Note: You will note, upon reading, that the story is not quite in a ‘novel’ format but more of a play really. The idea is that with so many authors and many different idea running through our minds, it was just not possible to write it completely in a novel form. Actually we were just too lazy and wanted to get our ideas out<G>. I have edited it somewhat to make it easier to read and, believe it or not, coherent. Take all out of place instances as part of the story. The author of each part appears within brackets at the end of his segment.
CCC&S Story 1.5 – 1/3 The Story Began…
Disclaimer: Please note that not a single author of this collaboration claims originality, intuition or personal hygiene on many of the ideas written within this story. No money has been made and it was all in good fun. None of us take any comments within this story seriously.
Written by: Trauma, Tito, Vindicator and Dragon
Edited by: Dragon
The Vindicator sat alone in his room. On the TV, Captain Picard paced the bridge of the Enterprise. The Vindicator paced the room. This was all too easy. They had escaped the evil Dr. Naughty. They had taken back the book of time. They had escaped the mimes. They had escaped the bar fight. They had escaped. Something was wrong. What’s more, something wasn’t right. This was bad. The phone rang.
“Vind!” It was Trauma.
“I’ve been looking over the book of time. It’s the wrong book.”
“Eh? Whaddya mean, wrong book?”
“Just that! Dr. Naughty musta switched books on us!”
“Shit. What now?”
“We’ve gotta get the book back. You in?”
[writer - The Vindicator - It begins...]
The Vindicator was on the lamb. In his rearview he saw the strobing blue and red cherries of a police cruiser. His license was suspended and this was the first time he got in his car. How did they know? Vindicator thought to himself. Its like they were waiting for him, and in fact… they were. ”Those bastards.” Vindicator cursed, and then floored the pedel of his Hyundai Pony(Stallion). As the car’s rpm’s screamed, Vindicator laughed and then once again looked into the rearview. The cruisers were still with him driving at a most leisurely pace.
There! On the corner! It was his only chance! Swerving the car across the on-coming lanes, Vindicator crashed over the curb and drove through the parking lot of Tim Horton’s and then back onto the street. Once again he looked into his rearview. The cops had the place completely surrounded, and they were gonna be damned if any fellon would thwart them from aquiring at least one chocolate eclair.
Smiling at his own brilliance, Vindicator arrived at Trauma’s place. Hefting his gymbag he started up the driveway. The garage doors started opening and he stood back. The sound of an engine erupted from inside. And then the thundering rumble of revving Hemi rocked the very ground. ”Skiddaly wa wa.” was all Vindicator could say.
Wearing his 3/4 length leather jacket and his gold Elvis Presly glasses, Trauma pulled out of the garage in the 1967 Cadillac Eldorado convertable. Hot Pink! With whale skin hubcaps and all leather cow interior, with big brown baby seal eyes for headlights!
“You kept it!” Vindicator shouted in glee.
“So… are we ready?” Trauma asked.
“One second…” reaching into his gymbag he pulled out his 14+ foot multi-colored scarf and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“Now… I’m ready.” Jumping in they headed off in search of Tito and Dragon.
[Wirter - TRAUMA - Ohhhh yeahhhhh!]
The engine of the Cahone-mobile roared like a wild beast as Trauma stepped on the gas. Within just a couple of minutes they were at Tito’s place.
“Go ring the bell, Vind.”
“Hell no! Last time I did that I got a louisville to the back of the knees! You do it!”
“Fine! I’ll do it”, grumbled Trauma as he stepped out of the car.
Ding-Dong (The witch is dead)
“I told you sissy-mary girl scouts not to come back! Oh, it’s you. Sorry about that. What’s up?”
“What about it?”
“Dr. Naughty pulled the old switcheroo on us.”
“We have to go get it.”
“Just go along with the damn story!”
“Ok. Just lemme get a few things.”
Tito dissappeared into the reccesses of the house and emerged a few moments later with a louisville and some pepper spray.
20 minutes later they arrived at Dragon’s place (5 minutes before the cops that were chasing them caught up). They went up to his apartment and banged on the door.
Dragon’s brother Dalamar answered the door wearing one-piece pijama’s with bunny feet. ”Hey guys! What’s up?”
Trauma: “We need to see your brother.”
Dalamar: “What’s going on?”
The Vindicator: “Just go get him. The fate of the world hangs in the balance!”
A moment later Dragon came to the door.
Trauma: “Dr. Naughty still has the book.”
Dragon: “Didn’t we take it from him?”
Trauma: “He switched books on us.”
Tito: “Apparently we have to get it back, for some reason or other…”
Dragon: “Gimme 2 minutes.”
2 minutes later, Dragon returned carrying a chicken under his arm.
Chicken: “Bok Bok B’ka!”
Dragon: “Hush, Penelope.”
They rushed to the cahone-mobile and drove away in a mad flurry of elderly pedestrians. A minute later the cops showed up and arrested Dalamar for no readily apparent reason.
[writer - The Vindicator - Ya never really lose it, do ya?]
Tito stretched out in the familiar luxurious interior of the cahone- mobile, his thoughts racing to the adventure they were about to enter into. He was oblivious to his surroundings as every fibre of his concentration applied itself to acquiring the true book and bypassing the almost certainly suicidal peril they were going to risk. Sensing this higher plane of consciousness that Tito had reached, Dragon rained several blows on Tito’s back with the Louisville to demonstrate Tito’s invulnerability to physical pain in this state.
Tito: (body shuddering under the first whack) Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing! I think you broke my spine! Auugghh! I’m dying! I can’t feel my legs! You idiot!
(make that partial invulnerability)
Trauma drove the car decisively as if he knew what his destination was. Vindicator sat in the passenger side with a vacant look of determination (if that’s possible) and said nothing. Dragon tried to change the subject away from his recent assault on Tito’s back,” uh, so where are we going?”
Tito: (still rubbing his back) Well I thought we were going to the women’s shelter but then Trauma should’ve made that last turn. As long he thinks he’s going the right way, we’re okay, but NO SHORTCUTS!
Tito looked for the slot on the car stereo to insert the 8-track of Polka Time Hits when he remembered having removed it in a previous story,” hey, Trauma, the car’s okay, but get the stereo fixed.”
Trauma didn’t respond. He was at one with the cahone-mobile. It was an extension of his body. He reached down to the ashtray which he had modified to be the holder for his mickey of Jack Daniels. Pressing a button on the dashboard, the well-oiled tray sprang out and dropped the bottle right in his hand whereupon he took a couple of generous swigs. He needed it to fortify himself against the thought of what was to come. He scanned the streets for a sign saying simply “no outlet”. He knew in his limited way that down the street that that sign stood in front of, the very laws of physics, time and space would cease to apply consistently in what was known as “the Gaithersberg Effect”.
The cahone-mobile sped on to it’s appoitnment with destiny…
[writer - Marshal Tito ]
Blurred images could be seen out the sides of the cahonemobile as they sped by. The view behind them was totally obscured by the immense cloud of exhaust which was eminating from the car. Well… It could have been eminating from Tito, but it was most likely coming from the car.
Trauma: “That’s it. Up ahead.”
The sign was about 200 yards away, but it was large enough that the words “No Outlet” could be seen. Trauma eased off of the accelerator and turned sharply into the offramp, causing a busload of nuns to go flying into a tanker truck which was carrying 25,000 gallons of liquid nitrogen.
Trauma drove the cahonemobile up the offramp. The group was immediately and savagely attacked by an orgy of technicolour. Bright blues whizzed by, followed by vibrant reds. All the colours of the StainMaster carpet rainbow could be seen. Planets streaked by them at incredible speed. They felt as if their heads would explode. They’re knuckles turned white as they tightened their death-grips on whatever happened to be available. Dragon had, unfortunately, grabbed himself and would regret it for much of his remaining years.
The car drove through the eye of a needle. Then it drove through the nucleus of an atom. Then it began to nosedive towards the sun. Just before the car burned up, they stopped.
[writer - The Vindicator: "Where are we?"
Trauma: "I was kinda hoping you'd know..."
Dragon: "OH GOD THAT HURTS!"
Tito: "Holy Chivalry! This looks like Camelot!"
[writer - The Vindicator]
Sure enough, the Trio looked out of the windows and saw an almost fairytale like landscape stretching before them with a large castle with several white towers resting on a hill across from the valley which the Cahonemobile was overlooking.
“Now what?” asked Tito.
“Well let’s check it out,” suggested Vindicator,” there is probably some hidden purpose for us arriving here that will aid us in our quest.”
“Camelot, you say?” said Dragon,” then that means we might be able to get some help from Merlin the Magician. I’ll bet that’s why we arrived here.”
“Camelot, you say?” said Trauma,” then that means I might be able to score with that Guinevere chick. I hear she sleeps around. I’ll bet that’s why we arrived here.”
Tito scanned the valley below for any signs of activity and pointed, “Hey, there’s a village down there. I say we go down and see if medieval- wenching is all it’s cracked up to be.”
The rest of the Trio agreed and they made their way down to the village that was only about a kilometer or two away after hiding the Cahonemobile under some local brush and vines.
Tito, dressed in his usual cool clothing including a shiny shirt, black dress pants, several gold chains and a pair of slick Italian shoes made his way carefully down the sloped embankment of the valley edge, using his beloved Louisville as a walking stick.
Trauma, dressed in his 3/4 length leather coat and heavy army boots polished to a perfect shine employed a newly fashioned weapon that he had built before this trip. He had glued several razor blades strategically on the edges of a normal toaster and was now swinging it back and forth by the power cord, clearing away the ground vegetation in much the same way as a machete. Unfortunately, he was not aware that this rough treatment was breaking most of the blades off the toaster which would reduce it’s effectiveness as a weapon in the near future.
Dragon was having a hard time keeping his feet on the muddy ground downhill but Penelope was managing with no apparent difficulty.
Vindicator, with his several meters of scarf, was made to guard the rear so that not only would the rest of the party avoid the hazard of tripping over his scarf but it was hoped that anyone sneaking up on them from behind would be similarly thwarted by this incidental rear defence.
At long last, the party rounded the last copse of trees and the village came into view in the distance about a hundred meters away.
[writer - Marshall Tito]
Within minutes they had reached a small bridge that crossed the river which separated the village from the woods. Tito, hearing a muffled groan, turned to look back and saw several would-be bandits lying face-down in the dirt, presumably as a result of The Vindicator’s ridiculously long scarf.
They began to cross the bridge when suddenly a short, emaciated little man jumped out and cried: “Before ye may cross this bridge ye see, thou must answer my questions three!”
Trauma said “Oh hell”, picked up the old man, and chucked him into the river. They crossed the bridge and entered the city.
They strolled down the main street. Actually, it was the only street, but the citizens were kind of sensitive about that. Up ahead, on the right, they saw a sign which read “Ye Olde Women’s Shelter.”
Tito: “Oooh, let’s check that out!”
Dragon: “Later. We have business to attend to.”
The Vindicator: “Hey! Look at that.”
Across the road was another sign: “Ye Olde Chicken’s Shelter.”
Dragon: “Oooh, let’s check that out!”
Dragon stumbled forward as Trauma cuffed him in the back of the head.
They marched on…
[writer - The Vindicator]
They walked further down the street and soon saw a donkey pulling a cart that was heavily laden with bodies. Leading the cart was a man who rhythmically beat a rusty can with a stick while repeating,”…bring out your dead <clang> bring out your dead.”
As the Trio approached a man who was nearby carrying a load of kindling wood on his back suddenly collapsed to the ground. The cart stopped nearby him and the man leaned over to pick the man up.
Tito: Well, that’s the most fake looking compensation accident I’ve ever seen. Even Goliath is more convincing.
Man with cart: (examining body) …but, but he’s dead.
Trauma: What a wimp. (Shouting at body) Be a man! Walk it off!
Man with cart: it’s the plague. Already a third of the kingdom has succumbed to it.
Tito: did you say “plague”?
Man with cart: yes I did.
Tito: Luxury! When I was little, we only had the privilege of being afflicted with plague on holidays – and then only if we were good. To think how soft you people must be when you have such an abundance of that blissful euphoria of semi-consciousness and wracking pain to while away the hours and you don’t even appreciate it.
Trauma: Plague on holidays, eh? I used to dream of catching the plague on the holidays like you rich kids but no, we had to amuse ouselves by repeatedly hitting ourselves in the head with hammers and deriving pleasure out of our massive hemmorhages that resulted. None of that fancy plague stuff for us – we weren’t spoiled like you were.
Man with cart: Good Lord, you two must be very powerful men!
Dragon: (not to be outdone) Yeah, well that’s nothing, once in winter, I got my lips stuck on my neighbours railing, and my neighbour, who was possessed by an evil fire-demon ripped me loose by snapping my head back while chuckling diabolically.
Vindicator: well as much as I’d like to stand here and reminisce about the good old days, we DO have a mission to accomplish.
And with that they turned to continue up the street.
[writer -Tito ]
The Trio marched down the muddy main street as they followed the sounds of a crowd shouting. The bald man with robes stained with human waste, hurried his body-ladden, mule drawn cart behind the Trio.
Man with cart: Me Lords! I am a humble and dedicated servant. I would ask of thee a favour.
Vindicator: Sorry… I already gave.
Man with cart: Nay… you misunderstand. I would like to offer you my services as servant. I do not ask for wages. Only that I may do your every biddings.
Tito: Well… okay. But make sure you walk well behind us. You stench and outword appearence repulses me.
Smiling idiotically, the man danced about and talked with his donkey. Trauma and Tito led the way. Their path down that particular stretch of road was blocked by a pair of elderly folk. The old man was straining to push the makeshift wheelchair that his brittle old wife was sitting in through the muck. Now, Trauma and Tito could have easily steered themselves around the obstacle, but of course they choose not to.
Looking up with hope, the old man smiled weakly at the two. But his hope was quickly shattered.
Trauma: Hey old man. Why is your old hag sprawled out in the mud like that?
Looking about to see what they were talking about, he seen nothing of the sort. Utterly baffled by this untrue statement, the old man walked right into it.
Old Man: W-What? She is sitting in her chair.
Tito: (smiling and nodding to Trauma) Oh yeah?
With that Trauma shoved the old man backwards onto his back and Tito kicked over the wheelchair. The old hag shrieked as he was dumped into the mud. Chortling evily, they continued on their way. Vindicator shook his head. Dragon squeezed Penelope alittle tighter as a chill racked his body, and whispered into Penelope’s ear.
Dragon: (whispering) Hold me Penelope.
The man with the cart stared in utter shock.
Man with cart: Powerful men indeed! They even predicted the poor women’s decent into filth! Truely men of magic!
Trauma: There’s a sucker born ever minute, eh?
Tito: Yep. That was far to easy. These peasents are far stupider than I gave them credit for.
Trauma: Sure is gonna be fun.
And off they went…
[writer - TRAUMA - Asshole. ]
They continued down the path; their new toady bringing up the rear. Luckily, the wind was coming from the north, which was the direction in which they were heading, so they were spared the stench of the carrion wagon.
The Vindicator: “What’s your name, peasant?”
Nameless peasant: “Baldric, M’lord.”
The Vindicator: “Figures.”
The Vindicator: “Nevermind…”
Dragon: “So… Does anyone know where we’re going?”
Trauma: “To that castle over there.”
Tito: “Cool. Maybe we can find us some serving wenches!”
They wound their way down the twisting path to the castle. Just as the sun reached its three O’clock position they reached the courtyard. Several men were tugging on a sword which seemed to be embedded in a rather large anvil.
[writer - The Vindicator - Gee. I wonder where this is going... ]
The first burly man pulled as hard as he could on the sword. But it did not budge. Try after try. Man after man. Each time the same result. The sword will not be moved.
Vindicator: “Hey Trauma, why don’t you give it a try.”
Nodding approvingly, Trauma decided that he would give it a try. Stepping aside they allowed the time-travelling hooligan to have a go at it. He flexed his mighty arms and made his pectorials dance under his leather coat. He gripped the hilt of the shimmering sword (as he had done countless times under the warm snuggly confines of his own blankets.)
And finally… he bent the blade.
The crowd gasped in terror!
Mob: “He bent Excalibur!” “The bleedin’ fool ruined the bleedin’ sword!”
As the angry crowd drew in closer towards Trauma, he looked back at them and shrugged innocently, as if he had no idea what was going on.
Mob: “You destroyed us all! You broke Excalibur!”
Trauma: “Oh yeah? Prove it.” He crossed his arms over his chest in defiance.
In a single motion they all pointed at the wobbling sword protruding horizontally from the anvil.
Trauma: “Thats nothing.” he said reassuringly, and the mob murmered uneasily amoungs themselves. “All I gotta do is grab the sword like this… and bend it back the opposite way… SNAP!!…. ahhh… hehehe.”
Mob: “Argh! Kill ‘im! Kill ‘im!”
Trauma started running for his life. Up the hill, several hundred yards ahead of him was Baldric’s cart jogging wildly over the rocky road. It was slinging corpses left and right. Preceeding the mule drawn cart was Tito, Vindicator and Dragon, who upon early notice of the rising hatred of the mob, decided to make good their escape and put some distance between them and the peasents.
Still clutching half the sword, Trauma made haste behind his “pals”. Looking down at the sword he frowned.
Trauma: “Damn. I didn’t want this. I wanted that anvil. It sure would have made a great wallnut cracker.”
Tito: ” `Hey Trauma, why don;t you go and give it a try.’ Way to go shit-for-brains.”
Vindicator: “How was I supposed to know he would break the fucking thing?”
Vindicator: “Right. Where was my head?”
Dragon: “Hey guys… Penelope has to use the little hen’s room.”
They fled into the woods as the farm-implement wielding peasents followed close on Trauma’s heels.
Trauma: “Hey! Wait up!”
[writer - TRAUMA - And off we go... ]
The various bodies which seemed to be in endless supply in Bladric’s wagon had successfully knocked about half of the chasing peasants to the ground. The remainder, being gruff and burly and much better acquainted with the terrain, were quickly gaining on our heroes.
Eventually Trauma caught up to his cohorts, who immediately made several attempts to smack him in the back of the head (not an easy thing to do while running at full tilt).
The Vindicator: “You had to go and break the damn thing, didn’t you!”
Trauma: “Can I help it if I have the strength of 10 men?”
The Vindicator: “Oh, shut up!”
Tito: “Look! Up ahead! A river! (puff, puff)”
Dragon: “Err… Chickens can’t swim.”
The Vindicator: “Everyone jump into the wagon and pray it floats!”
They all grabbed tightly to the edges of the wagon and fought to keep from being thrown into the turbulent waters.
The Vindicator: “Interesting smell in here.”
Trauma: “I love the smell of carrion in the morning.”
[writer - The Vindicator - Passing the buck. ]
Screaming like savages as the Trio escaped down river, the peasents had half hearted attempts at pursuing them, for they realives the futility. However, Baldric looked back and screamed.
They all turned around. Apparantly some of the overzealous peasents, upset at witnessing their Excalibur ruined, and the villians escaping, they lashed out in heated anger at the nearest target. Baldric’s mule. Bashing it repeatedly about the head, neck and back, the frenzy grew to such a pitch that the pack animal was bloodily bludgened to death.
Cheering in victory, they thrust their arms into the air. Several peasents kicked the animal in the ribs for good measure. They seemed to have forgotten about the fleeing time-bandits, as they gathered their wounded and returned to their mundane existance.
Tito nodded grimly. Baldric began to blubber. Vindicator picked at some crust on his cheek, and Dragon hugged Penelope in the aftermath of the brutal violence.
In the years that followed, the peasents would recite the tale of how a villanous band of sorcerous brigands fell from the sky, slaughtered the brave knights that fought for Excalibur, and then snapped the blade itself with but a mere glance from a mile away. And then as they fled to the waters edge, cast forth undead legions from the ground to thwart the villagers. And finally how the sorcerous brigands used the last of their magic to transform themselves into a vicious demon-spawned beast so terrifying, that they still use its discription to scare little children. Alas… the sword was never recovered.
(Not of the adventure, just the peasents tale.)
… The wagon floated down river for several hours.
[writer - TRAUMA - Its all true I tell you! ]
After several hours of lazily drifting down the river, it suddenly occurred to the Trio that the Cahonemobile was back several kilometers upstream hidden in the bushes and that their only plausible way of ever escaping the wierd world of Camelot was to get back to it. For a solid 3 hours Baldric continued to bawl over the loss of his mule. By now he merely buried his face in some leftover carrion at the bottom of the cart and let out the occasional whimper. An idea came to Tito and he looked at Dragon and motioned to Baldric.
Dragon leaned over and tried to console the distraught Baldric,”don’t take it so hard, I’m sure your mule is now in heaven where no one but god will ever kick it in the ribs again.”
Baldric looked up, slightly consoled,”y-you really think so?”
Dragon: Sure, anyone could tell how much you loved that mule, I can see that you are a man that has a way with animals. Here you can pet Penelope here, she loves having her feathers smoothed.
Baldric pet Dragon’s chicken a few times and his face lit up. Dragon suddenly jealously snatched Penelope back and said,”Ok, that’s enough!”
Still, this act of semi-kindness had had its effect and now Baldric was the willing rube of the Trio.
Baldric: Gee, you guys are cool, if there’s anything I can do for you just name it.
Tito was waiting for just this and he said,”…welllll, I was just wondering,” as he twisted the leftover mule’s straps and bridle in his hands,”what size of harness do you wear?”
Ten minutes later, the cart was back on land and was being pulled by Baldric back towards the general direction of the Cadillac. Unfortunately, it was a distance of over 30 kilometers and all uphill.
Trauma held the reins in one hand and deftly drank from his mickey of J.D. from the other,”Faster, dammit! Faster! I want to feel the wind in my hair.”
Vindicator: Aw, Trauma, when can I drive?
Trauma: shut up, can’t you see I’m the designated driver (waving his mickey). Just be glad we promoted you up from pony-boy.
Tito also helped in the drive. He had weaved himself a bullwhip from the boots of several of the corpses who had been in the cart and was liberally applying it to Baldrics back as a means of gentle persuasion to maintain his pace. As for the corpses that had remained, none were visible now but let’s just say that the Trio made a few bucks in the market place of the next town by selling a suspicious amount of what they called “jerky-surprise”.
[writer - ...Tito Suave!!! ]
The trio stopped in the next village to water Baldric, and to find an inn. Tito insisted on a seedy inn where he could make sure there was a little more than a mint in his bed, and the rest agreed enthusiastically.
When they entered the common room of the inn there was a feeling of home. The decor was “12th century outhouse” and the owner even seemed to have chosen an appropriate air-freshener.
There were several other people in the room. Three ruffians were at a table playing some kind of dice game. At the bar was the innkeeper and a single ugly looking man with a revolting scar on his cheek that looked he could pick his scab and use it for sandpaper. The man appeared to be openly eyeing the voluptuous barmaid.
Trauma: So how much for a room?
Tito: A little more than we have, the jerkey didn’t earn us much.
Trauma: If I have to sleep in that cart again, its gonna have a fresh layer of bodies on it in the morning.
Tito: Don’t sweat it, I can get us the cash.
Trauma: Who you gonna mug?
Tito: No mugging, I have a cunning plan…
Tito approached the bar despite Trauma’s groan. He sat next to the ugly little man at the bar. His mind calm and calculating (or more so than usual, which isn’t saying that much)he proceeded with stage one: get a few glasses of confidence in himself. He hailed the bartender
Tito: Hey Barkeep!
Barkeep: Keep ye shirt on!
Tito: I only take my shirt off when I’m about to beat the piss out of mouthy bartenders.
Barkeep: Oh… Well what’ll it be lad?
Tito: Something gut-rotting.
The bartender hurried off to get Tito some sulphuric acid.
Uglyguy: Hello there, lad! It don’t look asif youse from around here! You be dressed like a court jester, you be!
Tito: (fighting off the urge to reopen the unattractive scar on the Uglyguy’s head) No, not a jester. I am an Alchemist! I come from foreign lands, where reality altering substances are plentiful. I could not help noticing your attentions toward that lady…
Uglyguy: Aye, she be a beauty, alright! Her name do be Penelope! (Dragon’s indignant gasp is cut off by Trauma. But Penelope’s “Buk B’ka” is not silenced)
Tito: I have in my possession a love potion, that if she drinks it you can have her for sure!
Uglyguy: Ah, you be quite the young Devil…
Tito:(starts indignantly)who told you… oh I mean yes, yes. So are you interested?
Uglyguy: All she needs do is drink it?
Tito: You can get her to do that just by offering to go away if she does…
Uglyguy: You have a deal milad!
Tito approaches the group satisfied at his cunning and his wallet a bit thicker.
Trauma: Where did you learn that scam?
Tito: Can’t I have an original idea?
Trauma and Vindicator exchange doubtful looks.
Dragon: Where did you get the bottle?
Tito: Easy, I stole Trauma’s Jack Daniels…
It was Tito’s shifty and suspicious nature that warned him Trauma’s blow was coming.
To Be Continued
[writer - That Damned Inclusive Pimpernel ]