And, after all, 24 versions of Russell all in one movie can't be all...that...bad!!!

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(Note to reader: See Epi Index 2 for a list of all the movies used in the following storyline and who's who in the Russellish takeover of the names. But these names fade into disuse around chapter 4 anyway.)

The film was done. The whole thing was in the can...and not just the garbage can, but an actual, real, honest-to-goodness FILM can!! Ron had gladly sacrificed his share of the profits so that Himself and his 23 counterparts could get paid. Five mill apiece for one day's work was not all that bad they agreed as they gathered on Carlton Street in front of Maple Leaf Gardens the next morning.

Sid observed them from the corner of Church Street. HE had not gotten 5 million and he was not pleased....not in the least. He saw it, of course, as entirely their fault that he was unremunerated. After all, he was by far the best actor, the best character amongst them. If only HE had been in the boxing ring....why his glutes fairly twitched at the thought!!

Bunny, watching from behind him was...um...delighted. Sensing her presence, he whirled, muscles rippling down the sides of his fine jaw line. Always, somehow, the English wabbit managed to surprise him with her soundless approaches. Quickly gathering himself, he tipped his chin up and to the side a bit, looking down at her silently. His fondness for her made no sense. He knew of her great love for him. He was, after all, completely gorgeous and irresistible in every way, was he not? Yet...still...the rabbit had the terrible failing of helping his archenemy, she of the pale hair and the gossamer gown.

"Sid...," she said softly, turning just a bit so she could see the rest of the cast. His eyes fell to her cottontail and he grinned, shallow cad that he was. "They are leaving Toronto...I am leaving Toronto....won't you come with us?" she asked.

He considered this a moment. He always went with them, did he not? Well, not always "with" exactly....but near, close by, hopefully unseen. "You mean... openly?" he responded, arching one eyebrow.

"You are a part of Himself, you know," she continued. "You DO belong."

Belong? That was a strange concept! Stranger yet, somehow, was that he should be a part of Himself. He liked to think of himself (lower case 'h') as removed from that...better than that....above that. How could he be a part of Himself when the Aussie was just...so...so...inferior?

Bunny knew what he was thinking. "Come anyway," she urged. "I'm tired of traveling alone...sleeping...alone."

Now she had his attention. A smile twitched here and there about his lips as he studied her. "Would they even let me?" he asked reasonably.

"Ah," she replied, looking up at him through partially lowered lashes, "you now need to be 'let', do you?"

Sudden anger blazed in his seagreen eyes and he stepped clear of the corner and out onto Carlton Street. Maximus saw him first and with a deep growl strode toward the corner, drawing his gladius as he went. Himself, all trimmed down to Braddock's weight and very quick on his feet, dashed in between the two, holding one palm out flatly to halt the General's progress. "Maximus....stop," he said, but the General just growled even more loudly and deeply, brushing past Himself and grabbing Sid by his collar.

Lips curled in disgust, Maximus looked into the Chipman's face, pressing his gladius firmly along Sid's cheekbone. He smiled terribly as a thin trickle of blue tracked down, then curved under the Chipster's earlobe. The rest of the cast formed a circle about them, for all the world quite reminiscent of the Praetorian guard. The morning sun cleared a building top, shining full and bright into Maximus' eyes. He felt suddenly as though he were being pulled into the orb, were being sucked to some far place, some far time, and his ears filled with the sound of thousands of voices shouting "Kill! Kill! Kill!" His outline began to waver and dim.

"NOOoOooOOoo!" shrieked Joimus, flinging herself onto him. "That's NOT gonna be the new storyline!!!!" She gripped his swordarm, pulling his blade down.

"LOOK!" she cried, "LOOK, Maximus! It's BLUE....not red!"

He managed to drag his eyes to his sword, to where the stain from Sid's cheek spread bluely. Loosening his grip on Sid's collar, he took two steps back, sweat dripping down his neck. Joimus placed one palm on either side of his face, forcing him to look down into her eyes. "This is NOT Rome, Maximus! You are in Toronto...do you hear me...TORONTO! Stay with me!" she implored.

He blinked rapidly and his outlines solidified. The universe was nothing but her two blue eyes, filled with a combination of deep love and wild fear. "You...," he said, then stopped to lick his dry lips. "You have a...storyline?" he asked somewhat dazedly.

Her breath burst out of her in relief as she saw him returning to himself. Chin trembling slightly, she said, "Yes, my Love...I do."

"Already?" he asked, still blinking.

Smiling, she shrugged. "Well, we can't stand here on Carlton Street for the next several weeks, now can we?"

His seagreen eyes then focused on Sid again. "And...him?"

Joimus turned to look at the Chipman, perpetrator of vast foulnesses in her epilife. "We need him," she sighed.

"We...do?" he asked, barely audibly.

"Yes," she sighed again, shaking her head at the thought. "He makes things...um...more...um...interesting. I hate to say it, really I do. But he does."

"I should not kill him now?" Maximus said, obviously still not quite recovered.

"No, my dear," Joimus replied, running her palm down one furry cape shoulder. "Later...perhaps...but I see our bus has arrived." Indeed, a large silver bus had pulled up to the corner, its destination sign reading Philadelphia.

"Why there?" asked Berti.

"Well, " Joimus said, "all things considered, I decided I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

"But why?" Berti pressed.

"It's actually not the city itself, Berti," Joimus explained, "but a place not terribly far west."

"A bit...west... of Philly?" Berti pondered, but when, in just a very short epitime, the bus doors opened and she stepped out into the wide green Pennsylvania field....she began to get the idea.

Joimus, propping up the sagging Ando, shrugged again. "It IS sorta on the way back to Australia...sorta." Before them lay a lovely little Village, the scattered houses mostly made either of white clapboard or fieldstone. The entire area was ringed by distant dense woodland, but the gently rolling fields were ripe with corn and beans and neat split-rail fences marked the boundary of the pastureland. To one side was a medium-sized white church. Just beyond that was a yellow farmhouse with a red barn. But the center of The Village was the brick building with 'Smallville High' engraved in stone over its doors.

Berti narrowed her eyes at Joimus. "The Village is named SMALLVILLE?"

Joimus, who seemed to be shrugging a lot today, shrugged again. "I couldn't very well just stand there in Toronto and let grass grow under my feet, now could I?" she said rather lamely, considering the thick green blades that came up to her ankles.

"But CORN?" Berti continued relentlessly. "This storyline is going to be full of CORN?"

Sue nudged the still weak-kneed Ando. "Like THAT'S anything new!" she smirked.

Her Martiness looked about, studying the lay of the land. She had been an inch and a quarter in height for the past several years and was still adjusting to unaccustomed altitude. "I had hoped...you know, " she said, "that for my first epi at normal height there might be some...you know... swash...and perhaps even a little buckling here and there."

Joimus smiled at the Queen and with a little laugh replied, "Fear not, Your Queenitude. They...," and here she waved her hand to encompass the 25 males, "will always find swash to buckle. It is...inevitable."

"There doesn't appear to be anyone here," Wanda commented, noticing the stillness of The Village. "Do you think they are in the woods or something?"

"I doubt that seriously," Joimus said, her tone growing ominous. "But WE are here, and that's all ANY Village needs, right?" she added brightly.

Wanda wasn't so sure. Perhaps it was the jaggedy, glowing green slashes on all the doors or the way there were mysterious rustlings in the cornfield, but SOMETHING just didn't seem...right.

Joimus had become occupied with the row of wagons and horses just behind them. She knew that when the gunshot rang out, all of them must ride hard across the pasture, far and away to the other side, planting a small flag on whichever house in The Village they might hope to claim as their own. Especially, she was interested in who might end up with the neat yellow farmhouse by the red barn, what with the name "Kent" on its mailbox adding some interest to the results. Rightfully, one of the younger characters should have it, but one never hardly ever really knew about such things where epilife was concerned.

The cast either mounted or got on buckboards or wagons. The tension level mounted, too. Much was at steak...er...stake. Who one might end up being stuck as for the next several weeks hung in the balance. Do not send to know for whom the gun signals, dear reader, it signals for thee. Well, LOTS of thee!

Budeph Whitelly and his sidekick, Bertannon, had..."Far and Away"...the advantage, having done this once before in Oklahoma in the days before Sid had replaced it with Greenland. He had died then, alas, his head bashed against a rock...the ONLY rock for several square miles, yet his head had somehow connected with it. Budeph had that way about him. One found oneself thinking he had been shot to death in dark hotels and found oneself pleasantly surprised to discover he had only lost all his teeth and the use of his vocal cords. Back in Oklahoma, Bertannon had knelt beside him there in the tall grasses, his bashed head next to that only rock around for miles, and wailed so plaintively that his ascending soul did a U-turn and came back...just for her. It was genetic. His dear ole Da had done the same thing, coming back to tell Budeph that he was...well...odd. It was, alas, rather true. At least from time to time...like when he thought sleeping rhinos were rocks.

Now Bertannon, her very long, extremely kinkily curly red hair blowing in the Pennsylvania breeze, cast a look at the man in the buckboard beside her. What with all the nice houses around, she hoped he wouldn't just head for some grassy spot with only a rock. With the way the corn tops were waving and falling in the middle of their field, she shivered at the thought she might have no door to lock, no cellar to cringe in during the night hours.

*BANG* and they were off!!! What a sight the almost 50 of them made!

"Head for the yellow house!" Joimus called to the General.

"Why?" he called back.

"Because you're the one with the CAPE!" she shouted, quite reasonably she thought.

He reined quickly by its porch steps, ran up to the screen door and was about to plant his little flag in a flower pot when..alas and alack...the door was pushed open from the inside and Sid stepped out onto the porch, a satisfied grin plastered across his lips. "Uh..uh, Big Boy," Sid said. "You are too...late."

Joimus came up beside Maximus, glaring at the Chipman. "HOW did you get here first?" she demanded, already knowing, though, that he had cheated somehow.

Sid ignored her, stretching out his arms toward the General, "DAD!" he smirked.

"WHAT??" Maximus roared. "What is he talking about?" He looked down at Joimus. She was busily gasping for breath and it took her a moment to reply. This was nearly more than she could bear. This was...was...insanity. Or worse. Much worse! SHE was now Sid's MOTHER!!! Oh, the terrible, terrible twistings of epifate!

Jotha Kentimus looked up at Maxathon, her eyes filling with tears. "He...he's... your son, Maxathon," she said, her voice trembling.

"My...WHAT?" Maxathon exclaimed in horror.

She patted his fur-clad shoulder. "It may not be SO terrible, dear," she added. "He's adopted, you know."

"WHY would I EVER adopt Sid!?" he bellowed.

"It's in the script, dear," she said.

"You know there is never a script," he frowned.

"True," she agreed, "but it does make a nice pat answer."

"Mommie dearest," Sidark said, waving a coat hanger at his mum, "can my friends stay for dinner?"

"Your...your...friends?" Jotha said, her brow crinkling.

"He has...friends?" Maxathon added.

"Hello!" came a bright voice as a young woman with short blonde hair came up the steps.

"Andoe?" Jotha asked, not quite able to believe her eyes.

"Yes...and with THREE syllables now!" Andoe (ANN doe eee) reminded.

"Um...where's your bald guy?" Jotha inquired.

"Oh, he'll be here shortly. He's with his father at the large factory belching pollutants into the country air...over there," and she pointed just past a fieldstone house. "In fact, here they come now. Mr. and Mrs. Kentimus, surely you remember Handex Crowethor and his father Jackonel."

Maxathon frowned. He had never really trusted the Crowethors and was not terribly good at hiding his feelings.

This was intensified by the black cloud from a Crowethor smokestack that settled rapidly over the nearby fieldstone house just as the adorable, young Martvy planted her flag beside its stoop. Jeffius was quite proud of the way his ladylove could ride so freely across the pastures, going exactly where she wanted in spite of having left her eyeballs in a jug on the kitchen counter.

And, briefly, what of some of the others? The large farmhouse on the very edge of the cornfield had been claimed by Father Russham, along with his brother Zackhill and Russham's two small children, Andygan and Susbo.

Susbo immediately set about planting a garden of blue poppies running along the front of the house.

Nashtan, he of the now swinging blonde hair and the Stetson-tipping ways, and Frankianna had claimed the legendary, though unfallen, large log home. Much, much remains to be told...of how, in the middle of the pasture, there was a river running through it, a river wild, and the terrible fate of Terryom and annsail...of the large oak with the tiny spring embraced by its roots that Cort and Sue found so attractive...of voices coming from the cornfield... and how Lt. Jeffarry attempted to redeem himself in Uthne's eyes.

But we have begun our journey and beginnings are, after all, usually the best places to...um...begin. Everyone settled into their places as darkness fell as it does in Pennsylvania in late summer...with a soft squish on the grass followed by cicadas humming. Jeffius bravely crossed the greensward. He needed to see Martvy, to know that she was all right. Nearing her porch, he stopped, aghast. Not again! There, streaked jaggedly across her wooden door was the dreaded glowing green crypt-m-night mark!

From the yellow house nearby he heard a wild scream. It was Sidark. He had come home from dallying in the barn with Bunna Bang and inadvertantly placed his palm completely atop the crypt-m-night on his own door and was now lying on his porch, his veins pulsing greenly. Jotha looked down at her...um...son, then turned to Maxathon and remarked, "Don't you think his veins are more turquoise than just green?"

"Yes," agreed Maxathon, "I think it's the way the green has mixed with his natural blue liquids that definitely gives that effect."

"Come ON!" Sidark screamed. "I'm suffering here! What kind of parents ARE you anyway?"

"Just as you would expect, my son, just as you would expect," Jotha replied, smiling down at him.

"Don't you think 'Sidark' is a little awkward for his name?" Maxathon asked.

"I truly do," Jotha answered, "but 'Sidrk' seemed a bit harder to pronounce."

"But it really should have only one syllable," Maxathon pointed out.

"Yes, but such things are not always possible," Joimus continued.

"Aieeeeee!" cried their son, twisting in pain and weakness.

"Are you hungry, dear?" asked Jotha.

"I could use some more of your apple pie," he commented, rubbing his hand hungrily over his cuirass.

"Sounds good to me," she said, opening the screen door.

Sidark stared after them. "But I got here...first," he moaned.

Russham stood on his porch, his face tipped up into the night air as he listened to the rustlings in his cornfield.

"Father," asked young Andygan coming to join him, "since you built it...have they come?"

"Don't call me 'Father', son," Russham said sternly, thinking of the drawer in his bedroom where he had stuffed away his white collar. Then he continued, "I think I saw Sigourney in The Village this afternoon. That more likely than not means aliens are in the corn."

"Not this time!" a deep voice rumbled as out from the edge of the cornfield stepped not only Shoeless Jim Braddson, but also Flip Flopless Jewelie.

"Good gravy!" Father Russham exclaimed. "She's doing 11 movies and 50 characters!"

"I know, I know," griped Susbo, who was quite distraught from the sight of blue poppies flattened in intricate, interlocking circle patterns.

"You think YOU'VE got problems, kid!" shouted Biebill dashing toward the barn, pulling Jug along by one arm as he ran.

"What do you mean, Sir?" asked the ever-polite girl child. "It's an F-5! RUN!"

"Wait a minute...wait a goldanged MINUTE!" Buggie interrupted. "JUG? Where did JUG come from?"

It was then carefully explained to the Floridian that her character's name actually being "Jo" would be waaaaaay too confusalating and so it must be, then, merged with "Bug"...and one naturally comes up with, does one not, "Jug"?

"Oh, ok," she said a bit grumpily, then continued to flee toward the barn.

"Aieee!" cried Biebill, screeching to a halt before the double doors of said edifice. "Crypt-m-night!!!" Indeed, not only were there slashes of glowing green on each of the doors, but large chunks of it swirled through the air as the twister loomed above them.

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