Tricksters? Duel
Mort & the Fae vs. Harlequin
?Oi, we?re up next!?
?We are??
?Crap, crap, crap.?
?Help me get this cream cheese off, willya??
?No time, we?ve got to go. Get to yer places, kids.?
The pumpkin-headed puppet raised itself from the buffet table and jerked toward the dais. The announcer, an angel with brown hair tied back from his face, called the round. ?Would the Harlequin and the Scarecrow Mort please present themselves for the round.?
The Fae glanced across at their opponent. He was a gangling figure, bedecked in diamond-shapes and colours. His sandy hair fell forward over the red-and-white mask that covered his face.
?Or it could be his face.?
?yeah, some of these jokers are really weird. Like, not even human.?
?cor. I wanna stick like that.?
Joed?s attention, of course, had latched onto the Harlequin?s slapstick. It was a whippy piece of wood, with enormous red lettering: ?SLAP?.
?oh, yeah. Hilarious.?
?Hope he doesn?t say jokes like that.?
?it?d totally kill the mood.?
?Joed, you?ve got a scythe!?
?yeah, well, I wanna stick too!?
?you?ve only got one hand!?
?he walks funny?
It was true. The Harlequin strutted, exaggerating his movements far beyond even normal acting, trying vainly to express his displeasure at his role. I?m a fuckin? clown. And I fight a fuckin? scarecrow. A fuckin? ventriloquist scarecrow. It?s just like home. At least the cultist pair were?
actually, I didn?t like them all that much.
Fucksakes, we?re like something out of one of those ancient comic-things. All we need now is a man dressed as a bat.
He mused, as he strutted through the swirling silver vortex, on the possible abilities a schizophrenic ventriloquist scarecrow might have. He could think of very very little. Maybe it could make crow-scaring noises from all directions? Then much of his mind was taken up with the fact that he was falling through cold, dark, dank air, with no handholds visible.
He waved his hands wildly, hoping to catch something, letting go of his slapstick. He frowned behind his mask. not a good way to start a match, throwing away my weapon.
Then he landed, feet first, on a cable of purest white, fully a fist-width in diameter, and covered with hairy tendrils, which immediately wrapped their sticky lengths around his legs. shit. well, at least they stop me falling over.
Light seemed to diffuse from somewhere, sterile, white light, which bleached everything of colour. what a dull place.The harlequin looked around for his opponent, but was distracted for a moment by the enormous net-like structure he was standing on. No, not a net. A web. I really hope we don?t meet the spider. he reconsidered a moment. I hope I don?t meet the spider. Couldn?t care less about the pumpkin.
the stick-man was face-down on a junction point, where two of the white cables intersected, one the hairy, sticky kind, the other smooth and rubbery. The Fae had panicked as they came out into empty air, and Laea had been unable to control her siblings.
?yer all idiots.?
?well, excuse me!?
?shaddap Laea.?
?no! I tried to tell you ?up?, but you all just flew every which way.?
?poor Mort, he?s stuck.?
?well push on that smooth bit, yeah??
?well, at least I held onto the scythe. Doyle didn?t even hold onto lunch.?
There was a groan from the back of the pumpkin.
?jeez, Doyle, ?slike you?ve never flown before!?
?who ever heard of an airsick Faerye??
They eventually managed to right the scarecrow, with much yelling from Laea and angry retorts from the others. Standing, one foot still caught by the hairy appendages of the sticky cable, they looked around. Their opponent was there, trying unsuccessfully to extract himself from his own entanglement while simultaneously keeping his balance.
?looks like he?s havin? trouble.?
?yeah. Help me get this foot free, we?ll go over and HOLY-?
?JUMPING BOGLES!?
?CHANGELINGSHIT!?
?-MIRRORWEAVE ABOVE!?
Doyle glanced out the mouth-hole, and there were renewed groans. And more splattering noises.
The spider-queen had arrived.
Laea gathered enough of her wits to force Mort to bow. Did she imagine it, or was there resistance?
?hail, great Lolth, spider-queen of the drachae!?
Lolth was magnificent, if you liked it like that. And by ?that? you would have to mean that you like your women with an extra six eyes and ten-meter segmented legs sprouting from where her hips should be. Glossy black hair covered her legs, which ended in razor-sharp spikes, while the hair on her head was a dirty white, cropped short, or, possibly, never growing longer than an inch. Who can tell, with gods? And she somehow managed to speak English with a full set of fangs protruding like inky steel spikes from her mouth.
?well, well, well, the insects have manners. And the fool?? Harlequin, white-faced behind his mask, had been hasty to follow his opponent?s example. well, that just about rules out Lust as the sin of the day. Heck, I?m not going to be able to think of anything else for a while? all those legs?
?so the great and powerful Yeshu keeps his agreements.? The Morningstar, too, but that?s a given. Where?s the fun in cheating? No, old Lucifer much preferred to give people what they wanted, then change the rules so they were unhappy anyway. ?very well, then. You may begin. Amuse me.?
?amuse you? What do you mean??
?I mean, you are here for my entertainment, are you not? A duel of tricksters, the never-old Fae and the ageless Harlequin, who incidentally is a silent character, yes?? and the goddess lifted four shapely eyebrows. Harlequin shut his mouth.
?Begin, I say!? Lolth waved her hand, and the sticking tendrils fell away from the combatants, freeing them to stagger and wave wildly until they had regained their balance. The web was alternating sticky and smooth cables, close enough that it wouldn?t be too hard to navigate. So long as you watched your feet and didn?t trip, that is.
Harlequin gained his balance first, and felt something nudge his hip. He looked down, and his slapstick nudged him again. It was held aloft by sticky lines that coiled along its length, unwinding as he closed his hand on it. that?s just creepy.
He made his way toward Mort, who was still thrashing wildly after being released. With luck, he could knock it out and be gone before Lolth noticed. He reached a position behind the scarecrow, and, finding secure footing, brought his stick up for a strike.
?oh, this isn?t working. Don?t bother with standing, just lift.?
Mort rose shakily into the air, and the Harlequin?s strike missed. So much for sloth. Mort swung dizzyingly around, the three unincapacitated Fae having trouble controlling flight without Doyle?s help.
?well, it?s about time you started! I was beginning to think I might have to eat you both. that was a masterfully choreographed miss, though. I applaud!? Harlequin ignored the spider, and swung again at the suspended stick figure. This time, he hit a knee, and there was a clack of wood-on-wood.
?Oi, he?s hittin? us!?
?right, take this, ya fool!?
Harlequin ducked easily under the scythe, whispering thank to his devilish improvement, and swung the slapstick back up between his opponent?s jean-clad legs.
There was a clack of wood-on-wood. Mort stared down at the stick for a moment. Harlequin stared at Mort. How do I hurt this thing?! They stood, comically frozen, then they came to themselves, and each swung again.
They danced like that for a while, the Harlequin dodging and weaving, Mort unable to land a strike, but receiving a rain of blows for his trouble. Finally, Harlequin swung overhand and struck the pumpkin head?s eye. There was a crack, and a spray of vegetable, and Mort had a scar. The scarecrow staggered back, and Harlequin leaned forward, eager. so that?s how I hurt it! With renewed vigor, he leapt at his opponent, and repeated brought the slapstick down onto orange vegetable. Lolth laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that chilled the souls of all those not trying to fight dizziness.
Both Mort?s arms flailed, trying to stem the storm of slapstick hits and strike back at the same time.
?Hold still, dammit!?
?Stop hurting Mort!?
?Shut up, Gwen, ya crybaby.?
There were groans from the pumpkin?s open mouth. To Harlequin it sounded like there were three voices, in varying states of nausea. This ventriloquism is really getting on my nerves.
The scarecrow lurched forward, grabbing onto the slapstick with one hand, the other arm going around the Harlequin to hold Mort up. They staggered like embracing drunkards, and the harlequin felt strands of sticky web wrap his right leg. crap. And this guy?s breath smells terrible. Like puke? He looked up into the Scarecrow?s now-lopsided grin, and saw two glittering humanoid figures, doubled over and retching. ?it?s a puppet? You?re just fairies!? He exclaimed, and Lolth stopped laughing. ?oh, right, the whole silent character thing. Forgive me an outburst or two, ok?? I?m kinda dealing with a lot today.
Laea straightened, trying desperately to cover up the discovery:
?you din?t? you din?t see? ennyfink? uuurgh.?
But she couldn?t summon the strength for a glamour, and light merely flickered around her before she bent over and sprayed Harlequin?s mask with partially digested custard.
That?s just foul.
Gwyn, seizing the moment, tore the slapstick out of Harlequin?s hand and flung it away, to where it stuck in the web, raised at a crazy angle. Mort stepped back, and Joed directed the right hand to swing. Harlequin, halfway through wiping the puke off his mask, and blinking furiously, almost missed it coming, but managed to duck in time, so that he only overbalanced and fell through the gap in the web behind him.
Dangling by his ankle, he heard, rather than saw, Joed?s missed swing cut through the strand above him. The Harlequin felt, rather than saw, the strand go slack around his ankle. Right. Time to test these demonic abilities. And my acrobatics practice. And, come to think of it, the elasticity of this web.
Holding his hands above (below?) his head, he waited to feel the line go taut. As it stretched, he bent at the waist, and when it reached it?s full length, he kicked out and back, stretching it further. Up he sprang, a flying feeling that he rarely got to experience as the Harlequin. Lolth applauded, clicks from her mandibles mixing with the solitary clap.
Mort and the Fae were still trying to extract the scythe from the sticky webbing when Harlequin rose from the blackness below like a vengeful daemon and planted an uppercut on the pumpkin?s chin. The scarecrow went over backward, and all that saved him from falling spread-eagled into the sticky net were Joed and Gwyn, who held him up by his arms. As it was, he made a strange sight, rising back up, straight-armed and zombie-like.
Meanwhile, the Harlequin had pulled free of his own entanglement, and was berating himself as he ran to pick up his slapstick. gah! Should?ve stayed and finished him, er, them, off. Don?t know what?s wrong with me. Gonna need some way to get rid of them.
At this point he reached the stick, and, picking it up, glanced over his shoulder. At Mort, who was leaping toward him over the web. Harlequin ran, an idea forming. Now he was being chased, so he swung his slapstick. At the web behind him. The strand he hit immediately became a rubber duck. He tried again and a whole section turned into pink plastic. Again, and there was now a merry bonfire raging down into blackness, following the duck. Finally, he successfully turned a section into water, and it slipped away, leaving a gaping hole in the web.
?Blast. I?ll have to fix that.? Lolth muttered.
Mort reached the edge of the gap, and jumped. And flew. so much for that plan Harlequin turned to run, and saw a strand rising before him, waving him away from the edge. But he was going too fast. He couldn?t dodge. So he hit it with his stick, and hoped.
Laea was having trouble. She was still nauseous, thanks to the stench that hung around Doyle?s little puddle, but luckily had already emptied her stomach. Then again, dry retching isn?t all that fun. Add that to the repeated jostling she?d had when the pumpkin got hit, and she was having trouble concentrating. And that meant that Mort was really making all the decisions. She felt helpless as she watched the harlequin run, and was just grateful that none of her siblings had noticed she wasn?t in charge anymore. That would be all it took for her reputation, her command, to be irrevocably lost.
Then she felt surprise, but it was Mort?s surprise, as an oak tree grew in front of the Harlequin. One moment it was a sapling, the next it was opening its leaves on its hundredth year. Impressive. Especially the way that the harlequin slammed into it. Laea could have sworn she saw a piece of mask drop away into the darkness.
Then Mort was bringing his weapon down toward the enemy, and Joed was wide-eyed in surprise at the arm moving on its own. Harlequin panicked, and swung his stick. It caught the scythe on the blade, spinning it away, and turning the whole weapon into a streetlight. The additional surprise of suddenly holding a lamppost was enough, and Laea crowed as she regained control.
Mort overbalanced and fell into the harlequin, even as the streetlamp was caught in the branches of the oak tree, which had itself pulled the entire web awry, so that it was one big hill.
?this had better be a good performance, boys, for the amount of housekeeping I?m going to have to do afterward!? Lolth was not happy. Harlequin snapped. Pushing Mort off him, he snarled.
?Shut up! Shut up! Bloody Harpy! I?ve had it with your snide comments, you, sitting on your throne and spinning fucking one-liners at us! You, you? You critic!?
?You ought notta made ?er angry, mista.? Gwyn was rather perceptive. Lolth?s face had gone a bright crimson, and her fangs twitched. She lifted herself slowly, then rushed toward the tree. Her legs were a blur as they unconsciously sought the non-sticky lines, and she reached toward the combatants with claw-like hands. Harlequin?s eyes widened behind his broken mask. Crap. That?s why wrath is a sin.
The Fae and Harlequin glanced at one another, then scrambled up the tree, pushing and shoving each other as they climbed. Harlequin swung at a bushel of leaves, and each leaf changed. A bowling ball, a banana, an iron maiden, a balloon, a stump of a candle, already lit, and a top hat fell to be swept aside by the goddess? outstretched hands.
Then Mort and the Harlequin were perched on opposite branches, and Lolth gave up trying to get at them; the oak was too dense to allow her to pass. So she tore at the web, and the tree sank lower. Seeing what she was doing, the competitors rushed her, and she was assaulted by a stick and a pair of wooden fists.
?Goddesses are not so easily defeated.? She grabbed each figure and tossed them back into the tree, and with a mighty heave, it went over the side.
Clinging to his branch, one thought dominated Harlequin?s mind: Kill the fairies! Kill them and be teleported to safety! Kill them quickly, they can fly!
He was saved having to navigate the still-spinning, falling tree, by Mort, who glided over, free-fall a perfect environment for the flying Fae. They traded blows, Mort knocking the harlequin?s mask off (the slapstick had been lost when Lolth tossed them back in the tree). The Harlequin gave as good as he got, breaking pieces off the pumpkin, trying to pull it completely open.
They grappled as the tree spun, anchored by the harlequin?s legs, which were wrapped securely around his branch. Then Harlequin plunged a hand into the head, and pulled out a purple-and-black body. All the talk, the supposed schizophrenia and ventriloquism made sense. ?You?re the leader!? he growled past a grin. Fending off the other hands, he began squeezing. Laea shrieked, Gwyn cried, and Joed raged. And Doyle got up from his mess and launched himself at the Harlequin?s face.
Loyalty drove the little blue-and-orange kid. Loyalty to his big sister, and shame that he?d spent the whole battle sitting in his last few meals. He was a demon, biting, scratching, kicking. Pulling eyelashes, tearing ears.
But he was still just a Faerye, and the Harlequin was slightly more than human. He batted the nuisance away, and crushed Laea in his hand. With the last of her consciousness, Laea hoped her siblings would be able to organize themselves without her. And relinquished control of Mort.
Harlequin laughed in victory ? it was like squashing bugs. Kill one, and the others come to see what?s wrong. In this case, the remaining Fae clustered around their fallen sister. Gripping the branch with both hands, Harlequin raised a foot, intending to crush them all in a stroke. Then he was grabbed by the collar of his puke-stained bodysuit, and held up. He stared into the empty eyes of the pumpkin king. Two words forced themselves into his consciousness like oversized black slugs.
THANK YOU.
?y- you?re welcome? was all the reply he managed before the wooden fist put his lights out.
Before the misty light enveloped him, Mort tore a branch from the tree. He would need to grow a new scythe. He gathered the Fae and placed them in his head. There was probably a Faerye ring in purgatory they could use to take Laea?s body? wherever Fae took their dead. He could grow one, if need be. He felt he could grow just about anything. Like having a green thumb. He looked at his thumb, where a scrap of green diamond remained. Now he was making jokes.
Things were going rather well.
