Jack and the Genre-nauts, Finale: I Saw Three Wishes Sailing In

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“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you the long awaited/despaired-of-ever-happening ‘Jack and the Genre-nauts’ finale: ‘I Saw Three Wishes Sailing In’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on a forest of Christmas trees before an icy background, faux snow glittering on the floor. Annabelle Gray and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED stand over the dejectedly-kneeling Gant-o’-the-Lute as Loki. Will Scarlet as Jack Snow in the Mad Hatter’s body also stands by, while Hatter’s grinning Shadow dances over the backdrop.]

Sir Wilbur: Well, Annabelle? What do you propose we do with our vanquished Trickster?

Annabelle: That depends. Do we have a way to make sure the Shadow does as we wish instead of running mad?

Will [voiceover]/Shadow [turning somersaults, laughing like a loon ]: Madness-made is what I am! Control the likes of me? Why, you’d just as easy turn back time itself!

Will/Jack: Spoken like a Wonderland riddle. And this body I’m in has a Wonderland mind. A reflective surface, someone – quickly!

Annabelle: Something like this?

[From behind her back, she hefts the mirror taken from the Sheriff’s castle in Steampunk Nottingham.]

Lute/Loki [his crestfallen scowl gone baffled  ]: Where have you been carrying that thing, all this time?

Annabelle: In my back pocket. It’s important to dress comfortably when traveling between imaginary realms; my go-to is jeans made of stretch-credulity denim. But is a mirror really the best plan, Jack? If the Shadow catches sight of his reflection, he’ll return to his host, and there may not be room inside Hatter’s body for his spirit and yours.

Sundial

Will/Jack [straightening from having sketched a sundial in the snow beneath the Shadow ]: Aim not for the Shadow, but downward. What there do you see?

Sir Wilbur: The shadow of a shadow, circling clockwise.

Will/Jack [triumphant ]: And in the mirror, counterclockwise! A widdershins shadow is time turned backward. Shadow of Hatter, you’re now in our power.

Will [voiceover]/Shadow: Well, tweedle-dee-dee, you’re too clever for me. How would you command me, masters?

Annabelle: Gone genie on us, have you? Excellent. Wish one: Bind Loki to my mind, making me his author, and him my character.

Will [voiceover]/Shadow [giggling ]: Granted!

Lute/Loki [shooting to his feet ]: WHAT! How dare you?! I am a god!

Sir Wilbur: And as fictional gods go, you wouldn’t be her first. We’ll introduce you to the abishan, sometime.

Lute/Loki [teeth grinding ]: Why would you do this to me? After all else of which you’ve robbed me, why my freedom, too?

Annabelle: Oh, hush, it’s not as bad as all that. My characters get plenty long leashes, believe me. But keeping you tethered to a proper story, as opposed to this nonsense we’ve been living for twenty-some acts, will guard against your mischief taking down too many worlds. You want Ragnarok? Fine. But contained in a book. [smiling kindly ] I’ll even be sure to work in Fenrir. You’ll get your son, and he’ll get his story, just like I promised him.

Lute/Loki [anger cooling ]: Well. If I am to be your prisoner, I suppose it could be under worse conditions. Very well, author. I am yours. [smirking ] Good luck to your plots, having to keep pace with me.

Will/Jack [stage-muttering ]: If Danielle could handle Austeryn in “Surrogate Sea”, I’m sure Annabelle will get by. [“aloud” ] Now, Shadow, for a second wish: Return to us my rightful body, and set my spirit within it.

Will [voiceover]/Shadow: Granted!

[The Shadow spins in a cyclone of smoke, and when the obscuring darkness clears, Will Scarlet has fallen to the floor, but there stands Allyn-a-Dale.]

Sir Wilbur: Jack! You’re really back!

Allyn/Jack: That I am, and of it glad! A body’s a body, more or less, but how I’ve missed my mind. I don’t know how Hatter lives with himself.

Annabelle: That’s the wonder of a man of Wonderland. Speaking of, time for wish number three. [holds mirror higher ] Hey, Shadow! Look here!

[With a squeal of delight at the sight of its own self, the Shadow flies right into the glass. No sooner has it disappeared and Annabelle set it down, propped up against a tree, than Will Scarlet jumps up from the floor.]

Will/Hatter: End of the line!

Everyone else: Huh??

Will/Hatter [arms spread wide ]: We’re here, Jack: The Fairytale Forest’s North Pole. I told you I’d get you back home!

Allyn/Jack: Why… so you did. And so you have. Not the route I’d have taken, but nevertheless. Thank you, Artifice Cheshirecott.

Will/Hatter [bowing with a sweep of the hat ]: More than welcome, Jack Snow. Now, I’m bound for Wonderland, a big bowl of homemade ice cream, and a nice long nap. All very fun to play the travel guide, but real talk: Keeping you kids entertained on the road is exhausting. So long, everyone! Watch out for rabbit holes!

[With that and a wink, he steps through the looking glass and is gone.]

[The curtain falls.]

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and Tirzah Duncan,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘homemade ice cream’ and ‘widdershins’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like World’s End (Jack and the Genre-nauts Act 23)

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“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like World’s End’!”

<<<>>>

Best_Nature_www.laba.ws

[The curtain rises on a backdrop of fields of ice. A sign atop a candy-cane-striped post reads “North Pole, 0.5 miles”, pointing toward the copse of Christmas trees on the stage’s opposite side. Entering from the wings are Gant-o’-the-Lute as Loki and Allyn-a-Dale as Fenrir, the Antichristmas Wolf in Jack Snow’s body.]

Lute/Loki [voice forbidding, smile stretched wide ]: Now’s the day, an’ now’s the hour;

See the Antichristmas lour,

And the Trickster’s rise to power:

Ragnarok unleashed!

Allyn/Fenrir: A stirring preamble, Father.

Lute/Loki: Like it? Modeled it after some poem or another by that Scot fellow, Burns.

Allyn/Fenrir [lips curled back in a wolfish grin ]: Fitting, that. For presently, this frozen world will blaze.

[Meanwhile, among the Christmas trees, out peek Annabelle Gray and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED, along with Will Scarlet as Jack Snow in the Mad Hatter’s body.]

Annabelle [stage whispering ]: This is it. The final boss battle. Sonic vs. Robotnik. Link vs. Demon Lord Ganon. Jack Snow vs. Antichristmas Beast/Wolf/son of Loki.

Will/Jack [turning to Annabelle in aggravation ]: What are you on about?

Annabelle [mumbling ]: Video game stuff. Sorry, I saw parallels.

Sir Wilbur: Never mind it, Jack. What’s the plan?

Will/Jack: Plan? I fear that’s a bit beyond me, at the moment. I’m Jack Snow in spirit, but Hatter in the head. What does his mad mind know of battle strategy?

Annabelle: Does this mean we’re screwed?

Sir Wilbur: It’s beginning to look like it. See there!

[The other side of the stage, Allyn has raised his arms high. Head thrown back, he speaks in a howling chant.]

Allyn/Fenrir: In the name of all evil things anti-Christmas,

I summon the fire of sky!

Flaming color, rain down ruin!

Raze and blaze, yon Northern Lights!

[A flickering green glow appears above, glowing redder the lower it descends. Lute’s cruel laugh has scarcely begun gaining momentum when Will plunges out of the trees, hand thrust up toward the lights.]

Will/Jack [rapidly, but with authority ]: Light of North’s nocturnal noon,

Ruin you shall not rain.

Heatless fire, arctic blaze,

In the sky remain.

[The reddening lights halt, then rise again, their harmless green hue returning.]

Allyn/Fenrir [with a snarling sneer ]: Counter rhymes, is it? That’s a game we could be at all day, Santa Claus. Unless you mean to sing my doom with carols as you did before?

Will/Jack: That depends. Would it work?

Lute/Loki [wagging a finger ]: Not so easy as that. Children of the Trickster were never fated to die the same way twice. It will take more than the power contained in a song to kill him. More than the power of Christmas itself!

Will/Jack [thoughtful, sober ]: Possibly so. But what of the power behind Christmas?

Allyn/Fenrir [eyes narrow ]: What do you mean?

Will/Jack [advancing ]: The first and greatest Christmas gift. A baby born to die. A saving sacrifice. This do I wield against you, Antichristmas: The sacrifice, made in the truest Christmas spirit, of Artifice Cheshirecott – a mad hatter who so loved his lost friend that he gave up his body to put an end to your wickedness one more time.

Allyn/Fenrir [ashen and wide-eyed ]: No… [clutches throat, choking and gagging ] Nooo…!

Lute/Loki: Fenrir! Son!

[But it’s too late. Allyn crumples to the ground, a thick haze of steam rising up around him. When the vapor clears, his body is gone. Dropping to his knees, Lute lets loose a shriek of anguish.]

Lute/Loki: A thousand curses upon you, Jack Snow! All I wanted for Christmas was vengeance! To destroy the legacy of the one who killed my son!

Will/Jack: Unfortunately, Loki, you’ve been a very naughty god this year. For that, you get the Shadow, black as coal. [arm raised skyward again, he calls out ]

Shadow of the hatter mad,

Fly to finish to Fenrir’s dad!

[A formless darkness with manic, cat-like eyes and a wide, crescent moon grin flits over the white backdrop.]

Will [voiceover]/Shadow: Ah, looky – it’s Loki! My own match in mischief! Now, what’s to be done about you?

Annabelle [stepping out of the trees with a noisy “ahem” ]: If it’s all the same to everyone else, I may have a solution.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Kelton de la Cruz and Tirzah Duncan,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘Demon Lord Ganon’ and lyrics from “Scots Wha Hae’ by Robert Burns.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

A Parting Glass (Jack and the Genre-nauts, Act 17)

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“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every second Friday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘A Parting Glass’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on Allyn-a-Dale as Jack Snow and Sir Wilbur Lamb from INSPIRED as his author Annabelle Gray, the pair entering a castle set all bedecked in medieval tapestries and steampunk swag.]

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: This is it – what would have been home sweet home for Sheriff Antichristmas Beast of Nottingham, rest his monstrous soul. I still don’t get why he just keeled over and melted!

Allyn/Jack: The work of Hatter’s Shadow, no doubt. It is clearly a spirit as powerful as it is raving mad. The sooner it’s back inside Hatter’s body, the better off we’ll be.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: And a method of achieving that end is somewhere in this castle?

Image via www.homeartblog.com
Image via http://www.homeartblog.com

Allyn/Jack [nodding]: There is but one sure way to send a Wonderland spirit back to its host. [crosses to one of the castle walls and removes from it a hanging mirror ] A looking glass.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Hatter told you that?

Allyn/Jack [corner of his mouth drawn up in a smirk ]: If the madman had, what sense in believing him? No, I’ve had some experience with mirror magic. The Antichristmas utilized it a great deal during his life in Fairytale Forest. [places mirror in Sir Wilbur’s hands ] All you need do is show the Shadow his reflection, and he’ll return to his rightful place. You know the way back to where we left him, your body, and your knight inside it, I trust?

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Well, sure, but aren’t you coming?

Allyn/Jack [shakes his head ]: No, not I. It’s past time to put this nonsense behind me. [begins speaking in a subtle singsong, eyes agleam ] Under cloud, beneath the stars, over snow one winter’s morn, I turn at last to paths that lead home. My destiny awaits at the North Pole.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle: Wait, though. What happens when the Shadow’s back inside Hatter? Do Wilbur and I automatically switch back to our rightful bodies, or are we stuck as we are? ‘Cause, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love being Wilbur, but what about when our whole history together flashes before his eyes like a cheesy OTP video on YouTube and he realizes we’re meant to be? He’ll want to kiss me, which means I’d be essentially kissing myself, which would be whack, because I’m just not that into me.

Allyn/Jack [stares flatly for some moments before speaking ]: Not one part of that was any of my concern. You deal with your own mess. I have the small matter of Christmas to attend to.

Sir Wilbur/Annabelle [grumpy ]: You know, you’re a lot less jolly than the traditional depictions of Santa Claus would lead one to believe. Go on, then. Safe travels home. I’ll give Hatter your regards – assuming he hasn’t bled to death, yet. Sheesh, this story’s gone out of all control.

[Sir Wilbur exits the stage, Allyn smiling chillingly after him.]

Allyn/Jack: You have no idea.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and Chelsea de la Cruz,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘cheesy OTP videos on YouTube’ and lyrics from Billy Boyd’s ‘The Last Goodbye’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends: Will and Allyn out!”

A Trick of the Titan (Jack and the Genre-nauts, Act 7)

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“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every Saturday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon ’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘A Trick of the Titan’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on a rocky wall stretching all across the stage. At the wall’s mid-height, two ramps diverge – the one leading higher obscured with a hazy screen covered in faux-cloud fluff, the one leading lower being approached from the ground level by Allyn-a-Dale as Jack Snow, Will Scarlet as the Mad Hatter, and Annabelle Gray and Sir Wilbur Lamb repping for the characters of INSPIRED. At Scarlet’s insistence, everyone is wearing ancient Greek-style tunics, while he’s adorned his top hat with golden laurels.]

Annabelle [walking in the lead with Allyn ]: So. Jack Snow, chosen Santa Claus, huh?

Allyn/Jack: That’s right.

Annabelle: Chosen by whom? The Man in the Moon, like a “Rise of the Guardians” deal? Wait, you’re not any archetypal relation to Jack Frost, are you?

Allyn/Jack: Not to my knowledge. And I don’t know that anyone in particular chose me. It was simply my destiny.

Annabelle: Huh. I’d always thought of Santa Claus as a sort of primordial force; like Tom Bombadil.

Allyn/Jack: [gives Annabelle baffled look ]

Annabelle: How else do you explain him? As far as my headcanon’s concerned, Bombadil’s like the Santa of Middle Earth. Say, did I hear you guys have been to Middle Earth?

Will/Hatter: Of course we have. Where do you think we recycled this mountain set from? But eyes ever onward, Genre-nauts! We’re in Greek mythological territory, now. Where are we headed first, Navigator Gray?

Annabelle: I figured we’d check out Atlas.

Will/Hatter: Oh, we’re going to consult a map? How unpredictably practical.

Annabelle: Not an atlas. The Atlas – titan of astronomy, bearer of the sky! Also said to have taught human sailors the art of navigation, which would account for why we’ve named directional charts after him.

Sir Wilbur: Bearer of the sky? How does that work?

Annabelle: We’ll see at the top of the mountain. Going up!

[As the group ascends the lower ramp, the cloud screen slowly rises. By the time they reach the wall’s midpoint, it’s gone altogether, revealing Gant-o’-the-Lute at the upper ramp’s top, standing braced beneath a weighted curtain of all the skiest shades of blue.]

Sir Wilbur: The whole of the sky, borne up by that little fellow?? [calls ahead ] Pardon me, but is that as heavy as it looks?

Lute/Atlas [cheerfully ]: Oh, no. Far heavier. Give it a try?

Annabelle: Don’t do it, Wilbur! It’s a trap! He’ll try to escape!

Lute/Atlas: I’m not escaping, I’m showing off. Borrow my place, if you think yourself such a Hercules.

Will/Hatter: I’ll do it!

Annabelle [aghast ]: You’re mad!

Will/Hatter: I admire your grasp of the obvious. C’mon, Atlas, let’s trade off!

Lute/Atlas [eyes shining blue to gray to green in wicked amusement ]: As you will. [hefts the curtain up to the height of Will’s shoulders ] Ready?

Will/Hatter [stepping in beside Lute ]: Ready.

[When Lute dances aside, Will and the curtain promptly collapse.]

The Hatter wheezes, “It’s not as easy as some make it look.”
The Hatter wheezes, “It’s not as easy as some make it look.”

Allyn/Jack: Oh, no!

Sir Wilbur: Are you hurt?!

[Both rush forward to haul ineffectively at the curtain, which does not budge.]

Will/Hatter: Oof! [struggles ] How… [gasps ] do you even… [grunt ] This weight is impossible!

Lute/Atlas [laughing ]: Quite impossible, yes. But then, so am I! And I count it no burden to shoulder the sky, for I love it with all of my being.

Will/Hatter [panting hopefully ]: You’ll be eager to return to your post, then?

Lute/Atlas: Oh, I am most responsibly at my post, my darling dupe. I only agreed to hold up the sky for Atlas long enough to have my fun in finding a gullible replacement.

Annabelle: Wait – “hold up the sky for Atlas”? If you’re not Atlas, then who—??

Lute/??? [blowing Annabelle a kiss ]: Call me Loki. [vanishes behind the curtain of the sky ]

Annabelle [gaping, while the others continue straining to free Will from the weight of the sky, to no avail ]: That… is not Greek mythology.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Chelsea de la Cruz and Beth de la Cruz,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘Rise of the Guardians’ and ‘Bombadil’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! ‘Til next time, friends:  Will and Allyn out!”

A Stitch in Time Slays Nine…give or take (Scarlet’s Fairytale Spin, Act 4)

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“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every Saturday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘A Stitch in Time Slays Nine…give or take‘!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on Allyn-a-Dale and Will Scarlet, in their respective getups as Jack Snow, Child of Destiny, and his sworn protector, The Woodsman, as they approach a large set piece bearing a distinct resemblance to the Arch/Drum/Moon Bridge in the Japanese Tea Garden of Golden Gate Park, San Francisco. Beyond it hangs a backdrop depicting a tall, dark castle looming in the foggy distance.]

Will/Woodsman: Nearly there, now. Just this bridge to cross, a hedge maze to navigate, probably a few deadly traps to maneuver, and then we can storm the Beast’s castle!

Allyn/Jack: Um, when did we decide it was a good idea to storm the Beast’s castle? Isn’t it dangerous?

Will/Woodsman: Oh, come, Jack – he’s the Antichristmas, remember? If you’re ever to fulfill your destiny as the chosen Santa Claus (as shockingly revealed in Act 3), you can’t spend the rest of your life hiding in the dwarves’ safe house. You’ve got to face your foe head-on! Besides, the closer we are to danger, the farther we are from harm. It’s the last thing he’ll expect.

Allyn/Jack: You got that from a hobbit.

Will/Woodsman: Along with second breakfast, yes. Brilliant ideas all around.

[Just as the pair prepare to step foot upon the bridge, who should jump out from underneath but another pair – of trolls! Blue skin, lumpy false noses, tusks like a warthog’s, and all.]

Gawain/Troll 1: Halt! Who dares attempt to cross the great Beast’s bridge?

Allyn/Jack [glaring at The Woodsman ]: You didn’t mention the bridge was under guard.

Will/Woodsman: How was I to know the Beast can afford this kind of security? I’d have figured his troop of flying monkeys would clean out the budget.

Bedivere/Troll 2: He pays us in retired flying monkeys. They fry up real good. [mouth pulls into a suggestive leer ] Almost as good as humans.

Allyn/Jack: Mm-hmm. I don’t suppose there’s anything we have to offer that can persuade you to let us cross unmolested?

Gawain/Troll 1: Probably not.

Allyn/Jack: Then you leave me no choice.

[Reaching into his belt, Allyn removes a small handkerchief with a threaded needle run through it. One thumb and forefinger taking hold of the needle, he regards the trolls with a deadly serious expression.]

Allyn/Jack: You know Happy and Grumpy and Bashful and Doc, Sneezy and Sleepy, Dopey-as-a-Rock, but do you recall the most valiant little dwarf of all?

Bedivere/Troll 2 [shrugging ]: Rudolf?

Allyn/Jack: No. Tailor – the dwarf with the magic needle that can kill seven in one stitch!

Gawain/Troll 1 [in alarm ]: Seven what?

Allyn/Jack [with unwavering calm ]: What do you think?

[The trolls look at one another in unease.]

Allyn/Jack: One tug of this needle and thread, and you’re done for – along with five of your kin, somewhere. Now, I ask again: Might there be anything we have to offer that can persuade you to let us cross unmolested?

Bedivere/Troll 2: Erm, now that you mention it… perhaps our lives would do?

Allyn/Jack [nodding ]: An acceptable bargain. After you, Woodsman.

[The trolls vanish back under the bridge, and Will and Allyn climb toward the top of the prop bridge.]

Will/Woodsman: Very neatly handled, Jack Snow. Just maybe you’ve got the courage to storm the Beast’s castle after all, eh?

Allyn/Jack [glancing at the distant castle with misgiving ]: We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience members Miranda McNeff and David Bunge,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘trolls’ and ‘tug’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! Until next week, friends! Will and Allyn out!”

Loose Beaks Sink Snow (Scarlet’s Fairytale Spin, Act 3)

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“Welcome, one and all,” says Will Scarlet, with a broad smile and a bow, “to Will & Allyn’s Interactive Theatre!”

“Every Saturday,” says Allyn-a-Dale, “Will and I and our friends from the story world of ‘The Outlaws of Avalon’ trilogy—”

“Coming one of these days to a book retailer near you!”

“—Will take at random two of the suggestions gleaned from you, our gentle audience, and incorporate them into… well, the sort of tomfoolery Will calls entertainment.”

“So make yourselves comfortable,” says Will, “as we now present to you: ‘Loose Beaks Sink Snow’!”

<<<>>>

[The curtain rises on a Dutch door (y’know, the kind where you can open the top half while the bottom half stays shut) squarely facing the audience in front of a forest backdrop. A large figure draped in hooded cloak, facial features obscured behind heavy scarves, enters from the wings and crosses the stage to the door. At a rap of the mystery character’s knuckles, the top of the door swings open, revealing Allyn-a-Dale.]

Mysterious Stranger [in a low, gravelly voice ]: Good day to you, young sir. Have I the pleasure of addressing the lad they call Jack Snow?

Allyn/Jack: Indeed you do. What brings you to the safe house of the dwarves?

Mysterious Stranger: Why, rumor of you. The little birds speak of your beauty throughout the land, praising your hair black as ebony, blush red as the rose, and skin white as the snow for which ‘tis said you’re named.

Allyn/Jack [blushing a hue indeed most rosy ]: The birds exaggerate, and would in any case do better to keep their twittering gossip to themselves. How safe is a safe house with its location and habitants broadcast all over land and sky?

Mysterious Stranger: Oh, but in what sort of danger would one such as yourself be? Surely no one would wish to do you harm.

Allyn/Jack: I am told otherwise. My dwarven keepers say I was brought here in my infancy by a goodhearted guardian to hide me from a great Beast who wishes my life as the price for zucchini.

Mysterious Stranger: A strange tale.

Allyn/Jack: A thing may be strange and yet all too gravely true.

Mysterious Stranger: Wisely said, Jack Snow. Have you in your wisdom thought to take stronger precautions against this Beast of which you speak?

Allyn/Jack: What precautions do you mean?

[The stranger’s hand as yet unseen within the folds of his cloak now extends to display a bright red apple.]

Mysterious Stranger: I bring you a gift, beautiful child: A magic talisman! One bite will render you invisible to the searching eye of the Beast.

Allyn/Jack: Such kindness! However could I begin to repay it?

Mysterious Stranger: No payment needed. It is enough to know you shall be well taken care of.

[Smiling in gratitude, Allyn opens the bottom half of the door and steps out to accept the stranger’s gift. No sooner has he bitten and swallowed than he drops the fruit and clutches his throat, his eyes gone wide and mouth gaping in a breathless O. Laughing nightmarishly, the stranger casts his cloak and scarves aside, revealing himself as none other than Little John, portrayer of the Beast.]

Little John/Beast: It is done! Sleep well and long, little fool, and never rise again to stand against me.

[The words have scarcely left his lips when an arrow whizzes in from offstage, narrowly missing his horned head. The Little John Beast flees, vanishing a split second ahead of the appearance of Will Scarlet, reprising his role as The Woodsman, bearing a bow strung with another arrow.]

Will/Woodsman: Beshrew the barbigerous bastard, there is no time to let fly another shot. Jack needs me!

[Casting the weapon aside, Will vaults to Allyn’s side and seizes him for a hasty Heimlich maneuver. With a cough, Allyn’s breathing returns to normal.]

Will/Woodsman: I was just in time. A moment longer lodged in your throat, and that apple’s poison would have been the end of you, and of your great destiny!

Allyn/Jack: Great destiny? Me?

Will/Woodsman: Oh, yes! While you’ve grown up here in safety less safe with every jabbering bird besotted with your face, I’ve been searching the world over for information on the Beast’s true purpose. This thing goes deeper than zucchini. And that Beast is more than just a beast: He is the Antichristmas!

Allyn/Jack: The— wait, Antichristmas? But what has that to do with me?

Will/Woodsman: Everything, Jack! For you see, I have discovered your destiny. You are the chosen!

Allyn/Jack: The chosen what?

Will/Woodsman [eyes burning with intensity ]: The chosen Santa Claus.

<<<>>>

“Aaaand SCENE!” says Will.

“Thank you to audience member Miranda McNeff,” says Allyn, “for providing us with the inspiration ‘scarves’ and ‘Santa Claus’.”

“If you enjoyed yourselves,” Will says, “(or if you didn’t, but you totally did, right?), don’t forget to leave suggestions for future productions in the comments! Words or phrases we’ve got to include, a prop to use, a prompt to run with… anything goes! Until next week, friends! Will and Allyn out!”

“’Twas” or “A Visit to Avalon Faire”

Now, there’s a word that’s not enough a part of everyday English vernacular anymore. It gives us all just one more thing to love about Christmastime: ‘Tis the season for archaic contractions of “it was” (and “it is”, in the case of “’tis”) to fall lightly from everyone’s tongues, not just those people who tend to talk like they live in a Renaissance Faire.

Of course, as a minstrel who does indeed live in Avalon Faire, it’s twice natural for my Allyn-a-Dale to employ the word “’twas” – thrice natural, if he happens to be delivering a parody of the classic holiday poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas”, best known for that famed first line…

* * *

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Faire

Not a creature was stirring, save those who dwelled there.

The boughs of Sherwood were by Fey hands adorned

All with holly and ivy, to be viewed come the morn.

 

Little John and the Hoods had retired to their beds,

Though yet sleepless were I and my brother in red.

Will Scarlet was keen for a long night of games,

And we’d scarcely begun the third round of charades

 

When, out beyond the forest, there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my tent to see what was the matter.

Away toward Camelot I flew like an arrow,

Prepared to face any that our Isle would harrow.

 

The moon- and starlight on the fresh-fallen snow

Cast a mystical gleam over Avalon below,

While, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

 

With a little driver so lively, bright, and brisk,

I thought surely my eyes must be playing some trick.

Swifter than wind-flight, his antlered team came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

 

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the tower! To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, all!”

 

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Scarlet, just now come alongside.

Pointing up to the roof of the castle, he cried,

“I’d never have thought such a thing to be true,

But we’re looking at Santa Claus!

I replied, “Who?”

Sleigh Over Avalon

“You’ve never—?? Forget it. I’ll show you!” he said,

And taking my hand, through the castle’s gates led,

Just reaching the room of the Knights’ table round

As the one he’d called Santa came in with a bound.

 

He was dressed all in blue, from his head to his toes,

His silken hair shining a dawn golden-rose.

A stringed instrument he had strapped to his back,

And his hands bore a bundle like a peddler’s sack.

 

His eyes, how they twinkled! As merry a pair

As you’d find any place with the Merry Men there.

His mouth was drawn up like an outlaw’s longbow

In a smile that, any time or place, I should know.

 

I laughed, “Santa Claus, say you? Nay, were you astute,

I believe you would find this is Gant-o’-the-Lute!”

“But he’s dead!” Will observed. “And even in life,

Did he hitch sleighs to reindeer and fly through the night?”

 

“Perhaps it’s a dream; if so, of it I’m glad!

Hello, Father!” I said, and he embraced his lad.

A wink of his eye and a pat on my head

Warmed my heart, never minding whether he was dead.

 

He spoke not a word, singing lyricless tunes

As he pulled from his sack lights to hang round the room.

Then a twist of the wrist in a minstrel salute,

And out of the castle blew Gant-o’-the-Lute.

 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas, my Allyn, and to all a goodnight!”

* * *

And a Happy Christmas to you, readers! And to all, a joyous day!