Here We have Myself And mi Amego Fast Fingers Fitch, The first song was written by yours truly and sung by Fast fingers. This was The Dog’s Meow at the Collabrative music project at Green Mt Collage. Band’s were randomly chosen and had one week to come up with a set. The Dog’s meow made up of Jason “dragon harp” Pratley and…George fast fingers Fitch.
(wammer jammer jam) (Right angle sleep) (Long Grey Mare [Fleetwood mac]) (Bring it on home [Led Zepplen])


Herstil Ombrick was a priest of the Aclyssian order and believed as all priests of the Almighty that there should be temperance in order. It is the way of nature to fall into chaos, where things occur without meaning or purpose. Preist Ombrick knew he had what all the crawling things and blind creatures of the world lacked and that was the discipline to perform the same task at exactly the same moment every day. Among that he was the bearer of one of seventeen timepieces in the known world.

Each morning he would awake without any provocation at exactly six o’clock in the morning. He would make his prayers, bless his breakfast, dress appropriately for the weather, take up his ticking timepiece and make his way from his home at one end of Green street down the cobblestone through the dawn to the other end. There at the very end he passed through a large gate which had over it Aclyssian words forged in iron: “The Almighty Forgets No Soul”.

The campus was surrounded by a ten foot high stone wall with a cast iron spike fence above it and Beyond the gate Preist Ombrick stepped with precision across the stone path to the great stone structure of the orphanage. It was perhaps more akin to a dark square castle than a state building. The building itself sported many gothic buttresses and gargoyles that frowned downward at Ombrick as he passed into the heavy doors of the main building.

Ombrick would make his way to the endless wooden steps that zig-zagged skywards. His feet pressing in on the same indents that his predecessor bell ringers had. The same dust would rise up after him as he crossed back and forth ever higher. It could not be said what thoughts graced him each morning as he climbed those endless steps, perhaps he thought of the squeaking wood or the musty cold that embraced the upper levels. Perhaps Ombrick thought of how the sun shone through the slats on the sides of the tower catching the dust. It was most likely that Priest Ombrick simply rose without a single thought in his head.

The highest tower of the Orphanage was one of the highest points in the city. It rose above the winding streets, the shops, the three or four story buildings and nearly reached the height of the Lord’s castle on the far hill. When Ombrick reached the top of his long flight he beheld the great bell. It was a great brass thing, about ten inches thick all around it’s twenty foot radius. It was carved with High Aclyssian texts around it in concentric rings.

When Ombrick beheld it each day the sun had just risen above the horizon and the brass would duly shine above him. The Preist would then consult his timepiece and he would find that it was still ten minutes before the hour of seven. The breath of time would each day be regarded as no more than an oversight, and he would sigh as if he had other obligations. He would turn from the heavy brass bell above him and move to the wall where long ago a slot in the wall would open to reveal the sprawling expanse below.

The sight would gaze upon the city, quiet before a man or woman stirred, when the lights were dark and the last lingering moments of dreams encompassed all their realities. The view would look beyond the far walls to the southern mountains. Their eastward faces turning golden in the sun’s reflection off the snow. The sky above them still dark, but rising in crisp blue.

He would give himself that moment of reflection before thanking the Almighty, looking to his timepiece and grasping the heavy rope. With all his strength he pulled down and the heavy brass bell would budge a slight angle. Once after another the priest would pull and release and the mechanism above the bell would groan. The struts would creak and the tower began to vibrate in excitement for the new hour of the day. Inch by inch the bell would rock and it’s heavy clapper would remain still nearing the sound bow. The heavy brass ball would remain motionless as the bell neared it.

Ombrick would be sweating by the time he got the bell moving, he would look at his timepiece and when the hour of seven struck on his timepiece he gave one final great tug on the rope above. The bell would slam against the clapper with all the great sound of God himself. His ears would ring in it’s crisp thunder and the tower shook in satisfaction.

He rang it, striking seven times before letting go and allowing the bell to go back into silence and the day to begin. He would check the open slot and see below the figures of the day workers and farmers, the merchants and nobles slowly emerge from their houses, the birds would take flight and the blue sky was above the Bright mountains.

Grivo the Foxian Alien (2)

He sized up the human.

She could be a bounty hunter, or some rare collector out to fry my insides and take my skin back to Talfor…. After my escape, I wouldn’t expect the Talformadorians to regard me kindly.

But would they send a human? How would it have followed her?

Hey I’m the one doing the thinking here!


The human’s pink skin was bruised and slashed. Yet it looked sort of cute laying there, breathing silently on the ground as if it had fallen asleep.

I don’t think I could live with myself if I killed it…not until I knew if it was trying to fry my brains or not. Grivo thought

Grivo looked around to make sure his internal monologue wasn’t watching and lifted her up.

The yellow couch along the wall was very big for him. It doubled as a double bed, but for the human it was a perfect twin.

The fox creature known as Grivo was for the most part anthropomorphic, standing upright came comfortably unless he needed to run fast. Yet what he lacked was very dextrous hands. His hands sported an “opposable” thumb. It was more of a side-osable thumb but he could grip most things. He did so on the human’s arm and tried to lift it up to carry to the yellow couch. His feet were no more than somewhat elongated paws that were planted on the ends of short legs and a round torso. His arms were in proportion…of course they are he told himself.

In addition to his otherwise humanoid features he had an elongated face at the nose and mouth, two large ears, eyes with catlike irisis, and a large fluffy tail. He was covered in a coat of fur which matched the color of the skin underneath. White on the underbelly with a red “coat” that went up to the end of his tail where it terminated in a white tip. The red and white marlboro cap matched his fur. he wore it backwards between his ears and a tuft of red hair protruded from the snaps on the back. He had acquired it in one of his trading deals from a human.

The scar of a gash remained where a claw had torn down under his eye and across his lip.

He strained and pulled the human, but it’s dead weight was a lot and he was out of shape.

I can do this. He thought. I am not out of shape!

He managed to lift the human’s torso over his head with a cry of exertion and made it two steps towards the couch before his muscles gave way and the weight of the creature came over him.  He scrambled out from underneath and began to pull the human awkwardly across the room. It wasn’t heavy set, but it was heavy dead weight.

He brought her to the yellow couch and threw it’s arms over onto the cushions, lifted it’s head up and on so that it sort of slouched at a backwards 90 degree position.

“Hmm” he thought out loud, taking a step back to figure a logistically convenient way to get her on the couch.

He grabbed the human around the midsection along the section under the arms. It’s soft underbelly could be felt in his claws as Grivo lifted it up and got half of the creature onto the couch.

He fell into the human at an awkward way. He jumped back and wondered.

Is this a male or a female human?

He scratched his chin and scrutinized it’s body.

On TV they all looked kind of similar, but the Females wore different clothes from the Males. This one dressed like a Male would…But of course Grivo knew that the broadcasts were thousands of years old. Yeah so what!?

He was not even sure there were just two genders. The Jelfranions have seven different genders and thus requite seven partners to make a new Jelfranion. This stupefied most of the universe’s biologists but everyone agreed that the more difficult it was to make a new Jelfran the better. The Jelfranions are huge intergalactic predators that eat stars.

Then it all became clear to him. He could find out it’s gender and get it up on the couch at the same time. The human was slumped over and only the lower half and the legs needed to get up onto the yellow couch.

Okay. There is only one way to efficiently get this human up on the couch…and solve the quandaries that so wrack my mind…for science!

He told himself, looking at the perfect hold at the crotch.

He tried to orientate how his hands would accomplish this feat in the most polite, yet scientifically sound method. A bead of sweat fell from his forehead as he turned his head from side to side to find the best place on the human’s booty to lift.

Finally he settled on a way and put one of his paws to the human’s side and lifted up from between it’s legs to get the posterior up. he struggled against it’s weight and then turned, using his back to lift with his legs.

Hmm…yup…Def-definitely female. He thought as he pushed.

The human’s body acted perfectly according to the physics of the situation and now kneeled backwards on the couch.

Grivo took a distance and nervously rubbed his paws together before gingerly turning her around in a sitting position.

That’s how humans sleep right? Grivo thought.


He jumped up on the couch next to her, nervously glancing over at her unconscious form. For a moment she sat with her head upright but her head tilted back and her red curls fell over the back of the couch as her mouth fell open and a snore erupted from her nasal cavity.

Grivo looked forward and thought the moment was going rather well.

He picked up the clicker and turned the TV on. “I Love Lucy” was still playing and it appeared the two…

Grivo looked over the human next to him.

the two Female humans were eating as much of a chocolate substance as they could while it rapidly appeared from the wall on a conveyor belt.

He had divined several things about human society from the show. One was that their planet’s surface must have been toxic or full of dangerous predators because they never appeared outside the confines of their houses or workplaces. This meant that they likely lived in a vast network of tunnels and caves.

Secondly he realized that they were territorial creatures where…Females were dominant. Why else in a tunnel society would women control the living spaces when space in a cave network is so valuable. The males even had to announce their presence when entering their territory as exemplified by Ricky’s  “LUCY I’M HOOME”

Grivo looked over at the human woman asleep on the couch.

What if she’s some kind of ruler! used to a thousand male slaves tending to her? He thought. She might expect me to act in a position beneath her. Or eat me!

Terror struck Grivo before he remembered that the ancient humans might have been territorial, but the few humans he had met in his travels were fairly normal…in a galactic melting pot sort of way. He was sure some of the humans he had met were female….at least one or two.

Grivo decided that he was not an anthropologist and enjoyed watching the human’s on the screen struggle to fit all the candies in their mouths within their small cheeks. If the human turned out to be dangerous he would deal with the situation. Until then…ancient TV and…pinball.


Grivo the Foxian Alien (1)


It’s always humans. Grivo thought watching the ridiculous crop of hair on the space captain bounce around while the rock’s rained down from the trees. The human yelled and screamed, firing laser blasts into the canopy with a… Klondike 93VII pistol from the looks of it. A very rare brand.

Grivo wondered if he could find it when the tree-dwelling squirrels were done with killing it.  The human wore a red jacket and tight pants with boots that clumsily crushed plants and twisted the moss and vines under it’s feet.

Another lost fool, the alien thought from his den shaking his head. Whenever some new adventurer came to their planet, the noise always interrupted his shows. His TV picked up old program signals that were flying through space. He was watching a show called I love Lucy when the sounds of the angry tree beasts and the frantic spacer came to him.

This human reminded her of the Lucy of the show, it had the same curly hair. Although the show had none of the true color spectrum, the main character had been referred to as “red” enough times to understand that the Lucy of the show had red hair. Kind of like him only Grivo had red hair over most of his body.

The line “LUCY IM HOOOME!!” always made him chuckle.

He wondered: can humans only see in black and white?

Yet now Grivo looked out from his den and watched the human dance around to avoid the rocks being hurled down. The squirrels were masters of camouflage. There was no way the human could know where they were in the dense canopy that covered the world he had been marooned on. There was nowhere for her to hide from their keen eyes and undiscriminating hatred.

If they would just live long enough I could get to their ship and get out of here.

The human continued to try to find cover but the tree squirrels were all over the human. Grivo watched them move about in the canopy, their dark shapes flashing across spaces where the sky lent in. He knew exactly where they were. He had his own keen eyes and the knowledge from living on the planet made him apt at noticing where the five foot squirrels were.

He had once been a part of a crew that went many places in the universe but after a series of unexpected inter-dimensional encounters, he was left on a ship full of an unfriendly race of space pirates a good five thousand years before he was born. They had left him with nothing…except his TV, yellow couch, Turkish rug, red and white Malboro hat, espresso machine, and pinball machine of course. Grivo had no idea where he was temporally but the five thousand earlier from his time was an educated guess.

He shook from his mental travels to the real world.

Suddenly the human was darting out from behind a tree straight for him.

Oh Shit! thought Grivo as the human headed his way.

It dodged through bushes and fired back behind it with a spray of purple beams. A hail of rocks rained down and struck the human several times. It tripped over a root but  rolled and recovered. It stood it’s ground and shot back at the direction the rocks came from. More rocks flew down from above and struck the human in several places. The human turned and fled, running closer to Grivo.

I swear if I get found out…

He ducked into his den a little more. The human yelled out as it neared.

Crap crap crap

Grivo ducked further down but the human was already on top of him, running in a frantic panic.

The human clumsily tripped over the purple Govi mushroom in his front yard and fell headfirst directly into Grivo’s den and Grivo as well.

The two tumbled down into the hole.

“What the hell!” Grivo yelled after the tumble terminated, throwing the human off of him and standing over the creature on his feet paws with his arms arched to either side.

“Damnit, now the squirrels know where I live! Do you think I want rocks thrown at me everytime i need to take a piss!!”

After a moment Grivo’s whiskers relaxed and he lowered his arms.

The human was dazed and unconscious by the rocks and the fall.


“Why did you come here anyway? are you after my bounty? Or are you just some hapless individual lost in the cosmos?”

Grivo talked mostly to himself, as Grivo mostly does.

Grivo looked upwards and began to shout “Hey I do not mostly talk to myself!”

Only silence returned Grivo’s crazy outburst. Whether it was the years of solitude with late 1950’s Earth shows or the sudden shock of another living person in his assumed home, the mental trauma did not obscure the fact that the human had passed out. A lump the size of a Gelta seed was on the back of it’s head.

Oh why do these things happen to me? He thought.  

The Heat of War

The battlefield was before them.

A great empty expanse with a slight rolling hill. A dead tree stood in the center as the two forces prepared themselves.

The general rode out and with his commanding voice called out to his solders.

“We have come here today!- Not by our own desire! As I’m sure, except for the security of our great empire. To maintain our lands  from the hoards who besiege us. I will not Lie to you today.

The one to your left…the one to your right, they may not survive to the end.

Things will get frosty! Delicious fillings will be everywhere!

However…we will remain strong. As cakes. We must defend what is ours!

THOSE OTHERS! Those you see on the opposite field from you are our most bitter rivals. The PIES…we know now that they have destroyed the croissants, and the Muffins have joined their satanic cause. In fact as I speak now, they come to flank us. But they are not fit TO CALL THEMSELVES PASTRIES!!

This battle will decide which side the doughnuts of the north will take in our struggle, as well as the Churo in the south and the creme brulet’s to our east. So I ask you, not to fight as separate layers to a whole, whether you be pound, single double,  fruit, wedding, chocolate, lemon, vanilla, or iced cream, I ask you to remember your cupcakes back home and abolish those Pie BARBARIANS BACK TO THE BAKERY OVEN!!!!”

The cakes cheered on the mound, brandishing their knives and platters. The birthday cakes redyeing their candles and bows.

The Vast Cake army was one.

“TO VICTORY!!!” The general called and charged across the plain with his army towards the line of pies.


The pie general on the hill at other end saw the cakes break over the field in the distance like a fluid. He sneered atop his Danish mount a moment but relaxed into a confident smile. He turned slightly to his Lemon Morang knight.

“This battle will be over quickly” He said. “They have no strategy and have broken towards us like squelching barbarians.”

The Morang Knight said nothing.

“Do you not agree? These cakes stand no chance!”

The Knight remained quiet save for a “Yes my lord.”

“Hmmm good.” The pie general said, leaning back in his saddle. “Ready the apple filling.” He said, turning to the head Sergent.

“Ae M’lord!” the pan pie said and raised the red flag with the apple filling on it. Trumpets gave a toot as the apple pies rolled the pans of searing hot liquid filling.


The cakes approached, pounding up the hill towards the pies. Their battle cries issuing strong.


The apple pie Sergent let his hand fall and announced “RELEASE!!!”

The apple pies released the mechanisms under the pans and the steaming filling was flung out down the hill.

The Cake general gave a call “HALT!! PANCAKES TO THE FRONT!!”

The majority of the force halted to let the pancakes do their duty. The Pancakes at the front formed a testuto and the filling struck them like syrup.

A few pound cakes did not hear the order in time. The hot gooey substance engulfed a small exposed group. As the cakes hid behind their wall of pancakes, their horrid screams filled the air. their cries would not be the first.

The Apple filling burned through their spongy forms and they were left as nothing but a mushy pile crying out in agony.

Damn The cake general thought and when the filling had been soaked by the sturdy exterior of the pancakes he gave the order: “FORWARD, IN FORMATION!”

The cakes stayed huddled behind the pancakes and slowly crept up towards the line of pies.

“RELEASE AT WILL!!” the apple pie commander called and another volley of the sticky substance was flung down to the wall of pancakes.

A chink in the pancake wall was hit by one fling and the searing substance splattered into the ranks. The  cries of the melting cakes that were hit became the symphony of the charge.

Soon the pies were launching a scattered assault with apple filling going well over the Pancake wall into the back ranks of the cake army.The pancakes were soon unable to keep in formation as the ground was covered in sticky apple filling, melted ice cream, and the mushy forms of the pound cake comrades.

Some pancakes became too weighted down with the filling. “GET TO BETTER COVER!! I CANT HOLD IT!” one pancake screamed and soon afterward fell into the buildup of material in the grass and was covered with the filling.

The assorted cakes huddled behind whichever pancake remained advancing, unable to do anything but hold back their grief, latch to what resolve they could find, and press on.


The pie general turned to the head Sergent.

“Fire the pecans”

“Yes M’Lord” The Sergent bowed “PECANS!!” he called raising the brown flag with the symbol that correlated to the order.

The Pican pies advanced to the front under the arc of the filling volleys. The teams set their guns in a line. Loaded them and the order was carried. With a blast the pecans were launched down the hill towards the advancing units.

The brown nuts ripped through the spongy pancakes and flung into the ranks behind them. Cakes were being hit all around as the guns boomed above.


The Cake general turned to his runner, a pecan ripping through his cover and striking a young wedding cake in the eye. “ARE THE DAMNED BIRTHDAY CAKES IN RANGE!!!” He demanded.

The small cake was little more than a cup, his fear was plain but he remembered his duty “N-nearly sir, we need a few yards!”

“By the Baker.” he cursed under his breath. “Have them fire as soon as they are in range!!” Another Pecan whizzed by “AND GET THE FRUIT CAKES UP HERE!!”

“Aye sir.” the cupcake said with a curt nod and ran through to the back of the lines where the birthday cake archers were. All around him, the sounds of pecans and fillings crashed around him. The screams of fallen cakes were like a physical tunnel as he lept over comrades and piles of solidified filling.

The Birthday cakes in the back were moving forward, farther from the onslaught at the front lines. He found the B-squad commander. “General says to get in range as soon as you can!”

“Aye.” the commander said and sent the orders along.


The pies on the hill watched as the forces advancing below stagnated under the pecan guns. Soon however, the sturdy fruitcakes were charging through the battered Vanguard. Picans sunk deep into them, but they continued unvexed. One Fruit pie was hit with such a barrage of pecans that it was knocked back and fell apart soon after.

“Should we charge sir?” the Morang Knight asked, turning to his general.

The pie general stroked where his chin would be if he wasn’t a pie. “No, continue the Barrage, let them come to us.”

“Those fruit pies will block most of the artillery.” The knight stated.

The pie General turned to him for his insolence but pondered the thought.

“Fine, if you’re so certain. Send in the Pot Pies. They aren’t even a dessert.”

“Aye My Lord”

The barrage halted a moment as a force of chicken pot pies charged through and rallied to meet the cakes.


“B-SQUADS!!” the birthday cake commander called as his cakes readied themselves. “FIRE”

The Candles were lit  and the Birthday cakes drew their bows. In a resounding chorus they called out as they loosed.


The candles sang through the air, their burning wicks streaming with flame over their cake forces and headlong into the charging pot pies.

Most of the candles hit their marks and the pot pies that were hit fell behind the charge.

“ARE YOU TWO!!!” the cakes cried as they launched another volley.

Several pot pies were struck with so many candles that they bursted into flames and screamed out their last  moments on fire. Others were simply stopped dead and fell face first into the grass. Yet still they came.

“ARE YOU THREE!!!” the birthday cakes called, launching once more.

The Pot pies who were not impaled or set ablaze by the third volley were soon broken and began fleeing up the hill.

The slowly advancing cakes cheered.



The pie general furrowed his brow as the pot pies headed back for their lines.

“Resume the pecan barrage.”

The Lemon Morang Knight turned to him “Sir?”

“Did I stutter?” the pie said, unflinching.

“But the pot pies are still down there.”

The Pie general looked to the knight. “They are not pies…they are cowards.”


Soon the pecans began to fire once more, tearing through pot pies and cakes alike. Their screams heard between the gunfire.


The cakes were nearly at the lines of pecan guns. The force of the guns ripped through several of the fruitcakes.

“CHARGE!! the cake general called “TONIGHT WE DINE ON THE STOVE!!”

The fruitcakes broke their protective stations and ran for the guns with infantry behind them.


“CHARGE!!” was the rally cry of both sides as the infantry of Pies met the Cakes. Knives sliced through layers and pie filling flew as the forces met. Plates and Platters were battered into each other. Candles Pecans and Apple filling rained down indiscriminately overhead.

The Pie general watched from the back as the cake general cut swathes through the line.


The forces cut through each other and battled without a marker of which side was superior. A pie hefted an axe overhead and bashed through an ice cream cake. in it’s last moments the ice cream cake thrusted it’s knife up into the pie spilling it’s cherry insides across the grass.

“Sir, the cakes are matched to our forces. Should we send the cavalry.” The morang knight asked with a calm steadying of his danish steed.

The general smiled. “no..not yet”


As the battle raged on a thunderous trumpet resounded from the west.

The muffins had arrived.