The Quincuinox

[Wyvern]

Within an ancient observatory located several miles East of the Pen, on top of a hill that ressembles a gigantic stone version of Zool’s toupée, a scientific discussion of vital philosophical importance takes place between two figures in white lab coats...

 

“I still say that these donut holes ressemble comets, Verteniun. I mean, just look at the one on the far lefthand corner of the box, it’s curve ratio is so easily paralleled with that of Haleys!”

 

“No, Daliarus... I must maintain the notion that these donut holes bear a greater ressemblence to black holes than they do to comets. The sugar glaze is surely decieving you. Had these donuts been coated in chocolate glaze, you would immediatly remark the striking similarity.”

 

“But you forget that black holes are permanent fixtures, Vert, and our supply is far from infinite. In fact, these holes fade with the speed of comets.”

 

“But comets fade faster still when they fly into black holes.”

 

“What?! Absurd!”

 

“You want absurd?! I’ll tell you what’s absurd, it’s absurd that we didn’t get chocola-”

 

“WHAT IN THE COSMOS ARE YOU TWO NUMBSKULLS DOING?!”

 

Verteniun and Daliarus suddenly freeze in their places as the familiar voice of Master Calzoo echoes throughout the observation dome, causing the two astronomers to quickly reach for their respective telescopes and accidentally smear the delicate lenses with donut glaze in the process. The procrastinators cringe as the footsteps of their master grow closer and closer to their seats, until finally the venerable astronomer growls:

 

“You idiots, the vernal equinox has come and all you can do is talk about the products of some petty bakery? Please, describe to me some of the things you have observed in your delicate observations of the universe.”

 

Turning to each other and frowning, Verteniun and Daliarus quickly peer into their telescopes and jot down a few last minute notes before turning to Master Calzoo and collectively exclaiming:

 

“The weather prevents us from any observations, Master. It has caused the telescope lenses to become blurry.”

 

Calzoo frowns upon hearing this, and practically shoves Daliarus out of his seat in order to observe from one of the telescropes himself. Noticing the donut glaze present on the lense, the astronomer scowls at his two disciples before muttering the incantation to the spell “Clean Telescope Lense” and carefully observing the stars for himself.

 

“Hmmm... very interesting, very interesting indeed. The manner that the planets have become aligned is extremely mysterious, cryptic, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Saturn has formed a fourty five degree angle with Pluto, with Mars creating a significant bulge in the shape and Jupiter acting as a tip of sorts. Our Gaea seems to be caught right around the center... the lunar eclipse taking place this evening should be very brilliant indeed.”

 

Having said this, Calzoo lifts himself from the chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he slowly departs from the chamber. Reclaiming his seat and shaking his head, Daliarus glances into the telescope out of curiousity, and exclaims to Verteniun:

 

“Say, this planetary alignment thing looks kinda like a triangle to me... or maybe a pointy ear.”

 

“A pointy ear?” mimicks Vert, smirking at the notion “And what would Gaea be in this scenario, Dali?”

 

“I dunno...” mutters Daliarus, shrugging and licking the last of the donut glaze off of his finger tips. “Perhaps an interplanetary earing of sorts?”

[Wyvern]

Throughout the Halls of the Mighty Pen, large posters have been nailed up onto walls, doors, bathroom stalls, personal belongings, legal documents, Aardvark's spare wooden leg, crystal balls, bed posts, Celes Crusador’s sandwiches, and any object that Orlan has touched within the last twenty four hours. The Almost Dragonic scrawl on the posters reads...

 

---

 

Wyvern the Patron Saint of Parties proudly presents...

 

The Quincuinox

 

A celebration in honor of the birthday of the Quincunx, occuring this evening, the night of the 666th annual vernal equinox lunar eclipse.

 

You are cordially invited...

 

To See - The beautiful lunar eclipse when it occurs on the 24th hour of this memorable occasion, in all it’s glory, upon the fully equiped stargazing rooftop of the Conservatory.

 

To Hear - The anxious grunts of near-nekkid men as they duke it out in the very finest of chocolate mud wrestling arenas, complete with caramel rain and sprinkle hail weather functions. Ladies, you will not want to miss your favorite pen males in their tastiest of moments...

 

To Taste - The huge banquet buffet of countless dishes of experimental cuisine, offering a combination of Tzimfemmstein cooking experiments and Martha Stewerts unpublished work “Recipes of Mass Embezzlement.” Be prepared for the widest arrangement of bizarre cuisines you have witnessed in your lifetime.

 

To Smell - The near-toxic vapors of the special house drink of the evening, “Sucker Punch.” A form of punch that contains a glucose level so high, a single cup can drive one into the very highest states of hyperactivity.

 

To Touch - Your dance partners hand as you boogey down on the huge neon tiled dance floor, complete with an extra-shiny disco ball and several spots to play games of Twister. Join D.J Terra Nova as he spins such classic songs as Death Rock’s “Acid Rain Sex Engine,” Buzzrock’s “We Will Buzz You,” and Orlan’s “Banquet Hall.” Unmissable!

 

To Experience the Sixth Sense - While awaiting the eclipse on the Conservatory’s rooftop, amongst several cryptic runes, glowing crystal balls, mystic mirrors, and ancient indecipherable parchments. Quiet, solitary types who don’t feel like dancing or partying can study scriptures here in preperation for the lunar eclipse, and those who feel they can only express themselves through poetry can add to the mystical doctrines present.

 

While the fee for this event is normally huge due to people from all corners of the continent forming enormous lines in the hopes of entering, those who are associated to the Pen, whether they be part of the community or Honored Guests, have been placed on the guestlist. They are free to avoid the endless lines and enter at their leisure, though an entry fee is still required for the event. Males must bring one original variety of underwear or boxer shorts to donate while females must bring one cat haiku to submit, with both of these items acting as birthday gifts. There is no particular dress code involved for this event, though it is recommended to bring sunglasses for stargazing.

 

Hope to see you all there!

Wyvern

 

---

[Finnius]

The words cordially invited coupled with the name Wyvern still sends shivers down my spine, even three years and some change after the debacle at Cery's unbirthday party. Why, you ask? Let us say that before that party my name was only Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard, not Finnius Mustardio Jalopini-Canard O'Harpy, which makes a lot of difference, especially when the O'Harpy in question was Scarlett O'Harpy, a noted cannibal.

 

In any case, it was just such a shiver which ran down my spine and tickled my... well, very delicate parts, when I first saw the flyer posted on a pastrami and peanut-butter sandwich being batted out of the hands of the lovely Celes by a black cat. I quickly stooped to recover the sandwich, recieving a small scratch, when the flyer first caught my notice. In my shock, I dropped the sandwich, much to the delight of said cat.

 

My face turning a paler shade of blue, I excused myself from Celes, and went off in search of Wyv. I first checked the Recruitment Offices of the Pen, only to find stacks of paperwork taller than I am, and a note on Melba's desk reading Gone A'Partyin'. I then turned to the Cabaret Room, whereupon I did not find Wyvern, but instead a slightly inebriated Ozy, handing me a large quantity of apples, and an equal amount of oranges. He then handed me an official-looking piece of parchment, which I thought was some kind of documentation of my new status. Alas, I was wrong again. It was another flyer, another hideous, mind-numbingly-terrifying flyer. I thanked Ozy profusely, and then went again in search of my quarry.

 

It was at this point that I actually stopped to read the thing.

 

"Mmm... yes, lunar eclipse, birthday celebration for... oh ye hoary gods... near-nekkid... SPRINKLES!...disco ball... sugary liquor-like concoction...," My mouth sounded out the pronouncement of doom, adding its own comments until my eyes caught on one line of text.

 

While awaiting the eclipse on the Conservatory’s rooftop, amongst several cryptic runes, glowing crystal balls, mystic mirrors, and ancient indecipherable parchments.

 

"No, not even Wyv could be that dense... could he?"

 

I ran as fast as my little blue legs could carry me, straight to the Conservatory, only to find that I was too late. The line was enormous. People had come from all over the countryside for this party... Wyv had been busy. Whipping out my Mighty Pen ID Card, I made my way to the front of the line, where I encountered a burly ogre acting as bouncer.

 

"Oy, Melba, I need to speak to Wyvern."

 

"Speak to him inside, if yer wants to. But first we'll need some undies."

 

"Err... excuse me?"

 

"Didn't yer read yer invite? Underthings or no entry."

 

I scanned the note again, finding the requirement for a gift of underwear to which Melba alluded.

 

"Well, you see, I don't really have any spares on me, maybe you could take a rain check or...," At this point, Melba whistled sharply and seven more burly trolls appeared.

 

"Actually, Finny-poo, we got strick'est orders not ter let a mage by this door but has ter come in."

 

"Actually, I'm not really a mage, honestly, can't do much more than light a carpet on fire and occasional-ugh!" The 'ugh,' by the way, was the sound of a little blue man being hoisted off the ground by two of the seven large trolls, the other five of which proceeded to procure a pair of undies from me.

 

"No, wait, I lied, really, I'm a powerful mage, and if you don't put me down and leave those boxers alone, I swear I'll vaporize you brutes where you stand!" The trolls hesitated for a moment, and then glanced over to Melba, who just spun her little finger around in the air and tapped her foot. The trolls got what they were after, then set me down in front of a snickering mass of party-goers. Melba took my boxers (Blue silk worked in black spirals, trimmed with little grey and white smiley faces around the legs.) and threw them onto a pile in one corner.

 

I was then and only then ushered, in my best robes, but bereft of any undergarments, into the Conservatory Proper. I nearly passed out.

[Joat116]

"Frogs... ASSEMBLE. FORWARD MARCH!"

 

The Frogs come hopping eight by nine

Hurrah!

Hurrah!

The frogs came hopping line by line

HURRAH!

HURRAH!

 

They held in mouths, gaping wide

Tiny swords with cyanide

and the frogs came hopping on

 

"What's that noise?"

"What noise?"

"That noise!"

"The hopping noise?"

"Well if you mean the noise I mean I suppose so..."

"Sounds like frogs to me."

"How do you know?"

"Because there's a tidal wave of frogs with swords in their mouths behind you."

 

Sacraficial character_01 turns quickly... but not quickly enough to be swept along with Joat's swarm of frogs.

 

"Man.... Joat's plagues are so much cooler than any other Demigod's"

 

Joat saunters, nay struts up to the gate. "Table for one human and eighteen thousand five hundred and eighty six frogs please."

 

"Name sir?" The rather comely gate wench asked delucently?

 

"Joat! Demigod of Insanity! Make way lest I smark your arbek into Despli!"

 

"Mmmmm, yes sir. I'm afraid I don't have you on the list, could it be under another name?"

 

Joat blinks twice. "Ahhhh yes, perhaps Boaz? You see, Boaz is my middle name..."

 

"Boaz is standing over there sir." the wench replied unsmilingly.

 

"So he is... Perhaps the name was under...Prince... as in charming?" Joat smiled slyly as he slipped a frog onto the wench's clipboard. "Letting one man pass is a small price to pay for your very own genuine frog prince don't you think?"

 

"No sir."

 

"Ah well then...What if I had the best present in the entire party?"

 

The wench wavered for a moment and then nodded to herself, "I suppose I could let you in then sir. But it would have to be quite a special present."

 

"Well, I'll have you know, I happen to have the one, the only, the fantastic... MAGIC STATIC SOCK FIELD! That's right, it's an undergarment, it's invisible, it slices, dices, levitates, gyrates, speculates, conjugates, reperates, teselates, and peturber...ates! It can't be beaten, stopped or topped when it comes to covering feet while leaving them uncovered!"

 

"Sir... you want me to let you in because you have an invisible, intangible, undetectable-by-any-means-what-so-ever present? Sir, you were better off offering me the frog."

 

Joat sighs. "Well than I suppose you leave me no choice. I'll just have to talk to your shift manager who's coming up behind you."

 

As the comely wench glances behind her Joat transforms himself into just one more frog in a sea of thousands.

 

"FROGS CHARGE! Errrr... FROGS HOP!"

 

As the sea of frogs breaks over the wench Joat casts an illusion link spell, causing the frogs forms to be linked to his own. Then deftly moving his left leg thus, and then back, then back in, and then shaking it all about before doing the "Hokey-Pokey" as the ancients called it he casts another illusion putting himself... and a few thousand frogs back into the form of Joat.

 

As confusion ensues Joat charges through the gate with the rest of the frog/Joats and drops his static field socks in the gift bin.

 

"She was a worthy opponent, but hardly a match for one such as I!"

 

"GET BACK HERE YOU GATE CRASHER!"

 

Joat spins around suddenly only to see the gate wench charging after him. "uh oh.... YOINK!"

 

Exit stage left.

[Gnarlitch]

Into the chaos and destruction left behind by the torrent of frogs stumbles a very short and very unkempt-looking man with a very bushy beard...

 

Gnarly Ach! Them froogs nigh on kilt me! Jus' look at me bloody cloose wilya! Theyr ruint. I barely escaped wit me life! I think it's time ta eat some frog legs!

 

With that he draws a huge battle axe in one had and a talking dagger in the other and runs after the frogs, stomping, hacking, and stabbing every from he can find.

[Inspector I. M Clueless]

As the line leading towards the Conservatory entrance grows steadily longer and frogs begin swarming into the party like some gigantic advertisement for a three-dimensional version of Atari's "Frogger," a calmly composed man in a grey trenchcoat and a tipped hat casually leans against the outer wall of the building, slowly shaking his head and sighing to himself as he views the commotion. A low saxophone blows somewhere in the background as a random streetlight illuminates the man's face and torso, casting his silouhette along the length of the wall and gaining the attention of several people standing in line in the process. Even Gnarlitch briefly pauses in his slaughtering of frogs to curiously glance at the mysterious man, and one of the massively built troll guards that had assaulted Finnius earlier cries like a baby and runs away in fear of the man's large shadow. The saxophone in the background hits a higher pitch as the cloaked man produces a pack of cigarettes from his overcoat with a flick of his wrist, and whispers a non-chalant sigh as he opens it with a single movement of his index finger. Reaching into the pack, the man proceeds to pull out a small, extensively folded piece of paper, which he then quickly unfolds into an enormous map. At this point, the street lamp light suddenly buzzes to a halt and the saxophone in the background is choked by the "ribbit" of a frog.

 

"Excuse me..." stammers Inspector I. M Clueless as he approaches Gnarlitch, rudely shoving through several people in line as he does so. "Would you happen to know the directions to the Annual Detective Magnifying Glass Convention by any chance?"

 

With that, I. M Clueless directs Gnarlitch's attention towards the "map" that he's holding, which displays an odd series of buildings at different stages in their developement.

 

"That ain't no map!" exclaims Gnarlitch as he lands his axe on yet another frog. "That's a blueprint for a building."

 

I. M Clueless glances at his "map" once again and raises a brow, then rubs his forehead and sighs to himself dismally.

 

"Well... I suppose that this party will just have to do. Hopefully, they'll have an extensive variety of glasses available."

 

With that, the Inspector swiftly begins making his way to very back of the endless line leading to the Conservatory, unaware of the priveleges provided by his "Honored Guest" status...

Edited May 11, 2004 by Inspector I. M Clueless

[DeanTheAdequate]

*Swaying to a beat still in his own head, Dean the Mage, rank of Adequate, saunters up to the gate*

 

Ahhhnd leshee... Feesh, feesh... Ah!

 

*Dean fishes around in his trousers for a minute, and pulls out a black silk pair of boxers with a small neon martini glass tastefully embrordered on a corner*

 

Ahnd now for the teshticle...

 

"Specticle!" shouts his familar, the black cat known as "Phil D. Cat"

 

Yesh. Thatsh what I shaid...

 

And now the buffet!!!

 

*Dean runs over to teh enourmous table, stuffing his pockets full of petit-fours*

[Tanuchan]

Tanny giggles at seeing Gnarlitch chasing and hacking frogs, finding herself willing to do the same for the fun of it. But she only could do it in her alternate form... and a wolf, although a friendly one, would probably scare some of those in the long line.

 

And she didn't think it would be a good idea...

 

She approaches the ogre at the door, remembering the invitation request... a cat Haiku ? She could try... what was the form? 5-7-5? She really wasn't that into form... freeform poetry was nice, but Haikus...

 

Mmm...

 

Morning Cat, harmless

Afternoon Cat sleeps and dreams

Night Cat... a cat is

 

She grimaces. Nah, not quite right. But she didn't have anyone near to ask for some help right now, and she was pretty curious about that announced party. So... she smiles impishly, and her figure wavers and changes, drawing some "aahs" and "oohs" from those in the line close enough to see.

 

A black wolf sits where she was, licking some unkempt fur back to line on her paws, then looking at Melba with a grin and a lolling tongue. Well, my most innocent, cub-looking face... not that I have the size of a cub but... oh well...

 

Confidently, she passes by Melba with her Mighty Pen ID delicately held between sharp teeth, almost wagging her tail...

 

Oops... no, that's not very dignifying... stop wagging tails, I'm not a dog!...

 

... while the ogre looks at her wondering how she is supposed to ask for boxers or Haikus from a wolf. Even if that wolf bears the Page title.

 

*wink*

Edited May 11, 2004 by Tanuchan

[Zadown]

Nobody noticed one tall and thin ragtag man appearing in the chaos of frogs and shapechanging Pages. He was clad in a shreddered black cloak, a chaotic array of different armor materials and a stained iron crown, an oriental-looking two-handed sword tied to his back. His pale skin was a map of scars and his hair, moustache and beard were all too bloody and dirty for anybody to be able to recognize their true color. He walked briskly past the line, all the way to Melba, making her turn from the wolf to him with a look that suggested if the wolf got easily in, she'd get double payment from whoever tried to get in next. Her words were cold enough to freeze oceans as he glared the Dreamer.

 

"Sir, go back to the end of the line and wait your turn."

 

"That is the mortal line, is it not? Of the immortals, I am the first."

 

And he grinned, having faced one or two terrors more ghastly than Melba during his long travels. The grin, showing shining white teeth in a face hopelessly stained with blood and gore, was unsettling enough to make even Melba stumble mentally. True to her tenacious nature she merely retreated, not capitulated.

 

"Entry fee, please."

 

"A second, if ye may."

 

The grin on the Dreamer's face turned even wider as his right hand disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a pair of boxers oddly large, with a hole for tail on the back, full of pictures of different coins, and a large embroidered 'W' on one leg. He lifted the boxers high for the whole line to see, and spoke loudly.

 

"A pair of almost-draconic boxers, slightly used, still warm. I'm sure that'll do, neh?"

 

The entire line burst into laughter.

[Savage Dragon]

The crowd begins to move to the side as a rather large dragon comes down the aisle.

 

"Excuse Me, Page coming through" Savage Dragon says to people as he goes by. "That's right you heard me correctly, i'm a Page, yea just happened today, Excuse me, i'm a Page"

 

Slowly he makes it to the front of the line, not many people will stay in the way of a dragon. The bouncer looked up at him with a quizial look. "Name, please"

 

"Savage Dragon the Page"

 

She looks at the list, "Um, i'm afraid there is no Savage Dragon on the list, Page or not"

 

"What?" he looks taken aback, but the his expression subsides, "Oh thats right, Normaly i go by MTYFoolish, but I decided since I've just become a Page, I'd go in my natural form today. It's not everyday you're a Page... oh wait, it is for me now. HAHAHAHA" His laugh filled the hall atracting the attention of the few frogs who had yet to notice him.

 

The bouncer frowned, but relented, "Yes, Mr. MeThinksUFoolish, you are on the list, did you bring your boxers?"

 

"Of course," he said, handing her a rather large pair of red boxers, "They're my Humility Boxers, won't be needing the today. By the way, Have i told you I'm a Page?"

 

"You mentioned it" she muttered waving him past. Savage Dragon headed to the open bar, shouting often.

 

"Excuse me, Page coming through. Make way for the Page."

[Quincunx]

Rydia spat into a light green handkerchief, then polished two dust motes off of the lens of the nearest telescope. . .Perfect. . .

 

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiny."

 

She dropped the cloth and admired her upside-down, twinkling reflection. It was a little less twinkly than it should have been, though. Quincuinox Decorations Budget had been slipped under her door earlier that day--blank on one side and Due to budgetary constraints, the birthday girls must provide for the party themselves on the back--and she'd pawned all of her sets of earrings in haste. Wasn't it fortunate that a traveling pawnbroker, with a coat strangely deformed at the back, came around not five minutes later? She stepped away from the freshly polished lens to survey her EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK

 

Rosemary had rearranged everything! No more uniform shiny glow! The entry queues made spirals and their blinking-light edging all ran towards the center! She'd unscrewed the floodlights from underneath the cut-crystal punch bowls and destroyed them! Game Six of the 5068th Blitzball Championships was now recreated to scale with the Nimball commemorative ice statues! Carp was nowhere to be found! Rosemary herself was advancing with a pocket telescope and jabbing it at her eyes!

 

Rydia? *crackle* Dammit Rydia, give me some assistance here.

 

Rydia's ears perked up in astonishment, then strained to catch the distant voice. She steadied the telescope and adjusted it until Tzimfemme came into focus, seated, clothed, clutching a satchel and swaying every so often. The scene around her either failed to focus or was the most unappetizing shade of grey ever. "Tzimfemme, what's going on???"

[Falcon2001]

Cioden grimaced.

 

"What do you mean, underwear? I am above such petty trivialities. Let me through."

 

Melba stared him down and Cioden rethought his stand on the situation.

 

"Melba, you'll let me through that door, or I'll reduce the door to it's base atoms and walk through of my own volition. If you happen to be in the way, you'll also join the atomization process." Cioden mentally checked - yeah, he could do that.

 

Melba squared her shoulders and whistled. There was a tromping noise, then a muffled roar and silence. Melba's eyes flickered over to the left, and Cioden looked as well.

 

Falcon came out of a nearby door, grinning foolishly but kind of sheepishly. "Really, Melba. You should teach those trolls something about dicing. They just got all up in arms when they lost."

 

Behind him, William Azunost wiped blood from his sword and resheathed it, glowering at Falcon. "If I have to save your tail one more time, Falcon, I'll seriously reconsider your friend status." Cioden hissed. How dare these fools show up to this damned party.

 

Falcon grinned widely and tossed Melba a pair of black and white boxers that shone with the light of...well something that would inhabit boxers, obviously. The trio immediately nodded and walked through the door, past a startled Melba, who grabbed Falcon.

 

"Wait - your friends didn't pay their way in." she said, narrowing her eyes.

 

Falcon smiled enigmatically.

 

"Who says we didn't pay?" For a second there she could have sworn she was talking to Cioden and William at the same instant, then suddenly he was Falcon again, and walked off.

 

Melba sighed. Mages are so annoying.

[Gyrfalcon]

Gyrfalcon considered the flyer he had found nailed to his bed with slowly mounting horror. It was a party, which were always hectic, but this one...

 

This one was hosted by Wyvern.

 

Gyrfalcon shivered as repressed memories of previous parties hosted by Wyvern tried to crawl their way out of the deep pits he had put them in. He firmly stomped on their fingers and bolted down the covers over those pits before rereading the flyer.

 

As he had suspected, it hadn’t gotten any better. With a sigh, the ranger tossed the flyer on the table in front of him and stretched. It was going to be a long day, and most of it spent visiting every insurance broker within a hundred miles extending disaster policies or buying new ones. He’d have to be careful, one mention of Wyvern and rates would increase by a magnitude of ten... at least.

 

With a sigh, Gyrfalcon stood and shrugged his cloak around his shoulders before striding out, collecting Daryl on his way to the transportation chamber.

 

Many hours later

 

Night fell, and the Pen came alight as anticipation and terror grew. Many of the new members had never been to a party hosted by Wyvern, and felt anticipation. Most of the older members had been to a Wyvern party, and felt terror.

 

Gyrfalcon grinned and clapped Finnius on the shoulder as they approached the doorway. “Don’t worry, Finnius, it won’t be that bad.”

 

“Says you.” the blue mage muttered softly. He was proven right scant minutes later as the door trolls divested him of his undergarments.

 

Gyrfalcon sighed. “I really wished I was right about these things, just once.” He’d have to apologize to Finnius soon.

 

Finally reaching Melba, Gyrfalcon tried to step past, only to be stopped with a hand to the chest. “You know the rules, undies or we take them.”

 

Gyrfalcon sighed and dug into his bag of holding, then pulled forth...

 

The Chainmail Underwear of Sir Naysmith the Chaffed!

 

Gyrfalcon grinned and dumped the rustling undergarment into Melba’s hands, causing her to stagger under the sudden weight of what was probably the heaviest set of undergarments she had ever touched.

 

“I’m almost afraid to ask how this thing ever came about.” Melba said.

 

Gyrfalcon shrugged. “According to the local legends where I picked that up, Naysmith lost a bet with some female fighters. If he won, they had to wear chainmail bikinis for a year. If they won, he had to wear chainmail briefs for a year. They won, and he learned exactly how cold and chaffing chainmail could be on the more... sensitive... parts. I understand he never did recover fully from the experience.”

 

Gyrfalcon touched his brow and entered the party, Daryl stealthily tagging along under the hem of his cloak in his fox form.

[Wench]

Along with the rest of the line, an ancient crone in a dark red cloak shuffles slowly toward Melba. A cloud of dust emanates from her with every movement. As she reaches the gatekeeper she throws back her hood revealing the most garish bright red plastic sunglasses, encrusted with ruby colored rhinestones. Melba looks at her list and then looks up apologetically at the old woman. "I'm afraid I don't have you on my list, Dame Edna."

 

"WHO?" gasped the crone, followed by much grumbling and rummaging around within the cloak, producing more clouds of dust, as well as one of the posters glued to a (now empty, of course) hershey bar wrapper. A message is scribbled on the back in an almost dragonic scrawl, "Dearest Wench I would be delighted..."

 

Melba checks her list again and mumbles "Oh yes, there it is - Wench". Adding in a wry tone, "Well then, I see you have the suggested sunglasses... birthday gift please?"

 

A scroll and a small wooden box are produced. Melba unfurls the scroll and reads-

 

Monitor warmth, flop.

Oh look, the reset button!

Why is SHE growling?

 

Melba re-rolls the scroll, looks critically at Wench, and then tucks it into the gift bin with the others, without comment.

 

"Hey, he did the best he could. How many cats do you know that are literary giants? He only has 4 toes on each foot. You should have seen him just trying to work out the syllables. I brought something else to make up for it anyway."

 

Melba harrumphs and then examines the tiny box on the old woman's outstretched palm. It is intricately carved, and the lid is detailed with a pair of lustrous wings of burnished gold with a heart between them. Melba looks up warily, "It's pretty, but awfully small. What is it?"

 

Wench replies "It has been many years since the Ångels of Åpocalypse have been graced with the presence of Tzim, Minta or Rydia. In keeping with the occasion, this contains magic crystals, each of which will convey our feelings of affection and fondness to her, whenever she feels the need for a boost."

 

With that, the box lid slowly rose, releasing 24 blindingly bright, snowflake-like crystals, each more radiant than the brightest sun. The crystals floated slowly upward forming a heart. Melba and several of those nearby waiting in the que all shrieked and covered their eyes from the burning glare. The Wench grinned as the crystals made a new formation, 4 quincunxs with the extra 4 forming the points of a square at the outside corners.

 

Wench nodded at the array, her neck creaking audibly with the gesture. The crystals quickly dropped back into the box. She snapped the lid closed and glanced at Melba, who was still furiously rubbing her eyes with both fists. "My dear, perhaps you should have worn sunglasses as the invitation suggested." Then she "tsked tsked" several times, as only an old biddy can.

 

The crone shuffled past Melba and peered into the gift bin. She carefully set the carved gift down into the bin, then straightened slowly resulting in more creaks and pops. She again searched through her cloak and ferreted out a collection of boxers and briefs, bearing emblems of a Grinch, a regel crown, a Klingon, a china cat sunflower, a mirthful smile, as well as numerous others... followed by a baldric, and finally, several dozen pixy sticks. Cackling, she dumped all into the gift bin. Shaking her head, she muttered something about "herding cats" and that "they may all show up sooner or later anyway".

 

Shuffling slowly off toward the festivities, leaving a trail of dust in her wake, she mumbles to herself, "Now then, where is the best spot to glimpse the guest of honor, it has been such a very long time."

Edited May 12, 2004 by Wench

[Wyvern]

As members, visitors, and frogs continue flooding into the prestigously decorated quarters of the Conservatory, Wyvern paces back and forth between a buffet table of Outback Gorgon Bull Ribs and a sparkling crystal bowl of Sucker Punch. The greedy lizard pauses for a moment in order to scratch off "stone soup" from his lengthy checklist for buffet table #4, and then raises a brow as he notices that the floodlights are no longer functioning under the adjacent punch table. The lizard scratches his scaly chin for a moment in contemplation and gazes at the punch bubbling ominously, then quickly turns in order to greet several familiar faces.

 

"Finniusss!" exclaims Wyvern as he notices the bruised Blue Man stumbling in the general direction of the buffet. "Excellent to see you here, going for a 'bruised' makeup style I see... I heard that's really popular amongst the half-orcs nowadays."

 

"Not a fashion statement, I'm afraid." mumbles Finnius, sighing and shaking his head at the lizard. "Was roughed up by the bouncers, where do you find these creepy troll ruffians anyway?"

 

"Melba's Ex-boyfriends." answers Wyvern, frowning at Finnius' words and offering him a glass of Bruteweiser. The lizard then gently nudges the Saint and points him towards the crowded neon dancefloor, sinisterly hissing "Ssssay, you see that high elf gal wearing the glow-in-the-dark ear bracelets? I heard she's a fan of the 'Blues,' might want to check it out."

 

"Hmmm... I dunno Wyv. I don't have my underwear with-"

 

"WYVERN!"

 

Finnius' dialogue is suddenly interrupted as Wyvern turns, only to be hit directly in the face by the fist of a complete stranger.

 

"That was for my brother's nephew!" screams the stranger. "Who you disregarded in your last zoology scheme, punk!"

 

Finnius quickly departs to another side of the party as the angered man storms over the immobile form of Wyvern in the direction of the exit. The overgrown lizard writhes in agony for a few moments, then lifts himself to his feet and notices Dean the Adequate indulging in petit-fours at a buffet table specializing in classic french cuisine (perhaps the most bizarre cuisine of them all).

 

"Hiya Dean." hisses the lizard while approaching Dean the Adequate and flimsily shaking his hand. "Glad you could make it, I highly recommend the basilisk tail appetizers over at buffet table #4, they're monumentally delicious."

 

Wyvern is promptly interrupted as he hears a few barks, and turns with Dean just in time to see a familiar black wolf chasing a flock of frogs, which are headed in the direction of the parties chocolate mud wrestling arenas. The lizard is about to speak up when he notices the Dreamer leaning against a wall adjacent to the Conservatory roof stairwell, and quickly rushes towards the area to greet him.

 

"Greetings Dreamer! Excellent seeing you here, I-"

 

The lizard is suddenly interrupted as a fat troglyodyte sporting a blitzball cap taps him on the shoulder.

 

"S'cuse me, Wyvern sir..." mumbles the troglyodyte shyly. "But me and the boys were wondering if there were any Blitz Burgers to munch on while we watch the 5068th Blitzball championship games. Couldn't find any at the buffet..."

 

Wyvern scratches his chin, then quickly departs from the Dreamer's area in order to wander back to the buffet tables. Snatching a Martha Stewert "Recipes of Mass Embezzlement" dish known as "sliced bread" from the first buffet, Wyvern quickly grabs a live frog from the ground and stuffs it inbetween the two slices, then hands the concoction to the happy troglyodyte, who proceeds to immediately devour it.

 

Wyvern turns towards Falcon, who happens to also be viewing the buffet, and winks while pointing towards the Blitzball fan. "Live frogs, Blitz burgers... who can tell the difference eh?! Thanks for coming by the way, Falcon, good to see you here."

 

The overgrown lizard's scaly ears suddenly perk up as the familiar tune of "Geld Geld Geld" starts playing on the dancefloor. Departing from the buffet table and hissing with glee as he rushes off to dance, Wyvern meets MeThinksUFoolish on his way there.

 

"I'm a Page!" exclaims the Savage Dragon. "I'm a Page!"

 

"No doubt about it!" responds Wyvern, jerking his head towards the dancefloor. "Now make like a leaf in a binder, and get LOOSE!"

[Valdar and Astralis]

"Are you immortal, sir?"

"I'm not too sure, actually--kinda, I guess"

"Sir, you're either immortal or not, now either show some proof, or get back in line!"

"I've not died yet!"

"I'm afraid that's not proof of immortality"

"Fine. Shoot me"

"What?"

"I said shoot me!"

*BOOM*

"Nggghh"

 

An uncomfortable and pregnent silence ensued.

 

"Are you alright, sir?"

"mrghhrrterrr"

"What was that, sir?

"Not. . .there"

"I'm sorry sir, so are you immortal or not?"

"It's growing back, isn't it?"

"Very well sir, there's also the issue of entry fee"

"gnrhgghhgit-whatisit?"

 

She told him.

 

"Well, you certainly ruined mine."

 

An icy glare bounced off Melba's thick hide and froze one of the stone Gargoyles, which stiffened and fell to the ground with a crash. She, on the other hand mereley smiled sweetly and continued.

 

"No boxers, no entry sir"

 

Valdar sidestepped into the Astral and trudged his way back to his quarters muttering.

Edited May 12, 2004 by Valdar and Astralis

[Finnius]

So there I was, having finally gotten a hold of Wyvern for a moment, and having just gotten past the 'annoying-but-necessary-small-talk' segment of the conversation when what should happen, but a random party-goer should punch him in the face! Really now, what are the odds? Of course, this is Wyv we're talking about, so... pretty good, actually.

 

Seeing as Wyv was... incapacitated for the moment, I slipped off to the side to procure some food. I safely reached the table, reached out a hand to grab something, and was promptly bitten by a half-crazed Dean the Adequate, who mistakenly thought my little blue hand was some sort of French delicacy... who knows, maybe it is... in any case, I jerked my hand back, wiped off a small spot of blood, and more gingerly and cautiously took a muffin from the table, and wandered off, munching happily for the moment.

 

I meandered through the crowd, in my absent-mindedness, bumping into Savage Dragon, and consequently falling on my backside.

 

"Haha! Sorry about that, mortal, but a Page like myself can't be bothered to notice every little peasant at this gala! Here, let me (Insert exagerated stoop) lower myself to help you up!" Whereon he did, actually, help me back up.

 

"No, no," I began, "completely my fault, I should have been watching where I was going... enjoy the party..." Of course, he was already gone by the time I had hit 'watching,' but y'know... politeness.

 

I passed a group of mages taking shots of O'l Peculiar, and wisely decided not to join in, opting instead to head for the roof. I made my way to the stairs, finding them blessedly empty, and made my way up into the cool night air. The roof of the Conservatory awaited, sparsely populated by the less inebriated members of the Pen.

 

Walking over to the edge, and looking down, I could see the line of potential party-goers stretching out into the night, dazzling from glow-sticks and sequins like a shining river of twinkling sparks. It was almost enough to make you appreciate Wyvern...

 

Almost.

[Tanuchan]

The wolf crosses again the room, a bit slower after having chased away most of the frogs and looking curiously behind her to check if Wyvern is still after her. And she bumps straight into Savage Dragon's tail.

 

As Savage looks down at her with a curious look, she decides it's better not to risk his anger... maybe he has a too good memory and reminds when he has last seen her as a wolf... Gulping down, she hastily changes back to human form.

 

"Eh... hi, Savage... congratulations again... you're a big Page... I mean... a great one... yes, that's it... "

 

As he blinks, she shakes his front paw and excuses herself.

 

Near the chocolate mud wrestling arenas, she stops and looks at them quite puzzled, and soon grins imagining some people wrestling there... then decides to be a bit more composed and check what is going on at the tables.

 

I wonder why people seem a bit worried about this party... I did listen to some mumbling around...

 

She sees Finnius almost losing his fingers to Dean, and retiring towards the roof. And, remembering the description given in the flyer, decides to follow his example.

 

Stars... and the sky. And feeling the fresh air at night. I really think it may be more enjoyable than the crowd that will soon be around here...

 

Smiling, she joins the few people who are already in the roof.

[Zadown]

Looking at the various party-goers milling chaoticly around, the Dreamer tried to discern a pattern to their movement. In the end, he decided that aiming at the buffet tables first seemed to be the thing to do here. Not wanting to ruin the party, he joined the general loose line near the buffet table, but missed his mark slightly and ended up at the drinks section.

 

Strange chemicals in these bowls ... perhaps they are used to clean the party-goers before the real festivities? They certainly smell toxic...

 

The planewalker shrugged at the madness of the material planes of the world, sunk his hands in the punch bowl and rubbed the sugary, highly alcoholic liquid all over his grimy, blood-spattered face.

 

"Um.."

 

He turned to see the brother of the poor unfortunate who had been mauled by Joat's plague of frogs, random_partygoer_02, and raised his eyebrowns in questioning manner.

 

"Ya, puny mortal?"

 

This didn't seem to be a good way to start small talk by the confusion on his new aquiantance's face. Nevertheless, the mortal did not run away screaming quite yet, which was always a good sign.

 

"... that's normally just .. err .. drunk, man. Say, what happened to yer face to make it so dirty in the first place?"

 

The Dreamer grinned - straight questions like that, he couldn't go wrong by telling the honest truth. Happily grinning (and not caring about the little detail it made his scars dance across his face in the most unsettling manner) he told to his new friend:

 

"Oh, it's just blood from the last humans who tried to block my way .. happens a lot on my line of work. So hard to get off the robes, but platemail .. just isn't me, ya know? I've tried find robes that don't get dirty or shreddered but the forces ... hey?"

 

Now the mortal did, in fact, run away screaming.

 

Was it something I said? Well, I hope there's something I can do to repair my error.

 

He looked around again with all his senses, seeing, sensing and smelling a 10 foot empty area around him, the buffet tables, the drinks, the glittering chaos of the party-goers. The drinks! Some of them did not seem to contain any of this toxic substance that seemed to be required for proper party-drinks. With a wave of his hand and a few muttered enchantments, he remedied this unfortunate fact. Smiling as only a being of intermediate deity's powers can smile after the good deed of a century, he returned to his aimless wanderings.

[Appy]

"Owaah how could they keep these things on their head all the time? It's itching!"

 

Walking slowely towards the door was the... well the apparition of Appy. Clad in an original Louis the XIVth dress and wig (with ornamental bird cage + tiny bluebirds) she had trouble walking, but at least she managed to stay upright.

Arriving at the door she first had a good stare at Melba, then put her wig back upright and said:

 

"Right, no need to look at me like that, just came back from... a Trip.

I have my entry right here.. somewhere"

 

Appy rummages around in her wig a bit, upsetting the bluebirds so much as to make them mess all over the place.

 

"Terribly sorry bout that! Here let me cover that smell with my parfume"

 

Flourishing in Appy's hand is suddenly a huge parfume bottle which contents seem to haven't been anywhere near rose pettals but all the more seems to contain liquids to destroy anthills and wasp-nests. Appy fervently starts spraying the contents over the crowd behind her, almost completely dissolving the row.

 

"How ungratefull.. just run off like that. Now what was I doing.... Oh right, the Birthday Present... altho no one told me who's birthday. Then again I was away for quite some time"

 

Quickly Appy pushes a small scribble into Melba's hand and forces herself through the door without so much as even waiting for approval.

Because of the enormous dress and the momentum created by it's weight Appy seems instoppable once moving... and gets inside without harm.

 

Confused Melba unfolds the scribble and reads:

 

Mauw miauw mauw mauw

Mew mauw miauw mew miauw

Ksssst miauw miauw!

Edited May 13, 2004 by Appy

[HappyBuddha]

Waddling in his normal manner, HappyBuddha approaches the Hall while trying not to think about everything he could be eating right now. He consoles himself with the thought that he will be able to sate his appetite with Tzimfemmestein cooking once he enters the Hall, but the encouragement he gains from said thought quickly fades as he remembers what happened the last time he ate her cooking.

 

While musing on the subject of Tzim, HappyBuddha's thoughts naturally drift from her cooking to her underwear fetish and the unusual entrance requirement for tonight. He reaches down and pats the spare loin cloth he brought with him, adjusting the clothesline pin on his nose as he does to prevent any of the horrific smell the loin cloth emanates from reaching his nose. He tries not to notice the small animals falling dead on either side of him as they inhale the slightly green tinted stench, and continues to schlep towards the hall.

 

Melba, recognizing HappyBuddha from afar, decides to take a break right now, partly so that her deputy Captain of the Guards can get some experience, and mostly because she has no wish to handle whatever god-awful undies HappyBuddha must be bringing

 

Finally arriving at the Hall, a tired HappyBuddha butts a horse out of the way and takes its trough over, quenching his thirst by slurping it all up in a second. He then approaches the main hall, pushing the enormous lines aside, and steps up towards the door. He can't help but laugh as he sees the bouncers silently mouth, "Oh sh--" as they see the approaching gargantuan figure who could clearly crush them with its little toe.

 

His laughter quickly turns to constertation as he realizes that there is no way in hell he's going to fit through the door in his current size. Sighing, he casts "Shrink" upon himself, and shrinks down to a more manageable 8' 4". Unfortunately, he forgot to compensate for his clothing, and his gigantic tuxedo starts to fall on the crowd, threatening to crush innocent bystanders. More alarming still is that the still enormous loin cloth threatens to harm the crowd with its odor. Thinking quickly, HappyBuddha casts "Shrink Object" upon his clothing and his tuxedo snaps onto his body, barely missing crushing a terrified huddle of Tzimfemme groupies.

 

HappyBuddha then does what comes naturally, and shoves the loin cloth into the guards hands before striding into the hall. No one bothers asking for identification, they all know who they've seen - and unfortunately for them, who's loin cloth they're handling (Faking HappyBuddha is virtually impossible ). The guards sprint to the underwear depot as fast as they can with the 30 foot high loin cloth, and shove it in there quick as can be, losing only 5 of their number to the stench. Coming back, they realize that Happybuddha completely forgot to shrink his clothesline pin, and they are thus left with the rather beumsing sight of a 25 foot tall clothesline pin lying outside the hall for the rest of the night*.

 

*Later on, one of the more clever guards laid claim to it and went and sold it to the Woodcutters Guild for quite a handsome sum.

Edited May 13, 2004 by HappyBuddha

[Lady Celes Crusader]

Celes was cleaning up the mess made by Cambronne and a sandwich. After scolding her black cat, Celes is indeed intrigued by Wyvern's invitation. Since Wyvern gave himself all the trouble of wrapping each sandwiches with such invitations, her presence there means a lot to the almost dragon.

 

- Arielle! Make sure that everything runs smoothly in the Cafe while I'm gone.

 

Celes heads the conservatory, followed by the ever curious Cambronne. Grabbing her cat and dragging him away from the Frog slaughter, Celes enters the Conservatory and looks at the different curiosity here and there. Meanwhile, Cambronne decided that it was time for Frog hunt.

[Savage Dragon]

STARS! SavageDragon knew there was a reason he'd come to this party. He had come to see the stars.

 

Well, well, you seem to be forgeting things now, he thought to himself, Well it IS understandable. You are a Page, you have a lot of responsibilities now, its notthat surprising you forgot a some of the small things.

 

Besides you didn't really forget, you just remembered late. There was still plenty of time to go see the stars.

 

SavageDragon surveyed the surrounding area and the balcony. Both were packed wih people, Pages and non-Pages alike. There didn't seem to be much room.

 

Well dear me, what shall i do now? there seems hardly any room for a normal person let alone a full-size dragon Page.

 

That's when his gaze fell to the roof above the balcony. Completely empty, the perfect place to view stars. All he had to do was fly up there.

 

But at his current size the take-off wouldn't go unotice. The amount of air being pushed down would knock over buffet tables and upset some people, Pages and non-Pages alike. Perhaps if he shrunk down to a smaller size so he wouldn't caus mass chaos...

 

Wait a minute. This is a Wyvern Party. Mass chaos is expected. It would be an insult to his honor if i didn't do it the destructive way.

 

And with that final thought, SavageDragon took off.

[Peredhil]

Peredhil adjusts the Calvin Klein sleeves under his Armani suit, then angles his Gargoyle sunglasses as his portion of the line finally approaches the door.

Elladan has given up pointing out the pointlessness of standing in line when everyone else entering the Party is finding an excuse to skip to the front and sulks with his most edged smile. A small mobile circle of open area moves with him as he steps, waits, steps forward with the rest.

Elrohir, having found out that most of the line are actors hired by Wyvern, which actors on reaching the front move to the back and start again, is trying to guess how the Sainted Bardic Elder has managed to finance an endless line. When he'd asked his Dad, he'd been quietly told that Wyvern'd hired the line to make his party appear to be Really Important.

Guido and Nuncio were looking more nervous than usual in such a crowd. Not only were they watching Da Boss' back, but under their tuxedos, they normally didn't wear undies; such things chafed the furred regions terribly. They were the only ones who'd not complained about the lengthy weight in line. They'd instantly volunteered, after watching the Finnius episode, to go back to the end of the line and start through again.

Finally, the moment came. They stood before Melba, who'd transformed herself into an ogress for the door duty.

 

"Hi Melba," smiles Peredhil at the glaring bouncer.

 

Melba blushes, and quickly changes back to her normal demure self to speak with the Polite Ancient. Her smile dimples myriad portions as it ripples through her 320 pound body, and the colored lights streaming through the door set off her frizy red-hennaed hair... uniquely.

"Oy Veh! I didn't see you coming up - everyone else is skipping the line."

"Would you like to check your Lists for us?"

"No, that's just another ploy by that greedy-guts lizard, to convince people this is Exclusive. Actually anyone who pays the admission gets in."

The Trolls, proving they're ideally suited for the job by regenerating from their latest gory death and spying a holdup in the line gleefully begin moving toward Melba and Peredhil's small group. In twin gestures, the Giant Guinea Pig's reach for their guns, only to be forestalled by Elladan smoothly moving to intercept the knuckle-cracking Trolls.

Elrohir winces in sympathy as the Trolls are moved by a mixture of charismatic talk and body language intimidation back into their side chamber. Elladan doesn't suffer Rude interrupts to their Father's talks gladly.

 

"... so there is the undies of the Wizard Hend which he wore when he answered the Ninety-Nine Questions of the albino Gecko of Gorlthe, those are for Nuncio. Here are the embroidered boxers of Bobo the Gnome, which he wore when he thrice killed the terrible troll of the Trondheim forest with his mysteriously Unnamed Short Sword. Those are for Guido. Here are Elrohir's underwear set, freshly laundered, which he was given by the Maidens of the Shield after rescuing them (whose Broads hints he primly ignored). These are the Silken Sweets, a set of edible boxers still in the box; Elladan brought them back from a trip and I'd advise you not to ask."

Melba goggles at the mounting stack of underclothes piling in her arms. At least all these were clean and fresh smelling. Even the Gnomic mystery ones.

"And these are mine for the gifting."

Melba waits for the appellation. The line has bunched as they've listened to Peredhil's rolling tones enfusing wonder and grace into the names of the under apparel. Peredhil, however, has fallen silent and waits expectantly for Melba to move.

"What? You've got no story for your own undies? A sweet Elf like you has nothing special? This I don't believe." Even as she protests, she steps aside and moves to toss the latest gifts on the pile as Peredhil and party move into the building.

An soft apologetic throat clearing from behind her freezes her in mid-motion, raising all the hair on her legs, chest and arms.

Turning, she sees Elladan with a sliver of a smile and eyes glittering behind sleepy eyes. Raising an imperious eyebrow in query, she waits.

"Melba, Dad likes you so I thought I'd let you know. You can throw the rest, I couldn't care the least. But I'd be cranky if you didn't treat the last set of underwear Mother gave Dad before she let to visit Galadriel, before the journey on which she was taken captive in the Misty Mountains..." He paused and took a slow breath, an unaccustomed flush in his cheeks. Clearing his throat again, he resumed. "I'm afraid I'd have to Do Something, don't you see?"

 

Melba carefully put Elrond's undies off on a side table, her heart swelling in all the sheer *romance* of the keepsake. Turning, bosom heaving and tears washing kohl trails down the many folds of her face, she holds out her jiggling arms to Elladan in matronly compassion.

"YOU POOR GOSLING," bellows Melba's tear-filled voice as she moves to enfold him in a comforting hug.

 

Elladan, with a look of horror marring his visage, flees after his father.

 

Melba wipes the tears from her eyes, transforms back into an ogress and sobs...

 

NEXT!

[Vanessa]

Vanessa looked nervously about as she crept from the side of Richards tower and over to the party. She didn't want to be anywhere near when he found out his sparkling building was covered with flyers for a party of all things.

 

Quickly she ran over the poem she had written about cats...

 

Hissing snarling bundles,

Striking fear into dads lawn,

Tearing up the plants.

 

Hmmm...not to shabby for a first try.

 

Worridly she handed it to the troll on guard, but it seemed to pass inspection. She was rather surprised to see a smile appear on the trolls face as she was ushered in to the room. She hadn't known trolls could smile without food. With a mixture of fear and excitement she looked forward to meeting the other people of the Pen...