THE NEON LITES:

The Return of the King

Craig-MacCraig-of-Glasgow had never before been in such a desperate predicament. This is not to imply, of course, that he had never been in a desperate predicament before…after all, he WAS a Fiddler; predicaments were in his nature. But this! This was utterly…

'I WON'T DO IT AND YE CANNA MAKE ME!" the Fiddler howled in protest, struggling against the iron grip of a group of surprisingly strong flamingoes. His heroic, brave and Mel Gibson-inspired defiance utterly failed to move the Queen a fraction of an inch. Frowning. She shook a bejeweled scepter (left over from a previous Renaissance Festival Production) in his general direction and stamped an impatient foot.

"My daughter needs a husband," she snapped, one eye on the doorway, "and you, my boy, are it."

"Mmmmppphhhfffttt!" Craig protested eloquently, as the guards wrestled him into a tuxedo and bright magenta cravat. The Queen waved an airy hand, and summarily dismissed his opinions. Sending several guards flying with a well-placed swipe of the fiddle, Craig bounded to his feet again, murder in his eyes.

"I SAID I WON'T AND I…"

The Queen silenced him by motioning to the Executioner, who stepped forward, ax at the ready.

Craig quickly changed his tune. "Go-in to the cha-pel and I'm gonna get ma-a-arried…"

"That's better," nodded the Queen as the door swept open to admit Princess Purple Rabbit to the chamber. As the attendants swept aside, and the trumpeters blew a flourish, her royal purple Highness turned and glared at her husband-to-be. Craig blinked. Craig gulped. Craig threw himself at the feet of the Executioner.

"Off with my head! Off with my head!"

The guards calmly dragged him off by the ankles, still pleading, the Queen stamping furiously in his wake. As the door closed behind them, the Executioner shook his head.

"Poor brute…" he sympathized, hefting his ax to his burly shoulder. "Would have been a mercy killing."

*******************************************

An excited throng of citizens, animal and otherwise, pushed towards the platform, where the fiddle-flailing stranger was firmly handcuffed to the altar rail. Decorated with flowers, paper bells and bunting, the wedding site was locate conveniently near the town gallows, and all through the musical interlude (played dismally badly on an accordion and kazoo) the groom-to-be cast wishful and pleading looks at the hangman's noose.

Eager to complete the nuptials ASAP, the Queen pushed the ill-favored Princess toward her intended, (her Serene Highness all the while shrieking like a harpy). Craig felt like he'd swallowed his fiddle. (He had in fact tried, but was stomped by one of the guards, who quite understood his feelings on the subject, but wasn't about to lose his pension by allowing another prospective Groom to choose suicide over marriage to the Princess.) The Queen hustled the priest to the platform in a trice.

"Do you…" began the Clergyman, his sonorous drone grinding to a halt as he lost his place in the prayer book. "Do you…"

The Queen stamped her foot with impatience. "She does, he does, they both will, now get ON with it!" She shrieked.

Silence fell over the crowd as Craig danced in the end of his tether (in more ways than one). "I WILL NOT!"

The Queen glared at Craig, then the Clergyman, then at Craig again, before advancing on them both. "Oh yeah?"

**********************************************

As the smoke and debris from the explosion began to fade, Tasha brushed the dust and ash from her person, and glared balefully at the others. "This purse," she said regally, "came from Nieman Marcus. It has a scratch on it and SOMEBODY IS GOING TO PAY!"

Presto and Change-O hid quickly behind Mollie, as the other rabbit skittered away into the underbrush chattering with terror. Bruce patted Tasha consolingly, and wandered off to find a piece of chamois and a bottle of leather softener to repair the tragedy. Snerdly was about to make a snide remark, when, with a roar and a crash and a sprinkling of theme music, a polished pink convertible raced to a stop before them. Suave and sideburned, the driver adjusted his shimmering sunglasses, brushed non-existent dust from his shoes and exited the vehicle, every hair in place.

"Thank you, thankyouverymuch…" he drawled, his white fringed suit sparkling in the sun.

Mew stepped forward politely. "I say," he said, "I am Bartholomew. Er, perhaps you could explain a few things to us?"

The stranger struck a pose, and peered at the grinning Labrador. "Hey," he observed, slicking back his hair, "you ain't nothin' but a hound dog…"

Mollie clapped a hand to her forehead, as the rabbits peered out from behind her. "ELVIS? Princess Purple Rabbit is in love with ELVIS?"

Sparki grinned wildly, "Way cool! I knew he wasn't, like, totally dead! He must have been abducticated by some of those creepy-mysterio-so alien-X-filesy-dudes, yes?"

The stranger only smiled and offered her his autograph.

Tasha shook her head. "Wait a minute…you mean, you left a totally cool career, tons of money and the opportunity for endless shopping and came HERE?"

With a sweep of his arm, the stranger cued up his band, which rose from the back seat of the convertible, crooning background harmonies and playing the three chord changes of the 1950s over and over.

"You see…" he began, sighing into a dangling boom mike that was apparently indigenous to the area. "I met this girl…"

Snerdly snorted. "Always blame the girl…" Mollie swatted him as the stranger continued his ballad.

"I was sittin' alone at the Heartbreak Hotel, wearing my blue suede shoes and recovering from an unfortunate sojourn singing the Jailhouse Rock…"

"Whoa…" muttered Sparki. "Like deja vu…that sounds way bogusly familiar…"

The stranger nodded and continued, his background singers hardly pausing for breath. "I was livin' on my own, in the ghetto, thinking I'd lose my mind if she wouldn't love me tender, cause you see, I knew I'd have a Blue Christmas without her, she being a Princess and me being a hunka-hunka burning…"

Snerdly's glasses were steaming up, but Mollie leapt to her feet. "We get the picture!"

The stranger sighed. "I knew I had to have her, so when her mother took her far away from me, I followed…when I finally found her, I took her in my arms and said `I can't help falling in love with you…"

Tasha sighed dreamily, "That's SO romantic! What did she say?"

The stranger sighed. "Nothing."

Mollie blinked. "Nothing?"

"The stranger frowned. "You can't make these things last longer than three minutes and five seconds," he said sternly, "or else they won't get any airplay."

Mew clambered to his feet again, and smiled a doggy smile. "My dear not-quite-deceased superstar," he soothingly patted a sequined shoulder with a comforting paw. "One must not forget the television movie market."

The stranger brightened, then frowned. "Hey," he objected, stepping out of reach, "don't drool on my blue suede shoes…"

********************************************

Meanwhile, back at the altar, things were rapidly disintegrating. In her determination to marry her daughter off, the Queen refused to listen to threats, pleading or reason, and Craig just might have ended up a victim of matrimonial enslavement, had it not been for Mew's brilliant plan.

Having first stopped at the jailhouse to spring Hamish from his cell (a few verses later, the guards were still dancing on the chairs), the Neon Lites and the rabbits, with Elvis in tow, careened up to the platform in the convertible, scattering gold records in their wake. The Princess saw them first.

Elvis leaped out of the car, pushing Hamish before him, a plastic pocket comb pressed to the Scotsman's throat. The Princess gasped. The Princess smiled. The Princess grabbed the fiddler by the neck.

"I'm your hostage, do you hear me," she hissed, unlocking his handcuffs and pointing his fiddle bow at her temple. "Now tell the nice Rock Star you'll shoot me unless he exchanges his hostage for yours."

Craig boggled, but rallied gallantly. "I will shoot the Princess unless you exchange your hostage for mine!" he bellowed, throwing the magenta cravat to the dust and pausing to step on it. "And then…" he murmured, savoring the thought, "I am going to shoot her mother!"

Elvis stood on top of his convertible (for better lighting), every eye upon him. "You would leave the lady to unknown fate in the hands of an armed stranger?" He cried dramatically.

 Mew frowned at the unscripted turn of events. "Yes, well, er, ahem…" he said quickly, "Arms, hands, yes, duecedly inconvenient and all that, jolly awkward, dare say, not for the best shouldn't wonder, but there you go and here we are and all that…nothing else for it, let's exchange hostages, come along…"

Elvis glared momentarily, but remembered the premise in time. "Give me the Princess," he cried, as flashbulbs popped like thunder, "and I will release the Piper!"

Craig rose to the occasion, appearing to drag the Princess across the square, even though her delicate highness had him in a headlock. "Take her!" he choked gallantly, clutching his fiddle for support. "Take her!"

Elvis feel to one knee. "Say you'll marry me!" he cried soulfully, presenting Princess Purple Rabbit with an enormous diamond ring. "And honey, try not to strangle the Fiddler."

A cheer rose up from the crowd, as the Queen raged in fury, her plans foiled again. Now safe from the prospect of marrying the Princess themselves, the townspeople swept forward and hustled the bride and groom to the altar, where the still-droning priest had at last reached the important part of the ceremony. Elvis and the princess faced him, hand in hand. "We do."

With that, the Princess and the Rock Star were married, and the Neon Lites prepared to flee to the ship without even tasting the hors-d'oeuvres.

"There's only one thing bothering me," Mollie mused, as Bruce brought the ship to hover over the square, then daringly parallel-parked it.

"What's that," Tasha queried, buffing her nails with the remains of Craig's cravat.

Mollie frowned. "I can't believe Snerdly is actually afraid of rabbits…but why else would he want to avoid staying on this planet?"

A cry from behind them made everybody pause and Snerdly's face go suddenly gray as ash. The Queen stood by the buffet table, her hands clutching a patrimony lawsuit to her ample bosom.

"Snerdly, my darling nerdicumms! Can it really be you????"