Backstage, a story for the Giraffe Call

Inspired by the_vulture‘s prompt

And there this Lo Pan guy is, flying around like some batshit giant pixie, cutting everyone to shreds, and here’s this redneck cowboy blasting around, this Egg guy fighting Lo Pan like they’re The Last True Mages (who I damn well know died two hundred years ago), pretty girls with green eyes being zombified, mooks and minions flying and bleeding and making a mess of this gorgeous temple, well, never mind that it was a temple to Lo Pan’s Lo Panniness.

And there was me. Green-eyed, sure. But nobody looks twice at the tiny little elf girl when there are these big old hooman girls around to marry and zombify and rescue and what have you. And nobody looks twice at what’s happening behind the curtain, do they, because they’re not supposed to. They’re supposed to see the muss and fuss up on stage and ignore those of us back here.

And ignored and back-here and happily hidden, there we were, making sure this one ended the way it was supposed to. Like we do, pulling the strings, making the stories. Telling the stories to themselves, my grandma called it. Telling the road where it goes.

And of course the big lunk messed it up, but that’s all right. We had another story for him. And oh, boy, was that one a doozy!!

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