Today’s silliness is brought to you by a Chuck Wendig challenge. You can read all about it here
Princess Murderpaws rubbed her eyes and opened them. Casting an eye over the wreckage of the Skyjin 5000, her gaze settled on her trusty steed sprawled beside her “Narwolf, are you ok?”
He stood and shook himself like a wet dog. Just like that, he was ready to do some spearing. Over the past few days they had battled demon circus clowns, zombie pizza delivery drivers, and most recently a giant space worm. That last one had almost bested them, swallowing the Skyjin whole and excreting them in this god forsaken, yet serene, place. They were in a woodland, only all of the plants had been pruned in the shape of the letter D.
“It might be nice to have a few quiet days. Still, I do miss my gold leaf plated bed.” She climbed onto the back of Narwolf’s back. “Narwolf, we need to find food and lodging. I don’t know who or what inhabits this planet but they must be neat freaks.”
They rode through the forest of D’s when they came to a road. A car was abandoned there, licence plate no DAV14. Up ahead, there was a large building. As they road closer, they could make out the sign outside. It read: Hotel David.
“I guess it must be run by a guy called David.” Murderpaws said to Narwolf. “Wonder if it’s the same David who abandoned his car?”
They walked through the doors straight into a bar. Up the back, a band was playing an eclectic mix.
“We are Iron David.” The singer declared to shouts from the crowd. “And that” he added, pointing to Narwolf, “Is the most metal thing I have ever seen on Planet Dave. Am I right?”
“Why don’t you come up here?”
Narwolf rushed to the stage. Princess Murderpaws held on for dear life. He was a dog at heart, and would do anything for a pat or a scratch between the ears. Still, perhaps she could grab the mike and have their needs known.
“What’s your name buddy?” Murderpaws only just leaped off Narwahl’s back before he went belly up for some pats. While the singer was crouched down scratching Narwalh’s belly, she commandeered the microphone.
“I am Princess Murderpaws from Otopia, and that is my steed Narwolf. We can pay good money for lodging or a ship home.”
A hush went over the crowd.
“ARREST THE OTTER.” Yelled the bartender.
Narwolf tore through the crowd and out the door. During the confusion, Princess Murderpaws hopped onto a bar stool, ran across the bar and hid amongst some liquor bottles. Looking through the amber liquid, she could see two police officers approaching.
“What say you, Constable Dave?”
“I don’t know, Sargent Dave. It looks like a case of not being called Dave or David to me.”
The two Daves pushed behind the bar and began shifting the bottles. Murderpaws noticed that all of the bottles were called Dave’s something or other. She crouched behind a keg and waited to pounce or run.
“Aha!” Constable Dave stared down at Princess Murderpaws. She leapt at his big, red, moonface.
“Aghh. Get it off. Get it off.”
Sargent Dave scooped up Princess Murderpaws by the scruff of the neck and carried her out to the patrol car.
“Don’t you know who I am?” She said.
“If you’re not David, you’re nobody.”
The cell was not befitting a princess. The bed, toilet and washbasin were distinctly lacking in gold leaves or cleanliness. Outside, someone thumped on the wall. Murderpaws looked up to see some guy. Where the heck was Narwolf?
“I can help you.” He whispered in a heavy Liverpool accent.
He didn’t look like a lawyer. He was dressed like some kind of space bum, with a deerstalker hat and a tattered leather jacket. He looked like he hadn’t seen a barber since the middle ages. His t-shirt looked like it was stained with blood.
Princess Murderpaws thought she’d seen him somewhere before. On TV perhaps. But he didn’t look like a celebrity. She jumped onto the lid of the toilet, then onto the washbasin. Again, not befitting for a princess.
“Smegging hell.” The guy said. “They’re even locking up otters now. How can otters be named anything?”
“Watch it, I’m Princess Murderpaws. And my Narwolf is looking for me.”
The man looked at her in disbelief. “I don’t think I even need to bust you out. Can you sort of flatten yourself down a bit, like a cat?”
The princess sighed. She’d been through so many indignities already, what was one more?
A moment later, she found herself tucked under a jacket which stank of curry.
“Welcome to the secret hideout of the not Daves.” Said Murderpaw’s rescuer, as he set her on a table of TV cops, doctors, lawyers, psychics, and comedians.
“Years ago,” started one, “the world was overrun by Daves and Davids. There were simply too many people called those names for life to be sustainable on earth. So the government started sending them to a new planet.”
“Planet Dave,” said another. “Only they made a terrible mistake.”
“Yes,” said a third. “They sent the famous Daves as well. Actors who were better known as a factional David. Your rescuer over here is really called Craig.”
“That’s right.” He smiled. “Here I’m known as Space Dave.”
“My real name is Paul,” said one, “but I dare not say it here.”
The others nodded their heads sagely.
“So we live here in our secret headquarters, and rescue any not-Daves from the police.”
“I’m working on an escape plan though.” Said Space Dave. “I learned how to fly space ships on my show. All I need is a ship.”
“I know just the thing.” Said Murderpaws. “Follow me, not Daves.”
And they went off in search of Narwolf, the Skyjin 5000, and a way home.