My Dream Banquet Chapters Ten and Above

Chapter the Twentay- Eighthan: Kicking the Raw Butt

    "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh... ah ah! Ehhh oh ah ha! Ehhh oh-"

    "Will you please just shut up all ready?!" cried the forest in exasperation.

     And by the Rats of Raool did it have reason for exasperation. Dearest old Sir Ra the Third was tromping and tripping his way through the wickedly wooded woods, snagging his delicate chain mail (which he had thought was going to be main chail when he packed it for the trip to Rayma's castle, but soon realized it was actually the much more fragile chain mail) on spindly twigs floating in the air.

   Now, you must know that a Sir such as Ra cannot go tromping and tripping through a wickedly wooded wood without theme music. Alas, there were no lovely minstrels around to serenade him (or the audience, eagerly awaiting what would become of his journey), and he found that it was necessary to provide the music himself.

   Ra froze, the ever-present outrage bursting onto his currently turquoise face. "How dare you please shut me up already?!"

   Sighing, the forest let a huge breath of wind sweep through its trees, knocking a few houses down a few years away. Ra stumbled a bit.

    "Honestly," moaned the forest gloomily, "someone had to do it."

   "You bet your buttons someone had to do it," muttered the audience.

    Ra narrowed his eyes. "I heard that, you bubbling bananas of babaloons!"

    A loud crinkly, crackly noise sounded over the loud speakers (which, by the way, were located in every single bathroom in all of Raool). "SIR RA! WE DO NOT TOLERATE OFFENSIVE INSULTS SUCH AS THAT!" ANNOUNCED THE ANNOUNCER STERNLY.

   Panicked, Ra fell to his knees. "NOOOOOO! Please don't disqualify me! I want to show everyone how mean and annoying I am... PLEASE!!!!"

    "HMMMMM..." THE ANNOUNCER HMMMED AS IF GIVING THE PLEA SERIOUS THOUGHT.

    The audience whispered amongst themselves.

    "I say we let him stay as long as he scrubs his toothbrush with Brussel sprouts every night!" yelled a sprightly old fellow by the name of Atticus Finch.

   "Yes... yes..." mumbled Severus Snape from his seat by his old pal James Potter. "Or we could do something much more interesting like cutting off his cuticles!"

    "Fry his underwear in donut frosting!"

     "Feed him yummy turnips!"

    "Stab him in the red radish!"

   "ENOUGH!" ENOUGHED THE ANNOUNCER IN ITS LOVELY DISEMBODIED VOICE.

    Ra cowered in his usual courageous cower on the forest floor.

    The forest sighed once more. Sir Ra's show of bravery was quite...

    "Pitiful?" supplied Rayan as sprinted through a patch of prickly ysiad bushes.

    "Thank you," the forest grumbled dully.

    "Anytime."

     Ra, with his talons clutching his head in terror, began to whimper like a pink gumball. (You know, the kind where you put a quarter in the machine and it goes WHEEE WHEE and LOOPITY LOOP until it pops out of the little hole.)

    "AWW, SHUT UP!" THE DISEMBODIED VOICE GROWLED.

    Immediately, Ra zipped his lips, placing the key shakily into his pocket. His eyes, however, remained wide with fear.