, but it had been a while since she had eaten a fresh Village treat. Despite their hygienic shortcomings, the villagers were renowned for their skill at concocting delicious ferret treats.
A little old man with bushy white hair, and bushy white eyebrows, and bushy white hair sticking out of his ears, and a neatly groomed white lab coat made his way to the front of the crowd. “Have you come to see the device?” He asked eagerly.
“Sure, why not?” the Evil Ferret Overlord shrugged. The little old man made a motion for the Evil Ferret Overlord to follow, which she did, leaving the Keeper to tie up the chariot and accompanying Clydesdales. As he tied them up, he set to work wondering about what exactly this device could do, and how it could contact spirits. As far as anyone respectable knew, they themselves were the closest thing to spirits that anyone had tangible proof of. At least, they had tangible proof of themselves and each-other. They weren’t entirely certain that their ordinary selves were quite so aware. He shrugged to himself, and scurried off after the Evil Ferret Overlord and the little old man.
The little old man had his very own little old laboratory in a chilly concrete warehouse. The Keeper swished his cape around his shoulders, in hopes of warming them, and wished that he had brought some gloves with fingers. The little old man set up a Bunsen burner and motioned for the Keeper to warm his hands over the flame. As the Keeper did so, the little old man made his way behind a curtain and brought out a weird looking contraption, grinning proudly.
“What in the name of shiny objects is that?” the Evil Ferret Overlord asked, staring at the contraption, feeling more than a little baffled. It had shiny bits, and pieces that could probably explode, but nothing that looked like any sort of communication system.
“I’m guessing it’s utter lunacy,” whispered the keeper, “but play along, or you’ll likely give the poor old fool a heart attack.”
“Awww, man. Okay.” The Evil Ferret Overlord whispered back, still staring at the unlikely looking device. It resembled a disco ball, connected by wires to a Polaroid camera, which was connected by more wires to an old fashioned child’s unwieldy tape deck. The circuit was completed by what appeared to be a lightning rod. If it failed to contact any sort of spiritual realm, it would definitely explode, so either way it would make for an amusing demonstration. Keeper suspected it would do the latter, as he saw no way for anything to send impulses of any sort through the concrete, let alone any metaphysical layers of the atmosphere. Evil Ferret Overlord kept a tight hold on her shiny silver satchel, so that if the explosion turned out to be particularly big, Alter would not harm herself by running after the shiny sparks, which would inevitably fall to the floor. The Evil Ferret Overlord came to the decision that if anything were to happen to her beloved ferrety counterpart, she would tie the little old man up and pour hair growth serum into his ears, so that the hair there would grow even faster. The little old man made his way carefully over to the tape recorder and pressed play. The disco ball lit up, and music that sounded vaguely tribal began to play. It was really rather catchy, everyone thought. There was a faint hum, which grew steadily louder, until it became a whirring noise, and finally a KAPOOF as the lightning rod released a glowing spike of energy into the air. Everyone ducked as sparks flew. When the smoke cleared, the little old man returned to the tape deck, and removed the recording device, switched it around, and pressed “record”, which for some reason caused the tape to play backwards. The little old man had explained how he had reversed some wires, and switched the poles on the magnetic tape, but of course, the Evil Ferret Overlord wasn’t listening. She was too busy watching the shiny. That is, she was too busy, until the tape began to play. It sounded like voices. If they concentrated, they could hear them say things. It sounded like they were saying “In this world, I am here.” At least it did to the little old man and the Evil Ferret Overlord, neither of whom had the most reliable ears. Those belonged to the Keeper, who thought it sounded like “Tilt-a-whirl, buy me beer.” Which actually seemed like a more reasonable thing for a spirit to say. Keeper thought that if she were to die, and go through the trouble of contacting the living, the first thing she would ask for was a bit of alcohol. But then, she probably had been spending far too much time with the Evil Ferret Overlord and various mad scientists like the one grinning proudly at them.
“That certainly is strange.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, peeking in her bag to make certain that Alter had made it through the small explosion unscathed. She had, and so the Evil Ferret Overlord was satisfied.
“Anyone either of you wish to contact?” The little old man asked hopefully.
“Ahh…no, that is quite all right.” Keeper said hurriedly
“But…” protested the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“We actually came to see about this strange new game some of your village men seem to be fond of.”
“Oh, yes, sir. Clobberball, they call it. Very strange, sir. A good few of them should be starting a match over in Farmer Clancy’s field.”
“Excellent. Come along, please, EFO.” Said Keeper; reaching in her pocket and producing a bit of grilled porterhouse she had been saving for just such an occasion. The Evil Ferret Overlord would probably shrink and behave humbly for her favorite steak…but only if it was absolutely required to serve some greater good which also benefited the Evil Ferret Overlord in some way, and only if it was quite a lot of porterhouse. To encourage an Evil Ferret Overlord to follow keeper somewhere interesting, it only took a bite or two. When they were safely out of the little old man’s earshot, the Evil Ferret Overlord began to whine.
“But, Roy. I had a dream at naptime about my uncle.”
“The rich one, with the beer cans?”
“Yes, that one. He said he faked his own death to blackmail our teachers into giving us better grades at school.”
“Ferret, that makes absolutely no sense.”
“I know, but right after he died, my grades did start improving.”
“And it wasn’t because you spent hours in your beer can room, with nothing but your schoolbooks and Alter for company?”
“Quiet, you. Now let’s go see about that hobby sport thing.” They got back in their chariot, and traveled down an unpaved road to Farmer Clancy’s field. The Evil Ferret Overlord considered this particular field to be something akin to a holy place, because it was where Farmer Clancy’s cows grazed, when it wasn’t being trampled by big guys trying to kill each other over misshapen balls. Farmer Clancy’s cows were what were turned into delicious porterhouse steaks. The large young men of the village had just gathered and formed into their separate factions. Their loved ones and a good many villagers who had nothing better to do with their evenings were seated on the ground behind the goal lines. A band was playing, badly out of tune, and when they saw the Evil Ferret Overlord’s chariot approaching, they immediately struck up a discordant chorus of “Hail To The Overlord”, the melody of which bore more than a passing resemblance to “I’ve Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.”, the lyrics of which were:
We all say Hail to the Overlord!
We are happy just because she’s here!
She is wonderous, and she’s ten feet tall!
Now that she’s here, we all give a cheer,
For now we’ll have a ball!
The villagers weren’t too talented at clever rhyme, but the overlord did appreciate any efforts to sing her praises.
When the band was through playing, the signal to begin the game was given by a short, balding, dumpy sort of entity. A big guy on one team hiked the ball between his legs to another big guy, who began to run around some more big guys. There was quite a lot of clobbering and crashing into one another, which the overlord found most amusing, despite the unfortunate lack of proper bloodshed.
“Kill him! Kill! Kill!” shouted the Overlord, not terribly minding which individual was on which end of the killing, as long as someone got it, and violently. A woman in a shabby pink sweatshirt with a picture of a kitten hand-stitched onto it tapped her shoulder. The Evil Ferret Overlord hated shoulder taps, and attempted to give the woman’s hand a good chomp, but the woman’s reflexes were a little sharper than the Evil Ferret Overlord’s fangs.
“This is a gentleman’s sport, Your ferretyness. Nobody’s getting killed today.” She let out a cheer as one man threw the ball down on a chalk line. His teammates rushed up to him and a few slapped him on the posterior.
“Gentlemen my ass.” Mumbled the Evil Ferret Overlord. “If they’re so keen on each-others rumps, they ought to join the Dungeon Dancers. I’d say we’ve seen plenty. Now pretend to nod off so I have an excuse to take you home.”
“I am not nodding off. It would be undignified. You nod off.” Complained the Keeper.
“If I nod off, people notice. Here, go behind the benches and set these off.” The Evil Ferret Overlord dumped a few small explosives, cleverly disguised as superballs in her Keeper’s pockets. Rolling his eyes, Keeper slunk away to hide under the makeshift benches. He lit a few fuses and wandered casually back to the chariot. Seconds later the splody balls went rat-a-tat and the villagers seated on top of them leapt out of the way to avoid spending the rest of the week with scorched posteriors. In the ensuing chaos, the Evil Ferret Overlord and her Keeper sped away from the field. Upon their return to the castle, they proceeded directly to the galley, where Chef Philippe had some delicious steaks and what Philippe called “smashy taters” and green beans warm and waiting for them. In a rare fit of courtesy, the Evil Ferret Overlord invited Rosencsrantz and Guildenstern to dine with them as guests, as opposed to a tabletop. There was much to discuss, and much food to be had. So far this had been a highly profitable year for Farmer Clancy.
“So, Evil Ferret Overlord, what did you make of the Astral Plane Device.” Asked Guildenstern.
“It was weird. It made me wonder if Farmer Clancy wasn’t growing something else in his greenhouses besides flowers.”
“It was absolute nonsense.” Scoffed the Keeper.
“Didn’t it even make you think for a second when it said ‘in this world, I am here’?”
“I thought it said ‘Tilt-a-Whirl, buy me beer’.”
“Somehow that actually makes more sense.” Said Guildenstern.
“Exactly my thoughts.” Replied the keeper.
“So what of that new game the villagers are playing?” Guildenstern asked.
“Horrifying.” said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “They dress up in ridiculous outfits and chase each other back and forth across Farmer Clancy’s field and slap each other’s behinds. I suspect someone must be paying them a whole lot of money to ooh and ahh over that nonsense. And what’s worse, they’re trampling the grass! So help me, if Farmer Clancy’s poor portercows suddenly go extra lean. Those villagers will get more than just fruity slaps on their buttocks.” The Evil Ferret Overlord clutched her whip, which she still had with her, causing the rest of the dinner party to become nervous. Her wrath was nearly always aimed at a deserving target, but if she grew more wrathful than usual it was certain that none of them were safe. “Something must be done about that awful, miserable excuse for a pastime. For the sake of the porterhouse.” She took a large bite of her steak, to show it that she meant business, even though it was not only nearly dead, it was really most sincerely dead.
“Something must be done about the sweatshirts those spectators wear,” said keeper, “for the sake of our retinas.”
“Eeeugh! Absolutely.” Agreed the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Perhaps we should go around to their houses and smother them with those awful things.”
“But, Evil Ferret Overlord,” protested Rosencrantz, “it would be unethical.”
The Evil Ferret Overlord made a face. “Fine. Then we’ll levy heavy trampling taxes, and make the men wear tutus.” That was also unethical, of course, but it is nigh on impossible to be terribly fussed about silly things like morals and societal norms when one is ten feet tall, and has a prosthetic conscience, which exists in the form of two attorneys with unlikely names. The Evil Ferret Overlord blamed her failure to properly develop a conscience of her own on two things. First, the fact that she had been weaned too early, and second, allergies, which caused her to break out in hives every time she was faced with anything that bore the slightest resemblance to an ethical dilemma. Neither of those things were necessarily true, but her conscience was only prosthetic after all, and prone to malfunction. The Evil Ferret Overlord considered her failure to heed it to be a flaw in the attorneys, rather than herself. “Well, we’ll think of something to show them who’s boss!” Just then, Chef Philippe came in with desert.
“Confectionary munchy treats!” Philippe announced, placing a chocolate-filled pastry on each person’s plate, except for that of the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, who generally did not find such things to be tasty, and a ferret treat on the floor under the table for Alter Ego. The Evil Ferret Overlord bit into her pastry. As her taste buds were flooded with its chocolatey goodness, her brain cells were flooded with a dastardly plot.
“Oh, Philippe!” called the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Would you like to come marauding with us, tomorrow morning?”
“I would!” said Philippe.
“Excellent. Meet us at the drawbridge tomorrow morning with five or six dozen of those chocolate filled pastries.”
“’Kay.” Philippe headed off to the galley. He had a lot of baking ahead of him. As soon as the Overlord was finished with her pastry, she picked up Alter from the floor and brought her back to her Ferrety Suite, leaving the dishes for someone else to take care of. One of Alter’s atypical attributes was her apparent love of bedtime stories. As soon as she was settled, she would watch the keeper intently until the story was finished, or sleep took over. She was especially fond of one called “The Bitey Smitey Overlord” which is what the Evil Ferret Overlord read to her that night. It went something like this:
On the first morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding, and spied ten unruly villagers. “Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap,” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the second morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied nine unruly villagers. “nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip, nip” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the third morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied eight unruly villagers. “chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the fourth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied seven unruly villagers. “gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, gnaw” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the fifth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied six unruly villagers. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the sixth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied five unruly villagers. “chew, chew, chew, chew, chew” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the seventh morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied four unruly villagers. “Nibble, nibble, nibble, nibble” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the eighth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied three unruly villagers. “Crush, crush, crush” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the ninth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied two unruly villagers. “Clamp, clamp” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
On the tenth morning of the reign of the Evil Ferret Overlord, she went marauding and spied one unruly villager. “BITE!” went the jaws of the Evil Ferret Overlord, and one little villager was smitey smite smitten.
The villagers were all very well behaved after that.
The end.
The Evil Ferret Overlord patted Alter Ego’s ferrety head and went to bed. The next morning, the Evil Ferret Overlord woke up early, and headed to the dungeons to pay a visit to the weapons forgers, Livilla and Twila. She was fairly certain that the Keeper wouldn’t allow her to use anything they might give her, but if it came down to adoring throngs of villagers or a continued supply of delicious dinners, the Evil Ferret Overlord would choose the porterhouse every time. Livilla and Twila had been up for some time, but to the Evil Ferret Overlord’s surprise, neither of them was humming, and in fact looked rather concerned.
“That look on your faces worries me.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Some of the artists got into the stash.” Said Livilla. The stash to which she was referring was a magical place, filled with shiny objects, music to inspire complete mayhem, and a wonderful sugary substance, which was not actually crack, as it was non-narcotic and only slightly addictive, but which the Evil Ferret Overlord and her two weapons forgers referred to as crack. It was known to cause strange manic episodes when ingested. If mixed with alcohol, the effects were all the more intensified. Best of all, the mysterious and wonderful substance had very few negative side effects aside from dry mouth and a tendency to aggravate insomnia. Wonderful, imaginative things happened when the Evil Ferret Overlord and friends partook of it, but in the hands of others, it could be dangerous.
“What’s the damage?” asked the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Well, they’re trying to force a wedding.” Said Twila.
“Ugh! Bastards. That’s only funny when we do it!” grumbled the Evil Ferret Overlord. “Who this time?”
“The one with the stubble, who does funny voices, and the skinny, giggly girl who likes to mess with her hair all the time.” Said Livilla.
“That’s hot.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, “but isn’t he already married?” Livilla and Twila nodded ruefully. “Damn it! That’s only funny when we do it! It is funny when we do it, though.”
“Hell yeah, it is!” Livilla said.
“We are awesome.” Agreed Twila.
“Remember that one time we shared the stash freely and convinced the bald cross-dressing fellow and his redheaded friend to go have a snog in the conference room?” Livilla remembered.
“Yes! And their little sidekick with the squeaky voice found out about it.” The Evil Ferret Overlord laughed.
“Thank Myself she’s not the blabbermouth type! We should do it again, just for old time’s sake. With fresh victims.”
“Uh-oh. Evil Ferret Overlord, did you come down for a late-night crack?”
“No, but we really should, don’t you think? It’s been dull down here lately.”
Twila thought for a moment. “Oooh, we should. What about that timid-looking fellow who goes around in a police uniform, and that dancer he’s always hanging around with.”
“Definitely potential there.” Livilla nodded.
“It would amuse their mothers, if nothing else. I’ve heard rumors that it would, in any case.”
“Awww! Good for them. Cute lil cohorts. We will send them something shiny.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “When I return, we can dip into the stash and see if inspiration strikes. I have village minions to smite.”
“We heard.” Said Livilla. “Do you need something to make them suddenly and unexpectedly shiny?”
“Or deeply embarrassed, at the very least.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord “Hmm…whoopee cushions?”
Twila laughed “Ha! Those are classic. But I think we can do better. I also have some alligator clips and a whole lot of wire taking up space. Oh, and gardening shears.”
“Oooh, that will do nicely!” said the Evil Ferret Overlord. “If worse comes to worst, we can string them up by their toenails and give them ugly haircuts.” Livilla and Twila laughed.
“There’s a reason you’re the Evil Ferret Overlord.” Said Livilla.
“It’s true. There is. It’s because I asked nicely. Seriously, though, tonight we raid the stash.”
“Yes, we must. For the sake of the entertainment types.” Twila agreed.
“Precisely. If it’s in our tummies, it can’t hurt them. At least, not directly, anyway. I will make sure keeper adds refilling the stash to her list of errands tomorrow.” The Evil Ferret Overlord said, turning to the elevator and pressing the button to call it.
Twila called after her, “Have Keeper come too, and have him bring that London Porter we know he’s been stashing away.” The Evil Ferret Overlord saluted to her two weapons forgers and stepped into the elevator, which was now opened. Shiny new supplies never failed to brighten the mood of the Evil Ferret Overlord. When the elevator doors opened again, and the Evil Ferret Overlord strode across the hall to the main door of the castle. She could hear the voices of keeper and Chef Philippe on the other side. She knew perfectly well that one of them would open it for her, should the automatic ferret access panel fail to perform its proper function, but she decided to give it a good hard kick anyway, just to see if it would give way. To her amazement, it did, and she was able to push it the rest of the way open with her left shoulder. Keeper raised an eyebrow.
“Figured out the opposable thumbs, did you, Evil Ferret Overlord?” he asked.
“Nope. Kicked it. Now come, we have minions to smitey smite smite!”
“Just as well.” Mumbled keeper. “What do you expect from a ten foot tall ferret whose battle strategies are inspired by a children’s book.”
“What was that, Roy? I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing, EFO.”
“We can abbreviate now?” asked Philippe.
“No.” said the Evil Ferret Overlord, nipping the arm of her keeper, not as hard as she might, but with suitable force to show both her and Philippe that she meant business.
“Ow!” keeper yelped, “do that again, and the quadruped gets it.” She held up a very bewildered Alter Ego. The Evil Ferret Overlord gasped in horror and snatched her small counterpart away from the keeper with the hand that wasn’t holding the shears.
“Philippe, you’ll have to carry Alter in the pocket of your apron. I have to put this wire and shears in my satchel, and I don’t want her to hurt her little ferrety self.”
“Evil Ferret Overlord, you don’t have a satchel. Pointed out the keeper. “What you have is wires and alligator clips, and something sharp and pointy. I thought we agreed, no violent smiting.”
“Just a precaution. And I do so have a satchel. There’s a potato sack in the helicopter. To answer your next question, we are taking the helicopter. It’s faster and noisier than the chariot, and I want the village minions to know I mean business.”
“Yes, EFO.” The Evil Ferret Overlord hissed at her smart-alek keeper.
“Oh, Evil Ferret Overlord, I brought recipe cards. Thought mayhaps we could distractify the villagers with baking-up projects.” Offered Chef Philippe. He opened a sack of his own to show the Evil Ferret Overlord how the had tied little recipe cards to each bundle of delicious pastry. On one side, it had the instructions, and on the other it read: “Wants more? Go bake em your own self.” The Evil Ferret Overlord was proud.
“See, I told you we needed a personal chef.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord. They went around back to the helipad, where sure enough there was a potato sack on the floor of the helicopter. The Evil Ferret Overlord put her supplies inside of it and ensured that everyone was inside, and that Alter Ego was safely tucked in Chef Philippe’s wide apron pocket. They landed on top of the local schoolhouse, as it was the one building guaranteed to be closed that day. Also, it was one of the few with a helipad. They made their way down, and started going around to houses that were likely to contain clobberball fanatics. They were not difficult to spot. Most of them had erected flags in their front yard, bearing the crudely embroidered initials of their favorite large clobbery fellows.
The small party divided the bundles between them. They went up to each doorstep and knocked twice, and then deposited one of the bundles of delicious pastry at the front door, before dashing off to the next doorstep. When the last pastry was dropped off at the last doorstep, the small party made their way to Farmer Clancy’s farmhouse. Farmer Clancy and his wife were already bustling about, getting things accomplished. The business of accomplishing things came to a halt in the presence of their best customer.
“Welcome, Evil Ferret Overlord!” Farmer Clancy and his wife bowed. “You heard of our plight?”
“Yes! It’s an outrage! The steaks will suffer. Can’t you just build a high, pointy fence?”
“We want to, Evil Ferret Overlord, but they descend on the field like locusts at noon every day. It’s like they live to trample my grass!”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m the Evil Ferret Overlord.” Said the Evil ferret Overlord, proudly. “I had my chef here-take a bow, Philippe, make irresistibly delicious pastries to distract them while we work on making a suitably scary, spiky fence.”
Keeper was incredulous. “We? As in you too, or royal we?”
“Royal, of course.” The Evil Ferret Overlord said.
Farmer Clancy was incredulous too. “But Evil Ferret Overlord, they love pastry more than anything else in the world. They’ll scarf it down in a minute and be right here, all the heavier for trampling my grass again.” He lamented.
“I only give ‘em one apiece, and tell ‘em it’s super easy to make themselves.” Chef Philippe said proudly. “Then on the recipe card, I writes ‘Sodium Bicarb’ and ‘dihydrogen monoxide’ ‘stead of ‘bakin’ sodas’ and ‘water’ and told ‘em they has it at the grocery. I also might have drugged it a lil bit to help ‘em get addicted.”
Everyone cheered for Chef Philippe’s foresight.
Over at the super market, the scene was one of utter chaos as people rushed up and down the aisles, trying to figure out what in the world were the mysterious ingredients in these remarkable chocolate pastries that had been left at their doorsteps. Chef Philippe had wagered correctly that the sort of people who liked to watch grown men crash into each other and slap each others asses over a misshapen ball were not the sort of people who were much for basic chemistry, or reading the fine print. While they were engaged in the business of gathering ingredients, and things they thought were ingredients (like diet cola, in one hilariously wrong case), Farmer Clancy, his wife and the minions set to work, putting up tall posts and running barbed wire between them. Even Alter and the Evil Ferret Overlord pitched in a bit. Alter dug holes for the posts, and the Evil Ferret Overlord let Keeper stand on her shoulders to string the highest strands of barbed wire. When a suitably nasty looking barricade had been formed, the Evil Ferret Overlord made up a few signs that read “Absolutely no trampling, by order of the Evil Ferret Overlord. Violators will be Smitey smite SMITTEN!” and she stamped them with the royal seal (which happened to be Alter Ego’s paw print) and gave them to Philippe to hang up around the fence posts. Meanwhile, the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord, under the direction of Her Royal Ferretyness, went around, casually mentioning to people, that he had heard that the creator of the wonderful pastries was right at Farmer Clancy’s farmhouse. While all that was going on, Alter Ego and the Evil Ferret Overlord spent their brief naptime in one of farmer Clancy’s spare rooms, which had been conveniently ferret proofed for just such an occasion. Before long, a crowd had gathered at Farmer Clancy’s. When they saw the signs, and the barbed wire, and the astonishing lack of delicious pastries, they began to grow a bit irksome. The Royal Keeper slipped back into the house and carefully woke the Evil Ferret Overlord.
“The crowd outside is growing angry.” Said Keeper. “You’d better go placate them.”
“Tell them I’m napping.” Yawned the sleepy Evil Ferret Overlord.
“Philippe is baking more pastries as fast as he can, but we need to stall them. On your feet now.” Keeper prodded. It is, of course, nearly as impossible to hoist a ten foot tall, anthropomorphic ferret to its feet, as it is to encourage it to develop a conscience, but Keeper tried anyway. Due to the unfortunate nature of physics, he found it much more useful to use his words.
“Evil Ferret Overlord, what do villagers do when they become angry? They wield things. You know, torches, gardening implements, and the like?”
“So? I wield Moltov cocktails and a leather whip.”
“Yes, but they have sixty or seventy opposable thumbs to get their wielding done, and you’ve got only the two faulty ones.” The Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord thought for a moment. “Tell you what, I’ve got a ferret treat for any fur-bearing mammal who’ll go out and whip up some intimidation.” It sounded like a reasonable bargain to the Evil Ferret Overlord. Frightening villagers, followed by a light snack. She rose to her feet and bounded out the door, fastening her cape about her shoulders. She ducked and weaved through the massive herd of cows, poking a few of them just to make sure that the eerie, vacant expressions they wore weren’t because they were really robots, and Farmer Clancy had been feeding her corn meal in secret all these years. The Evil Ferret Overlord was strictly an urban creature, by habit, and uninitiated in the ways of the docile, intellectually lacking bovine. She quickened her pace to avoid the nearly brainless stares of her future dinners, and strode ever closer to her village minions. The minions’ facial expressions closely mimicked those of the cows, and had the Evil Ferret Overlord been in an observant mood, she might have noticed the remarkable similarities between the two herds, but she was preparing to Smite. She reached the fence and scanned the crowd up and down, looking a few of them in the eye, and cleared her throat. She took a deep breath and let out a “GRRRRRRAWR!” Which shook the ground and very nearly caused a stampede. The only reason a stampede did not occur, was that Farmer Clancy had bred his cows to have even shorter attention spans than those of standard cows. Since the dawn of time, men had bred cows to be large, delicious, and stupid, and Farmer Clancy felt it was his duty to further the advancements of his gender, by making the cows larger, tastier, and all the more stupid. Farmer Clancy was a great success, in that regard, but this is not a story about Farmer Clancy. Rather, it is about the Evil Ferret Overlord (and several of her closest friends), who had just got done letting out a very fearsome roar. The crowd of villagers grew silent, and the Royal Keeper of the Evil Ferret Overlord turned his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
“Ferrets don’t roar, EFO.”
“I’m an Overlord, Roy. I come with features.” Replied the keeper. “Now, what’s all the fuss about?”
The kitten-shirted woman from the evening before pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Only this time she had on a different sweatshirt, which depicted a childlike, smiling teddy bear. She peered up at the Evil Ferret Overlord through her thick, round-framed glasses.
“We have the right to our pastimes! However silly they may seem to you, they are important to us, and we demand you allow us to engage in them.”
“You realize this is private property?” Keeper asked.
“Yes, but we’ve only been using this small corner, and not bothering the cows, and Farmer Clancy never said anything about it before, so we thought we must be welcome.”
“That’s because Farmer Clancy doesn’t believe in high tech surveillance, and he can’t see you, with that little grove of trees that grows in front of the window there. He’s also getting on in years, and only just now figured out why his grass is so trampled.”
A swarthy fellow made his way up to join the woman. “What about the cows? They trample more of the grass than we ever have, and yet Farmer Clancy does nothing about them.” (It sounded more articulate than he felt. If there was a time machine handy, he would have to go back and remedy that, for the purposes of consistent characterization.)
“They become our dinners.” Said the Evil Ferret Overlord, “It’s probably punishment enough. Didn’t you people recently build a park nearby?”
“Yes, we did, for the children. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It has a bit of open space somewhere, doesn’t it?”
“There’s a field. We’ve been cultivating it for a garden.”
“Well, uncultivate it. It would serve your hobby purposes.”
“It’s a sport.”
“Whatever you say.” The Evil Ferret Overlord had to admit that this pointless arguing was an unusually effective stall, and that the villagers were being quite a lot more cooperative about it than usual. She suspected their brains were addled with hunger. It was nice when things worked out so conveniently.
The swarthy man grew whiny. The Evil Ferret Overlord noted the stubble and drool on his chin, and was immediately able to gauge his intellectual capacity. It was comparable to that of the cows. This was confirmed when he opened his mouth again.
“It was gonna be our tradition to play right here! Traditions are important”
“He’s right! Come on, Evil Ferret Overlord, doesn’t that sound at least a little sweet to you? Saturday nights, huddled together in Farmer Clancy’s field to watch our biggest, strongest men at work.”
“I’m a ten foot tall anthropomorphic ferret. I don’t do sweet. Saturday nights circling around the garden to point and laugh as the biggest strongest men make fools of themselves sounds adequate to me. If you absolutely must admire, I really don’t have the energy to argue. I’m a busy Overlord. All I ask is that the cows be protected until it’s time to eat them.” She looked over her shoulder at the cows milling about. “Quit looking at me like that. You know perfectly well I’m going to eat you.” She turned back to the villagers, “We have decreed that it is so, and Farmer Clancy’s grass must grow.” Just as the Evil Ferret Overlord finished speaking her unplanned little rhyme, Chef Philippe came running up, with a huge serving platter of delicious, chocolate filled pastries. He’d had the good sense to avoid the crowd on the other side of the fence, taking his chances by wandering through the quadrupedal crowd with something that smelled so wonderful. The cows were far less interested than the villagers were.