Send
In The Warriors
DISCLAIMERS: We all know that Xena and Gabrielle et al are
the property of Universal Studios and Renaissance Pictures. I only invite them out to play and then send
them home to do their real work: filming Xena: Warrior Princess. No copyright infringement is intended. If you are homophobic do not read this story.
If the mere suggestion of romantic love between two women offends you,
how the heck did you find this story? If
this is illegal where you are, stop (living there).
And if you are a REPUBLICAN accept my apologies for poking fun at your
guys. In fact, if you are still passionate about the election, you may not
want to read this just yet (unless you like Gore).
Otherwise, enjoy. You can reach
me at MaryEic@aol.com and I would love to hear from you.
PROLOG
The
trouble had been going on for some time now.
Longer than anyone could have foretold.
Even the Fates were perplexed.
Old people muttered as they scurried through the streets looking -- well, disenfranchised. The young and able lifted their fists and
yelled at each other as the two opposing armies engaged in verbal battle.
Stripped banners waved; placards floated through the crowded air; curses wafted
on the humid breeze. Cities that had
withstood hurricanes now felt the death grip of civil unrest surge over
them. The eyes of the world were upon
this sandy paradise. It was December in
Florida.
ACT
1
Xena
wondered why it had taken so long for her to be contacted, given the gravity of
the situation and the residence here of some high profile alternative fiction
authors. “Guess we ought to call this a
Tropical Storm.” She told her rather
green-hued, green-eyed companion. Her stomach twitching, Gabrielle let the bardly
reference float by managing only to whisper “Merpups.” She
just wanted the sea voyage to end…soon!
The long ship slipped into dock and the two warriors stepped onto solid
ground.
“What
does ‘Bush Country’ mean?” Gabrielle
queried as they began walking toward the crowd.
Xena
waggled her eyebrows. “Our kind of
women here, Bri. I can feel it. Look…’I love Bush’”
The
warrior princess straightened her breastplate.
“Oh, yeah. Me too. Gotta take one of those placards home for
the yard. Okay?”
Gabrielle
shook her head. “Is this Lesbos?”
“Florida.”
“Is
this near Lesbos?”
Xena
pondered the questions. “Uh, no. I think Lesbos is nearer to Vermont.”
A
group of protesters loped past the two.
The warrior and her bard fell in behind to follow them. In no time they were at the steps of a large
stone building where people were chanting
and singing and pleading ‘no more gore’.
“It’s
worse than I thought.” Xena
sighed. “The bloodshed has started.”
Gabrielle
surveyed the building and the black robed figures that were visible from time
to time within. “Reminds me of Dahok’s
temple.”
“Yeah.” Xena drew her sword. “Stay here.
I’ll be right back.”
“Oh,
no you don’t, Xena. I am going with
you.”
“Okay.” Xena was making her way up the neatly trimmed
hedge leading to the building’s entrance. “But try to stay out of the hot seat
this time. You and flame, I don’t
know. First Dahok gets you hot shall we
say, then that Valkerie chick and her eternal flame trick.” Gabrielle’s fist landed on the warrior’s
midsection. “Ooof. No offense
meant. By the way did I mention that
you look wonderful, my dear, especially since you were cooking at about 450
degrees for a year or so. Nice tan.”
“Xena!”
The
warrior pursed her lips and threw a kiss.
Gabrielle landed a second right jab to the midsection.
They
were even.
With
great concentration, the pair moved cat like through the looming marble columns
and stepped soundlessly into the foyer.
The air filled with noise.
Bells, sirens, shrieks. The
clatter of guards rushing toward them.
“Put
down your weapons.” A disembodied voice
roared.
“Aiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiy!” Xena catapulted herself beyond the hysteria,
landed with a spin and decked two guards with her patented double fisted back
punch. The disembodied voice fell
silent. Xena took out 20 or 30 more
guards and Gabrielle flatted half a dozen others before the first gunshot rang
out. A well aimed (what else) chakram intercepted the volley of bullets
and sent them ricocheting back toward their points of origin. The hall emptied quickly then. Xena caught her returning chakram and
latched it to her side.
Gabrielle
was drawn to the goings-on visible on a monitor just above the entryway. A man with short gray hair and a long black
robe was speaking to a room full of rapt listeners. “Look, Xena. Salmonius
is here.”
“What
does ‘N. Sanders Sauls’ mean?” the
warrior asked glancing at the monitor.
“I
don’t know. But it’s definitely some
sort of scam. Just look at
Salmonius. Insincere, pudgy,
sanctimonious. He is up to no good
again.”
“Let’s
kill him.” Xena said darkly.
Gabrielle
spun about in shock.
“Just
kidding.”
The
pair returned to the monitor. ‘…the
plaintiff has failed to prove that counting the votes would change the outcome
of the election…’
“Holy
Hera.” Gabrielle winced. “I thought that counting votes was what
determined the outcome of an election.
Are these people too primitive for democracy? And that man, maybe you should kill him.”
“Look
at all these middle aged men.” Xena
sneered.
“Yeah,
hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys, huh.”
Xena
shrugged. “They all look like lawyers
to me. C’mon let’s find out what’s going on.”
The
warrior and her bard stalked the corridors as inconspicuously as possible,
which for beautiful, buffed young women amid flabby, pale old men was not
easy. Fortunately the leather outfits
merely earned them leers and whistles.
The few lawyers who tried to cop a feel were left unable to feel for
several hours. “I get fan mail from
these creeps.” Xena muttered. “Me, too.”
Asserted Gabrielle. Xena
stopped and looked at her blonde partner.
Blue eyes narrowed with a new realization. “I will kill ‘em all, I swear it.”
“Xena!
There is no time for jealousy just now.”
Gabrielle retrieved a parchment entitled The New York Times. It explained that the fair Al Gore was
locked in mortal battle with the dastardly (and extremely irritating) Gee Dubya
who was trying to cheat the people and had declared himself King George the
II. The last line of defense for Al the
Nobleheart was a group of ninja judges called the Supremes. Make that the Florida Supremes. There was a rival group named the US
Supremes but they were led by a man called Reinquest – quite possibly in Xena’s
view the illegitimate father of at least two of the Rhine maidens. Gabrielle thought it wise not to mention
Scalia and his homophobic proclivities.
After
all they had seen and read and experienced, their course of action was clear to
the dark warrior. Save prince Al Gore
by helping the Florida Supremes. But
first, she and Gabrielle would find a suitable campsite and with any luck a fat
little rabbit. Then a walk along the
sandy beach and bit of zug-zug would be the cap of a perfect day. “Come on, Gabrielle. Let’s get wet.”
ACT
2
It
was her most popular accomplishment since arriving. The throng of grateful folk pressed in upon her --patting and
fawning and cheering happily. Gabrielle
stood nearby, arms folded across her luscious breasts and one leg turned rather
butchly out. She was smiling in a way
that took the warrior princess’ breath away and filled her with the urge to pull the blonde bard
close and kiss her passionately.
The
news commentator lay unconscious at the warrior’s feet. She had struck him in mid sentence. A clean kick to the head that had spun him
two full revolutions and laid him out like a rag doll on the lawn. His mouth was still open, but the endless
drivel had ended. The cameraman was
laughing at his colleague’s plight.
All
the commentator had done was attempted to question the warrior princess on
camera. “Tell me, little lady, what is
it that you and your pretty friend here like about Bush?” He had queried
Xena. “Is it…”
He
never got to finish that thought. The
boot mark would be a souvenir for several weeks, just in case he was tempted to
lose his manners again.
“The egotistical s.o.b. deserved it, if you
ask me.” The amused CNN employee
pointed out. “If we had interviewed one
more republican operative, I’d have punched him myself.” Then looking up at the statuesque warrior he
added. “You don’t look like a republican operative.”
“Be
nice.” Xena replied walking off.
Gabrielle
was perusing a new scroll. This one was
called the Wall Street something or other and had a photograph of Gee
Dubya. “Does he remind you of
anyone?” she asked already knowing the
answer.
“Caesar!”
“My
thoughts exactly.” The bard
agreed. “Maybe it’s the haircut.”
“Maybe
it’s just that arrogant little sneer.”
Maybe
it was the rows of crucified democrats lining the driveway to the governor’s
mansion in Austin,
a
favorite Dubya fantasy. At any rate,
the warrior was now quite impressed with this reincarnation thing and its karma
subtext. This was going to be fun.
The
justices seemed surprised by the womanly duo that had dropped in through the
open window of their chamber. Several
of them recognized the pair and the rest merely gawked for a few moments. “Can we help you?” one of the justices
asked.
“I
think it more likely that we can help you.”
Xena informed them.
Gabrielle
strolled over and elaborated.. “You
have the power to kill a self made god.
Xena and I know something about that kind of power. Use it wisely, but use it. Save the integrity of the system. Preserve democracy and the republic.” She
was on a role and gathering steam.
“Punish the wicked and reward the valiant Yield to your higher selves, seek the greater good, be one
against an army, sacrifice and sacrifice two, pay your debt and debt two, go
beyond the adventure in the sin trade…”
“Just
count the votes.” Xena clarified
succinctly.
“Yeah!”
punctuated Gabrielle. “Count the
votes.”
The
justices promised that they would. In
return Xena and Gab provided autographs and a few discreet group photos for the seven jurists. One got to play with Xena’s sword and
another got a rather longish group hug reminiscent of Joxer. Still it was more than worth it to know that
these simple acts would save democracy.
One of the women jurists who had recognized the warrior princess was
fascinated by Gabrielle’s revelation that Alti had been reincarnated in
Florida. Using a newspaper clipping,
Gabrielle easily pointed out that it was still Alti even if she called herself
Katherine Harris. Neither of the women
was certain about Najara, but suspicions arose concerning Sandra Day O’Connor and her conservative voices. Time ran out before others could be
identified and yet the jurists were delighted with their fact-finding afternoon
and wished the warriors well as they climbed upon the window ledge to exit.
ACT
3
Even
in his sleep, he looked like a villain.
‘Imagine sneering in your sleep.’
Xena scoffed to herself as she crept around his bed. Then laying her sword across his neck just
below his Adam’s apple, Xena woke Dubya with a pinch.
“Hey
there, frat boy. Got any new DUIs?”
“Uh,
no Dad. I’ve been good…huh?” He awoke from his dream with a start and
froze at the awareness of a cold blade at his throat. “Who are you? What do you
want?”
“I
want you to listen very carefully. Got
that?” Xena punctuated the last with a
twitch of the blade.
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“You
are going to tell the truth about the election…”
“Aw,
c’mon, Jeb. Is that you? We’ve already had this conversation. I get to win, dad said, and that’s that. You just have to deal with your conscience
some other way.”
Xena
pushed her knee onto Dubya’s chest to shut off the flow of oxygen and thus
sound. “Shuddup and listen! You are going to admit that Florida votes
need to be hand counted and you will accept defeat graciously. You are going to
tell the world that you are conceding the election for the greater good of the
country.”
Julius/Dubya
would have objected, but he couldn’t breath.
She gave him a nanosecond of air and continued. “You are going to have one last chance to
do the right thing. Aren’t you a little
tired of getting carved up by your friends, chiefly Brutus, anyway? He is here, you know. He is still a real Dick! Even took that name.”
Dubya
coughed as Xena lifted herself off of his chest. ‘Julius, Brutus…what was this woman babbling about?’ he
wondered. He cleared his throat and
searched for a voice. “Are you going to
kill me?”
“If
I want to, I will.”
“Wha…what
will make you NOT want to?”
“Just
what I said. Concede. Do the right thing.”
His
good old boy values just wouldn’t grasp what was being asked. The right thing was to win, however he
could. Who the hell did she think she
was, anyway. Probably some anti-NRA
nut….using a sword instead of a gun.
Nice boobs, though. ‘What does a
fella do when faced with an attractive woman?’ he asked himself. ‘Why, lie of course and get her into
bed.’ “All righty, then, miss. Whatever you say. You got it. Tomorrow I
will concede the election. Now you just
saunter over here and show me a little appreciation, sweetie pie. Okay?”
Xena
fairly slithered across the bed toward the palpitating politician. Then
leaning down with the sultriest of looks in her eyes she slammed her
fist into his nose and sent him to dreamland.
“That’s about as much appreciation as you could stand.” She observed as she left, her thoughts
turning then to Gabrielle. She wondered if the bard had had as much fun with
Brutus/Dick. They met up in the hills
behind Austin and compared notes.
“Xena,
why do they call this place Texas? I
thought Dubya promised to cut Texas.
But he lives there.” She crinkled her nose in that cute little way that
Xena loved.
“Villains
are weird, Bri. No point in trying to
figure them out. Besides Dubya would
never cut taxes, just ask the Romans.
He lied to them too.”
Gabrielle
nodded wistfully. “And another
thing. These people are obsessed with
dimples.”
“I
know.” Xena said positioning herself to
hitchhike a ride on the interstate.
“And don’t even ask about this guy called Chad. Reminds me of Joxer. Dimpled, pimpled and puckered.”
“I
even heard he was pregnant.”
The
two women shared a momentary thought.
“Yep, that,” they said in unison, “definitely sounds like Joxer.”
A
truck stopped in response to Xena’s agile thumbing (or naked thighs, or Gab’s
cleavage, or naked thighs) and the weary pair climbed aboard to persuade the
driver to take them to Washington, D.C.
They gratefully accepted the bed above the cab and managed to keep the
sounds of their loving making below the roar of the engine, although Xena was
fairly certain in the morning that she had pulled a muscle stifling a love
cry. The perils of saving democracy are
not for the faint of heart.
ACT
4
Al
Gore met the two warriors at Starbuck’s and bought them each a latte
grande. Gabrielle loved it. Xena said she preferred a nice mug of
port. Al smiled and looked apologetic.
They compromised with a cup of hot tea and a pumpkin muffin.
“I
hear that I have a lot to thank you two for.”
Al broached the news of the past several days. “Yesterday the Florida Supreme Court agreed to count the
uncounted Miami-Dade ballots and today George Dubya conceded defeat. Wow.
I owe you two a lot. Would you
like another pumpkin muffin?”
Xena
smiled. “Ah, no thanks. Maybe Gabrielle would.”
“Sure.”
The bard accepted seconds. “These are
terrific. Never had one like this
before.”
Al
beamed. “Yes, they are good. I invented muffins, you know.”