At the Zoo...

(You really thought I'd kill him? Heh. Pity I like him too much.)

Tor opens his eyes to see a floor of white and absolutely no blood. How anticlimatic, he thinks. Voices drift to his ears, and the lights seem at once very bright and vibrant and very easy on the eyes. He sits up, and a slight spell of vertigo almost forces him down to the ground again, but he fights it off. After all, he reasons, it's almost like a headache from a really bad hangover.

Still, his hand sneaks up and cradles his forehead as he gets his bearings and stares around. There is a vast room of nothing. It stretches onward indefinitely, never once meeting a corner, a wall, or a sky. The lighting seems to come from absolutely nowhere and everywhere all at once. There are no people, no pieces of furniture, and nothing else, it seems. Still, light pieces of laughter reach his ears, and he glances behind him to see a table set up with three very curious individuals sitting there, drinking what suspiciously appears to be tea.

"So I was thinking Desya would be very fun. You see, Mouse, as I had explained to Muffin, he's going to be a big bunch of headcases shoved into one," one of them says.

One of the three laughs. "You mean more so than Tor?"

"Oh yeah. Way more than Tor."

"I didn't think that was possible."

"He should meet him, Bunni," the third remarks, sipping tea and holding a strange doll of a purple-haired young man in a flourescent pink, vinyl miniskirt.

Tor raises his eyebrows as the first individual, who had been addressed as Bunni, rises just long enough to fish something out from a crate full of dolls similar in structure to the one the third is holding. Tor notices, very accutely, that this one is definitely a she and definitely a rabbit.

Tall and covered in brownish reddish fur with a white mask over her face drifting down to cover her chest, the rabbit-person is dressed in a tie-dye T-shirt and what appear to be very comfortable and much-loved jeans. She returns to the table with a smaller doll with short blonde hair and a big happy grin on its face. She puts jeans and a white tank top on the little doll and sets him on the table for the second to see. "Meet Desya, Mouse."

The one addressed as Mouse picks up the doll and Tor cautiously walks forwards, trying not to interrupt the trio. As he approaches, he notices the one addressed as Mouse really is just that -- a mouse. Mouse is much shorter than Bunni with dark hair, big brown eyes, and rounded mouse-like ears and a long mouse-like tail that dangles onto the floor beside him. He sets down a plastic figure on the table next to a pair of others and picks up the doll.

Suddenly, a shortish blonde guy is in the room, standing off to one side so Mouse and the one addressed as Muffin can see him. "He doesn't seem too interesting," Mouse observes.

"I think he's on crack, personally," Muffin observes.

"You met him?" Mouse asks.

"Bunni forced me to. I didn't want to. He's like he's five or something!" Tor is still too far away to see enough of Muffin.

"I had a lot of stuff I needed to get done. Like page two of Tor," Bunni protests. "Besides. All my characters act like they're five or on crack when I'm first developing them. You know they let me get rid of my excessive energy while I'm creating."

"And distract you at the same time," Muffin observes, taking another sip of her tea.

"Oh shut up," Bunni chides, taking the doll from Mouse, whapping Muffin with it, and then tossing it back into the crate.

"Out of curiosity," Mouse begins, "you have so many characters you do. But is there ever one story where there isn't one person who dies?"

Bunni considers this for a moment before shrugging. "Nope," she replies callously before downing the majority of her tea.

"I remember why I like Muffin's writing more."

"Tor, dear, come over here," Bunni says suddenly, not even looking up.

"How--"

"--did I know you were there?" She chuckles and waves over her shoulder, still not looking at him. "I brought you here. Now come here. I want to introduce you to a pair of your admirerers."

Tentatively, Tor approaches the table. A chair appears, and Bunni motions for him to sit. "Where am I?" he wants to know.

"That doesn't really matter. I'm so sorry to have disturbed your nice and ultra-shibby death scene, but I need something from you."

"Need something?"

"Quite. You see, Tor, deary, I am the nice and fuzzy bunni-lady who writes you. I need you to do something for me."

Tor looks at her as if she is crazy. He blinks. She is crazy, he decides.

"Mouse. Make Tor some tea."

"Okey dokey!" Mouse declares, grabbing a cup, a dish of sugar, and the teapot. He dumps about three fifths of the sugar into Tor's tea cup and then pours it full of tea, producing something to the effect of tea-flavored syrup by the time he is finished dissolving the sugar for Tor. "There ya go!" He sets the tea cup in front of Tor, who regards it oddly.

"Mouse, you didn't have to make tea like Provocare," Muffin mutters, waving the doll-in-a-dress she is holding threateningly. "By the way, is Mouse ever going to give me back my DVD?"

Tor watches intently as Muffin suddenly seems to grow color. She becomes a darker-skinned girl in a kimono with two big fans in her sash who is probably somewhere between Mouse's and Bunni's heights. He turns to Mouse, wondering why Muffin doesn't look muchly like a muffin.

Mouse quails mildly. "Umm... Tomorrow? I forgot again, Muffin. Sorry." He laughs a little nervously, and Muffin scoffs in return.

"Tomorrow," she repeats firmly. "Or I don't let you see the next DVD of Outlaw Star."

Mouse gasps dramatically. "NOOOOO!!!" he cries, as if in agony.

Bunni laughs and downs the rest of her tea, and Tor watches in amazement as the cup refills itself. "You want to see the Adam West Batman yet, Muffin?"

Muffin smiles. "If it's not too much trouble."

"I'll see if I can find it," Bunni and Mouse reply in unison.

"Riight," Bunni says immediately afterwards. "Anyways, to the business at hand. Tor." Everyone turns to look at Tor, who is begining to become rather uncomfortable.

"Umm... Yes?" Tor asks, raising his eyebrows.

"You're adopting a Bishel," Bunni says simply.

"I'm what?"

"Adopting a Bishel. I just wanted to let you know. You can go now."

"Ho there! What?"

Bunni narrows her eyes. "Don't call me a ho," she cautions, a doll of a young teenager in a dress appearing in her hand as she pulls back her arm and whaps him over the head with it. Luckily, the doll is amazingly soft.

"Oww... That almost hurt."

Bunni grabs Tor by the shirt collar and yanks him towards her. "Don't. Be. Sarcastic. With. Me," she commands, staring with vibrant green eyes into his. She seems a little angry, to say the least.

Tor swallows. Hard. "You... You got it," he replies, slightly meeker.

"Why is it so hard for you and Tor to get along?" Muffin asks, laughing.

Bunni waves her hands in a dismissive manner. "Probably because he's almost exactly the type of guy I want to jack up against the wall and beat the crap out of." Her reply, Tor notices, is almost more dismissive than her hand movements. "Anyway, Tor, you're adopting a Bishel. You can go now."

"You didn't tell me what a Bishel is and why I'm not dead."

"I don't care."

"But--"

"I said, 'I. Don't. Care.' Any questions?"

"I've got a question," Mouse says.

"Go for it."

"If Heero Is Not Toast, why is it so much fun to melt butter on him?" He giggles and rolls his one little plastic figurine around in a stick of butter as another stands there, butter melting off of it. "And Quatre, too." He giggles and sets about making the two figures hop around.

Muffin is in vague hysterics as Mouse rubs the one action figure against his mildly furry face, smearing melted butter into his fur.

"Mmmm... buttery Heero..."

"Mouse, I thought you didn't like guys like that," Bunni observes, an evil smile on her face.

"EWWWW!!!" Mouse screams and drops the Heero action figure almost immediately, jumping up, trying not to touch it. "Ruin my fun why don't you!?"

Muffin laughs a little harder, and Tor wonders how she can breathe and whether or not these people see a good shrink. Suddenly, another tall rabbit-person, this one a dark brown with hair that seems to stand on end, walks in.

"Dude. Bunni. I need to use your ultra-shibby-marshmallowy-room-thinger. Grar. Why do I have to say these stupid lines?" he asks.

"Because, T'en, dear little bunni, you came and started harassing me. Now you must pay!" She throws back her head and cackles maniacally. Tor notices, uneasilly, that Muffin and Mouse suddenly sort of fade back into grayscale blobs of nothing, and T'en takes Bunni's seat. Bunni is suddenly no longer there, and Muffin and Mouse start chattering back and forth before Muffin starts beating Mouse violently on the head with her guy-in-a-dress doll.

Almost as suddenly, Bunni pops in again. T'en looks up at her expectantly. "One more question," he asks.

"Eh," Bunni replies in acknowledgement, pulling a pair of headphones out of her rabbit ears. "What?"

"Why do I have ears?"

"Everyone has ears." She pulls a bag of cereal out of a pocket. "It's how things are."

T'en narrows his eyes and stares up at her. "I'm a freakin' rabbit, demmit. WHY!?"

Bunni grins sadistically. "Because you came to harass me."

"Shut up. I might actually do my homework now."

"Go get your own happy little marshmallow room, why don't you?" Bunni disappears again before reappearing moments later. Mouse and Muffin redefine and reinstate their color values.

"That was quick," Mouse observes.

"Not really. It was like four hours," Bunni replies, taking her seat at the tea table again.

"FOUR HOURS!?" Mouse repeats, astonished.

"Ay-ep," Bunni replies nonchalantly. "Anyways. Tor. You're adopting a Bishel. You can go now."

Tor stares at Bunni as if she has grown a second head or a seventh tail or something. "You're very redundant, do you know that?" he asks dryly.

"I take pride in it," Bunni replies, matching the tone expertly. "You can go now."

"Go where?" Tor wants to know, getting exasperated.

"Hmm... I think I'll shove you with someone."

"Oh? Who?" Muffin chimes in, sounding at once innocent of all crimes alleged to her and extremely curious, as if she wants to commit some sort of terrible offence.

Bunni turns to Muffin and begins relating, in detail, an extremely secretive plot for her purposes with Tor. He catches a few random names and places that mean absolutely nothing to him, but otherwise it makes very little sense.

Mouse sighs. "You know, I heard none of that because I'm on the other side of the table," he remarks after Bunni has finished.

Bunni rolls her eyes at Muffin and then takes a deep breath. "I AM GOING TO DROP TOR ON POOR LITTLE XYLON AND OBERON AND VIRENS IN THE TOWER AND GIVE HIM HIS HAPPY LITTLE EGG SOMEHOW AND OTHERWISE TORTURE THE LITTLE COMMUNITY UNTIL THEY LIKE EACH OTHER!!" she screams at him.

Tor blinks. "Um... Was I not supposed to hear that?" he asks.

Bunni's head whips around and she stares, wide-eyed, at Tor. "Dammitalltohell!" she spits. "What are you still doing here?" she demands.

Tor pauses and blinks. "You never said where I was going."

Bunni spits out a string of fairly inventive obscenities, half-way through which she snaps her fingers, and Tor finds himself somewhere else. Again.

The sun rises, reflecting a violent shade of red directly into Tor's eyes. He winces and shields them, turning from the sea just to see ... more of the ocean.

Where the Hell is he? Why is he all alone?

"You'll hardly be alone, Giuseppe. Ever. Did you so easily forget me?" the silvery voice in his head wants to know.

Tor sighs. "Oh just go stuff yourself."

Suddenly, a trio of flighted figures swoops down from the sky. A man, a weird dragon-dog-thing, and a peacock (entertainingly enough) land on the crest of the hill above the beach. The man and the dragon seem to have a singular-color-theme going on, as the man is gray-winged, possesses long gray hair, and gathers his voluminous black robes tighter around him in the cool morning breeze. The little dragon-dog-thing is a sleek black with a red gem in the center of his forehead and bright green eyes. He -- and Tor senses very keenly that it is indeed a he -- follows closely behind the man. The peacock struts along behind them. If nothing else, they make a fairly entertaining parade.

"Greetings and well-met, traveler," the winged man says stolidly.

"Umm... Yo," Tor replies tentatively.

"Welcome to the Islands."

"Islands?"

"Islands."

"Umm... What Islands?"

The man and the dragon-dog-thing exchange glances before turning back to Tor. "I am Xylon. This," he says, motioning to the dragon-dog-thing, "is Oberon, my Clarus dragon. The psycho-bird in the back is Virens, the Highly Disgruntled Peacock."

Nope. That wasn't a question dodge, Tor decides sarcastically.

"Call me Tor."

*Is that your given name, Traveller?* a gentle voice in his head asks.

Tor jumps and stares directly at the little dragon, Oberon. "Tell me that was you in my head," he pleads quietly.

*It was.* The dragon smiles cheerfully before nodding gently. *You needn't fear me, Giuseppe Salvatore.*

"How... How did you know--"

"Your name? Oberon, as well as other Clarus dragons, is telepathic. He can touch your mind," Xylon provides.

"And you know this?"

"Of course. Oberon and I are bondmates. What he knows, I know. What I know, he knows."

"That's gotta be creepy."

"Not... really..." Xylon replies, raising an eyebrow over what Tor realizes is a white-less eye. Neither of his eyes have whites, but rather, both seem to be all pupil.

Tor thinks vaguely to the voice in his head and shifts his weight uncomfortably in the sand. "Right. Anyways, where did you say I was?"

"The Islands."

"The Islands?"

"The Islands."

"Will you stop asking the same questions over and over again!" Xylon and Oberon stare over their shoulders at Virens, and Tor blinks at the peacock, agog. "I mean really! It's like you're from off-realm or something!"

"Well..." Tor replies.

"That's it, isn't it?" the peacock demands pointedly. "You are an out-realmer!"

"I guess. Is that bad?"

"No. But it gives me some leverage for when I want to start putting you down."

*Silence him. Please?*

"I can't, Obie. He's your Coming of Age gift. We're stuck with him."

Oberon sighs. *Then can we please go home? The sun's getting kind of warm...*

Xylon nods. Then, he turns to Tor. "Tell me, Tor, can you fly?"

"Fly?" Tor asks, thinking the bird-man must be mad. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. Certain skilled mages are quite capable of flight."

"I can't fly." Tor blinks. These people are crazy.

*Then you're a warrior?* Oberon asks, curious.

"I don't fight, either," Tor admits.

"Then what are you?" Virens demands.

It's going to take some getting-used-to to deal with a talking peacock. "A Seer and a musician."

"Where's your instrument, bard?"

"Mu-si-ci-an. Not. Bard."

"Whatever. Where is it?"

Tor reaches over his back to grab Cecilia off his shoulders, but she is not there. He glances over his shouler, and he yelps in surprise. "Cecilia!" he shouts.

Suddenly, a pile of things appears between Oberon, Xylon, and Virens. Xylon turns to Oberon. "You initiated a Call?" he asks.

*Not me. This just kind of showed up here,* Oberon admits.

"Pity. It was a really clean delivery." A note is attatched to the pile, and Xylon picks it up. "This all appears to be for you, from a rabbit who can't seem to spell properly."

"B-U-N-N-I?" Tor asks, spelling it out.

*How'd you know?*

Tor groans. "I'm starting to hate her."

"Regardless, she says you're to change your clothes into something more practical, get along very well with us, and your egg ought to be arriving in a later delivery."

"Does it say anything about my crystal, cards, or guitar?"

Xylon stares at the paper. "Yes. That was just... added... They'll be in a delivery before your egg. You shouldn't worry. And she wants me to... WHAT!? I'm not doing that!"

"What?" Tor asks, curious.

Oberon chuckles. *She wants Xylon to pet you affectionately,* he relays.

"Traitor," Xylon teases.

*Tell all the truth, as you instructed me.*

Oberon sticks out his tongue.

"I still don't believe you to be a bard-musician-whatever," Virens interrupts.

"What do you want me to do?" Tor asks.

"Sing."

"Any requests?"

"Do you know any battle marches?" Xylon asks eagerly.

"Not off the top of my head."

"Whatever you want, then."

Okay then... Some help that was, thanks guys. Tor sighs, and he suddenly finds himself singing the lines of, once again, a Simon and Garfunkel song, this time 'At the Zoo.'

"Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo.
I do believe it.
I do believe it's true.
Hmm hmm hmm...
It's a light and tumble journey
From the East Side to the park
Just a fine and fancy ramble
To the zoo.
But you can take the crosstown bus
If--"

Virens clears his throat. "Sorry to interrupt. What is a bus?"

Tor sighs. "You know what, I'm an out-realmer. I admit it. Are you done persecuting me yet?"

"Hardly," Virens replies.

"Argh!" Tor throws up his arms in annoyance and stalks the beach.

"We... could send you back, if you'd like," Xylon suggests.

"I don't want to go back there," Tor admits.

*That's a problem,* Oberon admits.

"BUT I DON'T WANT TO STAY HERE, EITHER!" Tor shouts, staring up at the sky.

"Um... who was that directed to?" Xylon asks.

"A big furry rabbit-lady," Tor admits, sighing.

*If you're finished, you're welcome to spend your time with us in the Tower,* Oberon suggests.

"Thanks..."

"Yes. Just wait here, and Oberon and I will lower the barriers and Call you. Don't worry. It shouldn't hurt a bit."

The trio spreads their wings, and, with a flurry of birdsong, Xylon leaps into the air, followed closly by the deft wing-beats of Oberon, and lastly by the clumsy gait of Virens. They leave Tor alone on the beach in the red morning sunlight. Tor sighs and checks out the pile of stuff Bunni had sent to him.

Silently, he changes clothes into a white tunic embroidered with floral designs, blue leggins, a long pair of tan boots, and a silver cross on a delicate chain reminiscent of the one Rosina had given him years ago but he had regretedly lost.

Also in the pile is a compass, a small blank notebook, and a small slip of paper suggesting maybe Tor would like to keep a journal of something - be it journeys or songs he writes. He sighs and tucks these all in a smallish pouch he finds attatched to a pouch. As he reaches down and picks up the pouch, he is suddenly somewhere else again.

He stares around. The room is dark, and he stands in the middle of a sacred circle of some sort within a room. Xylon and Oberon and Virens break the circle and guide him into the light. The architechture in the entrance room is, in the very least, impressive. At the most, it is awe-inspiring and overwhelming of the senses.