THE NEON LITES:

The Plot Thickens
(or, Never Let a Glasgow Lad an Inch Above Your Knee)

The giant cockroach ascended the wall slowly, swaying slightly and peering through enormous eyes. Tasha screamed and clutched at Craig, who grinned without complaint.

"Grrreat leapin' Loch Monsters!" Hamish muttered, as the huge cockroach crested the top of the wall and hissed wickedly, its antennae waving threateningly at the terrified people in the courtyard.

Hector croaked hoarsely, no words coming from his petrified throat. ("Hey," snickered Craig, "The Trojan's hoarse! Get it?" Hamish smacked him.)

"Catapult!" Hector cried at last, flailing his hands violently. "Spears! Swords! Fire and boiling oil! Hurry! We must repel the beast before it gains entry into the city!"

"Careful," cautioned Hamish. "They spit."

The cockroach clambered over the wall with a clanking, whirring sound, and faced the humans menacingly.

Tasha shrieked.

Tasha swooned.

Tasha noticed a tiny spot of cockroach spit on her DKNY blouse.

"That does it!" she screamed, throwing clutch purse and caution to the wind. "NOW I'm mad!"

"The lass was mad to begin with," opined Hamish, but his voice trailed off in horror as Tasha raced toward the enemy, armed only with a can of superhold hairspray and an expired Master Card. Before anyone could cry a warning, Tasha had reached the giant insect, pointed the hairspray and…

W H O O O O O O S H ! ! ! ! ! !

A huge cloud of ultra-hold exploded from the can, engulfing the monster, freezing it at the joints, and effectively gluing it to the ground.

Tasha stuck out her tongue. "Loser!"

Hector and the Neon Lites inched closer, as Tasha quickly retouched her makeup.

"She has defeated the demon!" Hector breathed in awe, unfortunately alerting everyone to the fact that he had had onions on rye bread for lunch.

Sparki poked the frozen creature with a rainbow hi-topped foot. "Bogus!" she proclaimed. "It's like a totally bogus MOCKroach! See, it's made out of wood!"

The others gathered closer, just as rain began to fall from the dark clouds overhead. A terrified squeak rose from the bowels of the cockroach. ("Eeeewww!" said Mollie, who was reading over the author's shoulder.) The body of the creature swelled with water, promptly disintegrated and melted to pieces at their feet.

Snerdly looked defensively up from the wreckage. "Pressed chipboard," he shrugged, struggling in the sodden remains. "Cheaper materials and faster construction methods increase the profit margin by 24095606.458990%."

Hector cleared his throat. "Well, at least we are safe for the moment."

Mollie cocked her head. "Safe? Meaning…?"

Hamish shook his head and stepped gingerly over the defunct roach robotics, his sword still drawn and ready. "Aye, well, the enemy is still camped on the doorstep," he pointed out, "and I for one say we must be ready to fight."

Across the courtyard, Prince Hector nodded, a gleam in his eyes. "I shall notify Paris," he agreed quickly.

"Huh?" queried Mollie.

Sparki grinned. "Oh, that's like, this totally way cool city, with like, lots of perfume and wine, and mondo, totally cool French restaurants."

Tasha objected. "No it isn't! Paris was Juliet's fiancé…remember? Only she wanted to marry Leonardo Di Caprio so she…"

Mollie interrupted, "No, no, no, no, no! That's Shakespeare," she corrected. "At least most of it…"

Hamish objected belligerently, "Sure and I can shake a spear wi' the best o' them!"

Hector looked confused. "I…" he mumbled faintly, "meant Paris my brother…"

A clamor of voices rose in argument, until a piercing whistle restored something resembling order.

"That's enough!" Bruce cried, adjusting his Armani silk tie. "We have another problem." The others stared as Bruce clasped well-manicured hands to his well-dressed bosom. "That cute little fiddler…" he sniffed into a lavender hanky, " IS MISSING!"

Hector whirled and eyed the throng (and Bruce) in alarm. "And also Lady Cassandra!" he cried in horror.

Tasha squealed. "Could they have been kidnapped?"

Hector paled. "Treachery from within?" he gasped. "Is it possible?"

"Bet your butt," Snerdly said snidely, from his vantage point on the ground. "Can someone help me out of this roach?"

The sound of battle preparation rose from outside the walls, and the home team rushed about in panic.  "They are mounting an assault!" Hector cried, promptly dithering.

"Someone might as well," lisped Bruce, smiling at Hamish, who ignored him.

Hector drew his sword bravely. "What shall we do?"

"We need a plan," Mollie began, only to be interrupted by her sister.

"Not again," objected Tasha, "that never works."

Hamish agreed. "Mass hysteria has served us fairly well until now," he admitted, moving upwind of Hector's onion sandwich fumes. "Why don't we just try that again?"

Snerdly pulled a sodden foot from the roach wreckage. "Nobody move! I lost a contact lens…"

All present dropped to his or her knees in the street, searching diligently, until Snerdly noticed everyone's rear-ends in the air. He leered slyly, glanced at Bruce (who was more than glancing at a certain nameless kilted posterior) and promptly goosed Mollie. Who mistakenly belted Hamish. Who then tripped over Tasha. Who stumbled into Sparki. Who accidentally discharged the blowtorch, setting ancient Troy afire before the very eyes of Hector, who fainted, onion breath and all.

"Oops," Bruce simpered. "Dominos."

The flames raced across the City with lightning speed, but Hamish held up a hand for silence, as the sound of a fiddle rose above the clamor.

"There!"

They all turned to see where Hamish was pointing, and beheld Craig, standing atop the parapet, fiddling furiously. They galloped over in a herd.

"Craig, ye daft wee banshee!!!" Hamish bellowed, plowing to the top of the stairs. "What in the name of Robert the Bruce are ye doin'?"

Craig laughed triumphantly. "I'm fiddling while Troy burns," he bawled energetically, "just like that Zero fellow."

Mollie frowned. "Craig, you idiot, that was ROME! Fiddling while ROME burns! And it was NERO!"

Craig fiddled faster. "Near? Far? What's the difference?" he cried. "I'm fiddling while it burns! Burns! Burns!"

Hamish shrugged. "The boy…" he admitted freely, "is a bit insane."

Mollie wouldn't give up. "I know my geography and this isn't Rome."

Hamish nodded. "Aye, and I know my poetry, and he's no Robert Burns!" ("Ooh," remarked Fiona, terribly impressed by Kasey's attempts at a literary joke, but hiding it well under a mask of false disgust and a heartfelt groan.)

Hector, now revived, tottered over. "We will seek assistance from the gods!" he cried, leaping up the staircase and nearly getting a face full of fiddle. "They will aid us because of Lady Cassandra."

Sparki held up a hand. "Like, whoa…hang on, hold it - what has this Sandy chick got to do with the gods, like, helping us?"

Hector waved his hands dramatically, nearly knocking Craig off the parapet. "They will aid us because of HER sacrifice. To honor the gods, Cassandra remains forever more a sworn virgin!"

The fiddle screeched to a halt.

"A-a what?" Craig looked rather pale.

"Vir-Gin." Hamish pronounced distinctly. "You've heard o' them."

Craig looked shaken. "Ummm, did you say a SWORN virgin?" He blinked rapidly.

Hamish's eyes narrowed. "Craig MacCraig what have ye done?"

Craig tried to shrug carelessly. "Er…well…"

Mollie gasped. "Craig, you DIDN'T!"

Craig shrugged helplessly. "She said I was a god…" he grinned.

Tasha cocked her head. "Are you really???"

Craig grinned rakishly. "Well, the woman is cursed to always tell the truth…"

Bruce snorted. "AND have no one believe her, sweetie, don't forget that!"

Craig's face fell. "Oh, rats…"

Hamish was appalled. "You bedded a Vestal Virgin while Troy burned? Ye gods, Craig, that's sick!"

Craig shook his head. "You want sick? Look in my fiddle case!"

Hector (who fortunately neither followed the conversation nor owned a shotgun) grabbed Hamish by the arm. "What are we going to do?"

"Ye gods…" Hamish muttered again.

Bruce grabbed his other arm. "That's it!" he cried joyfully.

Hamish growled at him. "You're touching me."

Bruce ignored the implied death threat. "We'll pretend to be gods when we face the enemy!" he bubbled. "Oooh, I am SOOO Good!"

Tasha was delighted. "Gods…" she reminded Mollie, "can afford to dress VERY well."

"Alright then, I'll be Athena." Mollie said, bravely helping Tasha touch up her lipstick.

Bruce grinned. "That's the spirit, girls! I'll be Phoebus." He smiled at Hamish. "That means `Sun God'."

Hamish glared at him. "You're still touching me."

Bruce signed in resignation, "Oh ALRIGHT, you big grumpy thing you, but don't ask to borrow MY Armani!" Hamish sighed, too preoccupied to clobber him.

"Who will I be?" Tasha queried.

"I," Hamish proclaimed loudly, "Will be William Wallace!"

Snerdly sneered. "William Wallace was not a god."

Craig and Hamish glowered in unison. "BITE YER TONGUE!"

Sparki grinned at the company. "I think I will be Packraticus," she announced, rummaging in her backpack.

"Packraticus?" Mollie frowned. "Who's she?"

Sparki grinned. "Goddess of like, Major Clutter," she beamed, just as her backpack burst asunder, scattering its haphazard contents all over Troy.

Craig began to fiddle restlessly. "What about me?"

Hamish glared balefully, "YOU will be Don't-even-tryiticus, God of Celibacy, got it?"

Craig fiddled onward, entire unrepentant.

Snerdly whined. "Well that may be fine for all of you people," he complained, "but what will I be?"

Hamish stared at the city gates, then at Snerdly, then back at the city gates again. "You," he said in satisfaction, "will be the bait."