Posted by on May 13, 2001 at 06:36:52:
Dancer/Donar Extra Special Edition #11
Pretty presidential aid: Eeek! Democrats! Dancer, acting hemigod of thunder: Hold varlets! Thou hast no reason to be here. Verily I wilt smite you right, er, smitily for the nonce. Troll 1: Donar? Boy, you can never tell about some people huh? Troll 2: I blame modern society and the collapse of morals. And MTV. Troll 3: You said it, Rush. Then again, look at his half-sister-brother. These things run in families, you know. The President: Help ! Daddy! Herbert P. Garrick: Muties! I knew they’d make their move. Troll 1, confused: Muties? Where? Dancer: Behold, I smash the sacred baseball-bat-with-a-nail-in-it Mjalcolm to the ground and smite thee with, um, well, light showers from the east with the probability of sunny patches later and light to moderate breezes, apparently. Where’s the instruction book on this thing? Donar, being wheeled up in goat-pulled wheelchair cart: The weather ist a function of thy wrath, milady. Thou must thinkest dark, stormy thoughts. Dancer: Right. [Thinks:] Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens… Troll 1: Now I am confused. Troll 2: Not another gender-bender. Hit him with your clubs lads. Troll 1: No, I meant about the two hemigods, not about…aaaaagh! Troll 3: Now for Donar. And, uh, Donar. Troll 2: I’ll take the one without the goats. I don’t fancy yours much. Troll 4: Do I get any lines at all in this story? Pretty Presidential Aide: Eeeeeeeeeeekkkk!!!! Help me Donar! [faints in Dancer’s arms. Dancer drops her and gets on with job] Garrick: Don’t worry, Mr President. Out best mutant-tracking Sentinoids are on the job. [speaks into wrist radio] What do you mean you’re not tracking any muties? The President: Is it too late for another Florida recount? Dancer: Now art the time to send thee back from whence thou comest, er, cameth. Camingeth. Camefromest. Donar, helpfully: Camest. Dancer: Thanks, big guy. Yeah, what he said. Or else… Troll 2: What, you’ll breeze us to death? Troll 3: Or set your friend’s goats on us? *snicker* Donar: Diss not mine goats. Troll 4: Only I told my mom that I’d be getting a speaking part this time. Not like in the siege of Frothingragegard, where all I got to do was stand at the back holding a siege weapon. Dancer: Or I’ll have to speak with you. Troll 2: Come on then. Give it your best shot, hemigod. We’re ready for… er, diod you say speak with us? Dancer: Yes. Donar: But she meanteth that she wouldst reave they sorry backsides from here to Vanhalen so badly that not even thy mothers mightst recognise thee. Troll 4: Everybody laughed. My girlfriend said the siege weapon was me compensating. Dancer: no. I mean I’d want to know why these trolls are invading a Presidential garden party. Seems like a kind of odd thing to do, don’t you think? Don’t you want to know why, Donar? Donar: Nay. They art trolls. They art for smiting. Troll 2: Now that you mention it, it is kind of curious. I mean one moment we’re just chatting with Adora the Enthrallress, and the next… Donar: Adora. Suddenly thy rash attack doth begin to maketh some sense. The Enthrallress hath vowed revenge upon me for mine attraction to the mortal Troia. Garrick: The mutant Troia? The one the president wrote out a death warrant for earlier? Dancer: Ah. Excuse me Donar, may I borrow your goats for a moment? Hello Toothgritter and Toothgrumbler, but I’d like you to do a small favour for me [points at the President] Kill. Garrick: Help, help! Mutant goats are eating the President! The President, shifting shape back into Hoki, Donar’s evil sister-brother: Aagh! Get ‘em off me! They’re slobbering! Dancer: And one more thing… [grabs pretty presidential aide by hair and drags her to her feet, shaking her until she too regains her true form] Donar: Now I art also confused. Troll 4: So am I. I mean what is my motivation? How am I supposed to “be” a troll if I don’t have some background. Is it revenge? Ambition? Lust? I mean, I’d suggest a combination of environmental and racial factors combined with a keen political sensibility, but that might be hard to get across in just a few short scenes… Dancer: The plot’s simple, really. Hoki wanted to get at you by getting at Troia, so he impersonated the President and ordered Troia’s death. He sent Adora to get trolls to appear here knowing that Donar would investigate, and then Adora would charm you and keep you busy while troia got polished off by Garrick’s Sentinoids. By a strange coincidence though I was acting as hemigod of thunder instead and proved immune to the Enthrallress’ charms, thus leading to a situation where your goats chase off Hoki and I thump the Enthrallress [*THUMP*] like this. See? Donar: Ah. I see. [*doesn’t see*] I art feeling better already. Mightest I borrow Mjalcolm back for a moment, that I mayest enhance mine understanding more? Dancer: Sure. Here you are big guy. I think my goddesshood has pretty much worn off by now anyhow. Whew. Donar: Mine thanks. Now for mine contribution to understanding yon scenario. Ho, trolls! Eatest Mjalcolm! Troll 2: Aaagh! Troll 3: Urk! Troll 4: …going for a kind of sympathetic, tragic undertone whilst still having that hard edge that… Ack! Hoki: Er, gotta go. Plots to hatch on the other side of the universe. Bye! [*vanishes*] Donar: Now I understandeth. Things are considerably simpler when I hast a baseball bat with a nail in it. Garrick: Mutants impersonated the president! Again! Dancer: Hey, maybe you’re a mutant too? Let’s check! [*thump*] Oh, no. Quite human. Sorry about that, Mr Garrick. Um, would someone fetch a bucket of water and wake up Mr Garrick?
[The scene: a mild incursion of trolls from the netherhells of Underbuttheim has disrupted a Presidential garden party]