From: trumpins@alexia.lis.uiuc.edu (Barbara Trumpinski)
Subject: narnia and other chronicals--part 6
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana
Date: Sun, 12 Apr 1992 00:50:11 GMT



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	Snark and a surprisingly friendly boojum come running up!  The
boojum is Kateri in disguise...they carry an extra-large teapot that
smells like peppermint tea.  Out of the top pops the doormouse, who sings a
birthday song to Danger Mouse...surely a distant cousin!

	Kings and queens and bishops too,
	Want to wish the best to you,
	So wish-day, wash-day, what-do-you-say, birthday,
	Happy birthday to you!


The boojum gives Danger Mouse a hug and his eyes cross [this COULD
happen...kateri, kitten has a picture of you and t.c. and HIS eyes are 
crossed!]

following close on the heels of the boojum and snark:

	The Sea Wasp materializes from the air, along with his faithful
aide Fritz (A Terminator, Mk XX, [T-2020], modified]). "Have a very 
hoppy, hoppy birthday!" 
	Suddenly, from behind the Wasp, dozens of Toads appear, big golden
pop-eyes wide, some a few inches long, others over four feet long and 
weighing in at over 150 pounds, each trailing a taut cord or rope. "Hello!
HELLO! Hi! Hello!"*bounce bounce bounce*
	Struggling, kicking, cursing, the object to which all the ropes
are attached heaves into view: a very large, fat green toad.
	The Danger Mouse blinks in surprise. "Baron? Baron Greenback?!"
	"Yess!" hisses the criminal mastermind. "Yes, you wretched rodent!
I --"
	One of the larger Toads wallops the Baron on the head with a metal
staff. "Hey! We warned you about that! You've been giving a very bad name
to us Toads, and you're going to apologize."
	"APOLOGIZE? I? Baron GREENBACK? The greatest --"
	Three Toads bounce on Greenback's head. "OOF!"
	"Sorry." the larger of the three says to DM. "We're really ashamed of
him. We Toads pride ourselves on being decent folk. Don't know what got
into HIM. I'm Lormok, by the way. Lormok of the Mountains. These are some
of my relatives." He turned back to the Baron. "Now, you'll do what we brought
you here for, or else we're going to maroon you on some backwater planet
where animals don't talk."
	The Baron's eyes squinted shut until it seemed they were about to
pop from his head like watermelon seeds, then he heaved a great sigh. "Very
well! Happy birthday, Danger Mouse!" From a pocket he drew out a large, 
gift-wrapped bottle of Chateau Rothschild '89 (1889) and handed it to the
World's Greatest Detective.
	"Now that's over with! Return me to my castle, you... arrant amphibians!
	The Toads wink, then make a hop into a suddenly-appearing gateway in
the air, dragging the Baron with them...

________

And Grant comes up the hill

        Grant shows off a large something under a large cloth.  It's
about six feet high and round.  With a flourish, he whips the cloth
off as DM comes by.  It's a large fondue pot.
        
        "The giants over the hill loaned it to me.  It's a gian
marshmallow fondue.  Hot, sticky, and good with fruit."  He points
to a giant plate with some fruit the giants were good enough to send
over.  "Enjoy, DM, and don't get cavities!"

----<--<*

In the middle of the celebration, a thunder-like chaos of a sound can 
be heard.
Then, coming from the nearby forest, a hundred African elephants crash into 
the clearing. 
On top of N'baarra, the giant white elephant leader, the balrog 
is standing. He blows blows on his chest while shouting
OOOOYiiiOOOOOiiiOOOOOO at the top of his booming voice !
The giant tide of grey skin and ivory threatens to engulf the whole party...
but then, N'baarra catchs sight of the very special host of this birthday
celebration....
  
  MMMMMMMMMbbbbbbbbbbrrrrrr    *BRAAAAAA* ! shrieks N'baarra. 
( MMMMMMMMMbbbbbbbbbbrrrrrr  a  *mouse*   ! )

The giant white elephant halts suddenly, tossing the balrog somewhere in the
middle of the elephants. 
Seeing their leader panicking, the other beast stop their charge,
turn around, and flee toward the friendly, mouse-free forest.N'baarra leading.
When the dust settles down, only a ruined landscape remains.
.....
Only a ruined landscape ? No ! wait !  
Isn't there something deep buried in the ground ?
.....
Out of trampled grass, a bruised black hand pops out of the ground.
It is handing a miraculously preserved parcel.
The parcel, as DM soon discovers, in filled with delicious French cheeses :
Gruyere, Bleu, Tomme de Savoie, Rock-fort ....
.....
And the balrog ? Well, I think he will survive ... and even heal ...with time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------


As Martyr escorts the Kyla-Sprite into the meadow, they both notice
a proliferation of perfect picnics, laid out on the gorgeously green
grass all around.

"Awww...Sh-ugar!! Late again!!" says Martyr.

Tripping lightly across the meadow, the two latecomers head for a
shady little glade on the edge of a small copse.

What do you mean - "Which small copse?"

That one right over there with the stream running through it leading
into the lake.

Lo and behold...  ["He's always wanted to say that." - Ed.] 

...there _is_ a copse and it's right there where Martyr is pointing. A
small stand of oak, ash, silver birch and beech trees.  There is a
stream too.  Well...more sort of a brook really. And if you listen
very carefully, it is actually _babbling_!!

Yes, I'm not kidding you - a babbling brook! There really _is_ a
babbling brook!!!

["Don't you just adore VR?" - Ed.]

As he nears the trees, Martyr picks out a likely looking spot to set
out his picnic. Putting down the picnic box and removing his
voluminous cape, he sets the flowing garment down on the grass with a
flourish and takes the Kyla-Sprite's hand as she gracefully lowers
herself into a comfy sitting position. Then, opening the picnic
hamper, Martyr seats himself near the Sprite and begins to dig out all
manner of delicious goodies.

First though, an incredibly (unbelievably!, ultra-violetly!!) white
linen tablecloth with lace edging. Then - the food! Freshly-baked
loaves of light, fluffy bread, with a big block of fresh golden
butter. Pots and jars containing pate (Brussels, Ardennes with green
peppercorns) and jam (strawberry, apple and blackcurrant, blackberry).
Sliced meats by the score (ham - smoked, charcoal-grilled, peppered,
garlic sausage, bierwurst, cured pork and others).  Numerous cheeses
(real English cheddar, equally delicious Irish cheddar, Red Leicester,
Stilton, crumbly white Cheshire, Edam, Gouda, Caerphilly, Brie,
Lymeswold, Bavarian Smoked and Heaven only knows what else).  Finally,
the piece de resistance ("Where are accents when you need them??!?"),
four punnets of large, fresh, juicy strawberries and a large (huge!)
jug of fresh dairy cream.

"Right, I think that's about everything." whispers Martyr after taking
a quick inventory of the open-air feast that he has just laid out.

"Oops! Then again!, Mustn't forget the important little details!!"

Diving once again into the hamper, he produces half a dozen bottles of
Champagne (3 Moet, 2 Lanson, 1 Perrier-Jouet), some lead-crystal
champagne flutes and a big jug of traditional lemonade (with glasses,
natch).  Also, bone china Willow-pattern plates, some exquisite silver
cutlery and a small vase holding three roses - one white, one pink and
one a deep blood red.

"I'm sure I've still forgotten something..." he mutters.

"Aha!" and he's off again into the hamper...

"Mmmmble, mrrf, crrf, mtthth, bthdth, cththff" mumbles Martyr as he
sticks his head further and further into the seemingly bottomless
wicker basket.

Finally, after much grunting, groaning and mumbling, he re-appears
with a massive double-chocolate Fudge Cake!! Rich? We're talking
Hughes to the power of Getty times a couple of Vanderbilts here. The
merest slice of a cake such as that could send any self respecting
chocaholic into frenzies of delight for the best part of six months.
Chocaddict saliva glands for miles around are running quadruple time
just at the slightest whiff!!

"This is the extra special Birthday cake. It's for Didi-Sprite and
anyone else who has had a birthday recently and anyone who is going to
have a birthday soon and anyone else who would like a piece. However,
there is a condition on those freeloaders such as myself whose
birthdays are miles away yet - if you wish to have a piece of cake, it
must be eaten immediately after wishing one of our birthday-patrons a
Happy Birthday (or a Hippy Bathday or any other version of the
traditional annual greeting). That's the rule - it's only for
birthday-folk or birthday-wishes, nothing else."

"Oh...and don't worry about running out. It'll last as long as it's
needed. In fact, this may be one of the few cases of having our cake
and eating it!"

Unaccustomed as he was to public speaking, Martyr sits back down after
that little speech and gets on with the serious business of niccing
his pic or piccing his nic or whatever the correct term for it is.

He is just about getting settled down to some serious, eating,
drinking, laughing and being merry when he notices a swift movement
from the direction of the brook.

A flattened, leathery snout appears from the water, with a small pair
of dark eyes above it, set in a dark-furred sleek head. This is
followed by an equally dark-furred, equally sleek (although quite
chubby in some ways) body and a tail.

The new arrival scurries through the meadow until it locates one
particular patron. A certain antipodean (for Martyr anyway) mouse
secret agent type person. Upon finding said "victim", the slightly
comical creature launches into a rather nasal version of a well-known
ditty.

"Habby Birthdy do you,
 Habby Birthdy do you,
 Habby Birthdy dear Danger Bouse,
 Habby Birthdy do you!"

As folks all over the meadow grin to themselves at the sight of DM
being serenaded by a platypus with an adenoid problem, the small
water-loving, egg-laying mammal saunters back towards her favoured
habitat with a superior look on her face...

"Huh! Whadja all sbiling about? You dry siggig Habby Birthdy with a
dose like dis. Kiri te Kanawa, I ain't! If you're all so clefer, you
try laying an egg sobetibe! Weirdos, de lodda ya!!"

...and so saying, she returns to the brook, leaving the assorted
patrons of Callahans to their feasting, drinking, celebrating and
birthday partying in the Emerald Meadow.

["Third French window on the left, just past the fire place. Watch out
for flying glasses as you go!" - Ed.]

			Martyr

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--
***************************************************************************
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)