The Two Towels - The saga CONTINUES! (Part II)

The following is a continuation of a collective-novel project being carried out on Q&As. You’re REALLY going to get lost and confused unless you read the first part at https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/profile/emilie-van-damm/work/57ccc0f4387140b07f8b4569 [curiouser and curiouser: clicking on that link doesn't seem to work, though copying and pasting it into your URL bar does] or – at the very least – the introductory explanations there. Once again, we invite all and sundry to contribute to this worthy cause.

Continuation of the saga:

 

One might have expected the kangaroo, spiffly or not, to humiliate the gentle Austen; but those of the undead persuasion inevitably and spontaneously develop impressive martial arts skills, and Jane finished off Red with a devastating high kick – low kick – elbow strike combination that would put Bruce Lee to shame.

(As my software is quite secure, I am unaware how Ms Austen phrased her undoubtedly witty victory speech). – VF

 

***

To those of you wondering how Aisha could be “soaking her cares away” in 6ºC water, we should point out that she had been born and brought up in Finland (“the land of a thousand lakes”), far north of the Arctic Circle.

For those of you NOW wondering how a person who spent her formative years abroad could possibly complain about “bloody foreigners” in Hampshire, may we sadly remind you that prejudice needs no rationality to flourish, and that residence (even birth) in foreign lands is no guarantee against xenophobia.

***

Aisha was completely unaware that “the” CIA agent had circled around through the forest, and was now spying on her in a very unprofessional capacity. – JHiD

 

Meanwhile, back in the clearing, Jon was having a change of heart. It was all very well to fall in love with a strong woman… even if she WAS a zombie. It was an entirely different matter to get entangled with one who could beat you to a pulp in half a round. – WL

 

The first piece of flotsam to reach Aisha’s swimming-hole was a handbill with a photo of beribboned baby shoes at the top. Underneath (Aisha read): “Contribute to a flash-fiction anthology for a good cause: see http://thebabyshoesproject.weebly.com for more details.”

She rushed to her pile of clothes on the riverbank, to grab a pen and copy down the URL before the paper disintegrated. – EvK

 

Once Aisha was back in the water, the peeping CIA agent camouflaged himself as a snake, slithered up to her pile of clothes, and – after sniffing in their heady aroma – took possession of both the poster and Aisha’s jotting down of the URL, before slithering back to his hidden vantage point.

“Might be subversive material, you never can tell. Constant vigilance is a small price to pay for Democracy, Decency, and The American Way Of Life.” – JHiD

 

With his vigilant eye constant on the decent, [un- American], lithe, nubile, wet body of the subject under surveillance, he added: “and it’s a price that I, as a patriotic citizen, am willing to pay.”

Meanwhile (WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH), back upstream, the dwarf had finished beating the crap out of one of the furry-footed smalloids for having thrown his handbill into the current.

“Worry not: I picked up a dozen of them when I ran out of toilet paper,” reassured one of the taller in the fellowship. – WL

 

“Some of them haven’t been used yet… at least, not so much. Let’s see… here’s one where you can read most of it…”

But the dwarf had turned away in disgust. – EvD

 

Jon and Jane, having parted company with their boxing friends and their bruised egos, had caught up with Aisha and lingered at a distance in accordance with a well-brought-up zombie's manners.

Suddenly aware of a plethora of eyes, Aisha took a breath and dived under the surface and through the hidden entrance of a cave, where she hoped for a moment more of respite from her bizarre company. Little light filtered through from outside and her eyes did not adjust until it was almost too late. – VF

 

A miners’ pick whizzed past Aisha’s head.

If she had intended to escape from too many observers, then she had jumped from the frying pan right into the fire.

When her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom of the cave (lit only by miners’ lamps), she found SEVEN pairs of eyes – with expressions ranging from bashful to grumpy – looking back at her. – JHiD

 

There were now 8 dwarves infiltrated into our story, but the difference between the one we met earlier and these recent acquaintances could not be greater. The first was broad in the shoulders, strong, swarthy… and fiercely dangerous (as we have seen from his beating up one of his travelling companions). These seven that we have just met could best be described as… cute. – WL

 

Meanwhile, Jon, Jane Austen, and an unnamed CIA agent – who had all witnessed Aisha’s disappearance below the water surface – were preparing to dive in to the rescue. The CIA agent (still camouflaged as a snake) was prevented from doing so by becoming entangled with a 7-metre-long scrub python (“call me Amy”) which seemed to have amorous intentions.

Unlike Aisha, not bothering to undress, Jane and Jon hit the water simultaneously. – EvD

 

Refusing to expose her ankles was an obvious mistake by Jane, who immediately struggled to navigate even these calm waters and sank to become tangled in the underwater flora. Of course, being a zombie, her only peril was ruining her hair. This left Jon with the dilemma of which threatening damsel to rescue first – the one with romance on the undead brain or the one who was naked? – VF

 

You will have noticed that “which THREATENING damsel to rescue first”, and some of you might have thought “that should have been ‘threatened’ ”; but no, Dear Readers, that was no typo! Although Jon might have been totally unaware that neither young woman was in immediate danger, this was – in fact – the case (Aisha being in the cave with 7 cute dwarves [one of whom was getting sleepy]; and Jane Austen not needing oxygen to continue in her undead state). On the other hand, there was no denying that – despite Ms. Austen’s genteel veneer – both females were forces to fear (so be forewarned, fair fellow fans of forest fables). – JHiD

 

No: who actually WAS in need of rescue was the CIA agent. Fearful of dropping his snake disguise (in case Amy Python’s interest in him transmuted from amorous to prandial), almost equally fearful of carnal miscegenation, he found himself in what was classified by the Agency as “a bit of a pickle”.

And he could hope for no help from his fellow agents, who were concentrating on trying to decipher the down-under dialogue between Prof. Wombat and Red Ada Kangaroo. – WL

 

[Oh LORD! What a time for Jane Austen to butt in and supply what only SHE can believe to be bona fide Aussie lingo! Still, celebrities must be humoured…] – EvD

 

“My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company.”

“Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief.” [That solo comma is Ms. Austen’s, and I have NO desire to cross her. – note from the ed.]

“Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure.” – JA

 

After rather too many seconds of cowardly procrastination, Jon opted to follow after our hero Aisha because a) she was more likely to be in danger, Jon being unaware of the cuteness factor; b) she was less likely to kill him, Jon being very aware of the zombie factor; and c) she was naked. Jon emerged into the gloom of the cave ready to ogle... I mean be a masculine but respectful champion. – VF

 

Jon shook the water out of his ears just in time to hear one of the dwarves saying: “Now, you boys turn your heads the other way. It’s alright for me to look: I’m a doctor.”

“Don’t let him kid you, Lady: we just call him Doc because he wears glasses.” – JHiD

 

[Holy shit! I just had a really good bit to add here, but Jane bleedin’ Austen’s hacked my e-mail again. She’s calling for help… in her own snooty fashion.] – WL

 

Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting situations, that a young person, who either marries, dies, or stands undressed while surrounded by eight members of the opposite sex, is sure of being kindly spoken of.

What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.

But my tresses – often remarked upon as my most attractive feature – are becoming more and ever more entangled in aquatic plants, and I fear that if someone do not soon come to my aid, I shall be most discomforted. – JA

 

Jane would live, sorry - unlive, to regret that thought as her demonstrably evil literary agents unceremoniously scooped her up and dragged her away to fulfill her malevolent purpose, her reason for unbeing.

Meanwhile, Aisha had spotted a ravishing pair of boots on one of the dwarves (slight heel, maroon leather, plenty of buckles) and was assessing likely weapons. Unlike the rapidly departing Jane, speaking was not her strongest negotiation tool. – VF

 

Aisha had three other options open to her: seduction, violence, and theft. Her natural preference was the central one, but, hey, these might be little guys but there were SEVEN of them, armed with picks and shovels… and Jon wasn’t the most trustworthy of allies.

With seven of them, seduction wasn’t a number she could be sure of pulling off without having to actually deliver the goods… so that left theft. – EvD

 

Now, the pickpocket (or, in this case, pickfeet) sub-option would be rather risky in this crowd, especially considering the fact that she was naked. Mugging was right out, given the numbers; and breaking and entering held its own disadvantages… hmmm…

“You wouldn’t, by any chance, be in need of a maid, would you?” she asked the dwarf with the delectable boots, who immediately sneezed. – JHiD

 

[Good Lord: now she’s discovered the dwarves, aka dwarfs!] – WL

 

For some reason entirely incomprehensible to a more discerning observer, a large proportion of the populace believe those wearing spectacles to be intrinsically more learned than the average; it was not the one they named “Doc”, however, but another of the diminutive mineworkers – one with a happy demeanour – who undertook to explain the situation to Aisha.

“If you had asked that question in Spanish, Italian, or, indeed, any of a large variety of languages – though not, I hasten to add, French or German – it would have been clear whether you were addressing it to one dwarf or several. The ambiguous meaning of the term ‘you’ in English obliges me to lay the following information before you: to wit, that we are all brothers and share a common domicile.” – JA

 

“And we’ve already got a maid, thank you very much,” snapped another (unidentified in the gloom).

“But not a NUDE maid,” put in another. “I’ve seen the ads and I’ve always wanted to give that offer a try.” – EvD

 

Aisha went for the easiest and least sleazy option and left the cave to retrieve her clothes, leaving Jon to smile politely at the dwarves and follow. A little investigation revealed Jane's unwilling disappearance, presenting the pair with a choice. To mount a rescue or continue on their original, pre-frog-zombie-kangaroo-dwarf adventure and whatever surprises and deceased authors it might bring. – VF

 

“Wonderful Walt, but you are such a dope!” growled the grumpy dwarf to the one who had made that terrible faux pas. “A little more delicacy and we could have had an assistant for the anaemic chick.”

Meanwhile, back outside, Aisha was telling Jon that Jane was sure to show up sometime, “as if we could ever be RID of her,” and insisting that they should continue on their way. – JHiD

 

They availed themselves of a hand towel, for Aisha, and a bath towel, for Jon – for he had his hirsute legs to attend to – both embroidered with jewels of wit from the pen of a delightful 19^th C. grande dame des letters, in order to dry themselves.

“Come!” ejaculated Jon, “I make that two towels, so the overly pedantic should no longer have cause to complain of the new title of this Part II.”

“Miss Jane Austen certainly IS a literary force to be reckoned with!” expostulated Aisha. – JA

 

They hadn’t gone 8m before Jon tripped over a pair of intertwined snakes (one of which [whom?] he and Aisha recognised as Amy, though they couldn’t place the other one).

But our readers will be eager to know what was happening to the inter-racial (though highly biased towards shorties with hairy feet) band upstream. After all, the Earth revolves around its Middle, and this disparate fellowship was engaged on the most important Quest in the history of Humanity, er, Interspeciality… or – at any rate – Hairyfootity. – WL

 

Having wisely decided that the stream was too cold for a full bath, they opted for soaking their aching feet in it.

Several fish rose to the surface of the water. By a strange coincidence, all of them surfaced belly-up. – EvD

 

One of the taller creatures jumped to his feet, picked up two furry-footed companions, and threw them (clothes and all) into the water.

“Quick: gather them in before they escape downstream… yahoo, dinner!”

The fish were, if truth be told, making no attempt to escape, but the current WAS beginning to chivvy them towards the exit. – JHiD

 

Meanwhile, we find Austen chained to a desk in a stark, concrete, basement room surrounded by gloomy company – zombie Ben Jonson whispering ' Miss Lovelyknickers, Mr Total B******', zombie Douglas Adams with his head pickling in scotch, zombie Lewis Carroll just being creepy. Clearly, something wasn't working here, whatever it was that was going on. – VF

 

In a completely contrasting room upstairs, full of air, light and luxury (paid for by 15% on royalties), three slimy literary agents were discussing the question: “was Austen washed up as an author?” After all – aside from a minor work, Sanditon, published in 1925, Austen hadn’t published anything new in nearly 200 years… and she hadn’t WRITTEN anything new in over 200. The pieces she had so far contributed to that collective novel project on https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/question/view/2644 (intended by the agents to stir up interest in a to-be-forthcoming come-back) were quite bland and/or regurgitations of things that she had written 2 centuries earlier. – WL

 

“Perhaps we should mate her with one – or all – of the others and hope for better results from their progeny,” suggested one of the agents. “A long-term investment, no quick turnover, and we’ll have to convince the reading public that talent is hereditary, but we might be able to pull it off.”

“Well, we can forget that Carroll character as a stud,” gargled one of the others [the gargler], “as I understand that he only went for little girls.” – EvD

 

This latest piece of misinformation was entirely without factual justification and would have won Mr. Carroll a fortune in a libel suit [provided it were “tailored” in the USA] if he had only been alive and working in the 21st century.

“How STUPID we’ve been!” exclaimed the third agent, who had been quietly brooding for some time. “Forget ANY semblance of quality – quality don’t sell [sic], as we all know all too well – the big money’s in a solid fan (and I mean fanATIC) base… and we couldn’t do better than J.R.R.T.!” – JHiD

 

As the three scoured Wikipedia for the location of the popular author's remains, Aisha and Jon were well on their way to Stonehenge – having wrestled a decent horse and caravan from a passing gypsy (curses schmurses). Aisha took a much-needed nap in the back while Jon held the reins and pondered his unsuccessful taste in ladies, soothed by the scent of heather and other clichés. He was certainly glad to be out of the dwarf-infested mountain country and one step closer to a hairdryer for his legs. – VF

 

Dear Reader, are you getting dizzy with all this leaping around from one scene to another and the ever-shifting cast of characters? I know that I am, and I’m going to share with you my little tip for retaining balance: I take a break and sit back in a comfy armchair with a steaming hot mug of Hu Karezzzzzzzzzz Cocoa®. Hu Karezzzzzzzzzz Cocoa® – the only cocoa with added barbiturates! – WL

 

(Read the instructions and consult your doctor, pharmacist, or literary agent. In the last case, remember that [s]he will charge you 15% of your cocoa supplies.)

It is a universally little-known fact that gypsies do NOT – generally speaking – enjoy being robbed… and our recent robbee was no exception to the norm. – EvD

 

The gypsy – whose name was, coincidentally, Robbie – cursed (in both well-established meanings of the verb) in imaginative and colourful ways for a full nine minutes.

Betraying his grandmother, he personally believed in the effectiveness of curses – on the cursee – as little as Aisha and Jon did: but they were SO good for the soul of the curser!

Having – as Mark Twain’s wife once expressed it – “finished his prayers”, he set off on foot towards the gypsy gathering that he had been heading for before the theft: to see family and old friends, yes; to dance and sing, of course; to barter and flirt; without doubt… but now also to enlist help. – JHiD

 

[continued… at https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/profile/emilie-van-damm/work/57ec63aa38714073728b4569 ]