01-10-2015, 03:14 PM
“SO YE CAN TALK!”
Craig observed Mickey with some trepidation, but his friend seemed unphased. “So where ye headed, little lad?” the as-of-yet-nameless guard asked, squatting down so he was on eye level with the mouse.
“Um.” Mickey suddenly felt self-conscious about his high-pitched squeal in front of these overtly-masculine men. That, and he did not really have an answer; where was he going? “Um, I don’t really know,” he shrugged, scratching his head. He glanced over his shoulder at his former destination in the distance, and pointing, said: “There, I guess?”
“Back to Camelot,” the soldier nodded, “Well, that’s as good a place as any. It’s where we’re from.” He gestured to Craig and then to himself, then stuck out a hand for Mickey to shake. The mouse knew human customs quite well—given that humans comprised a great many of his subjects—and so he shook the man’s hand with a satisfied grin. “I’m Conan, and this is Craig.”
“I’m, uh,” the mouse stammered, “I’m Mickey. Mickey Mouse.” Underneath his helmet Mickey could see the soldier smile a little bit.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Nice ta meet ya, lad,” Craig said, though he did not look all that eager for a handshake. Mickey chose not to push the issue. “Conan, can I—uh—can I speak to ye for a second?” the warrior asked, waving his hand for his comrade to come over.
The two spoke in hushed whispers that Mickey did not try to hear. Eavesdropping had never really been his style; as he was King, normally people just told him things, and when they did not want to he assumed they had a good reason. So he did not pry. After a few seconds, they separated and Conan looked back to the mouse. Craig wore a suspicious expression on his face; he had not taken to Mickey quite like Conan had, it seemed.
“Alright, little lad,” Conan grinned, once again lowering himself to Mickey’s level, “Craig insists on continuin’ on to the fountain, so I’m gonna escort ya back to Camelot meself. It’s not too much further away. How’s that sound?”
Mickey nodded, and the two soldiers went their separate ways. They took a few minutes to consolidate their plan of action before Craig started off toward where Mickey had come from and the mouse and his new compadré set off toward what Conan called “the gate to Camelot.” Craig, Conan explained, headed off to the “Fountain of Infinity”—the large marble fountain that had greeted Mickey on his arrival went by that name—to see if any more “Primes” had appeared. Primes, the man explained, appeared seemingly from nowhere, transported from their worlds, which were various, to the Omniverse.
“But why?” Mickey asked, newly invigorated by the meeting of a friendly person and not at all exhausted anymore. “And how does he pick us?”
“Nobody really knows,” Conan shrugged, “And nobody really asks. Omni does what Omni does and everyone just… accepts it, I guess.”
Not me, Mickey resolved defiantly. He did not intend to stir up trouble here—‘peaceful’ described him more than any other word he could think of—but he wanted, more than anything, to get back to Minnie. And Donald. And Goofy. And everyone, really.
“O’course,” Conan continued, “Some people get all worked up about Omni bringin’ in folks that aren’t… well, aren’t strictly human.” At this, he gestured to Mickey. “Craig, fer instance—” he started and then looked as if he wanted to take it back already, “—he’s just nervous about lads like you since his village got raided by Orcs, is all.”
Mickey wanted to ask what exactly an ‘Orc’ was, but he decided to leave it for now. He glanced back toward where Craig had gone, but the other soldier already disappeared from sight. He could not help but wonder if more people would be automatically suspicious of him because of his species; back in the Disney realms, non-humans almost outnumbered humans, so it had never exactly been a problem.
For the remainder of their journey, Mickey and Conan existed in almost complete silence. Occasionally they would strike up a conversation about this or that, but nothing substantial until they finally reached the gate to Camelot.
The gate rose high above Mickey, made of intricately crafted stone. Set against the stark white void that made up the rest of this verse—Conan had termed it “the Nexus”—it looked strikingly beautiful. Mickey stared into it, not completely certain what awaited him on the other side. Then again, he had made bigger leaps before; the first time he had ever strayed from the River, he ended up in the Country of the Musketeers, a place so unlike his home that it had scared him half to death. But eventually, he made his way well—thrived, even—in that world.
He was determined to do the same thing here, and after a little encouragement from Conan, he stepped through the gate.
Craig observed Mickey with some trepidation, but his friend seemed unphased. “So where ye headed, little lad?” the as-of-yet-nameless guard asked, squatting down so he was on eye level with the mouse.
“Um.” Mickey suddenly felt self-conscious about his high-pitched squeal in front of these overtly-masculine men. That, and he did not really have an answer; where was he going? “Um, I don’t really know,” he shrugged, scratching his head. He glanced over his shoulder at his former destination in the distance, and pointing, said: “There, I guess?”
“Back to Camelot,” the soldier nodded, “Well, that’s as good a place as any. It’s where we’re from.” He gestured to Craig and then to himself, then stuck out a hand for Mickey to shake. The mouse knew human customs quite well—given that humans comprised a great many of his subjects—and so he shook the man’s hand with a satisfied grin. “I’m Conan, and this is Craig.”
“I’m, uh,” the mouse stammered, “I’m Mickey. Mickey Mouse.” Underneath his helmet Mickey could see the soldier smile a little bit.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Nice ta meet ya, lad,” Craig said, though he did not look all that eager for a handshake. Mickey chose not to push the issue. “Conan, can I—uh—can I speak to ye for a second?” the warrior asked, waving his hand for his comrade to come over.
The two spoke in hushed whispers that Mickey did not try to hear. Eavesdropping had never really been his style; as he was King, normally people just told him things, and when they did not want to he assumed they had a good reason. So he did not pry. After a few seconds, they separated and Conan looked back to the mouse. Craig wore a suspicious expression on his face; he had not taken to Mickey quite like Conan had, it seemed.
“Alright, little lad,” Conan grinned, once again lowering himself to Mickey’s level, “Craig insists on continuin’ on to the fountain, so I’m gonna escort ya back to Camelot meself. It’s not too much further away. How’s that sound?”
Mickey nodded, and the two soldiers went their separate ways. They took a few minutes to consolidate their plan of action before Craig started off toward where Mickey had come from and the mouse and his new compadré set off toward what Conan called “the gate to Camelot.” Craig, Conan explained, headed off to the “Fountain of Infinity”—the large marble fountain that had greeted Mickey on his arrival went by that name—to see if any more “Primes” had appeared. Primes, the man explained, appeared seemingly from nowhere, transported from their worlds, which were various, to the Omniverse.
“But why?” Mickey asked, newly invigorated by the meeting of a friendly person and not at all exhausted anymore. “And how does he pick us?”
“Nobody really knows,” Conan shrugged, “And nobody really asks. Omni does what Omni does and everyone just… accepts it, I guess.”
Not me, Mickey resolved defiantly. He did not intend to stir up trouble here—‘peaceful’ described him more than any other word he could think of—but he wanted, more than anything, to get back to Minnie. And Donald. And Goofy. And everyone, really.
“O’course,” Conan continued, “Some people get all worked up about Omni bringin’ in folks that aren’t… well, aren’t strictly human.” At this, he gestured to Mickey. “Craig, fer instance—” he started and then looked as if he wanted to take it back already, “—he’s just nervous about lads like you since his village got raided by Orcs, is all.”
Mickey wanted to ask what exactly an ‘Orc’ was, but he decided to leave it for now. He glanced back toward where Craig had gone, but the other soldier already disappeared from sight. He could not help but wonder if more people would be automatically suspicious of him because of his species; back in the Disney realms, non-humans almost outnumbered humans, so it had never exactly been a problem.
For the remainder of their journey, Mickey and Conan existed in almost complete silence. Occasionally they would strike up a conversation about this or that, but nothing substantial until they finally reached the gate to Camelot.
The gate rose high above Mickey, made of intricately crafted stone. Set against the stark white void that made up the rest of this verse—Conan had termed it “the Nexus”—it looked strikingly beautiful. Mickey stared into it, not completely certain what awaited him on the other side. Then again, he had made bigger leaps before; the first time he had ever strayed from the River, he ended up in the Country of the Musketeers, a place so unlike his home that it had scared him half to death. But eventually, he made his way well—thrived, even—in that world.
He was determined to do the same thing here, and after a little encouragement from Conan, he stepped through the gate.
Quote:To be continued in Camelot.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)