W L I T Radio For The Masses Ch 01

Harry's notes: This was originally written with verse included in the text and as so was only acceptable as a poem. I've stripped the end of lines out the poetic stanzas to make it possible to submit in story boards.

W.L.I.T. Radio for the Masses, Fairyland Theatre

Static, crackles, then the sound of an analog tuner searching for a station. Those of you fortunate enough to have heard this will understand; the noise clears to dead air, then...

sfx: chimes vo, sung, brightly: "Double you, elle, eye, tee." cue1: retro radio serial organ music: Announcer, cheery voice: Welcome to Fairyland theater and tonight's episode, sfx: echo/wavering/dramatic.

Fay Ray and the Dragon Escapade.

Brought to you by those good folks at Harry's Tongue Prophylactics, sfx: [numina, numina, numina] try their new lizard skin brand, guaranteed to give her shivers. cue2: Fairyland intro theme.

When last we left our story, Ray was dashing pellmell to Greensward with urgent messages on his trusty battle boar, Puddin sfx: galloping hoof-beats/macho piggy grunts of exertion. vo, Ray: Look boy, roadkill! sfx: squeal, chomp.

Act I

Greensward, the end of a very long week: Ray has been detained from returning to his new bride after delivering sensitive documents at the start of dragon mating season. He sits at a large well made table in a grand stone walled room, sparsely furnished but comfortable.

Fay Ray puts down a willow quill with a frown. The noise from the swamp was astounding; great violently shaggin' dragons without engaged in obscene displays, two leagues gone the window, immense genitalia poked and stroked and sprayed, waves of spume-flecked cum and water, copiously, and mud, oh god, the mud.

Catastrophe threatens the whole kingdom's grain and his own sanity, fastidiousness, breath, as breakers of their scaly fornication wash over soggy fields, best to hay, scald-blasts of steamy scented musk, flesh burning, and the roar of two lust-maddened beasts.

Ray draws the curtain 'gainst the breeze n winced as his cock hit the bed, and 'e cursed, damn thing must'a grown an inch, mumbles.

"Never seen it so bloody red." adjusts pants for fit, rings the bell-pull thrice for wine, igniting bawdy laughter below and his rage of being denied his fresh bride; one thing a solace as fresh tipple's delivered, the service here's never slow.

He turns to a pike-man standing straight at the door, "How long does this usually go on?" The pike-man stoically avoids his eyes, placing the wine on a desk, as usual, gathers up scattered empties, prepares for his hasty escape to the kitchen.

"It's only the first week; they've still got the flyin' no tellin' how long, days n days of insane thunder n lightnin' extinguishin' all the fires laid by them's pyroclastic orgasms that'l refill bog's nest gone dry with their ruttin'."

Clutching the empties unto his chest, shifting to a place by the door, his gaze passes over poor Ray's lament and his face gives him instantly away. Cheeky bugger.

Ray lowered brows at the pike-man gone silent agin, straight, braced and bold, but daring a grin for the laughs in the ale house as the story's retold, in the midst of Dragon festival debauch, of the visitor's tent as he pens a short note to his lady at home, and She...

Spying at that very moment with fairy magic: 3D sensory rendition to assess his condition. Poor Ray.

Wise to the ways, whys and wherefores of Dragonmas in Greensward, but so sore from long nights in her wedding bed, She'd her father send him away on a chore while delicate lady-parts healed, dreaming of her lover's return, non compos mentis, soaked to the skin in Fay pheromones, the same seeping in her boudoir.

She groaned n growled herself, found her fan n fanned, closed far vision in a hurry, returned control to the pike-man again...

Who blinked at Ray's furrowed glare, face 'last gone flat at the displeased stare, waiting for dismissal and escape to the stairs, back to the pair of maids down there, the midnight scent of the swamp blowing in.

He runs at a wave of the hand of the guest, laughs at the click of the bolt at his back, at the note from our Lady sent with the gent, rumored to read by the Chamberlain's whisper.

"Uncle, put him in the south wing nearest the swamp, lock away the scullery maids, shod his steed in dragon-forged shoes to keep him safe in his mad dash for home when Fay beasts have failed to roam; stay mum the plans we've made, yer moggy niece, Bernice."

Or so the gossip said...

Ray walks away from the door as empties clatter down, dropped by that clown that had the cheek to smile at his biological infirmity...

Replacing a frown with weak cheer, drawing parchment n ink near, pours the wine, drinks, addresses the page.

"Dear, My Lady, I fear I'll be delayed some time as certain events have occurred here. The whole kingdom's covered in sulfurous cloud's after a brace of dragons arrived to nest in the wetlands just south of the town. Your uncle thinks it's best if I stayed until the dragons desire's finally slaked."

He paused and rubs a stiffened cock, breeze breathes a gasp of erotic shock, scribes in hasty determined strokes. "Miss you like you wouldn't believe, Yours, sealed with signet, wax n kiss."

Folded, slid 'neath the door for a pouch to the Nor'east that might still go out today, dove deep 'neath the covers, moaned, slept, dreamt of acts most lascivious.

He heard her silver bell laugh as he dreamed, dragons bellowed from steam covered swamp.

She, long gone to bed, dreaming of Ray's return, red wax bedroom candles burnt out, the dawn, just holding sway on a room where two lovers will lay in the non-light of some future morn.

Act II

Greensward, the next day: -1C and dropping, clear sky, brilliant sun rising exactly over the road far across fields where it enters the oak forest.

The sun draws a questing finger over Fay Ray's quilts, broken pillows, pokes the frosty nose signifying Ray's form where he's lying, only a snorkel to the empirical world.

The covers move, extend a toe, retreat, the next to show, Ray's moppy head n eye, calculating just how far the bell-pull's located across the frigid floor.

The duvets surge n thrown away, a naked Ray gives the day a bellow of his long frustration, lunges, rings once the string that broke whose ding by this time made redundant as echoes from his scream reverb through the Manse.

Silence.

He imagines hearing laughter from the kitchen down below, member quickly retreating with the unrelenting cold, thunder from the steps, no knock n beverage placed to hand and a hasty firing of the chimney's mouth. My man.

The pikeman forgiven, Ray embraces the sensation of shrinking tumescence and strong libation, heat sent out by wild happy flames, reflected from hearth throat in this puzzling frost-rimed room.

"What now?" Ray inquires, as if to himself, embracing the balm of his peter's relief, a sigh but for sip or toasting balls unknown, stands silent watching fire's growth.

The pikeman keeps busy, face turned to the grate, teeth gritted 'gainst a grin at the current rate of Ray's shriveled pizzle's decay.

Clearing a throat, guarding against laughter, unlocking jaw in preparation for answer, turns, presenting the young master in metaphor.

"The first act's drawing to a close, this year's three, look out the window, you'll see, I'll be back with your breakfast," he takes the empty mug, "an' another of these and a tale of the magic about to unfold."

Ray fills an empty jar with piss, "Take this, bring some water for washing." Strolls to the window as the pikeman walks out, sloshing.

Squinting against the incredible strength of the sun, gasping when finally focused the sight of a frozen mound towering impossibly, fraught with a manner of things, all fixed like concrete, still in the light; a sun dances down like fire.

A dragon wing seems a bright spire, a back a buttress, shining white. A wagon wheel, a window wight, dim in the ice of tower's heights.

Dazed at the change, apprehensive, suspicious, air charged with magic his keen senses cry. Something auspicious about to arrive. Hide!

He puzzled at that a moment... "Hide, from a good thing?"

'til a crack caught an ear, a movement an eye, spire collapsed, buttress fell below, the rest descended in an earth-shaking roar, blue flames showed from the crater floor, hoar frost grew impossibly large, sprinting t'ward his horrified face.

Ray steps back, wide eyed, draws shut the curtain n dresses immediately as the temperature suddenly drops. The pavers shake, the stairs thunder, the door flung back, that damn pikeman, unencumbered, bursts in.

"His Grace," he gasps, fighting for breath, "requests your advice, above the parapets as 'e takes in the sights." He bent, hands to thighs, winded but recovering fast.

Ray's eyes, torn from where glacial threads of ice take root in window's wall, examines the wretch, questions. "When will he see me?"

"At your convenience, Sir Ray. I'll lead the way, as you will." Service must indeed be first rate, if a simple invitation's dispatched with such haste, still...

"Let's go." A roar of eerie white noise, stair stones trembling underfoot, kicks Ray's stride into overdrive. The pikeman keeps apace; they race.

Down two flights of stairs, up four more, furlongs of frost-laced passageways before the bastion tower door, up merciless spiral treads. Ray having the best of it, pike-man lagging at his heels.

Entr'acte:

Greensward, atop the bastion: Bernice's uncle sits in one of two chairs stationed for the best view of the immense puff of icy stuff, glowing deep blue low in its center. Dark heavy clouds fill the sky, seeming to touch a storm flag hanging limp above. The horizon shows a band of sunlight far beyond. A festive gathering of people are scattered about the low walls and sturdy tables filled with food and drink.

His Grace spies Ray, emergin' from the stair hatch, eyes seekin' his, smiles a greeting, extends a hand, held for a moment, starts the meeting.

"Good day, Ray, take a seat n cup; join with all of us, celebrate this season."

"Uncle," Ray says, releasing his grip, takes a sip of wine served, stands surveying the season, pike-man pops out of the hatch, busted. His Grace lays a finger to nose, winks, tips a head to the tables, pike-man flips a quick salute, vamoosed, as did His Grace, "A moment." and he was gone.

Just then a shiver ran through all, storm flag quivered, smoke from a fire pit did a crazy dance as if wind disturbed it briefly in the frigid dead calm sweeping the land.

Excitement flared through the throng, short lived, chatter, oaths, cheers n laughter while Ray's fairy senses scream hide, hide. Wild eyes search the perch, find the pike-man, wine cup held port arms, face parade rest, watching Ray's distress but unable to reveal more, not his place.

Across the frost covered land a shock, as if a mighty rock had fallen, slammed the ground, crackling and rumbling, a brief shriek of white noise, showers of frost tumble, drop a mist become thin fog, crawling.

His Grace rushed his seat, flushed from drink, exclaims, "It's starting!"

Act III

The storm flag takes a flapping, north then south a'gin, the wind blew from all quadrants n 'round the pole it'd spin.

"Sweet Oldman!" Ray swears when sky takes storm flag's cue turning 'bout the locus where his sight is stuck like glue, clouds thin just above, light grows bright, torrid gusts.

It was the hot moist mouth of spring, opening above the dragons frozen lair, the sun, full noon, illuminated the thing, round, deep blue glow surrounding the pair imprisoned below.

"Language, Ray, relax, enjoy the show, and please, as you will, take a seat. Hear a tale you need to know of this most magically unusual fete."

Ray pushes back wind tattered hair, seeks the one vibrating stair then up, alighting the chair in a bound as eerie screeches split the air at his back, then up again screaming his best.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Hauled down and muffled, restrained, leaves his rage and sees the crowd as he lays flat on the stones, the pikeman, up close, hands on Rays mouth, gets the stink eye. His Grace, crouched low, finger to lips.

"Shhh... Don't do that, release him, bring my chair, listen, pay no mind to what you hear beyond, and remember," His eyes sweep those circled about. "we're your family, an' never see you harmed as can."

The chair arrives, crowd moves aside, drinks are refilled and they hunch near 'gainst the drizzle. Ray still recumbent in the middle not spared; it falls straight down into calming eyes, blinking away direct hits, open to trembling stones beneath, shrieks out there, faces watching amused or anticipating. He smiles.

Laughter brings all strangers together in the best and worst of times. His Grace joins in as he settled a'seat n speaks.

"Our dragons created such rare heat in lovemaking that they froze, now its taking a while to thaw; friction's their only friend right now and, believe me, they're frictioning."

Rumble and sonic wail played behind bawdy mirth. The sun shines a spotlight on a gem inlaid earth; its verglas sheen reflects the light under dark ominous clouds that continue to weep.

Night comes after hours of the same, then the moon, lending an eerie glow to the neon blue globe, full lit below; rain stops, wind ceases to blow, battlements smolder indigo. Sleep fell a silent spell on Greensward; all are laid low.

Ray awoke on wet stones alerted by some sound, his kin snoozing where they laid down not roused, nor the pike-man cuddled up close behind who got a boot when he stood to look around.

"What was that? It sounded like breaking pottery." His Grace, alerted by the pikeman, up on his feet to see.

A sheened pearl of ice in the feeble dawn, cracked, flawed, a chip gone, ghostly quiet in a misty fen, shattered with the first roar, melted with flames.

Two enraged beasts, too-long contained, lust-crazed no more, lure of the other gone stale, pale hearts inflamed with displeasure, inviting their lover to leave, or else.

Claw, tooth, blasts of fire rise into the new day, vanish in the overcast above, lightning, thunder, fair thick with electrical mayhem, screams, flaming gout's flow over clouds face in streams, then the downpour.

Howling laughter as folk awoke, dash for stairs, duck under cloaks, dance naked under hot fat drops, run to walls, shout cheers for the army of barrel-men, charging the soggy fen, hell-bent to be the first to reach the iridescent pool of liquid passion abandoned, fill n stopper, repeat 'til none left the spot, retrieve when the pyrotechnic display above thunders away Nor'West draggin' clouds of their choler.

Egress:

Kitchen courtyard of the Manse, a week later: The rising sun shines through an open gate on many activities, all centered around the bulk of Puddin, made even greater by a large number of packages in the process of being attached.

Puddin grunting impatiently, Ray prepares to leave, listens to His Grace relate: how only one in a hundred pair of dragon freeze, why the barrel-men raced in the rain, how he enjoyed meeting Bernice's mated squeeze, the pedigrees of gifts bestowed on Ray, his niece n brother.

A vial of liquid passion, "Use it sparingly," tightly stoppered demijohn of Fay pheromones for her, a note, "Moggy, have a snort on me." A sealed package for her father to be delivered immediately.

Puddin prances on dragon forged shoes set with a sure foot charm. Ray climbs a slew of parcels harnessed to his grunting charger, waves a hearty farewell to one n all; the Ale-man's daughter gets a wink, the pike-man a stinky eye, who curtsied in reply. Cheeky bugger.

A nod to the master then canter away 'cross heavy farms of crops and hay, sprung up fast n fruiting while dragons had their hostile play 'cross the kingdom n countryside by n large, shitting n a'pissing, fertilizing every orchard, field n yard.

Ray calls a halt where the road enters the oaks, looks back, waves to a figure atop the bastion, spoke a blessing on one n all as a farewell hand's raised; then trot's away. Puddin investigates a familiar smell, just beyond the saplings veil, a trail that led away.

Down overgrown ground to home, not yet unpassable, ducking limbs, Ray settles among the packs in a military fashion, face in the furs worn here; her scent still there where last they touched. Eyes for the road, heels gig pig's ribs.

vo, Ray: Hit it Boy! sfx: loud prolonged battle squeal and heavy galloping.

And away they went, tail up n feet churning, fartin' n a'gruntin', throwing a rooster tail of clods.

sfx: chimes sung brightly: "Double, you, elle, eye, tee." Announcer: That's it for tonight, thanks for listening, and remember those good folks at Harry's Tongue Prophylactics, sfx: [numina, numina, numina] and their motto, It's all tongue in chic'.