Send In The Warriors
DISCLAIMERS: We all know that Xena and Gabrielle et al are the property of Universal Studios and Renaissance Pictures. I only invite them out to play and then send them home to do their real work: filming Xena: Warrior Princess. No copyright infringement is intended. If you are homophobic do not read this story. If the mere suggestion of romantic love between two women offends you, how the heck did you find this story? If this is illegal where you are, stop (living there). And if you are a REPUBLICAN accept my apologies for poking fun at your guys. In fact, if you are still passionate about the election, you may not want to read this just yet (unless you like Gore). Otherwise, enjoy. You can reach me at MaryEic@aol.com and I would love to hear from you.
The trouble had been going on for some time now. Longer than anyone could have foretold. Even the Fates were perplexed. Old people muttered as they scurried through the streets looking -- well, disenfranchised. The young and able lifted their fists and yelled at each other as the two opposing armies engaged in verbal battle. Stripped banners waved; placards floated through the crowded air; curses wafted on the humid breeze. Cities that had withstood hurricanes now felt the death grip of civil unrest surge over them. The eyes of the world were upon this sandy paradise. It was December in Florida.
Xena wondered why it had taken so long for her to be contacted, given the gravity of the situation and the residence here of some high profile alternative fiction authors. “Guess we ought to call this a Tropical Storm.” She told her rather green-hued, green-eyed companion. Her stomach twitching, Gabrielle let the bardly reference float by managing only to whisper “Merpups.” She just wanted the sea voyage to end…soon! The long ship slipped into dock and the two warriors stepped onto solid ground.
“What does ‘Bush Country’ mean?” Gabrielle queried as they began walking toward the crowd.
Xena waggled her eyebrows. “Our kind of women here, Bri. I can feel it. Look…’I love Bush’”
The warrior princess straightened her breastplate. “Oh, yeah. Me too. Gotta take one of those placards home for the yard. Okay?”
Gabrielle shook her head. “Is this Lesbos?”
“Is this near Lesbos?”
Xena pondered the questions. “Uh, no. I think Lesbos is nearer to Vermont.”
A group of protesters loped past the two. The warrior and her bard fell in behind to follow them. In no time they were at the steps of a large stone building where people were chanting and singing and pleading ‘no more gore’.
“It’s worse than I thought.” Xena sighed. “The bloodshed has started.”
Gabrielle surveyed the building and the black robed figures that were visible from time to time within. “Reminds me of Dahok’s temple.”
“Yeah.” Xena drew her sword. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, no you don’t, Xena. I am going with you.”
“Okay.” Xena was making her way up the neatly trimmed hedge leading to the building’s entrance. “But try to stay out of the hot seat this time. You and flame, I don’t know. First Dahok gets you hot shall we say, then that Valkerie chick and her eternal flame trick.” Gabrielle’s fist landed on the warrior’s midsection. “Ooof. No offense meant. By the way did I mention that you look wonderful, my dear, especially since you were cooking at about 450 degrees for a year or so. Nice tan.”
The warrior pursed her lips and threw a kiss. Gabrielle landed a second right jab to the midsection.
They were even.
With great concentration, the pair moved cat like through the looming marble columns and stepped soundlessly into the foyer. The air filled with noise. Bells, sirens, shrieks. The clatter of guards rushing toward them.
“Put down your weapons.” A disembodied voice roared.
“Aiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiy!” Xena catapulted herself beyond the hysteria, landed with a spin and decked two guards with her patented double fisted back punch. The disembodied voice fell silent. Xena took out 20 or 30 more guards and Gabrielle flatted half a dozen others before the first gunshot rang out. A well aimed (what else) chakram intercepted the volley of bullets and sent them ricocheting back toward their points of origin. The hall emptied quickly then. Xena caught her returning chakram and latched it to her side.
Gabrielle was drawn to the goings-on visible on a monitor just above the entryway. A man with short gray hair and a long black robe was speaking to a room full of rapt listeners. “Look, Xena. Salmonius is here.”
“What does ‘N. Sanders Sauls’ mean?” the warrior asked glancing at the monitor.
“I don’t know. But it’s definitely some sort of scam. Just look at Salmonius. Insincere, pudgy, sanctimonious. He is up to no good again.”
“Let’s kill him.” Xena said darkly.
Gabrielle spun about in shock.
The pair returned to the monitor. ‘…the plaintiff has failed to prove that counting the votes would change the outcome of the election…’
“Holy Hera.” Gabrielle winced. “I thought that counting votes was what determined the outcome of an election. Are these people too primitive for democracy? And that man, maybe you should kill him.”
“Look at all these middle aged men.” Xena sneered.
“Yeah, hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys, huh.”
Xena shrugged. “They all look like lawyers to me. C’mon let’s find out what’s going on.”
The warrior and her bard stalked the corridors as inconspicuously as possible, which for beautiful, buffed young women amid flabby, pale old men was not easy. Fortunately the leather outfits merely earned them leers and whistles. The few lawyers who tried to cop a feel were left unable to feel for several hours. “I get fan mail from these creeps.” Xena muttered. “Me, too.” Asserted Gabrielle. Xena stopped and looked at her blonde partner. Blue eyes narrowed with a new realization. “I will kill ‘em all, I swear it.”
“Xena! There is no time for jealousy just now.” Gabrielle retrieved a parchment entitled The New York Times. It explained that the fair Al Gore was locked in mortal battle with the dastardly (and extremely irritating) Gee Dubya who was trying to cheat the people and had declared himself King George the II. The last line of defense for Al the Nobleheart was a group of ninja judges called the Supremes. Make that the Florida Supremes. There was a rival group named the US Supremes but they were led by a man called Reinquest – quite possibly in Xena’s view the illegitimate father of at least two of the Rhine maidens. Gabrielle thought it wise not to mention Scalia and his homophobic proclivities.
After all they had seen and read and experienced, their course of action was clear to the dark warrior. Save prince Al Gore by helping the Florida Supremes. But first, she and Gabrielle would find a suitable campsite and with any luck a fat little rabbit. Then a walk along the sandy beach and bit of zug-zug would be the cap of a perfect day. “Come on, Gabrielle. Let’s get wet.”
It was her most popular accomplishment since arriving. The throng of grateful folk pressed in upon her --patting and fawning and cheering happily. Gabrielle stood nearby, arms folded across her luscious breasts and one leg turned rather butchly out. She was smiling in a way that took the warrior princess’ breath away and filled her with the urge to pull the blonde bard close and kiss her passionately.
The news commentator lay unconscious at the warrior’s feet. She had struck him in mid sentence. A clean kick to the head that had spun him two full revolutions and laid him out like a rag doll on the lawn. His mouth was still open, but the endless drivel had ended. The cameraman was laughing at his colleague’s plight.
All the commentator had done was attempted to question the warrior princess on camera. “Tell me, little lady, what is it that you and your pretty friend here like about Bush?” He had queried Xena. “Is it…”
He never got to finish that thought. The boot mark would be a souvenir for several weeks, just in case he was tempted to lose his manners again.
“The egotistical s.o.b. deserved it, if you ask me.” The amused CNN employee pointed out. “If we had interviewed one more republican operative, I’d have punched him myself.” Then looking up at the statuesque warrior he added. “You don’t look like a republican operative.”
“Be nice.” Xena replied walking off.
Gabrielle was perusing a new scroll. This one was called the Wall Street something or other and had a photograph of Gee Dubya. “Does he remind you of anyone?” she asked already knowing the answer.
“My thoughts exactly.” The bard agreed. “Maybe it’s the haircut.”
“Maybe it’s just that arrogant little sneer.”
Maybe it was the rows of crucified democrats lining the driveway to the governor’s mansion in Austin,
a favorite Dubya fantasy. At any rate, the warrior was now quite impressed with this reincarnation thing and its karma subtext. This was going to be fun.
The justices seemed surprised by the womanly duo that had dropped in through the open window of their chamber. Several of them recognized the pair and the rest merely gawked for a few moments. “Can we help you?” one of the justices asked.
“I think it more likely that we can help you.” Xena informed them.
Gabrielle strolled over and elaborated.. “You have the power to kill a self made god. Xena and I know something about that kind of power. Use it wisely, but use it. Save the integrity of the system. Preserve democracy and the republic.” She was on a role and gathering steam. “Punish the wicked and reward the valiant Yield to your higher selves, seek the greater good, be one against an army, sacrifice and sacrifice two, pay your debt and debt two, go beyond the adventure in the sin trade…”
“Just count the votes.” Xena clarified succinctly.
“Yeah!” punctuated Gabrielle. “Count the votes.”
The justices promised that they would. In return Xena and Gab provided autographs and a few discreet group photos for the seven jurists. One got to play with Xena’s sword and another got a rather longish group hug reminiscent of Joxer. Still it was more than worth it to know that these simple acts would save democracy. One of the women jurists who had recognized the warrior princess was fascinated by Gabrielle’s revelation that Alti had been reincarnated in Florida. Using a newspaper clipping, Gabrielle easily pointed out that it was still Alti even if she called herself Katherine Harris. Neither of the women was certain about Najara, but suspicions arose concerning Sandra Day O’Connor and her conservative voices. Time ran out before others could be identified and yet the jurists were delighted with their fact-finding afternoon and wished the warriors well as they climbed upon the window ledge to exit.
Even in his sleep, he looked like a villain. ‘Imagine sneering in your sleep.’ Xena scoffed to herself as she crept around his bed. Then laying her sword across his neck just below his Adam’s apple, Xena woke Dubya with a pinch.
“Hey there, frat boy. Got any new DUIs?”
“Uh, no Dad. I’ve been good…huh?” He awoke from his dream with a start and froze at the awareness of a cold blade at his throat. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I want you to listen very carefully. Got that?” Xena punctuated the last with a twitch of the blade.
“You are going to tell the truth about the election…”
“Aw, c’mon, Jeb. Is that you? We’ve already had this conversation. I get to win, dad said, and that’s that. You just have to deal with your conscience some other way.”
Xena pushed her knee onto Dubya’s chest to shut off the flow of oxygen and thus sound. “Shuddup and listen! You are going to admit that Florida votes need to be hand counted and you will accept defeat graciously. You are going to tell the world that you are conceding the election for the greater good of the country.”
Julius/Dubya would have objected, but he couldn’t breath. She gave him a nanosecond of air and continued. “You are going to have one last chance to do the right thing. Aren’t you a little tired of getting carved up by your friends, chiefly Brutus, anyway? He is here, you know. He is still a real Dick! Even took that name.”
Dubya coughed as Xena lifted herself off of his chest. ‘Julius, Brutus…what was this woman babbling about?’ he wondered. He cleared his throat and searched for a voice. “Are you going to kill me?”
“If I want to, I will.”
“Wha…what will make you NOT want to?”
“Just what I said. Concede. Do the right thing.”
His good old boy values just wouldn’t grasp what was being asked. The right thing was to win, however he could. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway. Probably some anti-NRA nut….using a sword instead of a gun. Nice boobs, though. ‘What does a fella do when faced with an attractive woman?’ he asked himself. ‘Why, lie of course and get her into bed.’ “All righty, then, miss. Whatever you say. You got it. Tomorrow I will concede the election. Now you just saunter over here and show me a little appreciation, sweetie pie. Okay?”
Xena fairly slithered across the bed toward the palpitating politician. Then leaning down with the sultriest of looks in her eyes she slammed her fist into his nose and sent him to dreamland. “That’s about as much appreciation as you could stand.” She observed as she left, her thoughts turning then to Gabrielle. She wondered if the bard had had as much fun with Brutus/Dick. They met up in the hills behind Austin and compared notes.
“Xena, why do they call this place Texas? I thought Dubya promised to cut Texas. But he lives there.” She crinkled her nose in that cute little way that Xena loved.
“Villains are weird, Bri. No point in trying to figure them out. Besides Dubya would never cut taxes, just ask the Romans. He lied to them too.”
Gabrielle nodded wistfully. “And another thing. These people are obsessed with dimples.”
“I know.” Xena said positioning herself to hitchhike a ride on the interstate. “And don’t even ask about this guy called Chad. Reminds me of Joxer. Dimpled, pimpled and puckered.”
“I even heard he was pregnant.”
The two women shared a momentary thought. “Yep, that,” they said in unison, “definitely sounds like Joxer.”
A truck stopped in response to Xena’s agile thumbing (or naked thighs, or Gab’s cleavage, or naked thighs) and the weary pair climbed aboard to persuade the driver to take them to Washington, D.C. They gratefully accepted the bed above the cab and managed to keep the sounds of their loving making below the roar of the engine, although Xena was fairly certain in the morning that she had pulled a muscle stifling a love cry. The perils of saving democracy are not for the faint of heart.
Al Gore met the two warriors at Starbuck’s and bought them each a latte grande. Gabrielle loved it. Xena said she preferred a nice mug of port. Al smiled and looked apologetic. They compromised with a cup of hot tea and a pumpkin muffin.
“I hear that I have a lot to thank you two for.” Al broached the news of the past several days. “Yesterday the Florida Supreme Court agreed to count the uncounted Miami-Dade ballots and today George Dubya conceded defeat. Wow. I owe you two a lot. Would you like another pumpkin muffin?”
Xena smiled. “Ah, no thanks. Maybe Gabrielle would.”
“Sure.” The bard accepted seconds. “These are terrific. Never had one like this before.”
Al beamed. “Yes, they are good. I invented muffins, you know.”