Disclaimers: BeastMaster characters and concept are property of their creators. No copyright infringement intended. Original story is property of the author.
Rating: G; Humor.
Author's Note: Another extremely, ridiculously silly little bit. Started off as part of Drabble #1 ("Diversions") but didn't quite fit. I do know you can blame the footnotes on what is quite likely an overdose of Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels.
The Ancient One perused the crossword section of The Nether-Realm Times with a small frown. In one hand, he held what looked like a quill pen. Little sparkles of magick danced along its tip, and on one side was written, in miniscule calligraphic letters:
"Crystal-Mate -- The Wizard's Choice in Quality Writing Implements. Take Our Word For It, We Know What We're Talking About And What Are You Looking At, Buster, I'd Just Like To Know!! Whot? Say That Again?! Why, You Little . . . !! I Oughta Take This Carving Stick And----"
(They were very miniscule letters, and had been tediously carved by anal-retentive pixies high as the proverbial kite on magic-mushroom juice. The individualized "messages" were part of their marketing value and had become something like a prize in a CrackerJacks™ box: one never knew what it would say . . . and at what length.
(The pens sold remarkably well, despite the occasional incident of a kami-kaze pixie turning the ink some brilliant shade of pink or puce, or attacking Nether-Postal workers in the . . . well, Nether regions. As a result, the pens were a very limited number {and extremely unpopular with Nether-Postal workers who had briefly tried a strike before someoneturned them into minnows, and we won't go into what happened to them then}, which the manufacturers gladly used as a way to up prices by up to 120%.
("Crystal-Mate" is thought to have been the inspiration for the Beanie Baby™ explosion in other dimensions. The Ancient One was, naturally, one of their biggest supporters and got a substantial kickback from the manufacturers.*)
The Ancient One tapped the edge of the quill lightly against his teeth as he chose a crossword clue from the list. Let's see now . . . He frowned in concentration. Eight letter word. A type of apple dessert. Deep-dish, spiced, sweetened, and covered with a crust . . . . ???
He glared at the paper in warning.
After a (rather short) moment's deliberation, the crossword puzzle sighed and the letters of the word pandowdy inserted themselves into the correct blank boxes with a rustle of paper that sounded rather like mutter.
The Ancient One nodded and smirked. "Of course!" he exclaimed, with the exact same tone as that used by a cat which has just "decided" to fall off the top of the TV. "Pandowdy. Ridiculously simple, that one."
He made a mental note to have a little talk with the Editor, to complain of the ease of the puzzle. (i.e.: One couldn't have people showing up a Powerful Wizard Who Knows Everything, My Dear, now could one?)
* -- Not that any of this was ever proven, the author typed in hastily, eyeing the scowl worn by the aforementioned Powerful Wizard. No, not at all! In fact, it was all most probably vicious rumors spread by those dreadful Seers, doncha know? And---Ribbit! Ribbit ribbit ribbit?! Ribbit RIBbit!!!** . . . . . This whole little bit, indeed, was just a piece of propaganda instituted by lovesick eagles and ungrateful students and the like, and bears no truth whatsoever. And someone may wish to tell the crossword puzzle and the ferrets to go back where they were and not cause a scene, thank you so very much. Yes, be a shame to have too many toads about, now wouldn't it? I thought so.
The Ancient One leaned back from the keyboard and eyed the results with satisfaction. That would teach uppity fanfic writers to dare to punish him in their stories! Why the nerve of some people was really just ribbit ribbit ribbit. Ribbit rib . . . bit . . . .
+
A puzzled frown appeared on the Ancient One's features. "Ribbit ribbit ribbit!" he demanded, incensed (and quite . . . green). "Ribbit 'RIBBIT'?!?!?!?!?!!?"
A sparkle appeared in the air, closely followed by a beautiful, white-gowned, red-headed figure. Esmere, goddess of witches and Seers, grinned down at the infuriated amphibian (also known as her least favorite uncle). "Uppity fanfic writers, eh?" she questioned.
The toad managed a glare, the light reflecting perfectly off of the crystals in its head. The redhead didn't look particularly impressed. Waggling one finger elegantly, she asked, "What did I say about bothering 'my' people?"
Beside the computer desk, a former-amphibian straightened up in her regular guise and grimaced in disgust (though it was unclear whether this was at her transformation, the Ancient One's new form, or just the general fact of the Ancient One himself).
The young human woman looked at the red-headed goddess and nodded in thanks. Esmere nodded back, then scooped up the Ancient One -- er, Toad. The goddess grinned at it again, looking incredibly like a cat eyeing a canary that had had the bad luck to be entrusted to its tender loving care. "Just you wait," she intoned amicably. She and the toad vanished in another sparkle.
The author looked at the keyboard, then at the screen. Uppity indeed! she thought with a fierce scowl. Some people just couldn't take criticism; and she'd only been writing what she'd 'seen'! And the red-haired goddess had been right: fanfic authors and Seers were remarkably alike, both peering through space and time and revealing what they had espied. Except, of course, that fanfic authors were far more evil and therefore, as something of a rule, had a great deal more fun . . . .
A tremendously evil grin, worthy of the most twisted of the Ancient One's plans, slowly lit up the author's face. Uppity, am I? she repeated. Still grinning, she hit the save key.
Then she went to consolidate her claim on "uppitiness".
Again.
** -- Translation: 'Hey! What the f**k do you think you're doing?! That's MY keyboard and I've got CATS in here for ghu's---!!!' (Toads have a remarkably compact language, which includes approximately 413 words for "swamp water" and its various applications. This helps with being able to say a great deal as your final words before being dumped in a MacBeth-ian witch's pot.)
+ -- Translation: '--- incredibly unbelievable. I mean, who did . . . these . . . . . "Wait just a #%&(#&%(@#%*%$) ()!*)$#@*)#*%++ second! Whaddaya mean 'RIBBIT'?!?!?!?!?!!?"'
++ -- Er . . . remember that bit about 413 words for "swamp water" and its various applications? Let's just say that even as a toad the man's creative . . . and not a particularly winsome person, all in all. The phrase 'only a mother could love' lost its value round about the first grade, when the universe just gave up and admitted he was evil. And not in a good way, like fanfic writers, British humor, and the such. Bad apples, and all that. Or toads, as the case may be. Or whatever. Point being . . . . . um. Never mind. I forgot. Oh stop it, it's perfectly easy to forget a point when you're writing like this. And no, I am not on that magick-mushroom juice, thank you very much. You just be nice! Honestly! The nerve. . . .^
^ -- Officially the end. Really. I swear. See? Just links after this!