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A Kaotic coronation

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Crystal cups tinkled as they were filled with clear water from large carafes, the cut glass sparkling in the bright light of dawn as it warmed the room. Around a large sturdy oak table, nobility had gathered in the consulting chamber for an important meeting. Dressed in vibrant hues, long silk tunics and velvet waistcoats, they all slid sly glances at each other, assessing wealth and potential weakness. Fewer gems or precious metal adornments was a clear sign of a family in decline. Wrists were fiddled with, showing off bracelets. Collars were tweaked, revealing amulets and stones. Nobody wanted to be the next assassination victim.

Because that was what they were all here for, wasn’t it? The Royal bloodline had thinned down in quality to produce Prince Alanin with his lanky stature and big ears. The sole male heir to the Kingdom. Destined to sit on the golden throne. To rule over them with his funny squint and receding hairline.

It was time to do away with him and set up one of their own capable children instead. Exactly whose son hadn’t quite been decided yet, but Lord Frederick’s boy was the current favourite; haughty and proud, with a strong chin, he looked good in a suit of armour and won all the jousting tournaments.

Frederick cleared his throat and tapped his water glass with a fingernail.

“Our King Ulrick has, I am very sorry to say, passed away, leaving Prince Alanin to take up the throne and resume Royal duties as our new King. We have a coronation to organise…”

There were some pointed glares across the polished table; someone had killed the King and covered up their tracks well. King Ulrick’s death had been publicly announced as caused by old age, yet everyone gathered in the Great Hall knew damn well nobody in a position of power in this country ever passed away of natural causes. Even the accidents weren’t accidents. They made sure of it.

“… We have many details to finalise; invites to the coronation, food and drink, entertainment, games, souvenirs, a procession route for the Royal carriage, robes and crowns to be chosen.”

There were nods. Thoughtful chin scratches as cunning minds came up with many ways to poison, stab or otherwise dispatch of the unpopular Prince.

“And of course, security.”

A pause and a hush fell over the murmuring nobles.

“Security?” Viceroy Ellioth repeated, a hint suspicious.

“Of course,” Frederick repeated, deadpan. “Our citizens would expect no less. Heaven forbid something should happen to our King on his big day.”

“We have our own guards,” Ellioth insisted. “Who are very capable.” He meant capable of being bribed and the enthusiastic nods he received only reinforced that.

“The public’s opinion of the guard has soured, of late.”

“Ah. Yes. I can understand that. We have maybe pushed our luck a little too far, using the guard for… personal errands.”

“Quite. So, we are in need of a security force that our people can clearly see have been brought in from outside and therefore are trustworthy.”

“Isn’t that counterproductive to our, er, goal?” Lord Nash asked, hesitating to say the obvious.

“I didn’t say they had to be competent.”

“Of course. Sorry. Carry on.” Nash flushed hotly and sipped, shrinking back in his comfortable seat.

“Where are we going to find a security detail at short notice, who are going to convince the crowd that they are capable, yet be dumb enough to let us get away with our plot right under their noses?”

Frederick smiled, flashing white teeth, “I know just the people we need.”

“A coronation? Isn’t that a type of daisy?” the bright green dinosaur asked.

“No, it’s a sandwich filling; coronation chicken,” the larger, darker dinosaur stated, bossily.

Rap looked puzzled; “We’re invited to a sandwich party?”

Anar groaned; “Rap, you’re thinking of a carnation, and no, we’re not going out to a sandwich party. There might be sandwiches in the buffet though if we’re lucky. A coronation is a crowning ceremony for a King or Queen. King Alanin is being sworn in as ruler of Far Thorn. They’re all human, it’s a bit medieval there, knights in shining armour and all that nonsense. It’s a nice easy gig for us. The Dragon has negotiated our services in return for an orb. I guess they don’t have any weapons he fancies, so he’s doing the traditional dragon thing of getting treasure instead.”

“I’ve never met a King,” Rap smiled, clapping his claws together.

“Sounds boring,” Rave grumped.

“There’s going to be a big parade in front of the Royal carriage on the way from the castle to the Holy temple where the crowning takes place. You can drive the Titan if you like…”

Rave lunged across the lunch table, his reptilian eyes gleaming, “aw heck yeah! I can’t wait! When do we leave?”

King Alanin yawned as more random items were placed before him for perusal. It had been a long day; he had been busy making decisions on just about everything conceivable for his coronation. He had chosen a colour scheme for the celebration flags, a dinner menu, his robe and crown and ceremonial sword, a carriage, horses, special guests, wine, music, entertainment, even flowers for the temple. Now he was deciding on napkins.

He’d waited a long time for this day, many years in fact. He’d waited patiently for the nobles to kill his father off so he could have his chance to rule, at the same time trying to hide away from their reach in case they should choose a softer target first.

Ulrick had been constantly on his guard, taking precautions to prolong his life, knowing his end would be untimely. He’d granted the nobles more power in a futile effort to placate them. That had backfired. The Lords and Ladies and Dukes and Viceroys had grown cocky instead.

Then, miraculously, as his poor father lay dying of a mysterious illness, a lizard-like stranger had appeared to him, with impossibly deep, glowing eyes, showing him portals into far-off worlds and the possibilities of magic. The curious, winged sorcerer promised him protection in return for a bauble from the Royal Hoard. Said he would convince Lord Frederick to arrange this protection under false pretences. If there was anyone that Alanin could trust, it was General Warlock. Do not be fooled by his appearance nor name, he had been told, General Warlock was a good man.

So far, Alanin’s heart was still steadily beating in his chest. The grey, long-eared army commander was proving himself to be as trustworthy as advertised. Even if he and his soldiers looked like something out of a fever dream.

Alanin had always feared his death would be plotted, such was the price of power, and unfortunately for him, he had not yet produced an heir to energise his fading Royal bloodline. He’d been sure every Princess offered to him by his advisors was going to throttle him in his sleep. If only he could have met an outsider, free from the influences of the Royal Court, someone he could marry without fearing for his life. He gestured to the lace-edged, golden napkins, making his choice, and idly wondered if maybe one of his guests from a neighbouring land would be a suitable fit for him, a hardy, robust woman who could produce healthy children to continue his proud line of ancestry?

“So, just run that by me one more time, yeah?” the she-orc half-elf said, twirling her long, blond ponytail with a hand, idly.

The elf Captain huffed. “You stand here. You check invites. No invitey, no entry. No I.D. no entry. No weapons allowed. Understand?”

“No weapons?! What about my gun?!”

“No weapons for the guests, Raz. You’re fine, you’re meant to be armed, you idiot.”

“Oh. Good.”

A low growl could be heard. A large, brown and black mottled warg wearing a shocking pink velvet collar around its thick neck was snarling and gnashing at the end of a chain leash held in her other manicured hand, trying to pull its handler away. So far, unsuccessfully.

“Trouble, no! Heel!” she ordered.

It ceased pulling and whined.

“Good boy.”

Captain Atriz gave the beast a dark look; “not that I think you’ll be having any need of your weapon.”

“I just don’t feel dressed without a firearm, you know? It’s like forgetting to put your watch on.”

“Yes, well, just stay here and check invites for the coronation guests, ok? Try not to let that animal maul any of them.”

Raz pouted her full lips, her small tusks leaving dents in them, “Trouble is very well trained!” she insisted. “He only maims when I tell him to.”

“Marvellous. If you do need backup, you’ve got us on comms.”

“What if I need a wee?”

The elf sighed. “Hold it.” He turned away and left the large orcess and her wolf at their post.

“For three hours? I’ve had coffee, you know!”

General Warlock gave his notes one last flip through as he despatched the remainder of his officers to their stations. He had soldiers lined along the carriage route; on the treasury room doorway, outside the temple entrance and at the city gates. The local Royal guards were going to be marching in a procession led by himself and his dinosaur officers, with a tank rolling at the rear for good measure, because what was the point of having toys if you didn’t play with them? It was only for show, he wasn’t expecting much drama; this was a quiet little city, full of humble stone buildings and gleaming spires, almost elf-like, really. The human populace had been fascinated at the arrival of the exotic visitors and their wondrous weaponry. The Kaos Army were certainly different, with their camouflage colour uniforms and curious mix of races. Orcs, elves, goblins, skaven – all your favourites, with a few rarer ones thrown in the mix, like himself; an anthro aardvark, and his two best friends who were velociraptors. Under instruction of a dragon, they travelled space and time gathering up weapons for his collection, in return for warmongering or acts of mercy. It was one of those jobs where no two days were ever the same.

His long, grey ears picked up hushed conversation from various important-looking nobles who had assembled for a conflab in the Royal courtyard before the main event. Anar didn’t like the look of any of them. His gut was telling him to trust in those instincts. They reminded him of the demons he once had as work colleagues down in Hell; smiles to the face and stabs to the back. Crafty, cunning, ruthless and ambitious to boot.

Amusingly enough, they didn’t much like the look of him, neither. From what he could eavesdrop, the one responsible for hiring the Kaos Army hadn’t got what he bargained for. That was just like the dragon, wasn’t it? He could make you believe anything. You needed help and the dragon could give you help… on his terms.

“Nice day for a coronation, isn’t it?” he smiled, chummily, letting them take in the assortment of official-looking badges and medals on his high-ranking uniform. Also, the sleek metallic blaster holstered to his hip. It was new. He was very proud of it.

The General was met with a few frowns and a couple wary back-steps.

“Don’t you worry, we have everything under control,” he said, very much aware that men like these didn’t worry about the safety of others. “City gates are now locked. Nobody gets in or out. Safe as houses. Anyone require a personal bodyguard while we’re here? The King has a few already, just in case.”

Sure enough, dirty glares were thrown at one of the nobles before him. That would be the one who had talked to the dragon. Anar didn’t miss a beat, “thanks for hiring the Kaos Army for your King’s coronation, by the way, it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” He looked directly at the tall, stern, balding human male, who didn’t flinch.

“Anytime,” he replied coolly.

Above them, high on the castle walls, trumpets blew.

The King was preparing to leave for his coronation in his carriage.

“See you at the temple,” Anar nodded, turning to leave for the procession.

A crowd beyond the wide, gold-laden, wrought-iron gates could be heard cheering for their new King to make an appearance. Bunting flapped in the mild breeze, strung up from roof to roof, gaily. Royal flags flew from tall towers. It was a grand celebration.

“Stop waving! They’re cheering for the King, not us.”

“I can wave if I want to! Stop being a killjoy. And slow down!”

Rave slapped the steering wheel, “I’m coasting! If I slow down any more, I’ll go backwards. Just my luck, the one time I get to drive the alien shape-shifting car and I can’t even press the pedals.” In the rear-view, Rave could see his grey, mammalian pal on the back of his loyal Nightmare steed, Destroyer, shaking his long, snouty head at him.

He shrugged his green scaly shoulders angrily in return, throwing up his hands.

“Told you to slow down. Anar’s not happy with you,” Rap chuckled, unwrapping a sweet and sucking.

“When is he ever?” Rave grumbled. “I’m always in trouble. Look at him, thinks he’s so special, with his fancy jacket and silly medals…”

Rap stopped listening to his boyfriend’s predictable complaining and resumed waving to the crowd from inside the two-seater roofless roadster.

Rave changed tack; “this was how they assassinated J F K you know! In an open-top car, in a procession. Shot from a grassy knoll.”

Rap looked left and right, “we’re safe. No grassy gnolls. They’re like trolls, right? Oh look, there’s Atriz! Coo-eee!”

The handsome elf Captain saluted smartly as they crawled past, a long-suffering expression upon his chiselled, alabaster features.

Ahead of them, the temple shone in the sun, its coloured glass windows painting rainbow hues upon the gathered citizens.

Behind the General, the guards in their polished armour clattered along the cobblestone street. Behind them, the Royal carriage rattled along, pulled by sleek-coated white stallions adorned in golden bridals and crimson fathered plumes. Behind the King’s carriage a Tiger tank rumbled loudly, drawing attention, a large advertising plaque held on by magnets stuck along the side in case anyone fancied a career with the Kaos Army. They accepted anyone! Even mediaeval peasants.

“Invitation only!” the muscled, green-skinned woman with big jutting teeth on her lower jaw screeched, as the dog at her side growled and snarled, it’s brown fur bristling.

Frederick found himself suddenly at the front of the line as his fellow peers cowered from the lady soldier. A few of them looked back at their horses who were being led away by stable staff; clearly debating making an exit.

Her long-sleeved tan shirt was rolled up to expose biceps that bulged from the strength required for keeping her pet at heel. The metal chain-link leash strained. Her polished boots were larger than any of their city’s soldier’s feet. She was a full head taller than any of them, too. Her bright green eyes shone under perfectly plucked brows. Blond silken hair was held high in a long, flowing ponytail.

Striking was a word that might come to mind if you were brave. Terrifying, if not.

At her hip was fastened a metal rectangle of sorts with a handle, of the type seen on other Kaos Army soldiers. Apparently, these were weapons of the future. They didn’t look very sharp…

“Of course, madam,” the Lord offered his piece of vellum that made up his coronation invitation for the crowning ceremony within the temple.

“Don’t you ‘madam’ me. You got any I.D.?” she sniffed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Identification, bucko. Do you have any? Only I can’t let you in without it. You could be anyone. I don’t know if you’re really…” she peered at the loopy calligraphy, “whoever that is.”

“Maybe they are incompetent, after all?” Viceroy Ellioth hissed from the rear. “We’re in luck!”

Frederick smoothed his crop of dark hair, “if you cannot read the invitation, how would proof of identity even work?” he scoffed.

The nobles began to laugh at her, “some army this is. Bunch of misfits. Who put this mouldy wench in charge of our Holy temple?”

Trouble lunged and snapped his powerful jaws, almost taking all four paws off the ground while doing so.

“Keep that filthy animal under control!”

“Trouble is a security warg, head of the mauling division I’ll have you know! He doesn’t like people being disrespectful to his mummy.”

“Take our invitations, grant us entry and maybe we won’t complain to your General about your unprofessional attitude and lack of control of your dog.”

“Oh no! You don’t threaten me with General Warlock, I won’t have it, I’ve sucked up to him more times’n you’ve had hot dinners I have, he took my gun off me once you know, I’m under orders not to let anyone in without an invitation and you need I.D. to prove it’s yours and you haven’t got I.D. so you gotta wait until your King says you are who you say you are.” She tried to fold her muscular arms but Trouble was still agitated and pulling at her hand. “You try anything and Trouble will have you.”

“You’re embarrassing us and yourself in front of the entire city and assorted guests,” Frederick hissed, lowly, his hand touching the pommel of his sword.

“No weapons allowed in, neither,” Raz sniffed.

The crowd’s cheering grew to an uproar as the silver roadster Titan rolled up, followed a distance away by General Warlock and the outline of the Royal carriage.

Raz stood firm with Trouble. She jutted her chin. “Orders is orders.”

Rave pulled up to a stop. “Who put Raz in charge of the temple?” he nodded to the grumbling gathering of long-robed posh people in front of the half-elf she-orc who was barring their way.

“Either an idiot or a genius,” Rap replied. “Those snooty monkeys aren’t to be trusted, by all accounts.”

“In a rush, were we?” Anar asked drily, dismounting from Destroyer’s back in a graceful leap. “Good job I’ve got some of our men in the carriage in case anything happened.”

“Not my fault your stupid transformer car doesn’t go slower. Not my fault there’s never any user manuals for your fancy gadgets the dragon finds you. Took me five minutes to find cruise control, that was after accidentally popping open the bonnet and setting the windscreen wipers off…”

“He’s got the radio stuck on static, too. Good luck getting it back to Heart FM.”

“What kind of alien supercar doesn’t have Bluetooth?!” Rave grumbled. “That built-in radio is so 1990’s. It’s clever enough to power itself from the sun, heal up its own damaged bodywork and can emit light from its paint, but you can’t listen to your Spotify playlist!”

“I think Raz isn’t letting any guests in the Holy temple, mate,” Rap smiled. “I suppose that was the plan, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course…” Anar rubbed his snout, thoughtfully. “Bloody good plan of mine, in fact.”

More trumpets blew triumphantly and loudly as the Royal carriage door swung open. Kaos Army soldiers hopped down, saluted and scanned the immediate vicinity for threats. Ear pieces glittered; subconscious communication devices that linked the King to his elite military bodyguards via thoughts. They were very nifty pieces of tech, as long as the soldiers remembered to filter their more exciting mental content out. The orcs had been banned from using them immediately. Even elves couldn’t be relied upon to keep inner monologue strictly work-based.

The King had been travelling with skaven, instead. They only thought about two things; fighting and food. His stomach was rumbling already.

King Alanin emerged, looking relieved to be out of such a confined space squeezed up against human-sized rodents. He waved to his crowd, smiling widely. He still wasn’t dead yet! His trailing royal robe pulled behind him; made of thick white fur and regal purple satin flecked with light-reflecting crystals. Slowly, with his head held high and his shoulders back, he began to step up towards the Holy temple; the crowning ceremony about to commence. The greatest day of his life.

General Warlock gave a respectful bow, flanked by large lizards who appeared to be eating sweets from a bag.

“Your Majesty.”

“General.” Alanin offered his hand for a firm handshake.

One of the lizards curtsied, “I like your suit.”

“It’s got lots of medals,” said the other. “Hey, big ears. The King’s got more medals than you.”

“You’re supposed to bow,” the General hissed through his teeth, crossly.

“Don’t believe in monarchy,” the lizard replied. “I’m only here for the food.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” the King smiled, graciously.

At once, the familiar figures of the heads of the noble families came swooping in, vying for attention, finding themselves immediately pushed back and manhandled by the King’s skaven security team who were having none of it.

“I could get used to this, General,” Alanin whispered to Anar, earnestly.

“It can be arranged, your Majesty. Anything is possible for the right price.”

“That green woman is a disgrace! Shame on the Kaos Army for such poor training and discipline! Females don’t belong in an army!”

General Warlock’s expression immediately changed and he spun, bearing down on the rude Duke with unmasked fury.

Alanin found himself urged along out of view of the grey, long-eared military commander who had begun roaring at the rude guest. He craned his neck to see what was going on, but it was all obscured by skaven, whose thoughts all agreed the Duke was going to get a thumping.

He saw glimpses of colourful bunting amongst his heraldic flags, he saw the ecstatic crowd that kept pushing forward to see their King, and as his security team stepped aside, he saw the biggest woman he had ever seen in his life pulling back a wild beast upon a chain.

Her hair shone in the sun. green eyes glittered. Plump lips parted deliciously as she screeched; “invitation!”

He blinked. Her tan shirt was being pulled open by her heaving cleavage, the small buttons fighting valiantly to keep her modesty. She had thighs like nutcrackers and he had never wanted to be a walnut so much in his life. His knees felt weak. His heart jumped in his chest.

“My lady…” he protested, weakly, “I am. The King!”

“Says you. Could be a body double. What do you reckon, Trouble?”

The great shaggy wolf lunged forward, startling Alanin, putting paw prints upon his immaculate regal suit and breastplate within, licking his face.

“Ok, you can go in.” And with that, the green warrior beauty stepped aside.

Leaving the chaos outside, King Alanin was greeted by the Priestess and her maidens holding his crown, orb and sceptre upon silken cushions.

“Your coronation guests, your Majesty?” they asked, glancing at the doorway that was once again blocked by towering she-orc.

The skaven read the King’s thoughts and introduced themselves, politely.

“This is all very… unusual,” the Priestess blurted.

Alanin was firm; “the law says I only require three witnesses for the Royal oath. I can read these creatures honest intentions clearly, they are the best coronation guests I could ask for. When my father died, I wasn’t even sure if I would survive this long, and now here I am, ready to be crowned and take our Kingdom into a new reign. Hopefully with fewer meddling nobles in it,” he was about to kneel at the altar when a bright flash of blue light made them pause.

Stepping through a whirling portal that had appeared by the blessing pool was the same red, scaly lizard man who had found him only a few days prior.

“I’ve always wanted to see a coronation,” the dragon smiled. “Please, carry on.” He gestured enthusiastically.

The skaven’s minds were buzzing and the King popped his ear piece out. A dragon! At his coronation! This was stuff of legend; something to write down in a book of his life.

The ceremony was very dry. Official oaths were sworn. The skaven were roped in to swear fealty, throwing glances to the dragon to check this wasn’t going to affect their contracts or pay.

He only smiled.

They signed a big, official-looking book and the King rose up, with creaking knees, accepting the sceptre, orb and crown.

Or he would have done, if the dragon had not coughed and held out scaly talons.

“Now?” he asked, slightly irritably.

“Now.” Said the dragon, firmly, taking it. “There’s a good reason that your monarchs all die of mysterious illness. It’s not assassins, well not all the time. Your pretty orb is made of a rather special substance that is actually poisonous when it comes in prolonged contact with skin. You hold the orb for all your official duties, do you not?”

Alanin was stunned.

The Priestess was stunned. “That orb is priceless! It’s a treasure passed down through generations…”

“It’s also radioactive,” he stated. “I know you don’t understand what that means. It does have a nice glow about it, doesn’t it? Very pretty. But pretty things can be dangerous,” he smiled toothily at Alanin. “I wish you a long and prosperous reign. Especially as I understand we’re extending our contract with yourself.”

The skaven saluted and the dragon disappeared again through his swirly circle, taking the ancient ceremonial orb with him.

“Two out of three ain’t bad,” Alanin shrugged, admiring his crowned reflection in the glassy waters of the blessing pool and holding his official sceptre aloft.

“Right. Got the crowd control sorted. Got the stage sorted…”

Rap and Rave looked puzzled, “stage?”

“well, yeah,” Anar said, “you’ve got to have music at a party. I don’t know about you, but I’m in no rush to hear those flipping trumpets again.”

“How did you do that, then?”

Tapping his head, the General explained; “we’re an army. All we need is a generator and we can run anything. Check those speakers out. Got the iPod set up and good to go…”

King Alanin walked through the temple door, bowing low at Raz and patting Trouble fondly on his fluffy head as he wagged his tail happily.

One of the Kaos Army soldiers held up a big APPLAUSE sign and the crowd went wild.

Alanin cleared his throat and attempted to address his crowd.

The sign was flipped and the crowd went BOOOO.

“Shit. Wrong sign! Hang on a sec…” Anar rummaged in a backpack and smartly sprinted to the new monarch, handing over a microphone. “Don’t eat it,” he said, “just talk. It’s like magic, you’ll see.”

Addressing his people publicly in his full regalia as ruler was an exhilarating experience for Alanin, especially as his voice boomed in the air with the help of the General’s hand-held wand. He promised to rule them fairly, just as his father had, dedicating his life to their prosperity, serving the Goddess they loved who watched over them. He assured them that he would be around for many years to come thanks to the Kaos Army’s dedicated soldiers.

As if on cue, printed paper flyers were handed out to the crowd, advertising exciting army careers and inviting them to a photo opportunity with the Tiger tank.

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Raz asked, carefully, stood before the King. “Only I did what I was supposed to do, and the General isn’t cross with me, not this time, but he said you wanted to talk with me, without Trouble. I don’t know how to talk to Kings.”

Music played from the stage. Long tables were laid with food as a massive street party was underway. Barrels of beer were spilling and raucous cheering and laughter filled the air.

“No, of course not. I wanted to give special thanks to your dedication to duty. You were terribly brave, holding back the nobles who were so rudely trying to break into the coronation ceremony.”

“I knew they were up to no good!”

“Absolutely. A strong woman such as yourself is so hard to find. Would you care for a drink? Some refreshment? Stay with me awhile.”

Raz thought a moment. “Is the crown heavy? It looks heavy.”

Alanin smiled, “no heavier than the sense of duty upon my shoulders.”

Raz peered, “what, the tassel things? General Warlock has them, but with stars on.”

He blinked. “Never mind. Come, step out with me.”

Realisation dawned. “Ohhhhh… you want me to be your personal bodyguard? That would be brilliant! I can do choke holds and high kicks and go HIII-YAAAAA with my hands all choppy-chop!” she gave him a demonstration.

“You are, quite frankly, magnificent,” he breathed, taking her soft,green, manicured hand in his and kissing it, lightly. “I am Alanin. Enchentre!”

“Champagne? Now that is posh! I hope Trouble is alright.”

“I have made sure he gets all the kitchen scraps he could wish for,” the King smiled.

“Awwww, that’s so nice of you! So, this personal bodyguard thing, what exactly do you want me to do in my duties? Am I gonna carry you like in that film?”

“I want you to come and live with me. Make sure that I am safe around the clock. I was thinking, in order to make it as natural an arrangement as we can, how about you become my Queen?”

“Queen Raz? I’ll have to ask the General about that, though he is always joking about sending me off on a mission that I don’t come back from, on account of me talking so much.”

“I am certain,” the King smiled, “that I can make it worth his while.”

“Don’t do it,” Anar warned.

Rave grinned, madly. “I’m gonna do it.”

Rap turned his head from one to the other; “do what?”

Rave clicked the iPod wheel and pressed the button. A familiar tune began playing through the stage speakers. He cackled, merrily. “I done it!” he chirped. “To a whole city!”

We’re no strangers to love,

You know the rules, and so do I.

Lifetime commitment’s what I’m thinking of,

You wouldn’t get this from any other guy…