A FEAST FOR TROLLS



by



THE BRAVE R. R. COMPANIONS



PART 2 of 4

GEORGE

(submitted by krafus)

TAIRY

(submitted by silentmajority)

RAN

(submitted by kehnonymous)

ARST4N

(submitted by silentmajority)

GEORGE

(submitted by jaquelecaque)

TY

(submitted by loripetty)

RAY

(submitted by scorpiknox)

LISA

(submitted by silentmajority)

ALFRED THE GRRMLIN

(submitted by Krafus)

PARRIS

(submitted by kehnonymous)

Let’s see, George mused, going over Plan B2 once again as he sat at night in front of his computer in his library tower. I will lure Pesci and Liotta into a trap with the promise of an interview in some darkened building or alley, but I won’t be there. Instead, I’ll pick out the best combination of beauty and star-struck dumbness I can find among my female fans at that convention, and have fun with her nipples that night. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together will have to acknowledge that that is a much more preferable activity to being interviewed by two nerds, therefore providing me with a rock-solid alibi. Meanwhile, when Pesci and Liotta get there, they’ll be set upon by my Faceless Men and dealt with.True, the Faceless Men were in fact a sub-sect of his fans much more prominent for their fanatical devotion to him than for their fighting skills, but even so, at ten-to-two odds, they should be able to overcome two more wimpy nerds like themselves.As to how the Faceless Men had come to know the location and hour of the interview so as to intercept Pesci and Liotta, why, they had bugged the two Others’ hotel room even before they arrived. That the suggestion to do so, along with directions to electronics stores that sold that kind of stuff, would have come from George would never be discovered. The emails would have been carefully deleted and erased (George had accumulated a lot of experience at deleting stuff over the years), and the Faceless Men would die before they betrayed him.George chortled. Another brilliant, perfect, foolproof plan!Now that the Brave Companions were making more and more of a nuisance of themselves, George had decided he needed more than one plan to deal with Pesci and Liotta. After all, he couldn’t be sure exactly what would be the conditions when he got to the convention, so it was best to be prepared for all possible eventualities.And so, he’d made the huge sacrifice of foregoing two daily hours of cruising NFL and political discussion forums in favor of creating a myriad of plans to deal with Pesci and Liotta. He’d created plans A1 to A10, was now in the process of finishing the B series, and had begun work on the C series. George had already decided that C4 would involve the explosive of the same name, though he had no idea where he could get his hairy hands on that kind of stuff. Ah well. Variety’s why I’m creating so many plans. And it was so much more fun than even pretending to write A Dance with Dragons…Suddenly his dark study was illuminated as brightly as if a piece of the sun had appeared behind him. The blinding light lasted only a second, but it was enough to blind George as he heard the sound of wood ominously creaking under the weight of something tremendously heavy. He closed his eyes and instinctively raised his arms defensively in front of his face.”Is someone in here?” he called out, his voice tight with fear.”We are,” a male voice answered calmly. George was sure he’d never heard it before, yet it was familiar all the same.His heart beating wildly in his heart, he pivoted his chair and stood up, preparing to flee.”Sit down. We are not here to harm you,” the voice said in a reassuring tone. Some invisible force took hold of George and gently but frimly sat him back down in his huge chair.George, gripping the armrests tightly, his vision still blurry, was anything but reassured. What had the intruders just done to him? And what did they want with him? They couldn’t be assassins sent by the Others or the Enemies, otherwise he’d already be dead. Robbers like the one who had stolen one of his replica sword two years ago? That made more sense. But why take the risk of revealing themselves to him? To get him to admit where he’d hidden some his stash of undeclared money? Could they be IRS agents?”We are not here to steal your money or arrest you for tax evasion, George,” the voice said.George’s heart leapt in his throat. They could read his mind!”Yes, we can. Well, at least two of us can. I doubt the third member of our party can be bothered to do so…” There was a note of immense weariness in the voice.George’s vision finally cleared and he behold the three strangest beings he’d ever seen.The middle one was a plump, bearded man in a stylish suit that seemed made of shining gold from head to feet, clothes and shoes included. The second was an incredibly, no, inhumanly fat, bearded man with huge food stains on his frumpy clothes sitting in the left corner of the room. George thought he could see the floor actually bending under the man’s weight. Presumably this intruder had been the source of the creaking sound he’d heard earlier. The third, most normal one, sitting in the right corner of the room, was another plump man in threadbare clothes right out of the seventies. As George watched him, the man gave a huge yawn and slumped back against the wall, looking as unconcerned as could be.With a start, George realized that all three men, in one distorted way or another, looked like him.”So we do,” the golden man agreed with a small nod. He was the one who had been speaking to George thus far, and now realized that his voice sounded somewhat like his own. “We like to take forms at least a little familiar who those we seek out. Our true shapes would drive you instantly to madness.””Who are you?” George gasped fearfully.The golden man smiled, as did the grossly fat one. Even the slumped one seemed amused, in a detached sort of way.”Why, George, I’m almost offended,” the golden man said. “Don’t you recognize us? You’ve been one of our greatest disciples almost all your life.” The golden man waved at himself. “I am the Sin of Greed.” He pointed to the impossibly fat one. “This is Gluttony.” He waved at the unconcerned, slumped man. “And this is Sloth.” Greed’s smile widened. “We are here to offer you incredible magical powers in return for… certain things.”Again George’s heart sped up, but this time it was in eagerness. Incredible magical powers? He could be a superhero like those in his beloved Wild Cards series! He would be able to smite the Others and the Enemies with righteous magical fury!But wait. “Just what do you mean by ‘certain things’?” he asked warily. As a veteran reader of fantasy fiction, he’d read about far too many deals with evil supernatural beings that had been anything buy advantageous to the mortals who made those deals.”Not much. Just the souls of a few hundreds of your fans. The ‘GRRiMlins,’ I believe they are called in some quarters?”George frowned a little. “Ty tells me that’s what the Brave Companions call them. I prefer ‘Martinis,’ it sounds more classy.””Martinis, then. The souls of a hundred Martinis for each of us Sins.”That would be one of the easiest bargains George had ever made. What did he care about three hundred losers he’d probably never known and almost certainly never would have known in any case? As far as George was concerned, the vast majority of his fans were a thoroughly expendable, easily replaceable resource. Like Star Trek red shirts, he thought.”A nice analogy,” Greed said, his smile widening. “So, do we have a deal?” Was it George’s imagination, or was Greed glowing a little more brightly, Gluttony becoming a little fatter, and Sloth slumping even more?”We do!” George exclaimed with an enthusiastic nod. Incredible magical powers at that cheap a price? Hell yes!”Excellent! We’ll begin collecting those souls tomorrow. They’ll keep on living, mind you, but they’ll live unhappy, unfulfilling liv–“George frowned and gave a sharp wave of his right hand to interrupt Greed. “I don’t care about that. Tell me what powers I’ll have instead.””Very well. Some powers you will have or experience immediately, others will appear with the passage of time. Still, let it not be said that we Sins do not try to immediately satisfy those we make bargains with. Therefore, from me, you will now and forevermore have the power, by focusing your mind, to… attract all loose, forgotten change that could be lying about within thirty feet of you as if you were magnetized!”George blinked. “What?””From me,” Gluttony said, his voice low and wavering, “you now and forevermore have the power to locate and bring to yourself by levitation all leftover food within thirty feet that hasn’t yet been put to trash. You can use this power by focusing your mind and thinking about free food.””What?!” George asked again, more loudly.Greed looked at Sloth, who yawned again, for a few instants, then back at George.”I’m afraid Sloth is too lazy to bother communicating with a puny mortal, so he asked me to pass on his message. From him, you now and forevermore have the power to, by touching someone else, make that person so lazy he or she won’t do anything productive for a whole week. Once that week has passed, you can use the power again.””What?!” George asked a third time, nearly shouting. “But those are all lame-ass powers! And I’m already capable of not doing anything productive for months, what do I care about imparting that power to others for a week?! I want really useful or powerful ones, like flying or throwing lightning or becoming invulnerable!””You should have bargained for powers like those before you accepted our deal,” Greed said, the Sin’s smile turning mocking. ”Caveat emptor applies here, I’m afraid, and in any case the price of such powers would have been much higher. Still, as I mentioned, you will gain other magical powers as time goes by. Who knows, perhaps in time you’ll acquire some you actually like.” The Sins began to fade away.”Wait!” George shouted desperately. “We can make another deal! Take more of my fans’ souls! Take thousands of them! Tens, hundreds of thousands!”But his entreaties were futile. A few instants later, the Sins were completely gone. The floor where Gluttony had been sitting creaked again as it returned to its original, intended shape.George just felt like weeping.A blinding light swept over him along with a piercing noise that caused him to cradle his head into his arms. What was happening he wondered? As the light and noise receded Tairy raised his head and staggered forward, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. The room he had been sitting in a while ago was gone, replaced with ivory trees, a glistening rainbow that stretched across the horizon, and to his East he saw twelve leprechauns, six were sitting around a pot o’gold pounding down pints of Guinness while the other six were dancing an Irish jig. To the North there was a huge tower that seemed to dwarf the rest of the world, and above that tower there was a flesh colored cratered moon that had a deep crack down the center, and shoved deep in that crack was a dark, dead thorn....”Ahh Shit!” Tairy mumbled and looked towards the heavens. “Who’s the asshole who put me in a fantasy novel? I don’t do fantasy you fuckers! I’m a serious literary mind. Damn you...damn you all to hell!!”Laughter was soon heard from behind the bushes, and Tairy instinctively groped his sword that wasn’t there. He quickly reached towards the nearest ivory tree and broke off a limb and proclaimed it the Stick of Truth then marched forward towards the giggles.”Who dares laugh at me?” Catching a glimpse of one of those people hiding in the bushes Tairy had a hardy laugh himself. “You might as well step out from the shadows, I know a GRRiMlin when I see one.” Despite being strategically placed in a fantasy story he knew that all GRRiMlins dressed the same no matter where they were found. No shirt, no shoes, only chaps!Tairy leaned over and threw up as this reminded him of when Speakman was wearing his chaps on the dance floor dancing to the song, “Pants on the Ground.” Now that was truly disgusting he thought...The GRRiMlin leader moved forward. He was sitting high on a unicorn that wasn’t a unicorn, but actually a dairy cow. He was wearing his ceremonial pink chaps and a feather headdress, he also had the body odor of someone unfamiliar with a shower. Behind him stepped seven other GRRiMlins they too were wearing nothing but chaps; however, theirs were yellow.Tairy noticed that they were armed with rolled up unpublishable Manuscripts that would drive anyone who read it insane. In comparison they were so bad that they made a “Sword of Truth” novel look....well not much better, but better.Tairy held out the Stick of Truth and pointed it menacingly at the leader. “Where am I, and what are you doing here?””I am James of the Speculating Horizon and these are my lands. I am the Soiled GRRiMlin Will you bow down and worship George’s Moon?””I worship no man, GRRiMlin....” Tairy pushed the Stick of Truth further into James face. “What are you doing? These leaves from your stick are tickling my nose...” Haha. The Soiled GRRiMlin was about to have his men attack when out from the Stick of Truth shot a flock of birds that weren’t birds, but actually squirrels!The squirrels tore apart most of the GRRiMlins as they went for their jugular and the Achilles tendons. Blood sprayed over Tairy’s face who laughed at the sight he saw. It wasn’t long before the field was covered with corpses. The Leprechauns were hooting and hollering as they were placing wagers on who would win the battle . The only GRRiMlin left standing was James the Soiled GRRiMlin, besides having both his nipples gnawed off and one of his butt cheeks torn away James was unharmed.So there they stood facing each other. James reached down and grabbed another rolled unpublishable manuscript, so he now held one in each hand. Tairy plucked one leaf off of the Stick of Truth and set the stick aside, now only wielding a leaf for a weapon.”You will bow down and worship George’s Moon or you will die stranger.”With lightning quick speed Tairy moved on the offensive and disemboweled the Soiled GRRiMlin with one swipe of the leaf. Strangely he noticed how James smelled better now that he was disemboweled. However, without missing a beat he strangled the GRRiMlin with his own intestines.Having finished everyone off he grabbed his stick and headed over to the Leprechauns for a seat and a beer, and also to count all his lucky charms he won. “So George is getting aggressive and trying to take over huh?” He said to no one in particular. “I need to organize and go on the offensive myself before he realizes I’ve dispatched his men. I’ll need help, but from whom? Neither the GRRiMlins, nor the GRRuMblers like me. It’ll need to be a two prong attack, so I’ll need someone I can trust.””What about Bob?” mentioned the cherry nosed leprechaun.”Yes! Bob Stanek has an ax to grind with both GRRiMlins, and GRRuMblers alike. I’ll need to recruit him.” Tairy slammed down the last of his beer, as he felt a tightening in his Zebra colored Zubaz. He realized that it had been a while since he raped something.Reaching over he grabbed his stick by the shaft and shook it violently until a chicken that wasn’t a chicken, but actually a chipmunk fell from the branches. The chipmunk tried to get away, it was fast, but not as fast as Tairy!As he was bearing down on the chipmunk a blinding light swept over him which was followed by the piecing noise. He tried to cover his ears, but couldn’t because his hands were somehow restrained. Shaking his head he realized that his arms were crossing his body with both his sleeves tied behind his back. The wilderness was gone, and he was now back in his room that was padded on the floors and walls. A young nurse stepped through the open door with a tray.”You must release me! NOW! The GRRiMlins are coming and only the Stick of Truth can save us! Release me now. I’m a serious literary mind, and only I can save the world!””OK Mr. Goodkind, but first you need to take your medication alright?” the nurse then set the tray down and unzipped his trousers, so he could give Tairy his medicine. He gulped and swallowed.I need to get a hold of Bob he’ll know how to get me out of...That was Tairy’s last thought before everything went blank.A dusky chill settled around the Tower of the Hand, and Ran felt his mood darken along with the evening sky. He strode over to the fire and put on another log, hoping that the room wouldn’t stay so damnably cold. One could never get too comfortable in the spartan quarters he shared with Linda. The price of being warden over his Lordship’s followers. So went his house words: But the King abides, and so shall I. Still, they’d done what they could to call the forboding tower home. The silk tapestries, purchased from the merchants of Mystic Spiral bore his house sigil - a shirtless wizard riding a polar bear on a field of lightning bolts and a full moon.Would that this wizard come riding on his polar bear now - we have need for one. Iblis’ assault on Ser Gaiman was unexpected, and an assault upon them all.”Ran, sweetling, come play a MUSH game with me.” Linda cooed, absently rearranging some Tyrell figurines in a defensive formation around their hand-painted Highgarden pewter replica.”Damnit, woman, open your eyes! We are at war now. Real, bloody war, the kind fought at LARPS with foam swords and rubber shields. A miniature game when Ser Neil lies wounded under the septas’ care? I think not.He paused. “Forgive me, lady, if I am wroth. It’s beyond my power to ban these Companions from the forums, so I find myself at a loss.”Linda came to him, and clasped his hands in hers. “You are forgiven, but it is not my forgiveness you seek, it is Ser Martin’s. Gods, Ran, how could we have let things come to this? We have been charged with stewardship of his empire and with enforcing the loyalty of his subjects. And it has been our privilege to serve. Ser Neil spoke the words truly: George R. R. Martin is not our bitch. But we are his, and now we must prove it on the field. Send our legions to Chicago - and a thousand crowns to the man who bring’s back the heads of Liotta and Pesci”Ran smiled. This was why he loved her, stretchmarks and all. “Your will shall be done.””No,” Linda sweetly corrected. “His will.”Little Jimmy awoke coated in sweat to his mother yelling at him from atop the stairs, “Your late for work!” Shacking his head, and rubbing his eyes he then glanced over at his calendar. Good he thought, I don’t have to shower until next week. Swinging his feet onto the floor and sitting up he noticed that he wet the bed again. Damn he thought...oh well it’ll dry later.He stopped for a second to ponder his recurring dream. It had been a fun dream until this last time. Who was this Tairy guy he wondered? What was George’s Moon, and why did he instinctively want to lick and kiss it? He had a lot of questions, and no answers.”Jimmmmmy, Grandma’s waiting for you to bathe her! Hurry up!””Just a second Ma!”He reached over and unplugged his Betty blowup doll, and layed back and pondered some more. Except for the hissing of his deflating sex doll, Jimmy was surrounded by silence, and alone with his thoughts. Frustrated because of all his questions he got up and started to pick up all his cumshot photos until he came across one of his Grandfather.”If only Grandpa Arst4n was here he’d have the answers...” He mumbled under his breath. James Arst4n never felt like he could live up to his Grandfathers name. He had a few friends online, but most of them didn’t like his cumshot photos. He sighed. He tried to be a GRRuMbler, but they rejected him. He had to come to terms that he was just a lowly GRRiMlin. Not just any GRRiMlin though...”I am the Soiled GRRiMlin” he said to himself. “I must get back to my lands! But first I must find out what the Tower and the flesh colored cratered moon with a dark dead thorn shoved in the crack is supposed to mean?”James then hopped onto the naked lady machine and emailed The Big Guy in hopes that he could get some answers. Just then his Mom called back down the stairs reminding him that he still had to give his Grandma a sponge bath.”I’ll ask Grandma for a raise, and then fly to America to talk to Shawn! If George doesn’t have the answers then surely Shawn will!” With that James headed upstairs to begin his day of discovery.George quickly finished typing about the NFL on his Not A Blog and hit submit. He had more to say on the subject but that would have to wait until his next entry. He had a more urgent matter to attend to. George had to pee.With much effort, he moved his bulk from his blogging chair onto his new Hoveround and headed towards the bathroom. As he passed his desk where he worked on A Dance With Dragons, he stopped. He looked at the computer and then slowly reached out and touched the keyboard. “That counts. See you next month.” He said aloud to the computer and then proceeded to the commode.George entered the tiny cramped bathroom. Actually, for anyone but George, the bathroom could be called spacious. He struggled to get off of the Hoveround and into the standing position. He did not need to unzip because he was undressed. Ty was making a run to Popeye’s and Parris was shopping for a winged unicorn snowglobe. He had no one to dress him.He stepped to the commode and glanced down before his girth eclipsed the toilet. “Hells! He roared.The toilet lid was down and on top of it was sitting an issue of Better Homes & Gardens. How could someone have forgotten to leave the lid up? He cursed Ty’s incompetence and Paris’s negligence. He cursed his doctor for not installing the catheter and colostomy bag so he wouldn’t have to suffer such nonsense as calls of nature.George made an attempt to reach the magazine and lid with his tubby arm. It was to far away. He would have to bend over. Very slowly he started to lean forward and as he did so, the fat on his back started shifting to the front threatening to unbalance him. This was not going to work.He gave up and reached under the rolls of his belly and grabbed hold of what he thought may be his penis. Even though he couldn’t see his cock, he judged that he might have it aimed correctly at the toilet and then he let loose. First hitting the tank of the toilet he adjusted and a stream of piss hit the magazine and lid sending urine spatters all over the floor, toilet, toilet paper and his legs.”Incompetent fools!” George raged.”Is something wrong, Master?”George turned to see Ty standing in the hallway with two bucket’s of Popeye’s and a sackful of Dinty Moore cans. “Is something wrong? IS SOMETHING WRONG? Look!” George screamed at Ty while pointing to the piss drenched toilet.Ty’s face paled as he saw that the lid was down. He could swore he left it up. Paris must have left it down. What was her reason? Ty grew worried.George continued to rail at him, “I’m much too busy and important to have to do something as trivial as lift a toilet seat! That is why I have you! You have failed me once again.””I... I’m sorry.” Ty stammered. “I didn’t think to check it again before I left to get you chicken and stew.””I’ll give you one last chance. Now... clean this mess up and throw that out.” George said gesturing to the toilet and magazine.Ty took hold of the magazine and moved to throw it in the waste can. “Wait.” George said grabbing his arm. He reached under one of his breasts and produced a Sharpie. “Hold it open.” He ordered.Ty obeyed, holding open the issue of Better Homes & Gardens. Golden piss dripped from the magazine onto Ty’s new buckskin moccasin boots. Silently he cried to himself. Just another humiliation in a long list he has had and will suffer.George stretched his arm out, Sharpie in hand and signed the urine soaked magazine. “Put that up for sale on my website. Six hundred dollars. Not a penny less.”Ty frowned. “Master, you haven’t even edited this. Do you think they will buy it for $600?”George grimaced. It physically pained him to admit someone may be right, especially while they were there. “Offer a Brienne miniature at a five percent discount to whomever purchases it.”Ty knelt at George’s feet. The aroma of piss and cheese greeted him. Ty was reminded why he took this job. “Thy will be done, Master.”Ty wasn’t necessarily having the best day of his life; it just had the potential to be the best, which was, to him, just as good. He had already found two lucky pennies, and while not as many as his all time record of three, it made him confident. Maybe today would finally be the day when he would get a call back from that Nigerian prince about his $20,000 dollars.He adjusted the belt on his khaki shorts and lifted a bucket of miscellaneous filth to be dumped out over the fence into the neighbor’s backyard, as usual. He remained in a constant state of alertness as he descended the Library Tower steps. In that place, you had to develop acute senses to stay alive.The problem with the Library Tower stemmed from something George kept secret from everyone except Ty - he was running out of money. Ty, as George’s accountant - a temporary position, he had been assured - had noticed George’s accounts running dry, despite the annual $200 from the Wild Cards people, and the $50 from publishing anthologies. Because of these financial woes, the Library Tower was not actually finished. George had grand designs for the tower - including his very own Cinnabon stand inside - but he kept changing his mind on what he wanted, and with each change, he lost more money that could have been used on more necessary things, such as insulation, actual load bearing walls, and a roof.The Tower had now taken on the qualities of a swamp, complete with water moccasins, carnivorous plantlife, and what legends called a Felhawk.Uneventfully, Ty reached the bottom of the sludge-filled fen known as the Library Tower. Before he could exit the Tower, however, he heard a cry for help from below the floorboards. He dropped the bucket and immediately searched for the source, finding a trap door.Inside the small basement was a bleach-blonde young woman wearing a velvet-slashed see-through evening gown (soiled velvet-slashed panties beneath) and a gold chain. She kept wailing, oblivious to Ty’s presence. From the cracked skin and bruises, Ty noticed that she had been abused, and for a very long time.”Excuse me, hello! I’ll help you! What’s your name?” Ty asked, as he tried to find a key for the iron shackles.”I...I don’t know.””What do you mean?””He...he took my name. My real name. And now he calls me...Shae.””Who?””He had me cry out...’my giant of Lannister!’” She wept, looking off into the distance beyond Ty.Ty got a closer look at her, his face frozen in a rictus of terror as realization flooded over him. How did I not find her sooner? Her gold chain was a pair of hands, crossed over.This new driver was really starting to piss him off. Liotta had hired him two weeks ago and still the man insisted on trying to start conversations with him. To be clear, Liotta had given him no reason to think that his overtures of familiarity were welcome. Even worse, the conversations were always about nothing even remotely interesting. Once, the idiot had even asked Liotta if he liked watching The Bachelor. What kind of a grown man watches The Bachelor?”I miss Benny,” Liotta muttered underneath his breath. Benny had been a quiet guy and a good worker. A good worker, but a shit soldier. He’d taken one to the chest over some bullshit that should have never gotten out of hand like it had. It was, as usual, all his older brother’s fault, but what could he do, whack his own flesh and blood?”Hey Ray, you know what I saw the other day on the news?”There he went again. Talking. That was enough of that. Liotta leaned forward and put his hands on the driver’s shoulders. His voice was low and sincere, and he was close enough to smell cheap aftershave.”Listen, you motherfucker you. Your job is simple. Drive me to were I need to get to and keep your fucking mouth shut. I don’t give a fuck if you’re friends with my brother-in-law. You want to talk, you’re gonna be talking from the side of the road with a hole in your eye socket, lying in a fucking ditch. We clear?”Liotta leaned back into his seat and caught the driver’s terrified eyes in the rear view mirror.”And don’t you ever call me by my first name again or I’ll put one in the back of your head at a stop light and make your buddy pay me for a new suit.” Ray pulled out a cigarette, rolled the window down, and enjoyed the silence.Pesci had arranged to meet with him about some big news. He’d called Liotta last night sounding very excited, but he wouldn’t say what it what about, not over the phone. At this point in the game, Ray was on his way more out of courtesy than anything else. I hate this half-assed cloak and dagger bullshit, he thought.Twenty minutes later they pulled up to Pesci’s club. Ray stepped out of the Lincoln, slamming the door behind him. After taking a deep, deliberate pull off of his cigarette, he bent down to look at his driver. “OK, you just be back here in one hour. Not one hour and five minutes, not fifty five minutes, one hour. I’ll call you if I need you.” The man nodded emphatically, not saying a word.”What’s a matter? Cat got your fucking tongue?” Ray asked, laughing. “OK, beat it you dumb mook.” He slapped the man on the back of the head and the Lincoln screeched away. Ray took another puff, looked around at the dirty Chicago streets for a few moments, and headed inside.Night clubs were always depressing places when the sun was out, and The Sugar Baby was no exception. Joey had actually poured quite a bit of cash into the place, but daylight had a way of exposing things for what they really were, and, remodeled or not, the Sugar Baby was a dump. Ray’s shoes were tacky on the faded grey floors, the spilled booze from last night’s revelry vaguely trying to hold him fast as he walked towards the bar.He made eye contact with the bored looking bartender who promptly perked up at the sight of him and cocked his head towards the rear of the club.”Mr. Pesci is waiting for you in his office, sir. Can I fix you something?””Yeah, bring me a scotch, 3 cubes. I’ll be in the back,” Ray replied as he headed in towards Joey’s office. How did his brother always find such good help? A sir and a scotch, very classy. Very fucking classy.Pesci was sitting at his desk. Two women on his computer screen were doing something to each other that Ray couldn’t quite make out. A few clicks of a mouse and the screen went blank.”Finally! Where the fuck you been? You’re breaking my balls over here,” Joey spat out his words in continuous stream of anxious consciousness, “I got this tub of shit downstairs sitting on a rusty traffic cone with three broken fingers, ten broken toes, along with a serious fucking attitude problem and you take your sweet goddamn time getting over here like I got all fucking day to wait for your sorry ass.””Jesus, sorry Joey, what’s so important it can’t wait? Is this another one of your botched hijack jobs? How much you need this time?” Ray had bailed his big brother out several times before. He always seemed to be in trouble, usually made worse by his volatile temper. Stuck in hot water caused by an even hotter head.”No baby brother, it ain’t anything like that…” Ray was confused and Pesci’s tone became a near whisper, “I fucking got one of them,” He grinned as he said that last part. Ray had seen that grin before. The first time had been on Ray’s 12th birthday, right before Joey had stabbed their step-dad in the liver. He’d used pinking shears. You’ve really got to want to kill someone one to stab them in the liver with a set of pinking shears. Ray knew all too well that the grin on his brother’s face meant that someone close by was very severely and completely screwed.”Got one of them? What are you talking about?””One of them. They. The fucking thorns in our side for the last five years!” Pesci was bubbling over like a bottle of toxic champagne.”Wait, you caught a GR-“”A GRRiMlin! And not just any GRRiMlin, a god damned bona-fucking-fide GRRMsguard!” Joey took a breath, “I gotta calm down. Blood pressure, fuck, my heart’s gonna burst.” He pulled out a bottle of pills from his desk and stuffed a small dry handful down his throat.A world away, Liotta was reeling from the implications of what his brother had just told him. A GRRMsguard in their custody would open up a whole host of possibilities, if handled with the necessary care of course. His thoughts soured as he remembered Joey’s peculiar dispositions and inclinations, snapping him back to the here and now.”How bad is he?” Ray asked.”What do you mean? I already fucking told you. Four broken fingers and ten broken toes. Other than that I haven’t touched him,” Pesci stood up from his desk, buttoning his pants.”I thought you said it was three fingers.””Ah, who gives a shit. Let’s go downstairs and I’ll introduce you”As they were leaving the office, the bartender brought Ray his scotch. Good, he made it a triple.Shae watched as his dopey eyes grew in agony until Ty said, “I gotta pee!” He got up and walked out the door locking it behind him. Shae sighed and thought Well at the very least now I know what would’ve happened to Forrest Gump if he’d been a pothead. The door hadn’t been open long enough for her eyes to focus, so she still didn’t know what kind of room she was in and what was in it. Next time she thought she’d make sure to case out the room. She wasn’t going to be stuck here any longer!Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait much longer as she heard keys jiggling outside the door. Finally the knob began to turn, and the door creaked open. A small sliver of light appeared on the ground and started to grow as the door moved open. There stood a silhouette of a man holding a book, with a candle sitting on top of it, and a pen resting next to the candle. His shirt was illuminated, and on it was a red fire breathing dragon. He stepped forward. Brought the candle up to the side of his face and got really close to her.”Will ya sign ma book?” Ty asked. Shae glanced down and when she saw the cover memories flooded her mind. She remembered who she was, and why she came here in the first place.”You must be Ty, now listen very closely I never wrote that book. Do you understand Ty? I never wrote Windhaven! Ty...George stole my name, so he could cheat on his taxes! Do you understand what I’m saying? George isn’t a good liberal, Ty! He’s a tax cheat! That’s why he had to steal my name and lock me up in here! You have to unlock my shackles and let me go, so I can warn everyone!”Ty cocked his head to the left, and his eyes glazed over. He set the book and pen on the floor, and brought the candle up close to her face. She wasn’t as young as he had originally thought. “Do ya have any dragon shirts? I like tha ones with da hoods.””Wha....what are you talking about? Didn’t you hear what I said Ty? George isn’t a good liberal! George is a...” But before she could finish her sentence Ty interrupted her. “...but ah wanna dragon shirt!” Ty’s arms were synchronized as he was pumping them up and down, all the while he was stomping one foot. “AH WANNA NOTHA DRAGON SHIRT!” He blew out the candle and stomped out of the room locking the door behind him.Again Lisa found herself in the cold darkness of the room. Where does he possibly find these people? she thought. However, all was not lost, the door had been open long enough that she had been able to scope out the room. Along with the Windhaven novel, and pen that Ty had left on the floor there were also several other items laying around that would aid her in her escape. A wooden hanger, a spool of thread, one Velcro tennis shoe, a broken down Dewalts drill but with no bit, a pack of D batteries, and a bent Valyrian sword.To most people this wasn’t much, but for Lisa Tuttle this is all she needed. She had studiously watched every episode of MacGyver, and she knew every episode forward and backwards!She reached over and grabbed the thread and placed one strand in the keyhole, then she took the novel and tore pages out of it, wadded it up and placed that in the keyhole also. Trying her best to get as far away from the shackles as she could possibly get, she grabbed the Velcro shoe. Opening and closing the Velcro as fast as she could it only took a couple of minutes before a spark was produced and with it she lit the thread. She watched as the spark moved along the makeshift fuse towards her shackles. Once it got to the Prologue of Windhaven it burst into flames. Never before has garbage burnt as bright and hot as it did at this time.*SNAP*CRACKLE*POP*The shackles fell off and she was free! Now Lisa was faced with two potential problems. One. If George was home surely he’d be here soon looking for a bowl of Rice Krispies. Two. If he wasn’t home how would she open the door?There was only one question left in her mind though: “What would MacGyver do?”Sobbing, Alfred took another step.How did it come to this?! Alfred the Dread Lord wondered in bewildered anguish. One moment he and his band of stalwart fellow Martinis had been riding merrily along the path through the forest to meet a band of their fellow Martini LARPers for their usual monthly practice bout of medieval fighting and jousting. Then the next they found themselves under heavy fire coming from concealed positions in the trees to either side of the path, and began dying front, center and behind.Sobbing, Alfred took another step.True, they were being hit by nonlethal paintball gunfire, but under the strict Extreme LARPing Rules he and his companions were playing, it counted. And so, after the first seconds of incredulous surprise, Alfred’s twenty men had no choice but to start falling to the ground, faking terrible wounds with loud moans and cries of pain or, more often, simulating death with gurgling, rasping death gasps.As his soldiers fell one after the other, Alfred had felt the fear of his first shameful TPK (or Total Party Kill) as Battle Commander overcome him. He turned his stallion around, put spurs to flanks, and galloped away. It won’t be a TPK if I manage to get back to our camp. And someone has to warn the Tower of the Hand of what happened here. If we get wiped out, then under the Extreme Rules we’ll have to remain silent for two weeks. Or so had been his thoughts as he fled and abandoned his men to their fates.Sobbing, Alfred took another step.Unfortunately, whoever had planned the ambush had anticipated that someone might try to flee. Alfred hadn’t gone more than twenty meters before his steed took a paintball pellet to the center of the chest. The animal, well used to the noisy chaos of LARP battles and the occasional fake blow, had simply neighed and slowed a little. But it was dead according to the Rules, so Alfred had had no choice but to dismount and start running on his own.That had been nearly half an hour ago, and he was still running, if not nearly so quickly or vigorously as when he’d started. If fact, by now it was outright torture. The thirty-pound fake armor he was wearing didn’t help any. Alfred had reluctantly discarded his shield, knowing as he did so that it meant forfeiting it to the attackers, but it was a lot less expensive than the armor.Sobbing, Alfred took another step.There was only one group Alfred could think of who would resort to such base treachery: the Brave Companions, or the Bloody Mummers, as the Martinis increasingly called them. The Enemies. The traitors who, not content to dis themselves by breaking their oath of loyalty to King George of House Martin, the First of His Name, King of the Game, the Clash, the Storm and the Feast, Hopefully-Soon-To-Be-King-of-the-Dance, had taken up arms against those who remained loyal to Crown and Council.He rounded another bend, and finally saw the forest’s end. At last! From there, it should not take more than ten minutes for him to reach the camp where his and his fellow Martinis’ wives, daughters and girlfriends were also LARPing, practicing a courtly event meant to take place at the Tower of the Hand in two months. Alfred shuddered at the thought of his wife and two daughters being captured by the Companions, no, the Mummers.Invigorated by the sight of the cleared ground beyond the forest, Alfred sobbed and took another step.The paintball pellet hit him low on the left side of his chest. As he involuntarily slowed and gaped down in horror at the yellow paint, another quickly followed, hitting his left knee.No! No! No! Even if it could be argued that his armor had saved him from death, by the Rules he was at the very least crippled.There was no choice. Now weeping, Alfred let himself drop heavily on the path’s earthen floor, the impact jarring and nearly stunning him.His attacker took a long moment to show himself. Alfred got his sobbing under control, and even started to breathe easier after he removed his paint-smeared helmet. No matter what, he had to act as befit a Battle Commander and Lord of Westeros in good standing with the Council, having been raised to those positions by High Lord Ran as a reward for valiant service and dubbed by King George himself at conventions.And you acted as befits a noble battle commander by running away? a voice asked mockingly in his head. Alfred shook his head, trying to silence it.Finally, his assailant came into view from behind him. He proved to be a man of average height and build, with dark hair and eyes, wearing military fatigues and a helmet with greenish forest camouflage. His face was daubed with green paint to further enhance the effect. In his right, gloved hand, he held a green, rapid-fire paintball rifle. His only real distinguishing feature was his smug smile.A smile Alfred had seen before. “You!” he tried to hiss accusingly, but his exhaustion made the word come out like a pathetic wheeze.”Me,” Krafus, formerly the Smiling Knight of the Kingdom of Westeros, replied. “You don’t look too happy to see me.””I was… right, it was the Bloody… Mummers who ambushed us… back there. You… traitors. You betrayed… all your oaths.”Krafus shrugged unconcernedly. “We Brave Companions are of the opinion that it’s King George who betrayed his vassals, with his greed and his general lack of commitment to his duties. How else to explain all the ‘proclamations of the Crown’ that are nothing more than ads for whatever crappy goods the merchants in cahoots with him are selling, or that he takes so many vacations every year when the Dance is still unfinished and so late?””That is… his right! King George is not… your bitch!” Alfred replied with all the vehemence he could muster, which at the moment wasn’t much.”Still can’t muster anything better than Sir Neil of Gaiman’s outdated and flawed defense, can you? Oh right, that would require you to have an original thought of your own. In any case, King George may not be our bitch, but you and the rest of the GRRiMlins have become his. Besides, these back-and-forth accusations mean nothing. It’s the victors who will write history, and we’ll make sure that’s us.” Krafus’s cocky smile became wider. “We’ll be the heroes who courageously stood up and cast King George the Unworthy down from his throne, while you GRRiMlins shall be remembered as the blindly, dumbly loyal vassals of a wretched and corrupt liege. That is, if we’re feeling generous.”Alfred shuddered almost violently at the thought. “Why did it have to come… to this? What happened?... We were all part… of one great host once. You fought… for me, rode at my side in half a dozen LARP battles… We swept the Jordanites and then the Tairynites from the field… The whole world of fantasy literature lay open before us, ripe for conquest…””What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. King George took five years to come up with the Feast, and let’s face it, it wasn’t nearly as good as the Game, the Clash and the Storm, “ Krafus answered, his expression darkening and his voice growing angrier as he spoke. “That was bad enough, but at least we could console ourselves with the thought that the Dance would follow within a year. Only, a year became two, then three, then four, and now it looks like it’ll be five years or even more. Meanwhile, King George issues royal proclamations about seemingly everything going on in his life except for what his subjects really want to hear about; writes or edits unrelated Tomes, and takes four to six vacations a year to schmooze with his fellow Writer Kings. For a year and a half, he issued no proclamation whatsover about the Dance, except for a tantrum against his detractors! Is that how a king who gives a damn about his subjects behaves, I ask you?!””He is… the King. It is for us to obey him... and he owes us nothing. We should all be grateful… for what he has already provided us. I’m sure he’s… doing everything he can to finish the Dance.”Krafus shook his head sadly. “And now we come back full circle. You GRRiMlins still trust King George implicitly, we GRRuMblers distrust him implicitly. Ah, well.” He looked Alfred up and down, then his smile returned. “At least this’ll be a profitable day for us Companions. Take off your sword belt and armor, or maybe I should say our sword belt and armor, would you? I wonder how much your oh-so famous sword will be worth at the merchants’ Bay of E?”Horror swept through Alfred. His Valyrian steel sword, Red Rain, was a unique functional replica of a sword in the Kingdom of Westeros and his most prized possession. Its crimson blade, which shone a bright, wondrous red when bared to light, never failed to attract admiration at LARP gatherings, and really everywhere Alfred took it.Red Rain had been a gift from High Lord Ran himself soon after Alfred the Dread Knight became Alfred the Dread Lord. “For valiant service to king, council and country,” the High Lord had said, smiling, as he bestowed the incredible gift upon the newly-raised lord.And Alfred had indeed performed much service. He had become part of the Top 10 Most Devoted Vassals, writing up no fewer than twenty thousand proclamations of his own at Ran’s Westerosi Tower of the Hand. He had ventured into other Writer Kings’ lands with King’s George’s banner held high, and held his ground against all challengers. Being very wealthy in real life, Alfred had also raised and equipped a large group of fellow Martinis with replica swords and armors, who fought under the banners of various Westerosi Houses in LARP events. He had also made it a point to buy at least 20 copies of all new Wild Cards Tomes, which according to Lord Werthead meant he represented approximately 95% of any individual Wild Cards book’s sales.Alfred had even performed other… embarrassing activities under King George’s direct supervision, activities that to this day shamed him and that he’d buried in the deepest corner of his mind.To Alfred the Dread Lord, Red Rain had become the symbol of all this, the material expression of his boundless devotion to King George and the Tower of the Hand, his rightful and even righteous reward for his unwavering, loyal service through times good and bad no, no, no don’t think of the bad ones, they were just bad dreams about nipples stop, stop, stop.The thought of losing his sword was too much to bear. Fearful anger swept through him, and for the first time in his life, Alfred threw the sacrosanct LARP rules to the winds. With a roar, he surged to his feet, drew his sword, and leapt at Krafus, right arm raised high for a mighty slash, blade flashing crimson under the sunlight. Red Rain was a very real sword with a very real edge, so it should cut down the smug bastard –A gunshot rang through the forest, and a very real bullet hit Alfred in his leather-covered right wrist, tearing through flesh, muscle and bone to hit and be stopped with a muffled clang by the steel of the upper part of Alfred’s gauntlet. Even as Alfred attacked, Krafus, his expression now hard and focused, had dropped his paintball rifle, drawn a pistol from a holster at his side, raised it, aimed, and fired, all in one smooth motion.”AAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!” The blinding pain made Alfred let go of his prized sword, which dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He brought his wounded right hand back tightly against his chest and cradled it with his left one. A wave a painful nausea swept through him, and he sat down hard on the path, sending a bolt of pain up his right arm.His eyes closed tightly against the pain, Alfred rocked back and forth a few times. The pain seemed to subside, or at least grow no worse, after a moment, and he opened tear-filled eyes to look at Krafus. “You… you shot me,” the Dread Lord said incredulously.”No shit, Sherlock.” The accursed Mummer had eased out of his firing stance, though he still held his pistol at his side. He grinned and held the gun sideways and up, as if for Alfred’s inspection. “Glock 18. I never leave home without it.””I’ll… I’ll call the police. Tell them you… shot me without provocation.””Oh, come now. It’s not like you had a sudden fatal case of bolt-through-bowels like Tywin Lannister. You’ll survive, and with a bit of luck maybe even regain full use of your hand someday.””I have a bullet in… in my wrist, you son of a bitch.” And it hurt like hell, with pulses of pain running down his arm and spreading though the rest of him even as blood spread down his arm. “That’s what the cops… will see.”Krafus sighed. “You brought this on yourself, really. But as you insist…” He looked to his left and made a signal. “That’ll be enough, Frank. Cut it off,” he said, raising his voice.Another man dressed much like Krafus seemed to materialize out of the surrounding forest not far away. He grinned, gave a small wave, then turned his attention to what Alfred realized with dawning horror was a handheld camera pointed in his direction. The man touched a button, and a tiny blue light winked off.Krafus noticed his look. “Yes, Alfred,” he said in a friendly tone. “Our whole pleasant chat has been recorded, with sound, in full HD glory. I intended to keep it as a souvenir, but who knows; copies of it might soon be delivered to the local police station and be posted on YouTube.” The Mummer’s grin was back.Alfred’s shoulders slumped. He was beaten, completely and inescapably.”With this video, not even the best lawyers your money can buy will be able to spin this event into anything but what it was: you attempting to murder me, and me firing to defend myself,” Krafus went on implacably. “You’ll get thrown out of every LARP group and professional association you might be a member of, and land right into jail. I’m sure the inmates will love having your rich ass at hand when shower time comes around.”Slowly, Alfred raised his head. The battle was lost beyond hope, so now he, like the good businessman he was in real life, had to focus on minimizing losses. “You’re right, Krafus, it was my fault I got shot,” he said in a small, defeated voice he didn’t have to fake. “And as… you pointed out, I’m wealthy. So maybe I could… pay a ransom. Or we can... make some other arrangement.”The man once known as the Smiling Knight gave Alfred the full, white-teethed smile that had made him famous, and now infamous. “Well, let’s see. Our silence for your little bit of treachery won’t come cheap. And according to your ridiculous Extreme LARP Rules, the losers of any engagement must forfeit arms and armors to the victors, no matter what the circumstances that led to their loss. Earlier today we took out the other group of GRRiMlins you meant to fight, so all that stuff you paid for is ours now. I’ll keep Red Rain, for a certainty.”Oh, and by the way, there’s another group of us Companions who by now should have captured your staging camp, along with your lovely wife and daughters. All your base are belong to us! So, taking all this into account, our arrangement will be very, very expensive…”The sunlight was beginning to fade over the western mesa overlooking the Santa Fe airport. Parris and Ty sat at an airport bar, killing time until their flight to Chicago. They’d left George at the gate on his hoverround with all their luggage. And no one’s like to be carrying more baggage than I, she mused grimly. A cluster of empty cocktail glassed flanked their table. Parris’ supper of pease and chili was only half cold and she was already deep into her cups.”I’ve had a bit too much... much”, she slurred, taking another drag from her cigarette.Ty was three sheets to the wind himself as he watched the evening commuters passing by “Why do the people start to rush-rush?”, he blurted.”How does he fare on Dance?”, Parris asked.”...Can’t find a drink, oh man”, Ty rambled to himself incoherently. “Where are my keys? I’ve lost my phone...”They sat glumly in silence for awhile. Parris hated flying on the best of days. And this is anything but. She missed her cannabis garden already. Driving George to the airport had been ...Gods, woman, how did you let things come to this? she took another long drag on her cigarette, repressing that memory with a shudder. He’d wheezed and sniffled all the way to the airport. That was nothing new. But she wasn’t looking forward to cleaning his splattered shit off the back seat when they returned home. She made a note to get a rental car with vinyl seats next time and to... she paused. Is Ty enough of a lickspittle clean off even that mess...?She looked across the table at Ty, and found his expression unreadable. Odd, because I can usually read that boy like a book. Has he found yet a new way to humiliate himself? “Ty, hon, you got that look like you’re trying to think. You know he hates when you git to doin’ that sorta thing.””Well...” he stammered “it’s just all these rumors about the Brave Companions. We’re flying into their home base, and it are not belong to us. I fear they set us up the bomb. Neil was only the beginning...”Ty had a point. The night before, an anonymous poster had spammed George’s, as well as Ran’s, websites with pornographic images. Rumor had it that he didn’t stop there. It wasn’t anything Parris hadn’t seen before in her hippie days and, truth be told, she’d gotten a good laugh at George’s impotent tantrums when he saw the pornographic spam. Until he, no longer able to contain his rage, lost control of his bowels all over his high backed velvet chair. She sighed and finished off her cigarette pack.”We done been through all this before. We go to Chicago and git ‘er done. George will have the GRRMsguard, Ran will lead him, Wert will have his cocaine, and it’ll all work out fine. Y’all gonna see.””Ran’s not answering my calls.””He never has.”Ty looked crestfallen. Oh gods, not the wounded puppy look again. She patted his arm gently. “It’s because he’s jealous of you, silly. You may not be much, but I reckon that you’re George’s number 1 con-fi-dant, and he wouldn’t be able to put his pants on wit-out y’alls help.””Really?” Ty beamed.”Yes indeedy do,” Parris lied.Ty downed another shot of whiskey.”Wel, there’s more,” he mumbled.Parris frowned. Does he know about Shae/Lisa? She’d known about George’s incarcerated plaything for a long time - subtlety was not one of his stronger points - but tolerated the harlot’s presence well enough as it was time that the corpulent oaf spent out of her sight.Ty took a deep breath. “I’d been thinking that I was going to get some free money from the internet for the last week and move out of my apartment into, you know... a real place. And well, I’d been waiting and waiting, but I finally was supposed to get some real money. It was a check for my publisher’s advance for that novel I co-wrote. I had them send it to Mr. Martin’s mailing address since well... I’m at you guy’s place more often than my place. It wasn’t much, but it would’ve been a start, y’know?”And then...” Ty stammered, unwilling to look Parris in the eye. “I was reviewing Mr. Martin’s expenses for this week last night before we flew out and... well, there was an order for Twinkie cakes and Fudgebutter flapjacks that I didn’t co-sign. And the amount paid was equal to the publisher’s advance that I never got. I don’t know if I should be upset, since well... what are my talents compared to his?”Parris whistled to herself. This was news. Never thought he’d reach his breaking point well before I did. She was deciding between an honest answer or a patronizing one when a sharp noise crackled from overhead; it was the P.A. system’s loudspeaker.”Attention! Paging passengers Parris and Ty...” They heard the grating screech of feedback as the microphone was wrested away from the P.A. announcer.””Parris! Ty!” George’s voice had that familiar wheedling tone. “I need you both here immediately! The rightwing extremists at airline security are saying I... I!” He paused to wheeze indignantly “...That I have to pay for two seats because I can’t fit in one! I need you to straighten this out now - mood: annoyed!” As if on cue, the airport concourses’ overhead monitor displayed a sad-face emoticon in petulant neon orange.Parris and Ty looked at each other. “Oh gods, ” they both muttered.