*bounces up*
*bounces down*
*bounces all around*

*Front handspring step out, round-off backhandspring step-out, round-off back handspring, full-twisting layout*

'tis easy, except the whole "gravity" thing.

*passes over nuther daquiri to Mwyaren*

I haven't had a daquiri in years. *makes one for self* *sips*

Now I remember why I liked 'em.

Sounds cool!

Yalahii.

::hangs mistletoe everywhere::

::offers hot toddies at the bar::

::looks up, then around::

just me, so far.

slides dart into blowgun

here, let me just put my pet porcupine everywhere

hey, can i leave this tack strip anywhere?

Sahi wrote:

*is not wiked's pet*

no, i don't think he meant you.  and if he did, then i *do* know where he can put the tack strip.

*goes over to other porcupine and whispers his new name*

He's pleased to let you know that he will be referred to as Ikki from now on.

Yalahii!

wheeee!! ::cartwheels::

Secreted in the woods, behind craggy mountains and knotted trees, beyond the realm which any sensible person would dare to venture, lies a magical place. A place of wonder and mystery, where the smell of strawberry incense lingers and permeates. A row of shoes can be found outside the door, and the sounds of laughter can be heard for miles. This is a place of fun and revelry, a place where one may put aside the woes and worries of adulthood and return, even if only momentarily, to the leisure and freedom of youth.

There is also a small patio with wrought iron and stained glass tables and big cushy chairs. Lounging languidly in the biggest, cushiest chair is an unusually tall woman in a red and black leather bustier, with a bright red wig that adds nearly a foot to her height. She rubs her feet and sneers at a pair of rhinestone encrusted platform shoes with six inch heels. As she laments her fallen arches, you notice an Adam's apple, however demure, betraying her guise. You learn that her name is Candide Appel, and Mooey the blackberry dragon belongs to her, and something about a bad night in Vegas and never to play blackjack with an old man in a pointy hat.

A creepy guy with too many tattoos and an obvious prison record asks for your ticket. Upon entering, one can see a small lavender dragon bumbling about, anxiously fluttering her stumpy wings. She is Mwyaren, which is nearly impossible to pronounce and has come to be known as just Mooey. She greets you and puffs wafts of smoke which, strangely, smell an awful lot like that strawberry incense you smelled from outside. And in fact, all who enter are known to bumble about, as this strange and magical place is actually a big rubber bouncy castle, with a yellow floor and blue turrets with red flags.

Rules for the bouncy castle:

1. Please remove shoes before entering.
2. No beverages allowed inside. Things spill easy.
3. No breathing fire. You know, kinda melts the castle.
4. Careful not to step on that short purple thing, whom you must be at least as tall as to ride this ride.

Mooey puffs curiously beside Candide's dressing table, staring up at the side of Candide's strangely bare head.  Two foam heads sit atop the table: one with the glamorous but familiar fire-red wig, the other with a new, shorter one in a much toned-down shade with a few natural-looking highlights.

Candide sighs with a mix of longing and exasperation, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two heads staring back at her.  Lovingly curling a red tress around one finger, a look of resignation comes over her.  Picking up the short wig, she fluffs it out much as one does a throw pillow and, eyes shut tight, slides it over her scalp.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes open a moment later and stare at the mirror, a heart-shape ring of smoke wafting past her.  She smiles first at the smoke, then at the auburn-framed face before her.  The vision is softer, but still vibrant.  The face is no longer lost and disempowered by wild scarlet, but rather set regally with a warm, supple crown.

She sets her lips into a small, determined smile, gives her head a toss, and rises from the chair.  Slipping a soft sheer wrap around her shoulders she moves toward the door, catching herself in mid-turn to glance back at the old comfortable wig, at the old comfortable Candide.

Reaching for the lightswitch, she espies her little dragon friend pulling a long red tress from the table and laying it across the scales on her arm, no doubt to see if this could be a good color for her.  Candide smiles softly and rasps, "Not quite yet, baby."  Mooey stops a moment, then nods sagely and bumbles past Candide out of the room. 

Candide takes her moment then to let her eyes linger on the red cloud that now occupies most of the vanity table.  Untamed and well worn, with one lock now reaching to the floor, the old image of Candide now sits inert as she flicks off the light and firmly, carefully shuts the door.