Chipmunks are sensitive about their tails. They will only let those they trust most touch them. Harlequin was not in any position to do anything about the animal stroking his. It seemed a gentle enough animal, but the claws felt dangerous.
Harlequin swallowed hard and addressed the creature in the common animal language.
"Hello up there? There's lots of food down here, if you'd like. If you help me through, perhaps I can get you some?"
He heard a soft, rumbling noise that sounded friendly enough, but there was no reply. He tried again, this time louder.
"Hello up-," he was cut off as a strong paw scooped him out of the crack and deposited him back on the dumpster lid. Before he could look up another paw came down over his face and held him gently but firmly; he could only see a leathery sole and the outline of sharp claws. The other paw deftly combed through his fur and up and down his limbs, as if measuring him for a suit. This paw then held him down and the other moved to the side, revealing the creature's face.
He'd never seen one in person before, but he was sure that he was staring at a cat. This was a sinewy beast with smooth gray fur and huge eyes too dark to read. It was a brief view; the cat flipped him over and dabbed at Harlequin's chubby sides. He heard another deep purr, this one sounding approving.
Pinned to the lid, Harlequin sorted through his options. First, he closed his eyes and wished that it was all a bad dream. He took several deep breaths and tried thinking of safe things. He slowly turned his head around and cracked his eyelids open. He saw a great pink expanse leading back to a cavern of some sort. Looking up he saw teeth; down, more teeth. Startled out of his reverie, he leapt back, as the teeth clashed together with a snap.
Harlequin put his legs into motion and bent to spring from the wretched dumpster. He felt something nudge at him and his legs inconceivably kicked at empty air and he fell on his belly, pinned again by the unseen paw.
Suddenly the paw released. Harlequin scrambled onto all fours and again flexed for the jump. Again he fell flat. A mirthful purr sounded behind him. Harlequin groaned: it was one of those kind of cats.
He turned his head towards the cat and shouted at it in the common language. "I'm not a normal chipmunk, you know. I eat cats for breakfast." His voice shook a little bit, but he growled as ferociously as one could expect under the circumstances.
The cat did not seem impressed. It raised its paw from Harlequin's back with another purr.
Harlequin stared at the beast, feverishly working up a plan. The cat looked on with apparent boredom. Harlequin coughed and cleared his throat and then sat up with strange boldness. He pointed one of his dull claws at the cat with an air of stern authority.
A sizable bellow rang from his tiny throat. "Bad, bad kitty!" he said, in English.
Jul 8, 2005
Jul 7, 2005
HR, 5
Round the long row of shops was a long, dirty alley, the ill-kept store backs and dumpsters on one side and a high cement wall on the other. The only decorations were faded attempts at graffiti. With the sun set, as it had just done, the alley could be considered scary by some, but not by Harlequin. Humans, good or evil, would have little to do with him, he thought sadly.
With that thought, he raised his nose and ambled forward, searching for the scent of foos amongst the rank smells of the back alley. Before his nose could decipher anything, he saw a black dumpster with a red dragon painted on the sign. Sure enough, it smelled strongly of all varieties of Chinese cuisine when he came within dependable sniffing distance.
Set with food at long last, Harlequin whispered a quick blessing and called upon his waning energy to scramble up the side and onto the closed lid. He saw out of the corner of his eye an opening and a slight hint of movement, but he was not easily distracted. He immediately ran to the gap between the metal side and the plastic paneling of the lid, and dove through the crack. Rather, he tried. His hips caught painfully on the edges of the lid and side and he was suspended over pitch-black expanse smelling of broccoli beef. Grunt and squirm as he might, he remained stuck.
He was not as athletic as most chipmunks. He'd always preferred study and conversation to wild frolicing in the trees. Now that he could not contort his way back out of the dumpster he began to regret that. He thought with horror how terrible it would be to starve to death just inches from his favorite foods. He waved his tail about in panic.
A faint scratching echoed off the unseen walls of the dumpster. Harlequin froze. Something was outside. The scratching again sounded, coming from higher up the side. He heard a light bump above him and felt pressure on the lid squeeze him tighter at the hips. He wondered, could it be human? No, too small. A bird? Perhaps, but why would a bird try to climb up instead of flying? It must, he reasoned be something four-legged, with - he stiffened as a soft touch with small sharp points stroked his tail- claws.
With that thought, he raised his nose and ambled forward, searching for the scent of foos amongst the rank smells of the back alley. Before his nose could decipher anything, he saw a black dumpster with a red dragon painted on the sign. Sure enough, it smelled strongly of all varieties of Chinese cuisine when he came within dependable sniffing distance.
Set with food at long last, Harlequin whispered a quick blessing and called upon his waning energy to scramble up the side and onto the closed lid. He saw out of the corner of his eye an opening and a slight hint of movement, but he was not easily distracted. He immediately ran to the gap between the metal side and the plastic paneling of the lid, and dove through the crack. Rather, he tried. His hips caught painfully on the edges of the lid and side and he was suspended over pitch-black expanse smelling of broccoli beef. Grunt and squirm as he might, he remained stuck.
He was not as athletic as most chipmunks. He'd always preferred study and conversation to wild frolicing in the trees. Now that he could not contort his way back out of the dumpster he began to regret that. He thought with horror how terrible it would be to starve to death just inches from his favorite foods. He waved his tail about in panic.
A faint scratching echoed off the unseen walls of the dumpster. Harlequin froze. Something was outside. The scratching again sounded, coming from higher up the side. He heard a light bump above him and felt pressure on the lid squeeze him tighter at the hips. He wondered, could it be human? No, too small. A bird? Perhaps, but why would a bird try to climb up instead of flying? It must, he reasoned be something four-legged, with - he stiffened as a soft touch with small sharp points stroked his tail- claws.
Jul 6, 2005
HR, 4
It was toastily warm at the front of the van. The loud engine rumbled it's heat through the cheap upholstery holding up Harlequin. He closed his eyes and let the bumps of the road rock him to a near sleep.
The van came to an abrupt halt; Harlequin's eyes snapped open as his body lurched forward, back onto the kung-pao man's shoe. The kung-pao man had already begun his exit from the vehicle. When the foot touched ground, Harlequin hopped off and let out a yawn.
He was in a parking lot facing a large black and red building, with a red plastic dragon glowering on top of the roof. It was sandwiched in between other buildings of different colors, stretching as far as he could see in both directions. He turned around, to see a busy street, merging into another, behind which were several giant office buildings. Every way he looked, he saw city; for the first time in his life he couldn't see forest. He couldn't even see a tree.
That last thought made him feel a little lonely and homesick.
"None of that now, Harlequin," he said to himself. "We're here to have adventures and make something of ourselves."
He stood up resolutely and puffed his chest out. He felt better immediately.
"First, though," he replied to himself, " we've got to get something to eat."
He saw the driver and the kung-pao man, still arguing, disappear through the doors of the dragon building. He guessed that they were delivery men and the dragon building was some sort of chinese restaurant. He knew from his days of raid Mushu Wu's that humans didn't take kindly to a chipmunk making his way to the front door. Threats of death often followed such an endeavor. The best way was to find their trash. Humans throw away a great deal of excellent food, and a patient chipmunk like Harlequin could treat himself to a feast from it.
He surmised that the best place to start was the back of the restaurant, and so he set off across the parking lot, looking for a way round.
The van came to an abrupt halt; Harlequin's eyes snapped open as his body lurched forward, back onto the kung-pao man's shoe. The kung-pao man had already begun his exit from the vehicle. When the foot touched ground, Harlequin hopped off and let out a yawn.
He was in a parking lot facing a large black and red building, with a red plastic dragon glowering on top of the roof. It was sandwiched in between other buildings of different colors, stretching as far as he could see in both directions. He turned around, to see a busy street, merging into another, behind which were several giant office buildings. Every way he looked, he saw city; for the first time in his life he couldn't see forest. He couldn't even see a tree.
That last thought made him feel a little lonely and homesick.
"None of that now, Harlequin," he said to himself. "We're here to have adventures and make something of ourselves."
He stood up resolutely and puffed his chest out. He felt better immediately.
"First, though," he replied to himself, " we've got to get something to eat."
He saw the driver and the kung-pao man, still arguing, disappear through the doors of the dragon building. He guessed that they were delivery men and the dragon building was some sort of chinese restaurant. He knew from his days of raid Mushu Wu's that humans didn't take kindly to a chipmunk making his way to the front door. Threats of death often followed such an endeavor. The best way was to find their trash. Humans throw away a great deal of excellent food, and a patient chipmunk like Harlequin could treat himself to a feast from it.
He surmised that the best place to start was the back of the restaurant, and so he set off across the parking lot, looking for a way round.
Jul 5, 2005
HR, 3
With his nose plugged and eyes open, Harlequin realized that he was not alone on the sidewalk. Stomping feet cascaded everywhere around him. He scurried to the nearest wall and flattened himself against it, watching a lady's pointed heel skewer the poor weed an inch in front of him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked down and did not see the glass door to his right open and swing towards. He let out an "oof!" as he was squashed further against the wall.
Through the glass he saw a man in black emerge from the building and move to the curb. Pushing the glass from his face, Harlequin peeked his head around the opened door to get a better look. The man wore shiny black pants and a black robe with a red dragon stitched onto the back. He had yellowy-brown skin in between his collar and a head of spiky black hair.
A quick sniff and Harlequin rediscovered the kung-pao: the scent surrounded the man.
A black van with another red dragon on the side, and a similar looking driver screeched to a halt in front of the curb. The van smelt strongly of all sorts of Chinese food. The driver and the man argued in Chinese for a bit (Harlequin did not understand Chinese yet) and Harlequin braved the rain of feet to get closer. He sprung to avoid a fast-diving loafer, landing on the kung-pao man's shoe. The man was stomping his foot in tune with his argument and didn't notice.
Before Harlequin could get off, the foot again went airborne, only this time it came down in the van. He saw the kung-pao man sit down heavily and slam the door closed. Harlequin's fur could have lept out of his skin; within his first five minutes in the city, he was already riding in an automobile like a regular human. And a Chinese food van to boot!
Hopping off the man's foot, he clung to the carpeting on the floor as the van squealed it's way down an unseen road.
Through the glass he saw a man in black emerge from the building and move to the curb. Pushing the glass from his face, Harlequin peeked his head around the opened door to get a better look. The man wore shiny black pants and a black robe with a red dragon stitched onto the back. He had yellowy-brown skin in between his collar and a head of spiky black hair.
A quick sniff and Harlequin rediscovered the kung-pao: the scent surrounded the man.
A black van with another red dragon on the side, and a similar looking driver screeched to a halt in front of the curb. The van smelt strongly of all sorts of Chinese food. The driver and the man argued in Chinese for a bit (Harlequin did not understand Chinese yet) and Harlequin braved the rain of feet to get closer. He sprung to avoid a fast-diving loafer, landing on the kung-pao man's shoe. The man was stomping his foot in tune with his argument and didn't notice.
Before Harlequin could get off, the foot again went airborne, only this time it came down in the van. He saw the kung-pao man sit down heavily and slam the door closed. Harlequin's fur could have lept out of his skin; within his first five minutes in the city, he was already riding in an automobile like a regular human. And a Chinese food van to boot!
Hopping off the man's foot, he clung to the carpeting on the floor as the van squealed it's way down an unseen road.
Jul 4, 2005
HR, Page 2
Harlequin was not big on eating meat. He'd had a few talks with a wild turkey who'd complained of the human appetite for turkey and this had convicted him a little bit. When he did eat meat, he made a point of apologizing to the pig, chicken, cow or turkey who'd made the meal possible. Hunger, in his condition, spoke a little louder than those conversations, so it was without any thought of remorse for the chicken that he followed the scent of the kung-pao chicken.
Intent in his tracking, he failed to pay enough attention to the sidewalk and the loud, stumbling footsteps shaking it beneath him. Suddenly, a large booted foot overtook him, sweeping him roughly off his paws and into the air. He saw the cement of the sidewalk become the cement of the curb and then felt himself falling towards the slime river flowing through the gutter. He landed with a cold and unpleasant slap; the slime, part mud-water and part garbage, slowly oozed in between the hairs of his fur coat. He shivered and shook himself. He pulled himself over the curb, just in time to see the booted foot disappear around the corner.
He muttered a curse (in Chipmunk) on the owner of the booted foot and lifted his nose in the air in attempt to separate it from the influence of his newly-acquired stench. He smelled many things, but he could not make any sense of them, and worst of all, he could not differentiate the kung-pao chicken from among them.
After his hours on the freeway he'd learned to ignore the smells of engines and tires. There were countless others surrounding him. There was rancid trash from an overturned dumpster behind the liqour store, cleaning fluids dripping around a window-washer, steaming fabrics and detergent of a laundromat and sticky donuts and bitter coffee from a donut shop; all new and some unwlecome experiences for his nose. He brought up his paws to cover his nose and give him time to think.
Intent in his tracking, he failed to pay enough attention to the sidewalk and the loud, stumbling footsteps shaking it beneath him. Suddenly, a large booted foot overtook him, sweeping him roughly off his paws and into the air. He saw the cement of the sidewalk become the cement of the curb and then felt himself falling towards the slime river flowing through the gutter. He landed with a cold and unpleasant slap; the slime, part mud-water and part garbage, slowly oozed in between the hairs of his fur coat. He shivered and shook himself. He pulled himself over the curb, just in time to see the booted foot disappear around the corner.
He muttered a curse (in Chipmunk) on the owner of the booted foot and lifted his nose in the air in attempt to separate it from the influence of his newly-acquired stench. He smelled many things, but he could not make any sense of them, and worst of all, he could not differentiate the kung-pao chicken from among them.
After his hours on the freeway he'd learned to ignore the smells of engines and tires. There were countless others surrounding him. There was rancid trash from an overturned dumpster behind the liqour store, cleaning fluids dripping around a window-washer, steaming fabrics and detergent of a laundromat and sticky donuts and bitter coffee from a donut shop; all new and some unwlecome experiences for his nose. He brought up his paws to cover his nose and give him time to think.
Jul 3, 2005
The Harlequin Romances, Page 1
Chapter 1: in which our Hero arrives, dumpster dives and barely survives.
Harlequin was not an ordinary chipmunk. He was leaving the lonely forest to seek friends and adventure in the human city. He was determined to live as the humans do. He would wear human clothes, live in human dwellings, talk with human people and eat human food.
His clothes and living place were still up in the air. He was learning English, but the few humans he'd met wouldn't talk to him; most would ignore him, and those that paid him any mind would usually scream and run away. (He did have a gift for languages: he already spoke the common animal tongue, and had a general knowledge of several dialects, including the notoriously difficult Dog Russian).
As for human food, Harlequin loved Chinese cuisine, cultivated during past midnight raids on the trash cans of "Mushu Wu's," a tiny restaurant on the edge of the forest. In fact, it was this passion that brought him into our lives.
The journey from the forest to the city was a long one. Harlequin had stuffed the last six chestnuts from his storehouse into his ample cheeks, but he'd eaten all of them by the time he reached the freeway. It was a cold, frosty day, and scampering on the craggy asphalt of the roadside was harder work than scampering across the soft forest floor. After an hour his fore- and hindpaws were very sore and raw, his nose and ears were stinging and his stomach began to voice it's desire for more food.
When the first buildings of the human city came in view, the wonder and excitement of an adventure begun stood his fur on end, but could not warm his chilled extremities, nor sate his quaking stomach. As he scampered away from the freeway onto the busy city road, his mind was struck by a particular fantasy: he saw himself seated on an enormous bowl of soft, steaming rice biting into juicy stir-fried water chestnuts and rich cashews, all the while smelling kung-pao chicken.
He stumbled over a crumpled soda can and realized he'd closed his eyes. There was no food in sight. There was, however, a strong aroma of kung-pao chicken.
Harlequin was not an ordinary chipmunk. He was leaving the lonely forest to seek friends and adventure in the human city. He was determined to live as the humans do. He would wear human clothes, live in human dwellings, talk with human people and eat human food.
His clothes and living place were still up in the air. He was learning English, but the few humans he'd met wouldn't talk to him; most would ignore him, and those that paid him any mind would usually scream and run away. (He did have a gift for languages: he already spoke the common animal tongue, and had a general knowledge of several dialects, including the notoriously difficult Dog Russian).
As for human food, Harlequin loved Chinese cuisine, cultivated during past midnight raids on the trash cans of "Mushu Wu's," a tiny restaurant on the edge of the forest. In fact, it was this passion that brought him into our lives.
The journey from the forest to the city was a long one. Harlequin had stuffed the last six chestnuts from his storehouse into his ample cheeks, but he'd eaten all of them by the time he reached the freeway. It was a cold, frosty day, and scampering on the craggy asphalt of the roadside was harder work than scampering across the soft forest floor. After an hour his fore- and hindpaws were very sore and raw, his nose and ears were stinging and his stomach began to voice it's desire for more food.
When the first buildings of the human city came in view, the wonder and excitement of an adventure begun stood his fur on end, but could not warm his chilled extremities, nor sate his quaking stomach. As he scampered away from the freeway onto the busy city road, his mind was struck by a particular fantasy: he saw himself seated on an enormous bowl of soft, steaming rice biting into juicy stir-fried water chestnuts and rich cashews, all the while smelling kung-pao chicken.
He stumbled over a crumpled soda can and realized he'd closed his eyes. There was no food in sight. There was, however, a strong aroma of kung-pao chicken.
May 10, 2005
When the world's well-being is at stake, it's not good to be stuck in a mean uncle's boarding house in the middle of the most insignificant place in the world.
Little does Threyan know that the Naggarin is probably the most significant place in the world. The Naggarin is the only thing keeping Chaenel and Borabarak amongst the leaders in world power. Everything grows there, and it grows in abundance.
You see, neither Chaenel nor Borabarak are great centers of technology or natural resources. The only significantly marketable asset to their names is the military of each. But few Elamite lords would allow their men to mercenary.
Yes, the fruits of the Naggarin are the bastion of the Elamite empire, and keep it's traditions, religion and political power strong. Without them, it would surely fall.
It is this piece of knowledge that has taken up an inordinate amount of the brain activity of all the major powers. Chaenel maintains a strong border patrol based in Brigton. Brigton troops monitor traffic across the Bridge, the most important link of the Elamite empire, and the first step in any easterner's journey to the Naggarin. Chaenel's own troops patrol the Baden southeast of Tulanel, epsecially as relations between Chaenel and Tulanel have deteriorated immensely in the past decade. The Baden is also strengthened by the presence of the Drashans, staunch military allies of Chaenel, in Adharkon The far western route into the Naggarin is protected by Chaenel's sister city Elgorn, specifically by Lord Eckebon's reknowned Kiskom Guard.
The boras are not capable of helping out much. The Hason House possesses the most feared corps of knights of the civilized world, but it is small in number and stretched thin, due to constant attack from Hurang on all sides of Borabarak. As strong as the border patrol is on the Bridge, they need not help much.
The weak link in this defensive chain is the relatively free passage of Hurang slave traders across the Bridge. Chaenel troops refuse slave passage south of Tulanel, but this ceases to be enforced west of Tulanel, as Chaenel troops aren't able to patrol extensively there.
Little does Threyan know that the Naggarin is probably the most significant place in the world. The Naggarin is the only thing keeping Chaenel and Borabarak amongst the leaders in world power. Everything grows there, and it grows in abundance.
You see, neither Chaenel nor Borabarak are great centers of technology or natural resources. The only significantly marketable asset to their names is the military of each. But few Elamite lords would allow their men to mercenary.
Yes, the fruits of the Naggarin are the bastion of the Elamite empire, and keep it's traditions, religion and political power strong. Without them, it would surely fall.
It is this piece of knowledge that has taken up an inordinate amount of the brain activity of all the major powers. Chaenel maintains a strong border patrol based in Brigton. Brigton troops monitor traffic across the Bridge, the most important link of the Elamite empire, and the first step in any easterner's journey to the Naggarin. Chaenel's own troops patrol the Baden southeast of Tulanel, epsecially as relations between Chaenel and Tulanel have deteriorated immensely in the past decade. The Baden is also strengthened by the presence of the Drashans, staunch military allies of Chaenel, in Adharkon The far western route into the Naggarin is protected by Chaenel's sister city Elgorn, specifically by Lord Eckebon's reknowned Kiskom Guard.
The boras are not capable of helping out much. The Hason House possesses the most feared corps of knights of the civilized world, but it is small in number and stretched thin, due to constant attack from Hurang on all sides of Borabarak. As strong as the border patrol is on the Bridge, they need not help much.
The weak link in this defensive chain is the relatively free passage of Hurang slave traders across the Bridge. Chaenel troops refuse slave passage south of Tulanel, but this ceases to be enforced west of Tulanel, as Chaenel troops aren't able to patrol extensively there.