It took a while, the smog didn't make the search any easier, but eventually Dorothy stumbled across a building with a sign over the large double doors.  The sign said Squashy Inn in glowing neon letters. 

“Subtle,” she said.  “Come on.”

They climbed the two wooden steps up to the doors, and pushed at them.  The doors swung open, old-west style.

Into what appeared to be an old-west cowboy bar, with a few notable exceptions.

The most notable was that the majority of the population inside, despite the sign, were obviously robotic.  As they entered, the inhabitants of the place, as one, stopped what they were doing and turned to glare at them.  It was almost like they had walked into a movie.  Even the piano, which was playing itself she noticed, stopped playing as the doors swung back and forth, slowly closing behind them.

It certainly had the atmosphere down pat.  The rickety tables scattered around the room were mostly empty.  One, to the right, was full, with four humanoid bots playing what appeared to be some sort of card game. 

Another table, to the left, was occupied by two ancient looking droids, nursing glasses of dark black liquid. 

A long bar ran along the back wall, with a tall robot sporting half a dozen tentacle arms standing behind it.  It was wearing an apron.
Finally, and possibly most notably, sitting at table all by himself, was an actual human male. 

After the short, traditional, pause, the music started up again, and the denizens of the bar turned back around and carried on with whatever they were doing.

All except the other squashy, who stood up, eyes wide.

“You're human!” he exclaimed.

“Last I checked,” Dorothy replied.

She looked the man up and down.  It was obvious he'd seen better days.  His clothes were one step up from rags, and his skin was an unhealthy pale yellow colour, no doubt from the atmosphere in the current locale.  What hair he had was white and straggly.  She put his age around fifty.

“I... I never thought I'd see another real human again!”  The newcomer was nearly weeping as he staggered forward, arms wide. 
Toto barked, but it was Crow that stepped in front of Dorothy, and the man reversed course quickly, scrambling back. 

“Leave the Bitch alone,” the scarecrow snarled.

Dorothy rolled her eyes.

“I... I wasn't going to hurt her,” the man stammered.  “I... it's just...”

“It's okay Crow,” Dorothy intervened.  “I can handle him.”

“Yes mistress.”  The scarecrow gave one last snarl at the man, and stepped back.

“Hey, I'm Dorothy.  New here, obviously.  Who are you?”

“B... Blake,” he stammered, still with one eye on Crow.  “Blake Cordroy.  Please, come, sit.  Allow me to purchase a beverage for you, they do a half decent ale here, which is about the only thing I'd recommend drinking if you don't wish to poison yourself.”  He didn't wait for her response, but waved at the tentacled robot behind the bar.  “An ale for my new friend here Bob,” he said.

“Bob?”  Dorothy slid into a chair opposite him.  Toto lay down next to her, whilst Crow took up position behind.

“Yeah, he's the owner.  Bit of a squashy sympathiser.”  Blake tapped his nose and winked, which meant nothing at all to Dorothy.

“Okay then.  Tell me Blake, what's the deal with this whole place?”

“The bar?”

“No, Oz.  This whole land.  I'm going to take a wild stab and say we're not on Earth any more.  You are from Earth, aren't you?”

“Oh, yes.  I was born in South Africa, but grew up in England.  I moved to the States for work when I was older.  I assume that's where you are from, judging by your accent.”

“I've travelled widely,” Dorothy said, non-committally.  “Although not as widely as...” she gestured around her.

“Ah yes.  No, from everything I've seen, we're nowhere near Earth.  I really don't know where we are in relation to it even, although my theory is some alternate dimension.  I've seen things here that simply shouldn't be possible with the laws of our universe.”

“I hear you,” Dorothy said.  “Oh, thank you.”  This was in response to a glass of pale liquid being placed in front of her by means of one of Bob's tentacles, which had snaked out across the room.

“Were you in a plane crash too?” Blake asked, as Dorothy took a caution sip of her drink.

“Plane crash?”

“I mean, how did you get here?  I was on a short haul flight to Texas when we hit a storm.  The plane crash landed in some rough fields.  I managed to get out, along with maybe a dozen others.”

“And where are these others now?”  Dorothy took another drink of her ale.  It wasn't half bad, she concluded.

Blake shrugged.  “At least four of them are dead for sure.  Not sure where the rest are.  Maybe dead too.  We slowly parted company over the years.”

“Years?  You've been here years?”

“Yes, I'm guessing about ten, but I've lost track of time entirely.  This place doesn't have seasons, at least this area doesn't.”
“You've never travelled?”

“Not really.  I've always had a bit of a bad leg.  The crash wasn't far from the city, and the robots came out to see what was going on. We convinced them the plane was ours, what was left of it, and managed to trade the parts for, well, shelter and a few basic provisions.  Then we decided that we should split up into groups, four of them in the end, and go and explore in different directions, report back regularly and get a lay of the land, with one of us staying behind to act as a kind of central hub.  That's me.  Well, it was.  I've not seen any of them for at least two years now, as far as I can figure anyway.”

“So you have information about the surrounding area then?” Dorothy leaned forward.  This could be a stroke of luck!

He shrugged.  “Some.  Although, like I said, it's a bit old now, could be out of date.”

Dorothy took another swig of her drink, the taste of which was growing on her, and waved a hand.  “Terrain doesn't tend to move much, in my experience.  How far is the Emerald city?”

“You want to go The City?” Blake asked.

“I need to find a way home, and I figure that's the place I'm going to find answers, if I can find answers anywhere.”

“It's a dangerous place,” Blake shook his head.  “Those companions that died?  They went there.  And when I say they died, they were killed.  By all accounts, the leader there, and he's called The Wizard, is not too friendly.”

“Mmm.”  Dorothy finished her drink off as she assimilated this information, and then looked at her empty glass.  “What do they use for money here?” she asked.

“Oh, here, let me get you another.  They have these coins they mint themselves.  I've had a good run lately, so I can stand to buy you another few.”  He waved at Bob again, and held two fingers up.

“And what do you do to earn your keep?” Dorothy asked.

“It's going to sound stupid,” he said, draining his own drink, “but I started of by telling stories.  Still do from time to time.”

“Stories?”

“Yes, the robots seem to enjoy them, they like to pick my brains for ideas, to make new machines, and improve the ones they have.  Hearing my stories gives them a different perspective.  Other than that, I go out and scavenge, or hunt game, which I sell.  Bob here buys some of the game to make food for his visitors.  I also tend a patch of land a bit out of the city, where I grow a few things, some of which is what makes the booze.”

“Very industrious.”  Dorothy scratched her chin.  “So, you...”

Her line of questioning was interrupted by the doors opening again.  Dorothy looked around, to see a large, blocky, black coloured robot stride in.  Behind him, two smaller and thinner robots, all silver, stood. 

“Shit,” Blake said. 

“Shit?”  Dorothy raised an eyebrow.

“It's Bank,” he replied.

 

Warning: this topic has not been posted in for at least 120 days.
Unless you're sure you want to reply, please consider starting a new topic.

Yeah, Um.

...
Here,

'Give me a moment to breathe,' she said,
Because I don't want to be here.'
'I'm fighting against all the things I dread,
And I'm constantly plagued by fear.'

'One day I'll beat the darkness, not before-
For it's to hard for me to break free.
This endless battle, this ever constant war,
Is clouding my eyes and I can't see.'

'So clearly now, it's fading so fast-
The clarity of where I belong.
What made sense is stuck in the past-
And my emotions are always wrong.'

She asked; 'I wish I knew where to go,
Can you help me find my way?
I need some help now- I feel so low,
And I no longer feel I can stay.'

'So if I hold my hand out here,
Can you take it and not break free?
I'm struggling, can you see?-I'm near,
I need to finally be free.'

A snap of breaking twig brought her to her senses with a sudden start.  She grabbed her gun and looked around, blinking in the dark and trying to ascertain what had made the noise.

"Was that you Crow?" she asked, in a low voice. Toto was still lying next to her, so it wasn't him.

"No."  Crow was invisible in the night, but was obviously not too far away.

"Well, find out what it was then," she snapped back. Wriggling about on the suddenly hard ground, she tried to regain some of her lost comfort.  The fire had died down, and was now just embers, but she couldn't be bothered to add more fuel to it.  Instead, she hummed herself a lullaby, tapping her feet together in time.

She was just starting to doze off again when she began to realise that her feet were suddenly rather warm.  She glanced down and found a dull glow coming off her new boots.

"Er..." she said, as the heat increased.

Toto whined and took several steps back, looking accusingly at her.
"Mistress?" came Crow's enquiring voice from out of the dark.

"It's nothing," she said, wondering if she was going to spontaneously combust. The heat was now travelling up her legs and she considered the option of panicking.

"Mistress?  Did I do anything to anger you?" Crow's voice had a definitely worried quality to it now, a feeling Dorothy was beginning to share, though for other reasons.

The heat continued to spread up through her body, and intensified as it ran down her arms.  In desperation, she flung her hands out in front of her.  A brilliant sphere of energy erupted from her fingers and flew forward, crashing into her dying fire and erupting in a ball of flame.

Toto barked.

"Oh," Dorothy exclaimed, understanding the dog's reaction.  The heat had gone, as had the warm feeling.  The fire, on the other hand, was now burning away merrily again.

"Mistress!" The scarecrow's voice was wobbly with terror now.  "You truly are the Wicked Bitch!"

Trying to hide her shaking, Dorothy attempted to pull herself together.

"Yes, well," she said.  "The fire was a bit low."  She sniffed.  "Now, I thought you were on patrol?"

"At once Mistress!" the scarecrow replied, followed by the sounds of feet rapidly retreating.

Still quivering, Dorothy took stock.  It seemed that the talk of "magic" boots had more than a whiff of accuracy after all.
The implications were, as the strange stars in the night sky indicated, that she was no longer in the world she knew.

This was going to take some getting her head around.


The morning sun awoke Dorothy, the light shining down upon her recumbent form, up besides the warm body of Toto.

Stretching and yawning, she lay there, on her lumpy makeshift bed, blinking in the warm illumination and wondering if she'd dreamt the last day and a half.

"Hello Mistress!" The cheerful voice of her killer scarecrow companion put paid to that theory.  "I've taken the liberty of catching breakfast for you!"

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking up at the manic expression of Crow, who was waving two small rabbit corpses about.  Blood splattered over his rags as he gave them a little shake, and grinned at her in a manner that would have made small children, and possibly some adults too, wet themselves in terror.

"Congratulations," Dorothy said.  "That is the most gruesome awakening I've ever had."  She staggered to her feet, allowing Toto to get up and pad off into the undergrowth.  "Still," she added, "good job.  I don't suppose you know how to gut and skin them do you?"

The scarecrow looked at her blankly.

"Never mind, put them down there and I'll see what I can do."  She made a face.  "Once I've visited the little girl's room of course."  Dorothy staggered off into the orchard to find a place to make toilet.

Ablutions done, she returned to the camp.  The scarecrow was standing in its usual motionless manner in the centre of the clearing. Toto was sitting nearby, looking longingly at the rabbits.

"Is there any water about here?" she asked Crow.

The scarecrow slowly uncurled a finger and pointed off to the side.  "There's a stream a little way off that way Mistress," it replied.

"Good."  Dorothy returned to Chubby's backpack and rooted through it once more, searching for a container she could use for water.  In the daylight she found several items she'd missed the night before, including two canteens, one small and metal, the other larger and made of some kind of canvas material.  The canvas one was half full of, rather smelly, water, whilst the small metal one contained something much stronger.

"Woo," she said, eyes watering.  "That I'll take charge of."  She tucked it into her coat, and then, taking the canvas container and bean pot from the previous night, started to head off in the direction the scarecrow had indicated.  A thought crossed her mind and she stopped again. "Go and find some more firewood please," she asked the creature, waving at the orchard.

"At once Mistress," it replied, and bounded off into the woodland.

Sighing, Dorothy carried on, Toto bounding about around her, enjoying the countryside.  The area near the campsite was uneven, covered with springy green grass.  Several rabbits popped their heads up and watched her curiously as she walked on.  Relatives of her potential breakfast no doubt.  Toto took great delight in chasing after them, though he failed to catch any.

After about five minutes, just as Dorothy was beginning to wonder if she'd missed what she was looking for somehow, she heard a burbling of water. Sure enough, almost invisible until she nearly walked into it, a narrow stream tinkled through the grass.

The water looked pure and fresh, and it was certainly cold, as she found out when she took a handful of it.  Toto bounded over and, before she could stop him, started lapping away at it.

"Oh well, it's probably fine," she muttered to herself.  She gave her face a quick wash and then took a cautious, very small sip.  It seemed to be quite acceptable, so she emptied the canteen of the old water, and refilled it.  Then she washed out the pot and filled that too.

By the time she'd returned to the camp, Crow had accumulated a small mountain of firewood and was, once again, standing immobile in the centre of the clearing.

Deciding not to try the fireball approach, Dorothy coaxed the campfire back to life using her lighter, and soon had a merry blaze going, over which she put the pot of water.  That set up, she dug around her backpack and pulled out a tin of precious coffee she'd liberated from the house.  Possibly the only coffee in... well, wherever she was.

"Shouldn't we be off Mistress?" the scarecrow asked, looking at the rising sun.

"I'm not going anywhere until I've had a coffee," Dorothy retorted.
Crow nodded and wandered off a few steps, before reverting to his usual motionless state.

As the water slowly came to the boil, Dorothy sorted through Chubby's backpack, making a mental inventory.  She transferred an item or two to her rucksack, and set aside a metal cup and a short and rather wicked looking knife that was in a side pocket.

That done, she poured a satisfactory coffee out, using the by-now boiling water, and turned her attention to the rabbits.
This isn't going to be pretty, she muttered.  Still, it had to be done.

Taking the knife, she set about attempting to gut and skin the creatures.  The first one she made such a mess of, she donated it to Toto, hoping that he would be okay eating the raw meat.  He certainly seemed to enjoy it, though it was rather a gruesome event.

The second attempt at butchering went better, and she ended up with a pile of rabbit meat chunks, which she put on the fire, using a flat stone as a kind of grill.

“Now we're living off the land," she announced, speaking to the world in general.

It took about another half hour before the meat was done to her satisfaction.  She ate some of it and wrapped some of the rest in some brown paper and put it in her rucksack, along with the cup, coffee and pot.

Finally, she packed away the rest of the items and scuffed dirt over the fire, putting it out.

"Ready then," she said.  "Grab the pack Crow, and let's get moving."

Obediently, the scarecrow hefted Chubby's still heavy bag, and walked alongside her as the small group made its way back on to the road.  They turned towards the low hills, which still seemed to be coated with a low, grey mist.

"Hope that's not heavy rain," she muttered. Possibly the only thing that Chubby hadn't packed was an umbrella.

The beast instantly folded, collapsing on the yellow bricks and clutching at his injured thigh.

"Owowowow!" it cried.  "What did you do that for?  Aahhh, it hurts."  It rolled back and forth, gasping for air.

Dorothy walked slowly and cautiously over to the wailing figure, one hand still on Toto's collar, and stood just out of reach, her gun aimed steadily at its head.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't end you right now," she said.

"What did I do?" it gasped, looking up at her with large, bloodshot, eyes.  Now she was closer, she could see its skin was the texture of hessian sacking, and straw and sticks protruded from under the ragged hat and rough clothes it was garbed in.  The hands and feet were uncovered though, and resembled animated branches, terminating in sharp, wicked looking claws.

"What did you do to..." it stopped dead as it spotted the red boots she was wearing.

The change was instantaneous.  It stopped holding its leg and rolled over, lying fully prostrate before her, outstretched in supplication.

"Mistress!" it wailed, seemingly in more distress now that merely having been shot in the leg.  "I'm so sorry!  I didn't realise who you were!  Please don't smite me!  I'll behave."  It crawled forward and, before Dorothy could stop it, started licking one of her boots with an uncomfortably large, pointed, tongue.

"Stop that!" she demanded, stepping back.  "Look what you did to my little friend there."  She gestured at the prone figure of Chubby, now lying in an ever expanding pool of blood, a dramatic red punctuation mark on the shining yellow of the road.

"I'm sorry I killed your servant mistress.  I'll replace him myself.  Please have mercy!"

"Mmm," Dorothy said, tapping her foot.  An action that seemed to have the same effect on the creature as someone banging on a large bomb with a spanner.  It began to shake violently, and she stepped back another pace.  "Who are you anyway?  What are you?

"I'm one of your guardian scarecrows mistress," it replied. Slowly clambering to its feet.  Dorothy noticed the leg wound no longer seemed to bother it.

"Guarding what?"

It looked puzzled.  "Your crops of course mistress.  What else would a scarecrow guard?  Why don't you know this?  Aren't you the Wicked Bitch?"

"I'm new to the position," she replied, deciding to play along for the time being.  "Why are you out of the field?  Why are you not at your post?"  She added a bit of anger to her voice, going on the offensive.

For a second she wondered if it was going to work, and she tensed, ready for violence to ensure.  The scarecrow looked at her a moment longer, but then slumped.  "I'm sorry mistress," it said, sinking back down, to sit cross-legged on the ground.  "I've been... looking for something."  It fiddled with the bullet hole, moulding straw, sticks and what appeared to be mud to repair the damage to the wound.

"Looking for what?" Dorothy sat back down on her tree trunk and folder her arms, though she kept the gun in her hand.  Toto lay back down next to her, still watching the scarecrow.

"It's a bit embarrassing," it replied.

"I don't mind."

The scarecrow sighed.  "Well mistress, when I was made, and fantastic job by the way, you, or your predecessor, must have been having a great day that day, I really can't complain about the body."  It waved a large hand about.  "I mean, I've led the rankings for most kills on crop thieves, two seasons running now."

"Congratulations," she said, dryly.  "However...?"

It looked crestfallen again. "Well, it's just that, well, the other scarecrows always make fun of me.  They say l"m stupid, that I didn't have a brain installed."

“A brain?"

"Yes mistress.  Although, again, the rest of the body... great job."  It looked at her with a worried expression, like a puppy who"d just done naughty on the carpet.

Dorothy took a deep breath.  Nothing in her experience, and she had travelled widely and done many things, had prepared her for this sort of encounter.  Still, she seemed to have the upper hand for the moment, and the thing wasn't actively trying to kill her; always a bonus.  Plus she wondered if bullets would actually stop it, if it decided to attack her.  She suspected the leg wound wasn't as bad as it had made out.  Maybe it had been luring her closer, which showed a certain amount of cunning intelligence, despite the complaints about lack of brain.  All in all, she decided, she needed to react in the right way.  Showing weakness, she suspected, would quickly result in violence.  She considered her options.  Leaving it behind might be safer.  On the other hand, a guide who knew the lay of the land, and could act as a bodyguard, would be useful.  She'd just have to balance the fine line.

"Okay then," she said, making a decision.  "I'm still angry about you killing my servant, but I can see you meant well, guarding the crops and all that.  So I'm going to let you off with a warning."  The scarecrows expression changed to one of cautious relief.

"However, I will be taking you off crop-guarding duties for now.  You shall accompany me, replacing my little chum, whom you broke.  Understand?"

"Oh yes mistress, thank you mistress!"  It bowed deeply, still in a sitting position.

"And if you do a good job, we'll see about the whole brain thing.  No promises though!"

"You are all powerful and magnanimous oh, wise Bitch!"  It bowed again.

"Er, yes.  I think we'll stick with mistress for now," Dorothy said.  "Now, move Chubby off the road and pick up that pack.  It's time to move on."


Without further ado, Scarecrow dragged Chubby's body off the road and rolled it into the shrubbery running alongside.  The effort left a large bloody, dark gash that would certainly have caused Dorothy some moments of trepidation had she come across it herself.

Seemingly unconcerned with this bloody task, the creature skipped lightly back to Chubby's enormous backpack and, in an unconsciously impressive demonstration of strength, swung it over one shoulder as if it weighed no more than Dorothy's own small pack.

"Let's go then," said Dorothy, as he looked over at her, waiting for further orders.  She sheathed her weapon, consciously deciding to show that she wasn't afraid of the thing.

"Where are we going your eminence?" it asked, as they set out at a brisk pace.

"Not that you need to know," she replied, warming on to her role as queen bitch, "but I've decided to visit the city."

The reaction to this news was not all that she could have hoped for.  Scarecrow stopped in his tracks and looked at her with wide eyes.
"Mistress!" it said. "What about the Wizard?"

"What about him?" she replied, not stopping.  It scurried to catch up, strolling on the opposite side to her from Toto with an almost jolly gait.

"1 thought that he had decreed that the city was off-limits to you.  He said he'd drop you in seawater, whatever that is, if you came back."

"Well," replied Dorothy, mulling over this new and unwelcome information, 'that was probably for my predecessor.  I'm sure he'll be happy to see me."

"Yes your glory-ness," the scarecrow replied, but the look on it's face suggested he thought otherwise.

"What's your name anyway?"  Dorothy asked him. "1 can't go on calling you Scarecrow all the time."

"I was never given a name mistress," it replied.

"Fine.  I shall call you Crow.  It's easier to say."

"Thank you, oh all powerful one."  Crow mulled its new name over.  "Crow," it said.  "Crow, Crow, Crow.  Yes, I think I like it."

"Happy to hear it," Dorothy said.  She glanced up at the sun, which had passed its zenith, and was beginning its slide back down towards the horizon.  "ls there a town anywhere ahead where we can stay tonight?" she asked.

"Mechar is somewhere ahead," Crow replied. "I'm not sure how far away though, I've never been there. It's not within my patrol zone."

Dorothy nodded.  "Well, we'll see then."  The path wound over some low hills ahead, heading into some lurking grey clouds, making the whole scene look more like a Dracula movie than the lollipop land she'd been travelling through so far.  Oh well, she thought.  Chubby, may he rest in peace in his ditch, did say that it wouldn't be plain sailing.  At least Crow is a more formidable bodyguard.  She glanced at the creature that was loping with long, tireless, strides next to her.  Assuming he doesn't gut me in my sleep of course.

Another small part then.  Still catching up here...

....

Despite her fears, Dorothy awoke from a restful and undisturbed slumber.  Toto was already awake, standing by the door looking back at her.

"Oh, very well then.  Just a minute boy."  She slid out of bed, dressed, clipped on her equipment, and pulled on the so-called magic boots.  Only when she felt sufficiently ready did she push the drawers out of the way, peer through the door to ensure she wasn't about to be ambushed, and allow the dog to trot out.  She followed him, wondering what the day held.

A loud rasping noise turned out to be Chubby, fast asleep on the sofa.  The dwarf woke abruptly, and with much spluttering when Dorothy scavenged some cereal and milk from the kitchen.

"Good sleep Chubs?" she enquired, spooning some rice-crispiness into her mouth.

Chubby rubbed his eyes and smacked his lips before answering.  "Truly mistress," he said, "Never before have I encountered such a luxurious sleeping mat.  This must me the abode of a king, or someone of the highest social order."

"1 doubt it.  Here."  Dorothy pushed a bowl of cereal towards him, "The most important meal of the day, allegedly."

The midget wandered over and peered cautiously at the contents. "Why does it make that sound?" he asked.  "Oh,I must make toilet."  So saying, he rushed outside.

Dorothy shrugged, and finished her breakfast before putting the bowl in the sink, out of habit.

Chubby eventually returned and picked up his bowl. Watched by Dorothy, he spooned down the food, cautiously at first, and then more enthusiastically, milk dribbling down his beard in the process.

"So, how far away is this fabled Emerald city?" she asked eventually.

Swallowing hurriedly, Chubby pointed out of the window with his spoon.  "It lies at the end of the road," he informed her.  "As do all roads."

"All roads eh?" she mused. "Sounds familiar somehow.  How far is it?"
"A goodly distance is all I know," Chubby replied. "Through some dark and dire lands mistress.  The journey will be fraught with danger."  He chewed reflectively on another mouthful of cereal. "I shall return to the village to gather supplies and weapons."

"Weapons?" Dorothy asked. "ls there no law and order in here then?"

"Yes, of course there is," he replied.  "The Bitch sets and enforces the laws."  He looked at her, and her new shoes, pointedly for a moment. "Travel is... was discouraged, and so remains highly dangerous.  We'll be lucky to survive the day."  With that happy comment, he jammed one last spoonful of breakfast into his mouth, stood up, and waddled out of the door, leaving Dorothy wondering exactly what she'd fallen into.

By the time Chubby returned, Dorothy had done some supply gathering of her own, packing as much food as she could find into a backpack that had been in a cupboard.  She'd also salvaged a number of other items, including a large torch.

"Are you ready mistress?" the midget leader asked.

Eyeing him up and down, she nodded.  "Yes, though not as much as you apparently."

The little man now carried his own backpack, although perhaps that word didn't do it justice, as the enormous pile of gear on his pack probably weighed more than he did. He was leaning on a walking stick, and was almost bent double under the mass of his equipment.

"I see you've decided to take the kitchen sink too," Dorothy said.  "Are you sure you'll be able to carry all that?"

"No problem mistress," Chubby beamed back.

Shrugging - it wasn't her problem - Dorothy put a red booted foot forward.

"Very well then, let's follow the yellow brick road," she said.