The manor's breakfast balcony overlooks the ocean, and catches the morning sun as well. This area also serves as a basking zone, with several sculpted stones for lounging upon not far from the low serving table. The breakfast laid out includes fish and rice, soup and fried eggs along with a selection of fruits and pickled vegetables. And of course there is green tea.

Umeko is feeling just a bit sore this morning. Holding action poses for extended periods isn't exactly something she was trained for, and her muscles remind of that. What she really could use right now is one of Xander's hot-hands massages - but there's no sign of the Lapi yet. So far it is just herself, Lord Kazuhiko and the artist Hokusai, who looks like he's spent the night drinking rice wine.

Umeko rolls her shoulders. "I feel as though I spent all night holding one of Master Longtooth's gourds in my arms," she remarks as she slips out onto the balcony. "I am not built to be a model, it seems," she adds as she kneels down onto one of the thin pillows surrounding the low table.

"You are an ideal model," Kazuhiko counters. "Your form is perfect of line and curve, and your grace is like a stream of cherry blossoms in a gentle breeze."

"You are too kind. Alas my body tells me that I make a very poor statue, though. I am built for movement and sinew, not stillness," Umeko admits as she bows her head. She glances at the odd kirin when her head rises and she asks, "Would you like me to serve you this morning?" She even gestures to the table. An odd offer for her; she's rarely offered to do that for, well, anyone.

"I would be honored, Lady Tsuguri," the Kirin lord notes, smiling. "Perhaps you would be amenable to a more active form of posing?" he suggests.

"My body would be, most certainly," Umeko agrees as she sets out several small tea cups. Filling them is an art of simple and fluid movements involving both hands grasping the pot to direct it to each of the cups in turn. Once finished, she selects one of the cups, then rises. A few steps and she is kneeling before the kirin, her head bowed. The cup is then offered to him in two outstretched hands. A gesture of submissiveness; expected of kiriga ladies yes, but not something she does often.

"This somehow seems.. unsuited to your nature," Kazuhiko notes as he takes the cup.

"Perhaps, but it is a matter of respect; I am in your house," Umeko points out, "And it does no harm for me to pretend to be well behaved." The latter comes with a playful grin as she rises.

Hokusai gives a slight snort, and notes, "My dear, nobody in this House is well-behaved." Because he's a famous artist.. well, he can get away with that. Kazuhiko doesn't seem intent on correcting him or denying the claim.

"We are well behaved when it is expected," the Kirin confides to Umeko, after a moment, just so she doesn't get upset.

"Good, then I will enjoy my time here. And I hope not too well behaved, because now you have me curious," Umeko notes as she now moves to gather some small bits of fish to feed to the odd creature.

Kazuhiko seems inordinately amused by being fed fish by his guest. "Are you really sore from posing?" he finally asks.

"I am sore, yes. Uncomfortable, but not debilitating," Umeko remarks as she continues to feed her host. Her movements are ... intimate in a fashion. she is close, and occasionally she 'inadvertantly' touches the kirin; possibly an accident, possibly not. But it would e hard to prove it wasn't.

"I should remedy this," the Lord notes. "I have made some extensive study of therapeutic massage using heated rapeseed oil instead of the traditional hot stones."

"I would not complain. I must admit the chance to be massaged by such a handsome gentleman does sound pleasing," Umeko admits. "Though, it may drive my friend Xander to drink knowing it was not him, or that he missed it."

"I would not worry so much about your companion 'missing out' on anything," Kazuhiko notes with a chuckle. "It may be some time before my daughter releases him."

"You always have," the Kirin notes, then glances to the artist. "Although it would be useful to have some illustrations done at the same time."

"Well, then I am doubly honored, a good breakfast and a handsome lord to tend to me," Umeko remarks. She even reaches out and runs her fingers along the line of his jaw.

"Well then," Kazuhiko says, brushing the back of Umeko's hand with his tail-tuft, "let us away to the studio.."

Umeko catches the tuft of his tail in her fingers, then curls them around, wrapping the hair between them. "Lead on then, my Lord. I am yours for the day it seems," she says as she rises.

Artist's Studio
Well lit with skylights and windows, this room atop the manor is ideal for artwork. There is a large floor, a reclining couch, and several rolled backdrops available. Zolk canvases are stacked ready, along with a vast array of colored inks in large and small vessels.

Furniture has been moved about. There's a long chaise lounge covered in fanciful brocade off to one side, and what looks like a portable stone-tiled bathing area (on wheels no less), complete with a drain. Kazuhiko heats the oil over a coal oven while Hakusai sets up his canvas where the angle seems best.

Umeko glances towards the vessel and the warming oil. Without a word, or being asked, she begins to undress. It's rather like she's shedding skin with the ease upon which she removes her clothing. With each step bits slide form her and down to the floor. "Will this be satisfactory?" she asks of the kirin; she's looking just over her shoulder with her hips tilted just so to make her body curve from his view of her back.

Kazuhiko turns to look, and says, "Quite perfect my lady.." and then he has to slap the paper fan he was using to blow air of the coals, since it catches fire while he was distracted. "It will just be a moment more. You can kneel on the basin if you wish.."

"There are few I would kneel before; but I would kneel before you," Umeko says as she slinks, almost slithers with sinewy movement over to the basin. Soon she's slithering her body onto it, then kneeling there with her hands placed on her thighs.

Kazuhiko follows soon after, carrying the bowl of warmed, clear oil. He sets it down in the basin and then removes his own kimono. He's fairly well endowed, unless that's just how Kirin's are. It would be best not to mention it to Xander though.

Umeko may have been around others too long, for she actually says, "Your horn is impressive, my Lord." Her eyes crinkle in amusement, but she otherwise remains kneeling before him.

"I do try to impress when I can," Kazuhiko notes, and dips his hands into the oil before applying them to Umeko's shoulders. The Kirin's hands are naturally warm, but the oil's ability to actually be absorbed by skin and scale makes it excellent for transferring heat. The Lord's hands are also very strong as he works the stiff muscles.

Umeko's head tilts and soon she actually lets out a small hiss. It's a bit painful; muscles complain at being moved. But, the pain eases slowly into a dull ache. "I do hope you can forgive my behavior," she admits, "There are not many I feel ... comfortable and safe with enough to allow a rest of social expectations."

"I am actively trying to encourage your behavior," Kazuhiko claims and grins, while moving down along Umeko's back. "You do not mind that I am attempting to seduce you, do you Lady Tsuguri?"

Umeko's own tail flicks up to tickle a bit of the kirin. "I have ... submitted to you, my Lord. I believe that is my answer," she claims, smiling a bit deviously. "I am quite enjoying it."

Kazuhiko continues the massage, occasionally calling out the name of a particular motion so that Hakusai can note it down on his drawings. 'Tilling the Fields' is a particularly intimate one, given that those muscles weren't strained from holding one position for too long.

Umeko is flexible, and this is very apparent as the massage continues. Her body twists and writhes, almost like a naga, as the kirin works. "You, my Lord, as misbehaving," she actually coos at him.

"I have not yet begun to misbehave," Kazuhiko claims, just before scooping up Umeko in his arms and carrying her to lounger, causing the artist to hastily move his easel and supplies and work the shutters to direct the light better.

"Not many would dare to pick me up as you just have," Umeko notes to the Lord and even places her palm on his cheek. "I am dangerous," she claims, eyes half-lidded.

"That is what makes you so attractive," the Kirin claims, and lays Umeko down on the cushion.. before he starts to rearrange her a bit. "This is called, The Swan in Repose," he explains, taking up a position of his own.

"The swan?" Umeko teases, "But I do not lay eggs." She actually does allow herself to be posed about; it is harmless enough after all and the Lord has been kind. He has a rather exotic charm at that.

"But you will spread your wings," Kazuhiko promises.. and then begins making love to the Kiriga in the odd position, which constrains certain movements while enhancing others. Hakusai's brush goes to work.

Umeko gasps! "Lord Kazuhiko," she cries out in shock; even if her body was ... ready for such. However, she doesn't actually try to stop the older man; instead her body responds with its own movements, restricted as they may be.

Kazuhiko knows how to pace himself.. and also keeps a close watch on Umeko's responses. Just when the Kiriga might be about to peak.. he changes to a different pose, effectively resetting and building back up again. The Dragon's Flame, Balance of Forces, Harmony of the Serpent - each one has a fanciful name and a surprisingly different effect.

"You are a very frustrating man," Umeko hisses in the kirin's ear when she is in one of the few positions that actually puts her head close to his. "An lucky that I am ... permitting this," she adds.

"Do you wish to take the lead?" Kazuhiko purrs. "Or am I keeping you curious?" Since there's a lot of bouncing for this one, it makes for a stuttering effect when it comes to talking.

"On Jadai the women are to allow the men to lead in all things. I am allowing this; it is ... curiously enjoyable right now," Umeko claims in a hissing stutter. "I will do whatever you command of me."

And so the Kirin leads.. on and on. It's hard to keep track of the changes and odd positions, some of which simply would not be possible with a Kiriga's flexibility (although Kazuhiko manages to come close, but it must be hard on his back). Finally, Hakusai announces, "I am out of canvas. And parchment. And gold ink."

"And does that mean we are done?" Umeko asks from the disturbing, back-twisting, pose that she is now in.

"Hmmm, it means.. we can relax," Kazuhiko claims, and pulls Umeko up to face him while straddling his lap. "And now is where I hand you my leash. It is up to you if I will find my release or not."

"I could show you some things my friend has taught me," Umeko suggests, smiling a bit deviously.

"The.. bunny?" Kazuhiko asks, one long eyebrow raised. "Or perhaps you have other friends?"

"Just some things he explained that he liked. It is amusing how he twitched when he asked," Umeko explains. She rises up and off the Kirin. "You can call this the forked tongue torment," she explains as she bows before the kirin. A slightly forked tongue, with a double stud in it ... can be quite surprising when used in flexible ways on certain things. It's also probably all the sharp teeth that excites Xander; he has the monster fetish after all.

The Kirin.. well, squirms. "Ahh.. I see what you meant about those studs now.." he gasps, trying very hard not to move (well, Umeko does have sharp teeth after all).

It's now Umeko's turn to focus on his reactions, making sure that he now reaches the edge of the peak, only to be denied it, over and over. She even uses her teeth sometimes! But only to lightly scratch, never puncture.

The Kirin is clearly gritting his teeth now, and digging his claws into the side of the couch. Umeko can feel the body-heat rolling off of him now as well, and his scales seem to be quivering. "Ah, I do hope I have not offended you in any way, Lady Tsuguri.." he hisses through clenched teeth.

A moment later Umeko is looking in his eyes. "Not at all, my Lord," she tells him, "In fact, you have inspired me to take a risk." Her body lowers and the kirin find himself back inside the young kiriga. "I am going to risk that we may be ... compatible," she tells him in a husky voice, right before she kisses him. Her body rolls and her tail entwines about him. It's apparent she isn't going to back off when he closes on his peak this time.

With the immediate danger of tearing against fangs gone, Kazuhiko responds.. vigorously! Enough so that he has to hold on to Umeko's legs to avoid launching her! "It may be a day for miracles, indeed!" he gasps.

Umeko chuffles and hisses; rather an odd sound. It's the time they both finally share some relief from the tensions of the day. "You are a horrible, corrupting, influence," she tells him when her breathing returns to some semblance of normalcy.

Taking in deep, gulping breaths, Lord Kazuhiko says, "From such a strong woman, I take that as a compliment. And perhaps a request for more corruption?"

"Well, simply spending more quality time together," the Kirin notes. "In the bath, and in my bed.. and perhaps some nice spots in the garden as well, if the weather is amenable.."

"That ... could be arranged," Umeko agrees. "And it seems that you too share the same interests as my lapi friend. You squirmed a lot."

"It was new," Kazuhiko explains. "That is rare and precious. It is usually I who introduces such novelty. Clearly I must journey beyond our shores and experience the world as you have."

"Then perhaps you should experience it completely. Next time I don't have to stop when you get excited," Umeko offers, "But that is for later. I accept the request to be your lady for the day, Lord Kazuhiko."

The big male rumbles happily, then gets a look of concern. "I suppose we should rescue your companion at some point as well. Does he heal quickly?" he asks.

"He is quite durable and enjoys being scared," Umeko assures the older man. "What is your daughter doing with him?"

"Pages ten through eighty I suspect," the Lord notes. "Those seemed to be the ones that got her interest.."

"If you wish to see him twitch, I should do some of those pages with your daughter and have him watch," Umeko remarks a bit evilly.

"That.. hmm," Kazuhiko says, and then looks thoughtful. "I will have to research such further. It had not occurred to me to use these as a form of.. torture.."

"Nor I, but when I kissed another kiriga it seemed to excite him," Umeko notes and shrugs a bit. "Now, shall we withdraw for a bit more ... corruption?"

"Of course, anything my lady desires," Kazuhiko says magnanimously. "As long as it includes a relaxing bath."

"I shall even bathe you," Umeko offers as she rises, then extends her hand to him. "It is relaxing to ... give you control, I must admit."

Kazuhuki sits up with a slight groan. It looks like he'll be the one with sore muscles come morning. "I am most grateful, Umeko," he says. "I may have to bathe you with my tongue, however, as it is the least sprained so far."

"Do not worry, my Lord, we will sprain that too," Umeko teases, pats his hand, then off they go into the exotic home of an eve more exotic Lord.

Now, with the help of some crates of very useful cleaning and party supplies stacked up in the carriage house, our heroes have begun to drive back the tide. Bottles of seltzer under unreasonably high pressure prove to be viable weapons against the dust-bunny onslaught, either thrown as grenades (exploding in a dust-sogging spray of seltzer upon impact), or projectile weapons (sending a great gout of seltzer spraying into the dusty ranks, but at the risk of sending the operator flying back in the opposite direction).

Griffin, Integra and the rocking-nightmare have retreated to a pool of water in the "pool hall," which offered a sanctuary against the water-shy dust bunnies ... and for the moment, it seems they're safe from the action, for every last dust bunny in the room has been reduced to a little smear on the floor, wall, or ceiling.

Achilles and Harrison, however, are in the thick of things. Harrison holds his own against a tide of dust bunnies that continually threaten to overwhelm and suffocate him (their primary attack, despite the apparent "teeth" fashioned into their nasty little mouths). Achilles has a very momentary reprieve, as he holds position next to an open crate of supplies, seltzer at the ready, while another crowd of dust bunnies stampedes through an adjoining chamber.

Seeing his friend fall beneath the oncoming tidal wave of rabbits -- if it rains cats and dogs, does it thunder bunnies? the newspaper reporter cannot help but think -- Achilles's first reaction is to press forward. As he turns and sees another wave of rabbits pouring out from the side room, he realizes he'll be trapped. "Pull back!" he calls to Harrison. "Re-arm yourself here! I'll fend these off!"

The reporter considers his options. His aim with a grenade is woefully inadequate, as he learned to his great detriment and the merriment of boot camp, back when. Instead, he latches onto the door jamb and holds on with all his strength as he aims the seltzer water at the rest of the dust bunnies, umbrella hooked over his elbow temporarily!

A torrent of seltzer shoots into the room, and although the door jamb creaks warningly while Achilles hangs desperately onto it, the Card manages to hold his ground. The bottle, with its less oomph, rockets out of his grasp, but it's clear that the job has been done: The dust bunnies in the adjoining room have all been reduced to little smears.

"Hah! You're all wash-outs!" exclaims the reporter as he sprays water across the room, watching them crumble before the scientifically effervescent water.

On hearing the call for backup, Griffin tells Integra, "Follow me but keep back a bit, no telling what the situation is out there!" He then runs for the carriage house, fluffing out his built-in brooms-of-mass-destruction in preparation!

Integra splashes through the pool, clambering out and helping the rocking-nightmare over the edge. She then saddles up and rocks the horse-toy at a ridiculously fast pace after her uncle, easily catching up with him by the time he turns the corner -- just in time to see the aftermath of Achilles's massive attack upon one pincer of the dust-bunnies' attack formation.

"Put your back to the wall, then they can't slip behind you," calls Achilles as he falls back against the crate, now needing to re-arm himself. "What, hey, you're alive, Griffin! And Integra! I confess I had my doubts, seeing you charge off into that pack of unfriendly aboriginal lapines."

Coughing, sputtering, and waving his arms to shoo off the bunnies, the hare tries to get back to the box of doom-bottles. "If these are the last unnies I kiss before I die, that would be ... deserving of one insulting epitaph," the hare complains as his feet beat a fleet retreat before he suffers the agony of bunny defeet. There he can grab a couple bottles, then maybe, just maybe head back and obliterate them.

Unable to resist, the reporter intones, "Hare lies Harrison, gone to dust in the way of all mortals. Except more so."

The stopwatch still ticks the fractions of seconds at a different pace than the outside world. To Harrison's ears, Achilles's voice is a deep bass, and everything else is a bit slower than it probably ought to be.

"Have a seltzer in your ear, demon fiends of devilish dust and debris!" Harrison declares as he unleashes a watery assault on the unruly filth-bringers.

The back-blast forces Harrison back up against the wall of the carriage house, but fortunately he's familiar enough with the layout NOT to be right in front of the rake hanging on the wall. When the seltzer spray ceases ... he can see all the way into his bedroom now! Why, it looks like it's back down to as many dust bunnies as started off underneath the bed.

The dust bunnies look more than a little perplexed. They immediately pull out little chalkboards and fumble about for chalk and start working math equations.

The reporter looks a bit taken aback as Harrison dashes past him in double time, then rushes back. "Be care--" his words are drowned out by the roaring fwoosh of seltzer. "Did you get them?" He peers cautiously around the door jamb to see if there are more dust bunnies lurking there.

After a moment of math, there are TWICE as many dust bunnies as before! Well, twice as many as there were just a moment ago. But it's still only perhaps a dozen or so at this point -- not quite enough to cause another tidal wave of dust as before. But then, they DO seem to be more reassured in numbers.

"Aaaaah!" screams March! He's not about to let the bunnies reporduce again. The hare makes a mad run through the building, brandishing a bottle. He's heading right for his bedroom, possibly intend on a nap, suicide, or a vigorous cleaning.

The hare skids to a halt in the entry to the bedroom; brings up the bottle and shouts, "Let loose the bubbles of war!" It's water time!

"That either means 'I left the kettle on' or 'No, they're not gone,'" surmises Achilles as he reaches in for a fresh seltzer bottle.

The dust bunnies look up in surprise from where they were sheltering on the far side of the bed, surely thinking they were safely multiplying in the shadows. There is hardly time for them to mount a counteroffensive as the Hare rushes into the room, practically a blur -- and then -- GOOSH! There they go!

After the spray clears, Harrison realizes he's been blown back into the carriage house ... but ... could it be? His room appears to now be dust-free! (It's just also very, very wet.)

The newspaper reporter concludes, "And since he didn't just go toward the kitchen... That just leaves the other choice." He pauses as the roar of seltzer once against resounds through the carriage house, and a rabbit comes tumbling into view. "Harrison! Are you okay?"

March clicks the watch closed from where he lies on his back (and ends up looking between his fuzzy feet back at his bedroom). "My pride is mortally wounded," he complains.

With the watch closed, March slows to a more reasonable speed (and his voice isn't so high-pitched as it seemed to the others scant moments ago).

"March, before we leave this place you need to interview a housekeeper," Griffin says. "Maybe the Dark Horse?"

Achilles hurries forward, his seltzer bottle and umbrella at the ready. "Integra! Rabbit down!" He turns to rake across the carriage house with his one good eye, looking for any stragglers that might have survived.

Griffin gets out his healing herbs, just in case, and nods for Integra to check over the bunny for non-ego-related bruises.

After a quick patrol, the heroes determine that the house is, indeed, dust-free. The rest of the house (spared from the battle) is suspiciously clean, for it seems that all of the dust in the house had migrated to the bedroom as part of whatever peculiar process gave birth to the dust-bunnies hiding under the bed. Integra immediately goes to work, helping out with cleaning supplies and cleaning up smudges where she finds them, JUST IN CASE they might somehow reanimate again. Fortunately, so far it seems they have no ability nor inclination to do so.

Harrison is just fine, it seems, and now that he has a moment to recuperate, he's able to catch his breath. The bed is hardly the ideal spot to rest (the sheets are soon hanging up on clotheslines strung from wall to wall within the house, since hanging them OUTSIDE is hardly an option at this point).

"The Dark Horse, you say? I wonder how she would look in a French maid outfit," the hare suggests. He even rubs his chin as if seriously considering it.

The reporter blushes. "Sir! Surely you would dress her in an English maid outfit!"

The Gryphon then succumbs to the urge to preen his feathers. They did get all dusty and wet..

"If you hired her on, I suppose so," Achilles admits. "And it would get her out of that nasty orphanage." He sighs a breath of relief as the house seems to be in good order. "Hmmm, so where were we? Oh yes. I seem to recall that we'll be needing to find heads for the Hatter's little shindig."

In short order, the house is scanned for the possibility of further monsters -- especially before Integra has the chance to encounter them first. The windows, carriage house doors, entrance, and other doorways are secured against the greased-lightning storm and other elements outside.

"I'm sure you meant hats," Griffin notes, but looks skeptical. "Do you even have hats, March? Ones not made of thatch? Then again, we could make false heads out of pillow-cases and lamp-black and straw.."

"Oh!" exclaims Integra, as she rushes back in to the room. "I found this while I was looking for some dry rags." She holds up a jar that is labeled "The Very Best Butter." "It looks important!" It DOES look like an impressive jar, and it practically radiates a faint glow all its own.

The card reporter produces the invitation and displays it to the others. "Heads, I presume, so that they may be adorned with hats. Given that the Mad Hatter has gone over to the other side, I would suggest that we not employ our own heads in this regard."

"Must we deal with that so soon? I just gone home," the hare complains from where he lounges in the barely sitting room. It can't be the sitting room, and since it is outside the bath area and probably has seen its share of freshly bathed people... "And besides, we should also move the Horse here, right?," March adds, then waggles his ears at Achilles.

"Not until the storm passes," the Gryphon notes. "You don't want some greased up woman slipping and sliding all over the place."

"Well, that does indeed appear to be the Very Best Butter," agrees Achilles. He reddens again at Harrison's teasing. "So, are you stall-ing for time then?"

Griffin makes a face upon tasting the butter, which is impressive for someone whose face is largely rigid. "Bleh. It's magical, but.. it's machine butter. I think it's for lubricating your watch, March."

"Or it is for lubricating war machines. Why, just imagine one that fired rock salt from a shot gun. You would have Assault and Buttery," the hare quips loudly.

Achilles looks about the room. Two sofas, a table, a rug. "Now that I mention it, I don't see much in the way of horse-keeping for your new house-keeper," he admits.

The Gryphon's neck feathers poof a bit at that pun, and he hands the butter over to March. "You'd better hang on to this."

"Now I'm hungry," Griffin notes. "Who wants to work on stuffing heads and making hats?"

Integra claps her hands together. "Oh! That sounds like such fun! I can make paper crowns!"

"There's a kernel of truth in that! But Griffin's your man for fixing watches if that one breaks," Achilles says. "Hmm... Perhaps you have some beer in your saloon that might serve? One that could produce a nice head... of foam."

"Don't you remember what happened the last time you poked around in the saloon?" March reminds as he finally pushed himself from the sofa, feeling better. "Sofa, so good," he quips.

"Quite, which is why I'm suggesting you do the poking about this time," the card agrees.

Outside, there is a great flash of light and a boom. That must have been close! The storm shows no signs of abating. Fortunately, this room is far enough into the house that the smell of grease doesn't permeate.

Achilles adds, "If that shard of Humpty you happened to nab was his crown, it might plausibly serve as a head. For a very smart hat, one presumes."

"How safe do you suppose your kitchen is to use, March?" Griffin asks. "No old bread puddings that have gone evil or salty hard-a-tack biscuits to worry about?"

"I still have that head piece somewhere," March admits, "And my kitchen is perfectly safe! Except it doesn't have a lock."

Integra keeps busy in the corner, having helped herself to some papers in one of March's desks, and now she's folding up a paper carpenter's cap.

The reporter stands. "I'll keep you company and fend them off if you're attacked by food," he volunteers to Griffin. "So, if we can find a head cheese and beer with a head, then we're almost set, with Harrison's egg head. We would just need a doll's head for Integra's offering."

The kitchen is surprisingly free of homicidal silverware or animated foodstuffs. In short order, the group manages to scavenge a head of lettuce, a head of cabbage, a jar of head cheese, some beer (for a good head of foam), and while brewing tea, one might claim the kettle got a good head of steam (though that might prove to be difficult to transport as such).

Harrison, of course, has the easiest time of getting AHEAD of the rest, since he's fast AND knows his way around the best -- but, again, that's a rather intangible sort of thing to add to the inventory.

Integra tries to contribute a couple of needles ("They each have an eye, so altogether that would be two eyes for a head, right? Or does it quite work like that?") but she needs to work a bit on the concept.

"We even have a spare head in case an item is disallowed," Achilles says approvingly.

Griffin looks over the assortment of 'heads' and says, "At least we don't need to resort to being turnip-heads. You want the cabbage, Ace? You always did favor corned beef and all.."

"And who doesn't like to carry some green around?" the card says cheerily as he tucks the head of cabbage and the bottle of beer into his travel bag, leaving behind a few pieces of silverware as his contribution to March's household. "The lettuce will be an excellent icebreaker for Integra at the party. She can say, 'Lettuce, be introduced.'"

"I'll take the head cheese," March offers, "I'm sure it goes with the butter ... somehow."

Somehow, Integra manages to stuff the entire head of lettuce into one of her apron pockets. It doesn't leave so much as a bulge once inside.

The reporter admits, "That might be for the best. If the King's Men were successful in re-animating Humpty, and he were at the party and caught you with a piece of him, he might be rather distraught."

The clock strikes ... something. Maybe it's Yesterday-o'-Clock, for as much sense as timekeeping makes in Wonderland.

"Don't even suggest such a horrible thing," March remarks rather dryly. Upon hearing the clock chime, he goes to check what time it says.

March skids to a halt. "On second thought, if we check, it will be time to go! Is there anything else people want to do first?" he asks

The clock keeps bonging. There's no telling how many times it will ring. Well, one COULD try to count, theoretically.

"Well, we shouldn't delay too long, the extra sharp vision we've got thanks to those rabbiteyes won't last longer than a day or so," advises Achilles.

He ponders. "But it might be a good idea to have a fortifying snack of treacle prepared to eat on the way."

"We could rest.. no point in going before the storm lets up," Griffin suggests. He also pats the Fog Horn attached to his bandolier, noting, "Might be good to fog our approach to the Hatter's as well, when the time comes."

Integra looks increasingly perplexed, as she continues silently counting off. She's gone back and forth between hands at least twice now.

Achilles, at the mention of the storm, asks March curiously, "Do you happen to have a storm cellar? Perhaps we should put the storm away."

Griffin reaches over and puts his talons over Integra's hands, shaking his head, noting, "No matter what you count to, it'll be the wrong number."

Integra suddenly blinks out of whatever trance she was in. Her face looks noticeably pale, and she gasps, taking in a deep breath, as if she'd been holding it the whole time she was counting somehow.

"Try not to focus on such things again," Griffin tells his niece. "I wonder if there's some way to take advantage of the grease.. like traveling on a raft of bacon. Or bobsleds painted to look like bacon."

"Of course there is a cellar. What self respecting rabbit wouldn't have a cellar?" March points out. "But how do you suggest putting a storm away?"

Achilles suggests reasonably, "If we did happen to have one, it might be in the kitchen."

"You know.. I think these storms are deliberate," Griffin notes. "They seem so.. frequent and well timed, like sorcery is being used against us." He removes a herb cake from his pocket, and looks at it for a moment. "Shall we find out?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but if the storm were magical... You'd have to get the storm to 'eat' the cake somehow, wouldn't you?" asks Achilles.

"Well, that depends on your definition of 'consume'," the bird-cat notes, tossing the cake up and catching it again. "It's a grease storm. Grease burns. Fire 'consumes' things."

Integra pauses. "Well, some storms have an eye, don't they? So surely they'd have a ... oh, there it is with the needles again. Oh, bother! I'll never get the hang of this."

The card grins. "Well, better than looking for the mouth to go with the eye of the storm."

"Sounds perfectly unreasonable enough to work, I think," Griffin notes. "Let's have a look!"

"I believe the bird has finally gone to his brain," March remarks. "Unlike me, I remain perfectly sane."

Achilles tousles Integra's hair. "It's all a matter of perspective," he notes. "Griffin's off to 'face' the storm now, but you'd better stay inside. It's dangerous out there!"

Once he arrives at the door, Griffin cracks it open to look around. Where would the mouth of a storm be? He looks over at the tea table on the lawn, in case the storm might be licking the plates clean or something.

"I don't have a better idea," Achilles admits to Harrison. "But I think if it works, we had better get ready to go."

As the door is opened, the storm seems to be trying very, very hard to get in -- but perhaps there is some sort of enchantment upon the house (or it is just very well built), for the Gryphon gets not so much as a speck of grease upon him so long as he remains inside the threshold. Outside, it is all inky black and darkness, and the assailing stench of burning grease of all sorts. Lightning forks down from the sky, incinerating a nearby tree, with a loud report. It does seem to be putting on quite the show.

The card gets out his umbrella once again, having tucked it away briefly for his house-looting foray. "On the other hand, as long as that storm is out there, it is quite definitely not time to go," he exclaims.

"Aha!" Griffin caws, looking to where the lightning struck. "A roar of thunder must come from a roaring throat, I'd say," he claims. "And greasy food does tend to make one's stomach stormy at times." He prepares to throw the cake on the next lightning strike.

"I'm sure your cake will be quite the digestive aid," claims Achilles as he prepares to yank Griffin back, should the storm somehow manifest claws to go with the roar.

With that last strike, it appears that every tree poking up above the height of the manor's chimneys -- at least in the immediate vicinity -- has been taken down a notch or two.

"The Hare's house must be enchanted against these sort of events," Griffin notes. "It would work best I think if I could get lightning to strike the cake. Do you suppose March has lightning rods on the chimneys?"

"You would be somewhat begging to get first covered by grease, then struck by lightning, I fear," cautions Achilles.

"What self respecting hare wouldn't have proper ear decorations? Of course I do. They've very manly, not at all like earrings a lady would wear," March claims. "Are you planning to climb up a chimney, then? I rather imagine your wings would make for a great chimney sweep."

"Hmmm," Griffin notes. "Fetch the grease-trap from your oven, and bring it to the cellar first. Then have someone ready to close the doors once we've caught the storm. That seems.. uh.. logical, doesn't it? Then I'll get the cake up high."

"I'm not quite following, are you suggesting that we trap the grease from the storm, then you'll only have to fear lightning as you place the cake?" asks Achilles, an eyebrow raised.

"No, and yes," Griffin notes. "It will just help. When the storm is broken, the grease will have someplace to go so we aren't having to slog through it."

Before committing himself, Griffin checks the interior of the house, scoping out just where the chimneys might lead. As with much everything else about the house, while the exterior looks nice and symmetrical and orderly (as befitting something made to look something like a great rabbit head), INSIDE it's all a-jumble, and the chimney shafts apparently go through many crooks and turns in order to reach the places up top. It seems that it's just wide enough for the plan to seem plausible (as these things go), but narrow enough that the Griffin can be sure he'll be a soot-covered mess, and there's a lingering worry that he MIGHT end up becoming a bird stuck in a chimney before it's all done with.

The reporter chuckles. "Well, as you pointed out, it's an occupational hazard of being a griffin," he replies to the hare. "So, shall I carry the umbrella and shield us from the storm while you ferry the grease trap to the cellar? You're fast but there's so much storm outside that it would be better to go slow and safe."

"So.. become a chimney sweep or hope the thatch protects me," Griffin notes. "Chimney sweep it is.." he decides, and begins divesting himself of everything but the cake and his trousers to cut down on things that will get ruined by the soot.

"Slow is better right now, yes. I have no desire to become a fried hare," March agrees as he goes about collecting the 'grease trap' from beside the stove. "Because that would truly be a bad hare day."

Somehow, the Gryphon shoots up the chimney like a very feathery Saint Nicholas! Okay, maybe only like that if you squint really, really hard. Up he goes, cake clutched protectively (not that the storm should mind the taste of soot very much, but it's a matter of the cook's pride, perhaps). His timing is impeccable, for as he reaches the top, after several twists and turns, he feels a peculiar buzzing throughout his body. Somehow, the grease rain is angled just so that it doesn't come right down on the Gryphon's head. He deftly manages to impale the cake on the lightning rod affixed to the top of the chimney, and then pops back down.

With an ear-splitting crack, a great forked tongue of lightning (aha!) strikes both of the lightning rods of the manor at once. The cake is instantly consumed!

"Awwrk! Open the cellar doors," Griffin calls after emerging from the hearth in a cloud of soot.

Achilles escorts the lapin avec degraisseur (or as the English would put it, 'rabbit with grease trap') through the cellar to the storm doors. "Brace yourself! It sounds like a nasty one just hit!" he yells as he holds the umbrella up, opened against the expected incoming torrent of hard-hitting rain.

As the grease rain suddenly stops, and begins vacuuming itself OFF of the ground toward a central point, that appears to be Harrison's cue! He makes a dash with the grease trap toward the entrance to the storm cellar. On the way, the storm -- thunder, lightning, clouds, grease, and ALL -- somehow gets caught up in the trap. Then, it's just a matter of fumbling with the key ring, with a storming grease trap rattling around in one gloved hand ... and then into the storm cellar it goes!

"Whew!" exclaims the card, lowering his umbrella from its protective position as the meteorological threat seems to have waned. "First order of business for Miss Dark Horse, secure a new grease trap."

As Griffin heads for the pool room to clean up (leaving a mess of course), he calls out, "Shall we have a bit of treacle and head on to the Hatter's next?"

Achilles shakes off his umbrella. "A capital idea. We should get a head start on the rest, who won't be expecting the storm to have let up so quickly."

"Or we could rest," Griffin notes, sounding a bit tired. "I need to replace that cake if we're going into a tea party. And it is night time. We've been on the move all day."

"Well, it sounds as if Harrison needs to firmly smack the clock's hands and tell it that it's Time to Rest," Achilles suggests. "Lest it get the wrong idea about chivvying us along and all that."

Fortunately for all involved, it seems that time is flexible enough that it can be worked around -- at least for now. March reveals the rest of his abode, and, being a combination of a home for a Hare, but also a home with quasi-Medieval-come-Victorian touches, there are several guest rooms both upstairs and underground (for those more inclined to the burrowing lifestyle). The weather stays clear, despite the muffled protests of the storm caught in the cellar, and Griffin in particular feels rejuvenated and ready to get cooking again.

With Integra's help, there are soon two fresh magic-dispelling herb cakes in Griffin's arsenal.

So that no one goes hungry for the journey, there are treacle tarts all around (a part of this well-balanced breakfast).

So, everyone makes sure not to leave anything behind. Nothing is said in the invitation about requiring HATS -- just heads -- but no chances are taken. Whether it's a paper crown or a repurposed scarecrow hat, each of the travelers has a stand-in noggin (thanks to a bit of punnery) and some sort of headgear just in case it was ASSUMED to be required.

And only once everyone is well and set and ready to go, Harrison observes that it is nearly YOU KNOW WHEN, and so they really ought to be hurrying if they hope to keep a-head of schedule. As the invitation so clearly states, the way is THAT WAY. There's no map, of course, but in a sense, the invitation is all the direction one needs in Wonderland.

"Be sure not to lose your head, stay calm and we'll get through this," advises Achilles as he packs up his travel bag from the night's rest and makes sure his own head of cabbage and the bottle of beer are secure. A veteran of travel, he seems to have managed to change clothes and is now wrinkle-free and clean-smelling.

"I think that is the first time in a while you have not smelled of old books and feet, dear chap," March remarks to the card. "This is most assuredly a 'good thing'."

Outside, the yard still looks not entirely unlike the aftermath of a battle, but at least there are no pools of grease overflowing from the teacups and teapots anymore. Birds sing sweetly, as if not even a single cat or dog had come screaming down from the sky in recent memory.

"What is our plan of approach?" Griffin asks. "Sneak in, see what's what.. or wave the invitation around and ask where the scones are?"

Achilles looks amused. "Thanks to you keeping an excellent stock of bathroom necessities," he says. "Griffin, put the fog horn away, we've been invited. Using it would only make it easy for us to lose our way... And better that they don't have any reason to take precautions against sudden fog, if we need to make a quick getaway."

"As I see it, our object is to get the Mad Hatter to stop supporting the Queen," the reporter comments. "Ideally, we could talk him out of it... But if we sneak up on them, they'll treat us as enemies right away, if they catch us. The down side is of course, we'll be in a worse position if it comes to fighting."

"Given he is Mad, we have a chance of talking him to be against the Queen. Because, well, the very idea is insane, and this fitting for him to have," March points out.

"It would have made it more of a proper London tea party though," the bird notes with a beaky grin. "Integra, it may come down to you to try and charm the Hatter into switching sides. Remember that you are a Queen now too."

Integra stops fidgeting, and stands up EXTRA straight now, trying to look regal, or at least PROPER.

"By which he means that you would do the charming and Integra would look winsome," says the card to Harrison.

"Or you can offer to be the Ace up his sleeve at the next card game," March quips randomly. "Though, I'm not sure I would want to be stuck in the Hatter's armpit for hours."

Turning grimmer, Achilles adds, "It actually might not be a bad idea to get close to the Hatter... If it turns into a fight, we might be able to take him hostage to protect ourselves against his friends." He flourishes the sharp-edged Ace of Spades he kept from Harrison's old deck, then makes it vanish once more into his clothes. "Shall we go?"

"Going is better than staying," March says, then stops himself. "No, wait, it isn't. I like staying in a house. Er, anyway, I guess we have to go. THAT WAY." And so That way he goes.

That is, Some Time Passes, in a very vague sort of way, but not all that much at all. Before they know it, they're somewhere else entirely.

"You almost wouldn't think the Hatter lives just across the Way from you," comments Achilles to Harrison as they walk.

It looks as if the call for the fog horn was certainly premature, for it is already remarkably foggy, and seems to have become that way at some point before any of the travelers were fully aware of it. By the shadows all around, it would seem as if they've blundered their way back into the streets of London, as several shops line the way.

The group has found its way right up to a haberdashery shop. It looks suspiciously like Mr. Madden's store, yet it the name is hard to make out -- frustratingly hard enough that it dispels any notions that they really have strolled right back into the Real World while they weren't looking too closely.

"I'm tempted to see if I can snag a tin of kippers," Griffin notes, looking about warily. "Keep a rabbit-eye out for murderous dopplegangers.."

Top hats, bonnets, derbies and caps of all sorts can be seen in the display windows, perched on wooden model heads. The interior of the shop glows warmly through the mist. A sign in the window reads, "Closed Today -- Except By Special Invitation!"

Achilles advises, "Check your heads, everyone," as he makes sure his is still being carted along. Then inspects the door frame for traps as well, come to think of it. The invitation did imply losing one's head was a particular danger.

Integra digs around in her apron pockets, and produces the green leafy head she put in there earlier.

It would seem that proper care was taken, and none of the travelers has YET lost his or her head. So far, so good!

"There's something a bit off," Achilles whispers to the others. "I think the hats are watching us. I don't see any obvious tripwires or ominous blades yet though."

Griffin also readies his old-hat adorned cabbage. "Think we should duck when the door opens? Who knows what's behind it."

"Move to the side, I'll spring the door first," Achilles suggests. He brandishes his umbrella and steels himself mentally.

Feeling a bit inspired (or paranoid) the Gryphon mounts his cabbage head on the bayonet of his rifle, so it can be passed through the door without undo risk.

Although the windows are a bit grimy, it looks as if there is no sign of any party-goers inside the shop right now. There is no one behind the register, either. The travelers must indeed have arrived a bit early.

Achilles eyes the door. "What, and risk my hand? I'm allergic to having it chopped off," he advises. He secures the ferrule onto his umbrella and reaches out to rap on the door with it, so that the tip won't stab into the wood.

The tap-tap-tap echoes down the deserted street. There is no answer ... save that the door, slightly ajar, creaks open, with a jangle of disturbed bells hanging on a string.

Despite the noise of the tapping and ringing, there's still what sounds like a chorus of hushed voices suddenly going quiet as the door opens. In the distance, there is a creaking noise that sounds rather like an old bird cry somewhere deeper within the store, in one of the back rooms, but that goes silent as well.

The "city" outside remains quiet, as not even a wind whips down the street to disturb the fog.

"Careful, the room has just gone silent. It wasn't before. Not ... exactly," March remarks worriedly.

"Surprise party?" Griffin suggests, and pokes the cabbage-head-on-a-rifle through the opening. "I think I have my head on straight.."

The card whispers to the others, "Be alert. I'm sure those hats moved--" Well. It seems whispering is no longer necessary, nor suspicion.

Suddenly, the hats spring to life. "SURPRISE!" they shriek, and at once, a bonnet pounces on the cabbage, then seals itself over it, and wrenches the cabbage free with a POP! Something about the force of that gives Griffin reason to feel that his own HEAD might have gone in similar fashion if it had been poked in first.

With his umbrella readied, Achilles takes a defensive position. "Look out! HEADHUNTERS!" he yelps.

"Great Headless Gods of the Punjabi!" March squeaks in shock! "Maybe we should go to a less homicidal party."

"I don't think we have enough heads to satisfy all of the hats," Griffin notes. "Unless already wearing a hat will confuse them?"

"They might decide to thin out the competition for heads. Back up a bit, let me and Harrison hold them off at the doors and you can pot them between us," advises Achilles.

"Anyone have a reason why I shouldn't start shooting?" Griffin asks as he lines up on a pompous looking top hat.

Integra, shocked at the effect, holds her head of lettuce up over her own actual head, and appears to be trying to scrunch down a bit to be somehow more convincing.

Achilles replies gravely, "None whatsoever. I think we're clear that this is a trap and we have sprung it."

Boom! That hat won't be gracing the head of anyone anytime soon. It falls, lifeless, to the floor.

"Dodgy little buggers," Griffin notes. "They might cluster if they have a head target though."

Achilles uncaps his umbrella hastily, then reaches down into his travel bag and rips loose the head of cabbage, then steps toward the door. He holds his umbrella in his right hand, the cabbage in the other, as if daring the hats to go for it.

"Don't get too close, we've got to bottleneck them here," grits Achilles to Harrison as he eyes the cabbage-eating hat warily.

March, seemingly one to attempt to start action ... rolls his jar of head cheese just into the shop to see if one goes for it! That should hopefully make it an easy target for next time!

The hats seem to be in a frenzy of confusion, fluttering as eagerly as they are in search of heads to claim, but not yet braving the outdoors to go after the travelers lingering outside.

"Oh dear me, I just hate it when my head falls off like that! Momma always told me I was absent minded and prone to losing my head like that," March calls into the shop, hoping to get one, or more, of the hats to go after his bottle of head cheese!

Achilles grins at his friend, "But it's such a tasty looking head! What a shame to let it go rolling about in the dust like that."

It's also the same time it dawns on March he ought to put on his scaring of crows hat, to make him look already claimed or ... something!

One of the hats is immediately flustered, as it was about to head out the door, but instead tries to change course, bumping into another hat, and reeling in a frenzy. Must ... reach ... HEAD CHEESE!

"Integra, get out your paper crown and hold your scepter, try to make them to bow down to the crown," Griffin suggests. "It is the Ultimate Hat after all. Hand me your lettuce too." He then declares, "Bow down to the Queen of Hats!"

"Uhm," Integra starts, handing over her lettuce to her uncle. "Oh, hats! I have the Ultimate Hat here for the Ultimate Head! Which is mine! Because I am a Queen! See? This right here. This is my head. Not this other head, which is my real head. Or, I mean, which isn't. Because that ... uhm ... I'm not very good at this, uncle!"

"Oh, what a LOVELY head!" one of the bonnets coos. She seems to have interested them, at least.

"No, wait!" Integra corrects, waving her scepter around. "See? THIS! This is my head. See? I have ... I have a very long neck, see?"

One of the hats seems to respond much more favorably to Griffin's trickery, as it immediately DOFFS itself, resulting in a collision with a nearby display. That might occupy it for a little bit.

Another hat, seeing its chance, immediately runs up to the jar of head cheese. "GLOMP!" It then heavily makes its way back to its perch. The cabbage-swallowing bonnet likewise returns to a perch to show off its new head model.

"I see! It's the headless hats we have to fear," Achilles exclaims. "Of which there are... I make at least nine, so we shalln't be providing them all heads, we have not so many to spare." He braces. "You hear that, hats? You shalln't be feasting today!"

The destroyed hat falls apart, whatever magical animating it dissipating with its "death." A bonnet, meanwhile, flies right past Achilles, ignoring him in its focus upon Integra -- upon her REAL head, it would seem.

Achilles manages to strike the hat en passant, knocking it to the cobbles before it can engulf Integra's head ... but it isn't quite dead yet.

"Hiyah! Away from Her Majesty!" yelps Achilles, alarmed. He turns and aims a frantic series of slashes at the bonnet, trying to slash it to ribbons.

Other hats flutter their way toward the door. If the heroes had managed to enter all the way into the room before the hats revealed themselves, this could have been quite devastating.

The fallen bonnet, at a distinct disadvantage against the cobbles, fails to defend itself against the deadly umbrella thrusts. The bonnet is assuredly dead, and begins to disintegrate into a mass of shredded cloth and ribbons and thread.

The card reporter huffs and pants for breath over the sliced-to-rags bonnet. "You might want to be careful about advertising Integra's head as 'the ultimate,'" he reproves. He turns around seeing an oncoming storm of hats... Oh dear.

A swarm of hats rushes to the door! Achilles is quick to react, impaling one hat upon the sharp tip of his umbrella before it can even make it through the threshold ... but there are so many more right behind it!

As more hats thunder toward Achilles, he desperately tries to twist and turn to present the least possible silhouette to it. "Hey! Keep your brim off me, I'm a taken man! See, I have a bowler!"

Two hats try to force their way through and upon the heads of the defenders, but are held at bay. The other hats press against the doorway in a rush, but at least momentarily are held up.

"Hey, it takes a special hind of hat to go with these ears, you know!" March retorts towards the flurry of oncoming head gear.

Achilles teases March as he catches his breath, enough to get out, "Yes, the kind that's ugly enough to scare away crows."

Thrusting the lettuce head forward on his bayonet as a distraction, Griffin claims, "Foolish bonnet! Only the most regalfatuous hat may adorn the head of a queen! And the only way for a hat to achieve that blessed state is to eat other hats!"

Integra, meanwhile, is still trying to keep up her act. She has now resorted to covering up her mouth with one hand, and speaking in a squeaky voice, gesturing with her scepter like it's some sort of puppet. "Ooo! Ooo! Yes! I need a regal-fatuous hat!" The act still needs some polish.

Achilles addresses the hat in front of him, "You are not worthy to approach her Ultimate Headship!" He slashes at it, drawing himself back into an En Garde position after, the green cabbage head on his left hand held teasingly just in view of the other hats.

"Behold the fate of a hat that dared to approach her Ultimate Headship before it had become sufficiently regal-fatuous!" proclaims Achilles loudly as he skewers the hat neatly, then flips it to the side.

"As you can see, I am already taken. And this sword doesn't like people who intrude upon its bearer," March says as he uses said sword in an attempt to reduce the hat before it into shreds of silk and ribbon!

"Oho! Ehee! Yii!" exclaims the hat as it dodges blow after blow. It tries to go in to grab the Hare's head, but the magical thorns springing forth from the magical sword keep it at bay.

Achilles swipes at the next top hat to approach, but misses! "Hold still so that your regalfatuosity may be measured!" he exclaims.

A bonnet and another hat appear to be involved in a tussle, each one trying to consume the other, without success. Another hat tries to force its way up front to reach the Hare or the Card, but it's ANOTHER hat that manages to somehow slip through....

...but getting through doesn't mean it automatically presents a danger. The hat slips down underneath the Card, and tries to come back around for another go, but seems to be confused by the Card's selectively two-dimensional properties when viewed from a certain angle.

"They're getting through!" says Achilles worriedly as he tries to warp himself around to duck the other hat. "Shoot them, we don't have time to impress every single one of them of your crown's Ultimate Incredulosity!"

Griffin swings his lettuce head tipped rifle towards the rogue chapeau, hoping the sight of the false head will actually draw it in before he fires.

The hat lands on the lettuce, and then suddenly the lettuce EXPLODES. At least the hat died happy.

Integra keeps up her act, but has to stop and GROAN at that pun as soon as she realizes it.

"You! Have you come bearing the brim of another hat as proof of your regalfatuousity?" accuses Achilles of the hat in front of him, as he slashes at it, ostensibly testing its worthiness. "KNEEL before HER MAJESTY!"

The umbrella's unexpectedly sharp tip takes off its top! "Too slow," Achilles pronounces with all the doom-laden sententiousness of an executioner.

The hat was momentarily distracted by Integra's acting (hey, it could happen!) and is completely caught off guard by the angry Card. It goes down and is soon reduced to a mess of felt and ribbon.

The hare is still trying to spar (perhaps a bit ridiculously) with the hat before it. "Never have I been to the brim of disaster before. Why, I haven't felt this angry in ages!" the hare decrees as he tries to slice the hat apart.

"There're only a few left! Time to press our initiative!" says Achilles as he prepares to advance into the dreaded hat store.

Perhaps the hat dodging his attacks is frustrating the hare, because his attack soon becomes a lot more wild.

"No friend of mine is going down to a tight hat," Griffin notes, bringing his bayonet around to help Harrison. "March, but that bit of felt to a sword-ed end."

THAT does it! The hat falls under the onslaught -- and Griffin is able to help pen in the animated hat a bit, too, now that he's got the cabbage free from the tip of his bayonet.

Achilles nods approvingly as the rabbit chops his to flinders! (which are of course, like splinters but fabric) He pushes forward into the store, yelling a mighty "FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!" as he assaults the next hat in.

The sulking hat, distracted by a bonnet trying to devour it, fall sunder the enraged Card's onslaught!

Taking advantage of the bonnet's bewilderment, Griffin reloads and takes a shot at it.

Integra, caught up in the spirit of things, cries out, "FOR QUEEN AND COUNTRY!" rushing forward and waving her scepter like a lethal weapon.

Achilles whispers to Integra, "Psst... You're the queen. Get back quickly, you're in danger here!"

Integra keeps on, rushing in and whacking at the remaining hat, then stomping on it, hopping up and down and kicking furiously, screaming all the while.

"Awwrk!" Griffin squawks in alarm. "Integra.. that is unladylike behavior," he chides.

Integra suddenly stops, flushing deep red. "Oh! But ... b-but ... it was for Queen and Country!"

"Yes, but you shouldn't do that when you are the queen," Griffin points out, but not very harshly. "Still, that was very brave."

The hat appears to be very much not-alive now. There are a couple of hats that might still be 'animate' in some fashion, but they appear to be absorbed with their new head-models, and no threat at present.

Achilles coughs and tries to look innocent, his cheeks reddening. "It is not something I would advise for little girls whose uncles would be quite distraught if something happened to them."

"Oh!" Integra says, surprised. "I hadn't thought of that." She adjusts her crown, which had been knocked out of place in the excitement.

The card leans over and whispers to Integra, "But jolly good show, that. Maybe Harrison should give you some lessons later."

Achilles hands Integra the cabbage, only a little worse for wear. "Now, my dear, hold onto this and use it to decoy them if they should finish with their present, ah, 'models', and desire a substitute. Or if we should run into a lurking hat still in need of a head."

"Hey, you know ... the other hats in here, the ones that aren't trying to kill us are still magical!" March declares, "Why, I bet we might even find some that would give us benefits befitting those who would normally wear such a hat. Why, with a chef's hat Griffin's food might actually be edible ... and a gentleman's hat might make it so ladies don't run screaming from Achilles."

The card peers into the shop distrustfully, then takes a step in. "That would have to be an impressive hat indeed," he says.

"The ones that look like they're for that profession, birdy," March repeats, grinning.

There are all sorts of interesting hats. Why, over there is what looks like a deerstalker cap. Over there is an admiral's hat. There, a police bobby's cap. Over there, a chef's cap. A carpenter's cap. And more!

Achilles peers at the nearest hat, the one that made short work of the cabbage, to see if it seems to be digesting the cabbage.

"Oh! Oh!" Integra lightly claps her fingers together. "I do believe that must be a FAIRY PRINCESS hat!" She points to a gauzy, glittery hat that looks something like a conical cap with drapes hanging from it that might POSSIBLY have been worn by a princess at some point (save for all the gauze and glitter), and has an incorporated glittering crown, and little paste jewels (or are those real?). The whole effect is very pink and shiny and gaudy.

The hat currently occupying a cabbage "head" seems to have gone dormant. The cabbage appears to be in no danger of being consumed anytime soon.

Over yonder, a green cap with a big feather that might have been worn by Robin Hood himself. There, a fusilier's cap. Yonder, a pirate hat complete with skull and crossbones! A stage helmet as might be worn by someone pretending to be a Roman gladiator. And so on.

"Well, I think that would look very fetching on you, Integra," Griffin agrees, after trying on the Chef's hat.

The reporter looks around curiously, then peers at the deerstalker hat. He tests it with the ferruled tip of the umbrella first to see if it seems likely to animate, then holds it up for Harrison. "Any notion what this might do?"

"Keep your head warm?" March suggests helpfully. "A warm head is good for thinking?"

"Perhaps!" Achilles doffs his bowler, once he's established the hat doesn't seem headivorous, and tries it on.

After examining some of the other hats, the Gryphon comes back to the chef's hat. "As long as it doesn't make speak in a French accent, I think this will be more useful for me."

"Maybe you could find a jockey's hat. You did seem interested in that dark horse," March teases when he passes by Ace.

The card groans. "Yes, well, we should take a detour by her village and let her know that she's your new housekeeper at some point," he says, moving to a mirror to see how he looks in the hat.

The mirror looks rather hazy in here, but the Card can make himself out. Something looks a bit odd about his reflection, however. He doesn't look nearly as PALE in the reflection.

"Come here a moment, Griffin?" asks Achilles. "See how you look in this mirror in your new hat."

"And not at all because you would like to see her," March adds, grinning. He's now eying the robin-hood esque hat because, well, dashing ... and a bit vain.

In the mirror, Gryphon makes out his outline, but then he notices something is off. For one thing, there are no wings. For another ... the reason there are no wings is because he looks like a HUMAN! Gasp! Oh, wait....

"Hmm, nope, too ... something," March remarks as he gives the pirate hat a pass. Thinking a bit on recent news articles about England's former colonies, why ... he heads for a section that seems to have hats reminiscent of the stories about daring outlaws in the western part of that far away land. Gunslingers, that's how they were called in the paper.

Seeing the Griffin's reflection, Achilles frowns. "Something seems a little off about how you look in the mirror," he says. "I can't quite put my finger on it, though."

It's a bit of an import, but there's what looks to be some sort of "cow-boy" hat, only it doesn't sport horns or any other signs that it has the least bit of anything to do with a cow. Other exotic headgear abounds as well. It's a rather eclectic collection.

"Well, aside from it not being me," Griffin notes. "We're in a half-way house I think, so we're getting half-way reflections."

March grabs one of the 'cow boy' hats. Soon thereafter his crow hat is replaced by this new hat. IT's his turn to go look in the mirror now.

"How dashing looking! And exotic," comments Achilles as he steps back for Harrison.

It's hazy and indistinct, but March's reflection in the mirror looks taller and much less rabbity -- distinctly human, in fact. It's just not a CLEAR image, and doesn't invite very close examination. It seems to be perfectly fine for examining the HAT, somehow.

There's a sound of wood scraping against wood that comes from somewhere behind the counter. A sign beside the door reads "Employees Only," but a sign below it amends, "... unless you're INVITED!"

Achilles eyes the door. "How rude, we're keeping our host waiting," he says drily. "And after he prepared such a warm welcome for us."

"Do you feel invited? I do, and also unwelcome. Are you sure we want to go back there?" March has to ask.

"He's just dying to meet us," Achilles says. "We couldn't possibly leave without at least saying hello."

"We have to deal with Madden," Griffin notes. "Turn him to our side to save him, or.. well, let the hats fall where they may."