From: trumpins@alexia.lis.uiuc.edu (Barbara Trumpinski)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: narnia and other chronicals--part 4
Date: 11 Apr 92 22:12:57 GMT
Article-I.D.: ux1.1992Apr11.221257.23860
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana


Sigh ... nope!  We are not finished yet ...

~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~--~~

Galdrin espies Lady Randweth approaching, accompanied by her 
closest confidant, Mellie, both whispering and giggling to one another.

 "This could be dangerous. It does not bode well for someone when those
two put their heads together!" he thinks to himself.

 Galdrin rises from the carpet and welcomes these two lovely visions with
warm embraces and joyous good mornings. Lady Randweth, hands on hips, turns
to survey the empty carpet.

 "And I see that M'Lord has not even seen fit to provide us with even
a *hint* of a meal to break our fast this morning. Slug-a-beds are
required to make certain amends for being allowed to rest undisturbed."
says the -Sprite, a wicked gleam in her eye.

 With a sigh of resignation, Galdrin takes each woman by hand and escorts 
her to a place amidst the pillows on the carpet then kneels beside the
basket. From it, he begins to remove a wide variety of treasures to jolt
and delight the palate. Goblets of Texas Ruby-Red grapefruit juice, a pot
of lemon and spice tea, a pot of Amaretto coffee. A platter containing
fresh cherries, orange slices, apples, blueberries, wild strawberries,
kiwi fruit slices, raspberries, blackberries, pomegranates, and passion
fruit. A bowl of sweet cream for the berries.  A plate containing 6 oz.
breakfast steaks. A bowl of hash browned potatoes with onions and bacon
pieces. A basket of warm biscuits and the required bowl of white cream
gravy. A plate with sausage links and patties. Another basket of hot
croissants (ARRGGGHHH) in deference to the ladies' French-Canadian tastes. 
A bowl of freshly churned butter. A plate of steaming flour tortillas
and their accompanying jar of picante sauce in deferrence to *his*
South Texas tastes. A plate of Canadian bacon. A wooden board with a
block of Wisconsin smoked cheddar cheese. And a large pot of steaming
hot chocolate along with a bag of marshmallows. The -Sprite drums her
fingers on her chin and glares at Galdrin.

 "And??!!!" she says impatiently.

  Galdrin reaches once more into the basket to pull forth an extra
large platter containing French (ARRGGHHH) twists, glazed donuts,
chocolate dipped cake donuts, cinnamon rolls, plain cake donuts,
white powdered sugar donuts, white iced donuts with multi-coloured
sprinkles, and a small mountain of white chocolate dipped donut holes.

 "Wonderous, but there's way too much for three!" says Mellie.

 "Well, there are others around who, mayhap, would care to drop by
and sample some of this." Galdrin replies.

 Their breakfast passes, marked by interludes of gaiety and silliness,
sending blueberry missiles flying, Kiwi-fruit eyes, orange slice grins,
Galdrin's butter-filled mustache. Much laughter and joking. Finally,
the -Sprite looks at her two companions.

"You remember what day it is *today*, do you not, My Lord?"  she
queries ... 

When his Lordship looks a little doubtful, she cries:  "It's Danger 
Mouse's Birthday!  I'm for drowning the poor, busy mousling in 
heaps and heaps of good wishes."

 "Well then, let us go seek out the rascal and see what fun we
can have at his expense. You know, he's been far too busy of
late, what with book reviews, and other things." Galdrin says
with a grin.

 Lady Randweth bounces up (there sure is a powerful amount of bouncing
going on at this party! ... .ed), in her typically spritely fashion, 
while Galdrin gallantly extends a hand to Mellie. As they survey the
meadow they spot the object of their interest being drowned in a
rain of confetti by a tree full of monkeys. The -Sprite eyes these
antics happily and walks over next to Lord Galdrin, a warm glow in her
eyes. The two wrap an arm around each others waist, holding their
partner close, and Galdrin reaches for Mellie's hand as they head for
the birthday rainfall across the meadow.

Upon arrival at the Wattle tree, having had to push through a rather
deeply ranged group of well-wishers, the trio reach the Birthday
Mouse ... 

Then, from within his shirt, Galdrin pulls a small bone-whistle and 
blowing a simple tune, conjures a silvery mist encicling the lower 
boughs of the nearby wattle tree. From this mist, an Abyssinian cat 
of moderate size jumps to the ground and pads quietly over to Danger 
Mouse.

 "A very Happy Birthday, Hazardous Squeaker! My name is Fritti
  Tailchaser and when Lord Galdrin mentioned that the most impressive
  squeaker I would ever wish meet would be here, I could not resist
  the opportunity to make your acquaintance. My! You are a *BIG* one,
  too, aren't you! I've been many places and seen many things, and I
  understand you, yourself, are one of the most well travelled and
  educated squeaker's in all the world. Perhaps after you ... free
  yourself from the ... attentions of these others, the two of us
  could trade a tale or two of our adventures? I promise not to try
  to eat you, but you will have to forgive me if I take a swat or two
  at you with my paws. I am, after all, a cat and you are, though very
  large, a squeaker. What say you?"

  Leaving Danger Mouse in the capable hands of the remainder of the well
wishers of the meadow, the trio return to their carpet by the stream,
Galdrin's arm still encircling the -Sprite's waist, just as hers hugs
him closer, too. Reaching their haven, Lord Galdrin assists the two
women to their seats and then pours a cup of tea for each as well as a
mug of the coffee for himself. They continue to watch the antics of the 
other patrons as Danger Mouse squirms from all the attention.

 "He seems to be a might uncomfortable, doesn't he?" observes Galdrin.

 "Well, he has been overly busy and, with some, he is a little shy.
 He's really a very fine and funny fellow, once he gets to
 know you. He looks a happy mouskins today, though!" the -Sprite replies.

 A slight breeze carries its coolness and the scent of wildflowers to them.
Galdrin absently reaches out to squeeze Randweth's hand and his Lady looks
warmly into his grey-blue eyes, leans close, and places a gentle kiss upon
his cheek.

----<--<*                                                     @>-->----

And now,

Soprano steps through the french doors into the meadow, carrying her
basket.  Looking around, she finds a patch of grass beneath a clump of white
birches -- "ah, perfect!"  Setting the basket down and opening it, she brings
out an old patchwork quilt which she spreads out on the grass.  Next to
appear are the blue willow Wedgewood plates, old silver cutlery and crystal
glasses -- followed by honey-baked ham, potato salad, wafer-thin-sliced
Swiss cheese, whole-wheat rolls, dill pickles, and sparkling apple cider.

Filling a glass with the cider, she stands and walks over to Danger Mouse.
"Danger Mouse, may this be only one of a *long* series of increasingly happy
birthdays!"  And as she raises her glass, the air around her shimmers -- and
she is suddenly surrounded by nine other singers, all of whom join her in a
rousing "Happy Birthday" in improvised 10-part harmony.

During a small break in the excitement, Albert comes over from
his picnic basket to wish DM a very happy birthday.  "Happy 24th
Birthday, DM!  Almost a quarter-century, as a friend pointed
out when I turned 24. :-)  May the next quarter-century be even
better!"

Caithelin spies those around Danger Mouse and shakes her head.  
She almost forgot!  Ooops!  She looks at her work, looks at DM and
shrugs and runs out to the party after digging through a nearby bag
for a slightly smaller bag.

She wends her way through the crowd until she gets to him.  Tapping him on
the shoulder she gets his attention.  "Happy Birthday DM!  I hope you
understand if I don't stay long.  But here."  She holds out the bag to him.
He looks quizzical and opens it cautiously.  His whiskers start to twitch as
he sees and smells what's inside.  It's filled with homemade caramels and
nut toffee.  When he looks up to say something she's disappeared again, back
inside at her desk working away.  

********


Castellan has been very careful to be ON TIME for once...in honor of
the party.

Castellan watches as DM is presented with all sorts of bizarre things by 
the assembled picnickers, and quietly wanders off to a far corner of the
meadow, checking the sky and glancing at his watch.  Presently, a soft
whirring sound is heard from above.  A small flying saucer descends
next to him, and an odd-looking old man emerges from the hatch.  "Right on 
time, sir," says Castellan, "have you got the stuff?"  "'Ooo, oi tink oi've 
got jest wot ye're looking for..." replies the old man, handing him a
paper bag.  Castellan glances inside, chuckles softly to himself, and hands
the old man a stack of bills.  They shake hands, and the old man ducks back
inside his craft and sends it whirring into the sky as Castellan strolls
back across the meadow with an evil grin on his face and bicycle clips on
his pants cuffs.

Reaching the party, Castellan stops to scarf some tortellini before ambling
over to the birthday mouse, holding the bag behind his back.  "Happy Birthday,
DM.  I had to search a bit to find a present for you, but I thought you might
appreciate this..." and reaches into the bag and hands DM what appears to be 
a small yellow ball of fuzz with a huge happy smile on its face.  "A Tickle-
ohippus... oh, you *bastard*!!!" yells DM, dropping the fuzzball, which splits 
into two more as it bounces, and those also split as they bounce, and they 
proceed to reproduce exponentially for a while before happily running up DM's 
trousers.  DM collapses on the ground giggling uncontrollably, and chokes out 
"Start...ehhehhehhee...singing...heeheeheehee...dammit!"

~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**




--
***************************************************************************
conan the librarian a.k.a. kitten           /\ /\  barbara ann 
"my life's a soap opera, isn't yours?"      {=.=}
                                              ~   trumpins@alexia.lis.uiuc.edu 

"kittens today are not properly trained--the way that they were when
victoria reigned." asparagus (gus: the theatre cat)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans