Tourists

I know, I haven't been on in ages and I'm so sorry for that, but life has been happening and I'm just trying to keep up and don't have time to search out the stories to do commentary on and all, much less do all the drawings for (particularly since I don't really have somewhere to set up my drawing materials, as my current 'desk' is a tv tray), but here's something I wrote to hopefully tide you over and let you know I'm not dead yet.


They really hadn't intended to become a tourist attraction.

It could all be drawn back to that one girl, of course...having fallen down a hole while running after someone like a simple-minded child many years her junior, hitting her head and coming up with wild stories she'd invented after meeting a few people while suffering a grievous head injury. For a while after she was graciously returned to her family (the Queen having escorted her there personally, with nary a thought to taking anyone's head in the process...no one ever figured out where the girl got that bit from) her loving parents carefully tended to their clearly addled daughter, plying her with the best medicine they could. Considering the times, this generally consisted of a great deal of morphine and mercury, which decidedly didn't help the whole hallucinations and madness bit, but their intentions were well enough. She was taken to some of the best psychologists money could buy, but none of it seemed to help. Eventually one of the psychologists decided that there must be more to what the girl spoke of than people thought, and decided to investigate. When he found that the land the girl spoke of did exist...if not to her description, but it was at least there...well, that's when things decidedly changed for it's residents.

People from above began flocking in left and right, wanting to see the fantastical world from the girl's stories, and they intended to see it whether or not the residents wanted them there, or even were like what had been described. Many of the residents weren't bothered overmuch, being close enough to human in form and function* to be declared boring by tourists, who were here to see 'the real deal'. Poor Reginald had to put up with constantly being referred to as 'The Mad Hatter', despite not being mad at all*** , and only making hats as an occasional hobby, his main employment being as a professional grower and brewer of fine teas. He stoically handled it though, even throwing out the occasional "How is a raven like a writing desk?" to delighted tourists, as long as they bought some tea first.  He wouldn't complain about the increase in his tea business, but he did have several choice words concerning those particularly persisted girls...and to his horror, young men...who for some reason thought his supposed madness was the sexiest thing ever and threw themselves at him like wild dogs in heat. After one particular incident involving a group of girls wearing a rather disturbing amount of black, with their skin painted white as a corpse, he hired on a cousin of Ears**** to act as a bodyguard. Things went much more smoothly for him after the first time Legs***** kicked a tourist through the front door after said tourist attempted to 'glomp' Reginald, and tourists learned to respect the personal space of anyone who was protected by a rabbit the size of a large kangaroo.

Everyone had their fair share of problems....From being branded as mad, murderers or worst of all - attractive - by the tourists, or such complaints as cookies going missing because some idiot thought it would make them gigantic, the jabberwock population having to go into hiding because of all the would-be knights trying to slay them despite the large reptiles' peaceful natures, or the regrettable decline of attendance at the Queen's croquet competitions and picnics due to people fearing for the structural stability of their craniums, or even Absolom the Caterpillar constantly complaining about the hazy-eyed simpletons visiting him asking him for a hit. However, all of the denizens of the country could agree that none suffered so terribly as the Cheshires. The noise and nuisance of the tourists would have been bad enough for the felines, as it interrupted their twenty hours a day of beauty sleep constantly****** and the obnoxious ones that insisted they fade away into a grin, with no understanding of the true nature of a Cheshire. Not all of them fade away, and certainly not into a ghastly grin unless they are particularly malevolent and wish to mess with someone's head. Some break into puzzle pieces, others unwind into thread, some evaporate into mist, it really depends on the particular cat. Of all the sins visited upon the cats, however, none was so great as the audacity of the few who decided to try and keep them as pets.

The very nature of a Cheshire is freedom. It is what they live, breathe, and are made of. Freedom is so much a part of their essence that they could not even stand being restricted to one physical form, which is why they can change themselves, not just for camouflage purposes******* but so they are not so confined. To be confined to a stuffy little house, put in a collar and called "Kittywuggins" was an affront to not only their dignity, but the very fibre of their being. After people started attempting to capture them to keep as pets, the hospitals began getting decidedly more patients as the cats made their displeasure known. Of course, no one actually managed to keep a cat they attempted to confine, as the Cheshires were too clever and powerful for any mere mortal to keep ahold of. Some tricky salesmen tried selling collars or other trinkets they declared would confine the cats and make them unable to change their form, but they tended to vanish rather quickly in a disturbingly quiet fashion.

One of the worst affronts to the land, as the residents all agreed, was to the name itself. None of the tourists bothered to learn the real names of any geographical location, instead dubbing the entirety of it "Wonderland", and refusing to call it anything else even when corrected. Much like any other country being overtaken, the residents eventually gave up trying to keep things the way they were and settled to just making do with things being changed, except a small number of particularly stubborn individuals set in their ways like stone. A few even liked the change, as they were able to profit immensely from it, or learned of new things they came to enjoy. Absolom, despite his complaints about the more odd-smelling tourists who constantly visited him, never closed off his glade, and began some manner of trading with the tourists who visited him, considering the increase in unusual smells and colored smokes from his home, and his newfound propensity for giggling at nothing.

Eventually, of course, as with all new discoveries, the novelty of the land wore off eventually, and while a fair number of tourists still visited every year things quieted down for the most part. A few people bought homes, whether vacation homes or permanent residences, in the area, and some even became good friends with the locals and started up small businesses of their own. Reginald even joined up with a woman who had begun a business baking various sweetbreads and other goods, combining their businesses into a quaint teashop/bakery with novelty hats, an upstairs apartment set up as a small bed and breakfast inn. Naturally, a few of the tourists who saw the pair working together and heard of them combining their businesses tried to spin it into a romantic plot, which quickly unraveled when they actually visited and saw that the woman was old enough to be Reginald's great great grandmother's nanny.

Of course, age works far differently for the residents, even those who came from above to call it home. While most of the stories of magic that came about from an addled girl's ramblings were, of course, nonsense, the land does posses a magic of it's own. People who live there are often centuries old, millenia even, but not all that many look it. This isn't to say that nobody ages, everyone does. Just not the same way. Simply put, the ones who are old have been old for a very, very long time, and the ones who have been young have been so for just as long. The land seems to understand what age people are most comfortable at, what they're meant to be, and allows them to reach just that. If someone is most comfortable in the skin of a young adult, then they will stay that way. However, if one feels more at home in an aged body, whether a shaman or wise woman who likes the image, or someone who just feels more comfortable that way for whatever reason comes into their minds, then the magic will let them reach that age. No one really knows how old they will get when they are young in years, but the land knows their hearts before they do, and shapes them to it, even the people who weren't born there. Death still happens, of course, as life wouldn't exist without it, but it tends to be few, far between, and more from disease or accident than anything else. Birth is a rare and very celebrated event, as a land that supports life for so long cannot support too much life at once. There's only so much magic to go around, you know.

* They weren't really human, of course...no true humans lived in the land, but the people at least looked similar save for odd hair or eye colors now and then. Anyone unfortunate enough to have pointed ears had to deal with many tourists insisting that they tell them what the trees are saying, as elves are supposed to know those things. Most at least attempted to explain that the vast majority of trees don't bother talking to anything more ambulatory than a mushroom, and those that do usually don't have much worth sharing unless one has a vested interest in the soil quality**, but a few eventually just started making things up just to get the tourists to leave them alone.

** Most farmers keep at least one elven farmhand around for this reason.

*** Well, there were a few instances in his past with mercury and questionable mushrooms that left a few frayed wires that spark every now and again, and he does have a rather regrettable habit of being distracted easily, particularly by shiny objects, but it's hardly something worth labeling him entirely for.

**** Ears is most commonly known to the tourists as The March Hare, and is one of the few people that Alice was even remotely right about, as he is rather unhinged. Reginald mostly only invites him for tea at all because Ears would get lonely otherwise. These parties usually d0 not consist of any other guests, as Reginald is one of the few able to deal with Ears's behavior and strong enough to keep the rabbit from hurting himself when his mood goes sour. Most attribute Ears's problems to his mother having consumed a great deal of campion (and possibly some foxglove, though she denies that) while pregnant.

***** It should be noted that lapin parents are notoriously uncreative with names, and tend to name their children after whatever feature is most noticeable on them at birth. Ears tends to be a very common name as a result. Many change their names after they reach adulthood, though some either keep them out of respect for their parents, or because they aren't very creative themselves. The ones who do not keep their original names tend to be named after plants.

****** The cats are very beautiful creatures by nature, and often attribute their looks to their generous sleep schedule.

******* Primarily only used when they wanted privacy or didn't want to deal with someone they didn't like, as there is nary a predator in the lands dumb enough to try and hunt one, and if one was so stupid they would quickly learn why it was a bad idea to try and harm a Cheshire.

Pinocchio Ch. 13

CHAPTER XIII
The Inn of the Red Lobster

Sounds delicious. Do they have the tank where you can pick out which one you want while it's still alive?

     Cat and Fox and Marionette walked and walked and walked. At last, toward evening, dead tired, they came to the Inn of the Red Lobster.

I bet they ordered the most expensive things on the menu, too.

    "Let us stop here a while," said the Fox, "to eat a bite and rest for a few hours. At midnight we'll start out again, for at dawn tomorrow we must be at the Field of Wonders."

    They went into the Inn and all three sat down at the same table. However, not one of them was very hungry.

So, just the scallops, then?

    The poor Cat felt very weak, and he was able to eat only thirty-five mullets with tomato sauce and four portions of tripe with cheese. Moreover, as he was so in need of strength, he had to have four more helpings of butter and cheese.

Mullets? He ate the eighties hairstyles of wannabe rockers?

    The Fox, after a great deal of coaxing, tried his best to eat a little. The doctor had put him on a diet, and he had to be satisfied with a small hare dressed with a dozen young and tender spring chickens. After the hare, he ordered some partridges, a few pheasants, a couple of rabbits, and a dozen frogs and lizards. That was all. He felt ill, he said, and could not eat another bite.

....What kind of inn serves frogs and lizards?!

    Pinocchio ate least of all. He asked for a bite of bread and a few nuts and then hardly touched them. The poor fellow, with his mind on the Field of Wonders, was suffering from a gold-piece indigestion.

    Supper over, the Fox said to the Innkeeper:

    "Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Pinocchio and the other for me and my friend. Before starting out, we'll take a little nap. Remember to call us at midnight sharp, for we must continue on our journey."

    "Yes, sir," answered the Innkeeper, winking in a knowing way at the Fox and the Cat, as if to say, "I understand."

Oh dear, we've got us a conspiracy.

    As soon as Pinocchio was in bed, he fell fast asleep and began to dream. He dreamed he was in the middle of a field. The field was full of vines heavy with grapes. The grapes were no other than gold coins which tinkled merrily as they swayed in the wind. They seemed to say, "Let him who wants us take us!"

    Just as Pinocchio stretched out his hand to take a handful of them, he was awakened by three loud knocks at the door. It was the Innkeeper who had come to tell him that midnight had struck.

    "Are my friends ready?" the Marionette asked him.

    "Indeed, yes! They went two hours ago."

    "Why in such a hurry?"

    "Unfortunately the Cat received a telegram which said that his first-born was suffering from chilblains and was on the point of death. He could not even wait to say good-by to you."

    "Did they pay for the supper?"

    "How could they do such a thing? Being people of great refinement, they did not want to offend you so deeply as not to allow you the honor of paying the bill."

If you try this excuse on your friends, they will cut you.

    "Too bad! That offense would have been more than pleasing to me," said Pinocchio, scratching his head.

    "Where did my good friends say they would wait for me?" he added.

    "At the Field of Wonders, at sunrise tomorrow morning."

    Pinocchio paid a gold piece for the three suppers and started on his way toward the field that was to make him a rich man.

    He walked on, not knowing where he was going, for it was dark, so dark that not a thing was visible. Round about him, not a leaf stirred. A few bats skimmed his nose now and again and scared him half to death. Once or twice he shouted, "Who goes there?" and the far-away hills echoed back to him, "Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes. . . ?"

    As he walked, Pinocchio noticed a tiny insect glimmering on the trunk of a tree, a small being that glowed with a pale, soft light.

    "Who are you?" he asked.

    "I am the ghost of the Talking Cricket," answered the little being in a faint voice that sounded as if it came from a far-away world.

GHOOOOST BUGS!! God, those infestations are the hardest to get rid of. You have to call Pest Control AND ghostbusters, and they pad the bill! You can't tell me they don't!

    "What do you want?" asked the Marionette. "I want to give you a few words of good advice. Return home and give the four gold pieces you have left to your poor old father who is weeping because he has not seen you for many a day."

    "Tomorrow my father will be a rich man, for these four gold pieces will become two thousand."

    "Don't listen to those who promise you wealth overnight, my boy. As a rule they are either fools or swindlers! Listen to me and go home."

You are getting advice from beyond THE FREAKING GRAVE. Listen to it!!!

    "But I want to go on!"

You're stupid.

    "The hour is late!"

    "I want to go on."

You're an idiot.

    "The night is very dark."

    "I want to go on."

You're a freaking moron.

    "The road is dangerous."

    "I want to go on."

I hope you die in a fire.

    "Remember that boys who insist on having their own way, sooner or later come to grief."

    "The same nonsense. Good-by, Cricket."

    "Good night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from the Assassins."

Wait, assassins? What's this about assassins? Why didn't you mention them earlier when trying to persuade him not to go to the field? If I was on my way to somewhere I really wanted to go, like Disneyland or something, and someone told me there were assassins there....well, I'd probably either laugh myself sick or guess that the assassins probably worked for Disney and were weeding out anyone who wasn't cheerful enough, but I'd at least pay attention!

    There was silence for a minute and the light of the Talking Cricket disappeared suddenly, just as if someone had snuffed it out. Once again the road was plunged in darkness.

No picture for this one again (Sorry!) Because right now I'm working on some halloween themed pony plushies to sell so I might be able to keep my bank account afloat, and because there's no one here I haven't drawn already, so...y'know, not that much interest. Also, I broke 1000 pageviews! You guys are awesome!

Pinocchio Ch. 12

CHAPTER XII
Fire Eater gives Pinocchio five gold pieces for his father, Geppetto; but the Marionette meets a Fox and a Cat and follows them
.....why?

     The next day Fire Eater called Pinocchio aside and asked him:

    "What is your father's name?"

    "Geppetto."

    "And what is his trade?"

    "He's a wood carver."

    "Does he earn much?"

    "He earns so much that he never has a penny in his pockets. Just think that, in order to buy me an A-B-C book for school, he had to sell the only coat he owned, a coat so full of darns and patches that it was a pity."

    "Poor fellow! I feel sorry for him. Here, take these five gold pieces. Go, give them to him with my kindest regards."

Wait, you're giving the demonically possessed hunk of wood that made you eat a half-cooked dinner after completely disrupting your show a significant amount of money? What is WITH you people?!

    Pinocchio, as may easily be imagined, thanked him a thousand times. He kissed each Marionette in turn, even the officers, and, beside himself with joy, set out on his homeward journey.

    He had gone barely half a mile when he met a lame Fox and a blind Cat, walking together like two good friends. The lame Fox leaned on the Cat, and the blind Cat let the Fox lead him along.

I'm guessing here that they're walking on their hind legs, as leaning on the cat while leading him along would be very difficult walking on all fours.

    "Good morning, Pinocchio," said the Fox, greeting him courteously.

    "How do you know my name?" asked the Marionette.

A valid question.

    "I know your father well."

    "Where have you seen him?"

    "I saw him yesterday standing at the door of his house."

    "And what was he doing?"

    "He was in his shirt sleeves trembling with cold."

    "Poor Father! But, after today, God willing, he will suffer no longer."

    "Why?"

    "Because I have become a rich man."

Kiddo, a few coins does not a rich man make.

    "You, a rich man?" said the Fox, and he began to laugh out loud. The Cat was laughing also, but tried to hide it by stroking his long whiskers.

Well at least the cat shows some manners.

    "There is nothing to laugh at," cried Pinocchio angrily. "I am very sorry to make your mouth water, but these, as you know, are five new gold pieces."

    And he pulled out the gold pieces which Fire Eater had given him.

Aaaand here we have a big mistake. You never let strangers know how much money you have.

    At the cheerful tinkle of the gold, the Fox unconsciously held out his paw that was supposed to be lame, and the Cat opened wide his two eyes till they looked like live coals, but he closed them again so quickly that Pinocchio did not notice.

Of course he didn't notice, he's the most thickheaded idiot on the planet!

    "And may I ask," inquired the Fox, "what you are going to do with all that money?"

    "First of all," answered the Marionette, "I want to buy a fine new coat for my father, a coat of gold and silver with diamond buttons; after that, I'll buy an A-B-C book for myself."

Five gold coins won't get you a coat of gold and silver with diamond buttons. Clearly he has no concept of what anything is actually worth.

    "For yourself?"

    "For myself. I want to go to school and study hard."

    "Look at me," said the Fox. "For the silly reason of wanting to study, I have lost a paw."

    "Look at me," said the Cat. "For the same foolish reason, I have lost the sight of both eyes."

    At that moment, a Blackbird, perched on the fence along the road, called out sharp and clear:

    "Pinocchio, do not listen to bad advice. If you do, you'll be sorry!"

    Poor little Blackbird! If he had only kept his words to himself! In the twinkling of an eyelid, the Cat leaped on him, and ate him, feathers and all.

That cat is going to have a very upset stomach later.

    After eating the bird, he cleaned his whiskers, closed his eyes, and became blind once more.

    "Poor Blackbird!" said Pinocchio to the Cat. "Why did you kill him?"

As if you have room to talk!

    "I killed him to teach him a lesson. He talks too much. Next time he will keep his words to himself."

Next time? He's dead, there never will be a next time!

    By this time the three companions had walked a long distance. Suddenly, the Fox stopped in his tracks and, turning to the Marionette, said to him:

    "Do you want to double your gold pieces?"

    "What do you mean?"

    "Do you want one hundred, a thousand, two thousand gold pieces for your miserable five?"

    "Yes, but how?"

    "The way is very easy. Instead of returning home, come with us."

    "And where will you take me?"

    "To the City of Simple Simons."

    Pinocchio thought a while and then said firmly:

    "No, I don't want to go. Home is near, and I'm going where Father is waiting for me. How unhappy he must be that I have not yet returned! I have been a bad son, and the Talking Cricket was right when he said that a disobedient boy cannot be happy in this world. I have learned this at my own expense. Even last night in the theater, when Fire Eater. . . Brrrr!!!!! . . . The shivers run up and down my back at the mere thought of it."

FINALLY. Show a little intelligence!

    "Well, then," said the Fox, "if you really want to go home, go ahead, but you'll be sorry."

    "You'll be sorry," repeated the Cat.

    "Think well, Pinocchio, you are turning your back on Dame Fortune."

    "On Dame Fortune," repeated the Cat.

    "Tomorrow your five gold pieces will be two thousand!"

    "Two thousand!" repeated the Cat.

The cat is starting to get on my nerves.

    "But how can they possibly become so many?" asked Pinocchio wonderingly.

    "I'll explain," said the Fox. "You must know that, just outside the City of Simple Simons, there is a blessed field called the Field of Wonders. In this field you dig a hole and in the hole you bury a gold piece. After covering up the hole with earth you water it well, sprinkle a bit of salt on it, and go to bed. During the night, the gold piece sprouts, grows, blossoms, and next morning you find a beautiful tree, that is loaded with gold pieces."

    "So that if I were to bury my five gold pieces," cried Pinocchio with growing wonder, "next morning I should find--how many?"

    "It is very simple to figure out," answered the Fox. "Why, you can figure it on your fingers! Granted that each piece gives you five hundred, multiply five hundred by five. Next morning you will find twenty-five hundred new, sparkling gold pieces."

I highly doubt anyone can count to twenty-five hundred on their fingers, unless they've got an astonishing lot of them.

    "Fine! Fine!" cried Pinocchio, dancing about with joy. "And as soon as I have them, I shall keep two thousand for myself and the other five hundred I'll give to you two."

    "A gift for us?" cried the Fox, pretending to be insulted. "Why, of course not!"

    "Of course not!" repeated the Cat.

    "We do not work for gain," answered the Fox. "We work only to enrich others."

    "To enrich others!" repeated the Cat.

    "What good people," thought Pinocchio to himself. And forgetting his father, the new coat, the A-B-C book, and all his good resolutions, he said to the Fox and to the Cat:

    "Let us go. I am with you."

You. Are. An. Idiot!!!!

For some reason my mental image of the fox has him wearing a robe. No idea why.

Pinocchio Ch. 11

CHAPTER XI
Fire Eater sneezes and forgives Pinocchio, who saves his friend, Harlequin, from death

A totally logical sequence of events.

     In the theater, great excitement reigned.

    Fire Eater (this was really his name) was very ugly, but he was far from being as bad as he looked. Proof of this is that, when he saw the poor Marionette being brought in to him, struggling with fear and crying, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" he felt sorry for him and began first to waver and then to weaken. Finally, he could control himself no longer and gave a loud sneeze.

    At that sneeze, Harlequin, who until then had been as sad as a weeping willow (Hey now, this is an unfair stereotype! Weeping willows can be just as happy as anyone else! IT'S A CONSPIRACY MAN!) , smiled happily and leaning toward the Marionette, whispered to him:

    "Good news, brother mine! Fire Eater has sneezed and this is a sign that he feels sorry for you. You are saved!"

BOOOOOOOO.

    For be it known, that, while other people, when sad and sorrowful, weep and wipe their eyes, Fire Eater, on the other hand, had the strange habit of sneezing each time he felt unhappy. The way was just as good as any other to show the kindness of his heart.

Other than making no sense.

    After sneezing, Fire Eater, ugly as ever, cried to Pinocchio:

    "Stop crying! Your wails give me a funny feeling down here in my stomach and--E--tchee!--E--tchee!" Two loud sneezes finished his speech.

His nose is on his stomach?

    "God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

    "Thanks! Are your father and mother still living?" demanded Fire Eater.

    "My father, yes. My mother I have never known."

    "Your poor father would suffer terribly if I were to use you as firewood. Poor old man! I feel sorry for him! E--tchee! E--tchee! E--tchee!" Three more sneezes sounded, louder than ever.

    "God bless you!" said Pinocchio.

    "Thanks! However, I ought to be sorry for myself, too, just now. My good dinner is spoiled. I have no more wood for the fire, and the lamb is only half cooked. Never mind! In your place I'll burn some other Marionette. Hey there! Officers!"

    At the call, two wooden officers appeared, long and thin as a yard of rope, with queer hats on their heads and swords in their hands.

    Fire Eater yelled at them in a hoarse voice:

    "Take Harlequin, tie him, and throw him on the fire. I want my lamb well done!"

    Think how poor Harlequin felt! He was so scared that his legs doubled up under him and he fell to the floor.

    Pinocchio, at that heartbreaking sight, threw himself at the feet of Fire Eater and, weeping bitterly, asked in a pitiful voice which could scarcely be heard:

    "Have pity, I beg of you, signore!"

    "There are no signori here!"

    "Have pity, kind sir!"

    "There are no sirs here!"

    "Have pity, your Excellency!"

    On hearing himself addressed as your Excellency, the Director of the Marionette Theater sat up very straight in his chair, stroked his long beard, and becoming suddenly kind and compassionate, smiled proudly as he said to Pinocchio:

    "Well, what do you want from me now, Marionette?"

Seriously? You're falling for that?
 
    "I beg for mercy for my poor friend, Harlequin, who has never done the least harm in his life."

    "There is no mercy here, Pinocchio. I have spared you. Harlequin must burn in your place. I am hungry and my dinner must be cooked."

    "In that case," said Pinocchio proudly, as he stood up and flung away his cap of dough, "in that case, my duty is clear. Come, officers! Tie me up and throw me on those flames. No, it is not fair for poor Harlequin, the best friend that I have in the world, to die in my place!"

DO IT. DO IT. DO IT. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MAN DO IT.

    These brave words, said in a piercing voice, made all the other Marionettes cry. Even the officers, who were made of wood also, cried like two babies.

    Fire Eater at first remained hard and cold as a piece of ice; but then, little by little, he softened and began to sneeze. And after four or five sneezes, he opened wide his arms and said to Pinocchio:

    "You are a brave boy! Come to my arms and kiss me!"

Eeeewww.

    Pinocchio ran to him and scurrying like a squirrel up the long black beard, he gave Fire Eater a loving kiss on the tip of his nose.

    "Has pardon been granted to me?" asked poor Harlequin with a voice that was hardly a breath.

    "Pardon is yours!" answered Fire Eater; and sighing and wagging his head, he added: "Well, tonight I shall have to eat my lamb only half cooked, but beware the next time, Marionettes."

Wouldn't it be bad for his business to use the puppets who are used in his show as firewood instead of actually getting, y'know, real firewood or even old chairs or something? Those things are what provide his income, burning them for his every meal seems rather financially unsound. I'm quite sure it's more expensive to have a carefully carved and constructed marionette made than it is to find some old junk wood or firewood somewhere.

    At the news that pardon had been given, the Marionettes ran to the stage and, turning on all the lights, they danced and sang till dawn.

And no one was brave enough to point out that the theater was stuffed to the brim with clearly possessed bits of timber, which should be burned immediately.

Once again, no pic for this one because the only characters here to be drawn are all puppets and THEY CREEP ME OUT.

Pinocchio Ch. 10

CHAPTER X
The Marionettes recognize their brother Pinocchio, and greet him with loud cheers; but the Director, Fire Eater, happens along and poor Pinocchio almost loses his life

Poor nothing, I'm rooting for the fire on this one.

     Quick as a flash, Pinocchio disappeared into the Marionette Theater. And then something happened which almost caused a riot.

Everyone realized there was a clearly possessed talking pile of scrap wood standing there and promptly went crazy, spontaneously producing pitchforks and torches as they moved to destroy the heathen lumber.

    The curtain was up and the performance had started.

    Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage and, as usual, they were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

    The theater was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two Marionettes.

People were easily amused back then. It happens when you've got nothing better to do than pick fleas off your sheep.
 
    The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any warning, Harlequin stopped talking. Turning toward the audience, he pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time:

    "Look, look! Am I asleep or awake? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?"

    "Yes, yes! It is Pinocchio!" screamed Pulcinella.

    "It is! It is!" shrieked Signora Rosaura, peeking in from the side of the stage.

    "It is Pinocchio! It is Pinocchio!" yelled all the Marionettes, pouring out of the wings. "It is Pinocchio. It is our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!"

    "Pinocchio, come up to me!" shouted Harlequin. "Come to the arms of your wooden brothers!"

They know him? More importantly-they are all talking flipping puppets. Why has the crowd not set them all aflame for being heathen monsters? Back then people flipped out if you had an odd wart, and no one's batting an eyelash at the talking lumps of wood?

    At such a loving invitation, Pinocchio, with one leap from the back of the orchestra, found himself in the front rows. With another leap, he was on the orchestra leader's head. With a third, he landed on the stage.

    It is impossible to describe the shrieks of joy, the warm embraces, the knocks, and the friendly greetings with which that strange company of dramatic actors and actresses received Pinocchio.

    It was a heart-rending spectacle, but the audience, seeing that the play had stopped, became angry and began to yell:

    "The play, the play, we want the play!"

Because all audiences are composed purely of irrational, heartless man-children.

    The yelling was of no use, for the Marionettes, instead of going on with their act, made twice as much racket as before, and, lifting up Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph.

Triumph? It's not as though they've accomplished anything! Pinocchio certainly hasn't accomplished a thing, and we just met the other puppets so we don't know anything about them! What have they got to be triumphant about?
 
    At that very moment, the Director came out of his room. He had such a fearful appearance that one look at him would fill you with horror. His beard was as black as pitch, and so long that it reached from his chin down to his feet. His mouth was as wide as an oven, his teeth like yellow fangs, and his eyes, two glowing red coals. In his huge, hairy hands, a long whip, made of green snakes and black cats' tails twisted together, swished through the air in a dangerous way.

Totally the kind of person you have running a performance with children as the target audience. I'm surprised he doesn't run a day-care center.

    At the unexpected apparition, no one dared even to breathe. One could almost hear a fly go by. Those poor Marionettes, one and all, trembled like leaves in a storm.

    "Why have you brought such excitement into my theater;" the huge fellow asked Pinocchio with the voice of an ogre suffering with a cold.

    "Believe me, your Honor, the fault was not mine."

    "Enough! Be quiet! I'll take care of you later."

    As soon as the play was over, the Director went to the kitchen, where a fine big lamb was slowly turning on the spit. More wood was needed to finish cooking it. He called Harlequin and Pulcinella and said to them:

    "Bring that Marionette to me! He looks as if he were made of well-seasoned wood. He'll make a fine fire for this spit."

YES. FINALLY.

    Harlequin and Pulcinella hesitated a bit. Then, frightened by a look from their master, they left the kitchen to obey him. A few minutes later they returned, carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling and squirming like an eel and crying pitifully:

    "Father, save me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Well, maybe you should have considered that before being a complete prat and running off like you did.

No picture for this one because it's full of puppets and puppets only, and they creep me the heck out.

Pinocchio Ch. 9

CHAPTER IX
Pinocchio sells his A-B-C book to pay his way into the Marionette Theater

Why am I not surprised?

     See Pinocchio hurrying off to school with his new A-B-C book under his arm! As he walked along, his brain was busy planning hundreds of wonderful things, building hundreds of castles in the air. Talking to himself, he said:

    "In school today, I'll learn to read, tomorrow to write, and the day after tomorrow I'll do arithmetic. Then, clever as I am, I can earn a lot of money. With the very first pennies I make, I'll buy Father a new cloth coat. Cloth, did I say? No, it shall be of gold and silver with diamond buttons.

That sounds incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention very poor at keeping out the cold.

 That poor man certainly deserves it; for, after all, isn't he in his shirt sleeves because he was good enough to buy a book for me? On this cold day, too! Fathers are indeed good to their children!"

    As he talked to himself, he thought he heard sounds of pipes and drums coming from a distance: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi. . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

What exactly kind of drum goes zum-zum?

    He stopped to listen. Those sounds came from a little street that led to a small village along the shore.

    "What can that noise be? What a nuisance that I have to go to school! Otherwise. . ."

    There he stopped, very much puzzled. He felt he had to make up his mind for either one thing or another. Should he go to school, or should he follow the pipes?

    "Today I'll follow the pipes, and tomorrow I'll go to school. There's always plenty of time to go to school," decided the little rascal at last, shrugging his shoulders.

To the surprise of absolutely no one.

    No sooner said than done. He started down the street, going like the wind. On he ran, and louder grew the sounds of pipe and drum: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi . . .zum, zum, zum, zum.

Seriously, what kind of drum is that?

    Suddenly, he found himself in a large square, full of people standing in front of a little wooden building painted in brilliant colors.

    "What is that house?" Pinocchio asked a little boy near him.

    "Read the sign and you'll know."

    "I'd like to read, but somehow I can't today."

Because you haven't, y'know, been to school?!

    "Oh, really? Then I'll read it to you. Know, then, that written in letters of fire I see the words: GREAT MARIONETTE THEATER.

    "When did the show start?"

    "It is starting now."

    "And how much does one pay to get in?"

    "Four pennies."

    Pinocchio, who was wild with curiosity to know what was going on inside, lost all his pride (what pride?) and said to the boy shamelessly:

    "Will you give me four pennies until tomorrow?"

    "I'd give them to you gladly," answered the other, poking fun at him, "but just now I can't give them to you."

    "For the price of four pennies, I'll sell you my coat."

    "If it rains, what shall I do with a coat of flowered paper? I could not take it off again."

    "Do you want to buy my shoes?"

    "They are only good enough to light a fire with."

    "What about my hat?"

    "Fine bargain, indeed! A cap of dough! The mice might come and eat it from my head!"

See, at least one kid recognizes the impracticality of a hat made of dough. Really, who does that?

    Pinocchio was almost in tears. He was just about to make one last offer, but he lacked the courage to do so. He hesitated, he wondered, he could not make up his mind. At last he said:

    "Will you give me four pennies for the book?"

    "I am a boy and I buy nothing from boys," said the little fellow with far more common sense than the Marionette.

    "I'll give you four pennies for your A-B-C book," said a rag picker who stood by.

Where did the rag picker get four pennies if he's poor enough to be a rag picker, and what would he want with the book?

    Then and there, the book changed hands. And to think that poor old Geppetto sat at home in his shirt sleeves, shivering with cold, having sold his coat to buy that little book for his son!

He could have been comfortable, fed and warm if he'd just made a fire out of the little monstrosity to begin with, rather than trying to raise such a horrid little beast.

No picture for this one out of a combination of not wanting to draw the puppet and having been busy making the first real post for my new blog, Faetouched in the head! Go check it out here:  http://faetouchedinthehead.blogspot.com/

Pinocchio Ch. 8

CHAPTER VIII
Geppetto makes Pinocchio a new pair of feet, and sells his coat to buy him an A-B-C book

Why aren't you burning the thing yet?!

     The Marionette, as soon as his hunger was appeased, started to grumble and cry that he wanted a new pair of feet.

GAWD, this kid is a whiner!

    But Master Geppetto, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him alone the whole morning.

Not nearly punishment enough if you ask me!

 After dinner he said to him:

    "Why should I make your feet over again? To see you run away from home once more?"

    "I promise you," answered the Marionette, sobbing, "that from now on I'll be good--"

    "Boys always promise that when they want something," said Geppetto.

Huh, showing a bit of brains now. Anyone who's ever had kids will probably be nodding in agreement with the guy here.

    "I promise to go to school every day, to study, and to succeed--"

    "Boys always sing that song when they want their own will."

    "But I am not like other boys! I am better than all of them and I always tell the truth. I promise you, Father, that I'll learn a trade, and I'll be the comfort and staff of your old age."

Heh, heheh. Better than all of them and always telling the truth. Yeah.

Why isn't this kid firewood yet?

    Geppetto, though trying to look very stern, felt his eyes fill with tears and his heart soften when he saw Pinocchio so unhappy. He said no more, but taking his tools and two pieces of wood, he set to work diligently.

And the people in the town earlier were accusing him of being a rough and mean old man who would terrorize the 'poor puppet boy'.

    In less than an hour the feet were finished, two slender, nimble little feet, strong and quick, modeled as if by an artist's hands.

    "Close your eyes and sleep!" Geppetto then said to the Marionette.

    Pinocchio closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, while Geppetto stuck on the two feet with a bit of glue melted in an eggshell, doing his work so well that the joint could hardly be seen.

    As soon as the Marionette felt his new feet, he gave one leap from the table and started to skip and jump around, as if he had lost his head from very joy.

    "To show you how grateful I am to you, Father, I'll go to school now. But to go to school I need a suit of clothes."

You're a puppet. Unless your father made you anatomically correct (and if he did....um, well then...) I don't think you have anything to worry about.

    Geppetto did not have a penny in his pocket, so he made his son a little suit of flowered paper, a pair of shoes from the bark of a tree, and a tiny cap from a bit of dough.

    Pinocchio ran to look at himself in a bowl of water, and he felt so happy that he said proudly:

    "Now I look like a gentleman."

Gentleman of that time were well known for running about with wads of bread dough on their heads.

    "Truly," answered Geppetto. "But remember that fine clothes do not make the man unless they be neat and clean."

    "Very true," answered Pinocchio, "but, in order to go to school, I still need something very important."

    "What is it?"

    "An A-B-C book."

    "To be sure! But how shall we get it?"

    "That's easy. We'll go to a bookstore and buy it."

    "And the money?"

    "I have none."

    "Neither have I," said the old man sadly.

    Pinocchio, although a happy boy always, became sad and downcast at these words. When poverty shows itself, even mischievous boys understand what it means.

    "What does it matter, after all?" cried Geppetto all at once, as he jumped up from his chair. Putting on his old coat, full of darns and patches, he ran out of the house without another word.

And he never returned.

    After a while he returned. (LIES!) In his hands he had the A-B-C book for his son, but the old coat was gone. The poor fellow was in his shirt sleeves and the day was cold.

    "Where's your coat, Father?"

    "I have sold it."

    "Why did you sell your coat?"

    "It was too warm."

    Pinocchio understood the answer in a twinkling, and, unable to restrain his tears, he jumped on his father's neck and kissed him over and over.

And the old man suffered a terrible infection from all the facial splinters he recieved.

No picture for this one because, again, it's just the puppet and the old man...I'm not very good at drawing old people and I really, REALLY don't like puppets.