BUTTERCUP 5

CAST

Westley: Marcus Cole

Buttercup: Susan Ivanova

Inigo Montoya: Michael Garibaldi

Fezzik: Kosh

Vizzini: Mr Morden

Prince Humperdink: Londo Mollari

Count Rugen: Bester

King: John Sheridan

Queen: Delenn

Miracle Max: G'kar

Vallerie: Na'Toth

Clergyman: Lennier

Captain Enforcer: Zack Allen

Albino: Vir Cotto

Grandfather: Jeffrey Sinclair

Mother: Talia Winters

Boy: David Sheridan

Old Crone: Zathras

EVIL DIRECTORS

Constellation

Emperor Sythar The Black

Duke Montana

The beginning:

Garibaldi was probably the first one to notice the change.

It was the small things, the lack of space outside the windows, the trees, the grass, the... horses.

The fact that he was suddenly divested of his super-class Duck Dodgers of the 21st and a Half century pyjamas and clothed in a pair of leggings, open-necked shirt, and very big boots. Was that a sword at his hip?

The first thing he thought was that a bunch of rogue telepaths had taken over his mind again and were playing a sick joke.

"uh. What do you want?" The voice sounded familiar, and yet unsure, as though trying to stay on familiar ground.

Garibaldi turned quickly, and found himself face to face with the clean-shaven, confused and still smiling Mr Morden. "What are you doing here?"
"You shouldn't ever answer a question with a question, Mr Garibaldi." Mr Morden's voice lacked its usual confidence. "I would like to know the same thing actually. It is a strange personal preference of mine to keep my dreams uninterrupted."

"Look," Garibaldi drew the very handy sword stuck into his sheath. "I'm the chief of security, asking questions is my job, and I'm the one with the sword. This is my dream until I say otherwise. Now, what. Are. You. Doing. Here."

"I have always been here," the easily-recognisable sound of a Vorlon voice split the air.

Garibaldi sighed.

It was going to be one of those dreams.

He massaged his forehead. "Right. This has got to be the work of Bester."

There was a sudden clap of thunder, and three maniacal laughs followed in perfect harmony. The thunder was followed by a trumpet fanfare, and then, in the dead silence, a tiny little squeak.

"Everyone get here all right?" A female voice. "Good."

Garibaldi looked up. So did Morden. There was the swiveling noise of Kosh's encounter suit tilting his head back.

Above them floated three sinister figures sitting on large foldable chairs and holding megaphones.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?"

Garibaldi winced as he and Morden chorused to the heavy breathing of Kosh.

The female figure leaned close to one of the men. "Must be questors."

The imperial figure nodded. "Yes. We must suck them through a porthole sometime."

"I thought we already did."

"Excuse me..." the third man waved. "You down there. The insurance salesman..."

Garibaldi shook his head. "Can't be me he's talking about, must be you."

"People always mistake me for an insurance salesman. It's the grin, the well-combed hair, and the suit." Morden shrugged, turning to look up at the three figures in the directors' chairs. He smiled broadly. "What do you want?"

"You were right," the lady said. "He is selling something."

"All the time," Morden said.

"Enough of this!" A clash of thunder rent the air as the imperial figure raised his hands. "I am Emperor Sythar the Black. I am one of your directors for this movie."

"Movie?" Garibaldi raised an eyebrow.

The lady spoke, ignoring him. "And I am Constellation."

"And I am Duke Montana," the third man waved again. He was beginning to remind Garibaldi of Vir. "Nice to meet you."

"What movie?" Garibaldi wasn't going to give up on this question until it was answered. He was good at doggedly following interrogations.

"Buttercup 5!" the three directors chorused to a long chord of orchestral music.

There was a silence, and then Emperor Sythar chuckled.

"Questors."

Garibaldi sighed. "Please don't tell me they let those darned monks rename the station."

"Don't you mean... Babylon 5?" Morden asked curiously.

"No." Constellation narrowed her eyes. "We meant Buttercup 5, the remake of The Princess Bride by... by... me, him, and him."

Garibaldi couldn't quite stop a snort. "So now we've got a bride, a princess, and a load of buttercups? Why don't people tell me these things? This could be a serious security breach!"

"You," Duke Montana said calmly. "Are Inigo Montoya, the swordmaster. Mr Morden is Vizzini, the cunning Sicilian. And Kosh is the friendly Turkish giant, Fezzik."

There was a long silence as Garibaldi examined his fingernails, Morden looked at the sky and tried to figure out what his associates would think of his strange new clothes, and Kosh breathed heavily.

There was a whirring click. "I am who?"

"Yes!" from somewhere far away came the voice of Captain Sheridan. "You got him to say something other than I have always been here!"

Constellation looked off in the direction the voice had come from. "Hush! You're meant to be the doddery old king. You only have a few lines. Now go and drink some orange juice!" She turned back to them and looked at Kosh kindly. "You are Fezzik, the friendly Turkish Giant."

"I am not," Kosh seemed on firmer ground now. "I have always been..."

"YOU WILL BE SILENT!" Emperor Sythar rumbled, accompanied by the roar of a thousand spaceships and the cheering of millions of devoted fanatical followers.

Birds tweeted in the distance.

Kosh was silent.

"You are a Turkish wrestler," continued Constellation for the third time. "You like rhymes. You will stop saying Vorlonic things."

"Wrestler?" Garibaldi stared at Kosh's encounter suit. "How? He doesn't have arms!"

This is going to be a hard sell, Constellation thought to herself.

"Look," Duke Montana said slowly. "You don't have any choice here. You don't get back to the station until we have finished our film."

"What do you say?" Constellation asked, her hands outstretched.

Morden shrugged. "I don't care. At least my head won't get chopped off."

"No, but you do get poisoned by Marcus Cole," someone whispered very quietly.

"Kosh?" Constellation continued.

"I have always..." he stopped, swiveled his head to check the three directors, and then nodded.

"Garibaldi?"

Garibaldi stopped looking at his fingernails and slowly slid the sword back into its sheath. "Nope."

"No?" Montana cocked his head on one side.

"No." Garibaldi shook his head. "I've got some unfinished cases in Down Below. I'm not going to waste my time on a stupid movie."

The directors looked at each other. Constellation nodded.

Montana spoke sweetly, in the voice normally associated with a governess offering a child a sweet. "You get to chop at things with a sword."

Garibaldi shook his head.

"You get to run around yelling 'My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!'"

"Doesn't strike any deep resonating chords," Garibaldi said dryly.

"You get..." Montana lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. "To spend some quality scenes alone with Bester."

Garibaldi's head came up very slowly. A new light had entered his eyes. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Quality time," Constellation said. "With a sword."

"The little creep dies," Sythar boomed.

A smile spread across Garibaldi's face. "Now that," he said. "Is a good cause."

"Not your line!" Constellation snapped. "That belongs to G'kar!"
Three hefty scripts fell out of the sky and narrowly missed their heads.

Then... the directors were gone.