= Bananas, Busybodies, and Bob-lions Beyond =

The question that plagued everyone's mind would always and ever be, "What are Da's dispositions?" In some country, far away, in the midst of sweeping a filthy, dirty, foul doormat, a housemaid would say, "What are Da's dispositions to cleaning?" And over here and there, sprinkled children would giggle and go, "Wha's Da's dispozishins to puppies?" In his lair in the mountains a dragon would hum quietly to himself, "Thou art Da, and what be thee's dispositions to a maiden marriage by my hand?" Everyone always wondered about Da. Because they all loved Da. In her current dreamscape, that is: next time she might be the tyrant, ruling with an iron fist and forcing them by fear to call her "Princess." This was coincidentally unfit, being that she would have been more properly queen if she was the only ruler... but it was the principle of the thing to her. In truth, she might not have been dreaming in the least. In all verity, she might have been insane really, and the workings of her mind could probably be likened to a gorilla learning sign language. Everyone knew she knew the concepts they knew. But no matter how it was done or what was done or wherefore it was done, the sign she would make most was going to be "banana," even if you did not want it to be.

So in short, what Da did when she sat on the barstool and attempted to make it spin but found that, being a sturdy chair, and not a swivel chair, it would not do so- when she wanted refund for a drink she hadn't had and bid the bartender he retrieve her some proper gin despite his insistence he hadn't any- could be called, quite frankly, "banana-ing." And when after she proceeded to grumble to herself about the likened interest of Loki and Adalia, and to titter nasty things, it was her gesticulating that horrible sustenance request yet again. Banana this, banana that, banana "I want vittles," and the dread banana wuh-in-'t-'ell-en'ertain-me-I-be-bore'd-pay-attention-to-me. The last operation was carried out through a series of insults, awkward stares in some inappropriate direction, interruptions in conversation, and insistence that several certain someones looked fat in those pants "uh-hum." None of this actually resulted in anyone giving her the bana- attention she deserved, but it had been worth a try, in the least.

As if it were some disorder, or as if she wanted it to give that vibe, at least, she trundled down to market with her handbag in hand as it did go. She swung it fitfully, not surprised at the few muffled "ouch" sounds that murmured forth in her wake as she tore through the paved road with a sadistic pendulum motion. The handbag went like a brick back and forth, steadily but not, with certain per force of her randomly changing the speed as to catch the persons she passed off guard. The civilian that dodged was hit when his reflexes responded to the slightly slower speed of the past attempt and might have been miffed to by her battery of sashes or by the intentional battery of her makeshift cudgel's fury. This little piggy went to market and caused several large bruises and many cases of disfigured pride as well as one case of black eye and three cases of, "You crazy human hag!" Well, one of those flung "insults" (as she had only made the uncomfortable situation more so by saying "good one" and chuckling as she passed) had contained several curse words too, but she would bear not to repeat them in her mind.

It might be theorized her head was rather blank at that moment. It might be a correct assumption. Or she could have been thinking about any manner of ideas. Evil ones, small ones, short ones, tall ones... but mostly tricksy ones. Nuts and wing nuts and right nuts and square nuts; she was the mixed nut bowl. This meant not that she was various, but that she was, "Ew, do you know how many people do not wash their hands in the bathroom and then eat out of that dish?" Or so any of her peers were more than apt to describe her, surely. Perhaps it would not be reserved to say that Da might even dislike herself, oddball as she was and without self esteem... but psychoanalysis did what snails do with salt when it met with her immense possible myriad of problems. Maybe that was, ever and after all, the best way to illicit her etiquette and her demeanor. Da was possible, plausible, and worked in theory. But when put to the test, it was to question whether or not such a hobbling being could really and truly exist and breathe and not forget to do so and keel over suddenly as it pawed ever-upward with its open mouth; Da had sipped the fresh air. She'd certainly had never drank it as heavily as she did alcohol. That is, as she did when she "lovingly" tipped up the cask and drained it with a belch and a frumpy grin.

Even in her stumble and stagger, rough and tumble, dumb and dumber, drinking trip-trap-stride, it was clear each step was a little bit calculated. Only in the slightest, but enough that her following the two young-in's, Adalia and Loki, looked positively out of wariness rather than curiosity (at which the two were lucidly different). So was it mortifying how, when she did not want to be, she simply was not seen. They did not notice her stalking them behind. They couldn't for the life of them discern her, "just around the river bend," as it goes, and mildly gawking at that fetch game of theirs. She was of course, tragically in a state of utter tedium and the lack of even moderately bemusing situations, i.e. harmful towards others and simultaneously and in a scaling manner with equal applauding and guffawing on her part. She could be sadistic, in a way. In any case, who knows what she was pondering as she watched: it has been stated repeatedly how easy her thoughts were to read. Her eyes might have flashed with edge of caution, pause, knowing gaze, empathy, peaceful recognition, "happy for you" eye-beam, protection, or even with pinch-plain envy.

Then there came the Lion and she was entranced. She could not lift a finger, even if she was probably incapable of any real help anyway. So she just stood and muttered words to herself, her little jabs that the beast would never hear. She said, "It be a kitty that 'on't like a-share things. But 'e wants some power-um-diddly-dum. His ambition is worse than his bite. I sees me betrayal with this 'un." Then she added, almost as an afterthought, "And 'e's nobbut some dangerous, um-yeh." Nothing she said entirely fit the creature. In a shimmer he vanished and all that was there to show his mark was the blood left. An' the wounds and the dirt/air moved and the black hair and the... well, he was gone.

She toddled back through the alleyways. Even though she moved as if she were a rock on ant's legs, she knew she would get there first if she wanted. She was lucky that way.

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