Chapter 19

The girls trudged through the countryside for what seemed like hours. Walking through two feet of snow with weapons and armour is not easy. This is no trouble when you’re Manowar, but for 15 – 25 year old females it’s a different matter entirely.

“Girls, I know you like drinking, and I do too, but if you pass out, then what?”

“You know our motto. Leave the wounded-”

“Yes I know. But how are we going to carry you?”

The drunks among them sighed and stowed their liquor, and on they walked through the hills and mountains on their way to the battlefield.

* * *

She stirred the bone-china pot of secretions until they made a nice blend. The aroma filled the room full of inspirations.

“Has everyone added their share?”

“Yes dear,” they all said together.

One-by-one she filled a dozen tea cups with the liquid. They all grinned, eager to partake in the weekly ritual.

“It should be a good mix,” said one of them as she waited patiently. “Last week was insufficient. I didn’t grow anymore fur.”

“Don’t worry love. There’s plenty of creative essence for you to indulge on today.”

She walked around the circle of large armchairs and passed one cup to each. Then she sat, and tapped the side of her glass with a teaspoon.

“Here’s to our hedonistic creativity!”

“Cheers!” they all said together, in a terrible high pitched voice. So terrible it was that the writer could not create a suitable metaphor without making a terrible Rob Halford buttsecks joke so he decided not to go there.

They drank deeply, and felt the liquid fulfil their recurring desires. Like many times before, they had violated their creative spirit’s true purpose, and consumed it to please themselves; not bring joy to others.

“Ahem! I’ll start. This story is called ‘Boundless Energy.’ ‘The bunny bounded around the trees and bushes, looking for suitable food. Over the hills and far away he went, searching for the plants he so desired.
‘Emppu!’ His Mother shouted from inside their hovel ‘Come for dinner’
‘Just a minute Mom!’ he shouted, and brutally slaughtered the defenceless creature. Blood flowed over his hands as he snuffed his life out. His mother would surely be pleased.”

She stopped for a moment. Her whiskers twitched and her ears folded back. Something was not right in the Tearoom.

“Darling are you alright?” another one asked, but before long they all could feel it too.

“Attention Tearoomers!” shouted a voice from outside. “We want backstage passes to the next concert in Hyvinkää. You should know that Tuomas promised them to us. Leave them on the doorstep and we will take them without confrontation.”

One of the Tearoomers opened the floral curtain and window. “Never!” she yowled. “We would never give up our passes. You can claw them from my cold dead paws!”

“Well in that case you leave us no choice but to go completely Manowar on your ass.”

They had planned their attack on the way there. They decided that the Slavic woman would be the most graceful, so she tiptoed towards an open window with a fresh apple pie put out for cooling. Resisting the temptation to take it and flee, giggling all the way, she sprinkled a special herb over top of it, so that each slice would contain a truly engaging dose.

* * *

“Why I must say, I find this pie to be very engaging. Tell me what did you put in it?”

“Umm… the usual. Apples and spices. Some herbs too.”

“Really? Did you remember to add love?”

“Love? Heavens no! I save that for myself.”

After one or two bites, every one of them was intoxicated by the magical substance. They knew very well what it was; the organic substance that is every cat’s weakness: catnip.

The door swung open and the fangirls walked in to find the Tearoomers running every which way, pawing and clawing at each other, clawing and hissing at one another and inanimate objects. Their ritual had been abandoned.

“The tickets should be somewhere in the files.” Two of them ran to the basement to search though the cavernous array of filing cabinets, filled with documents on the band’s past, present and future. The other ten stayed behind.

“Well… should we start?”

“Just a minute,” said the Australian. “Something’s missing.”

She waked over to the stereo system and took out her CD wallet. She selected the perfect piece for fighting against such evil: Manowar’s Into the Glory Ride.

They surveyed their situation for a moment. Their adversaries were showing any signs of resistance.

“Do we really need to do this? They’re really just acting crazy and delusional. They can’t even tell reality from fantasy. Shouldn’t we help them in this state?”

“No” they other nine shouted. There is no reasoning with battle lust when Manowar is blasting in the background. So it began. They could not contain themselves, slashing, stabbing, disembowelling, beheading; massacring the defenceless Tearoomers while they were living in their feline dreamland. They were butchered alive, and every single creative bone in their bodies was crushed to pieces. In seconds they were nothing more than masses of furry flesh and puddles of gore, dispensed by heavy iron weapons in the hands of rabid Nightwish fans. Just as they slaughtered the last one as she chewed and drooled on a Victorian cabinet, the other two fangirls came up from the basement with a file decorated with flowers and butterflies. They had found what belonged to them.

“Well I’m glad we won that one. Emma what are you doing?”

She didn’t answer and she did not need to. She had cast her helmet aside, and had her whole face buried inside the entrails of one of the fallen Tearoomers, feeding on its flesh and blood.

“That’s gross. Do you know what they are?”

She looked up from her tasty meal. “Manowar would cannibalize their defeated enemies. Why shouldn’t I?”

She sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter so long as you avoid the poison glands. At least we got the passes. One thing I don’t understand: there are no Nightwish shows announced for 2011. How did they get passes?”

Such thought was beyond their cognitive ability, so they quickly shrugged off the question.

“Everyone bow your head for the Warrior’s Prayer.”

They all did as commanded. She began:

“It was my thirteenth year on a cold winter's day. As I walked through the enchanted forest, I could hear the sound of horses and men at arms…”