England, 1813: John Willoughby, a dashing young hunter playboy, who was denied true affection by his own selfish disposition and left wandering in utter despair, stumbles across an abandoned police call box and is whisked away into the swirling expanses of time. As a result he is given the title and duties of Time Lord; however the strangeness and stresses of time travel rendered him mad and incapable of doing a very good job. During a brief moment of relative clarity he decides to return to his own time and exact revenge on all those he once shared good company with. However his reckless time-traveling has made his home era very, VERY different, a world that can be summarized in one single word:

Senseless!

In this altered version of Victorian England, in which the British have adopted much of the ways of the American West, sisters Elinor and Marianne are teenage orphans working as hostesses at a somewhat seedy though somewhat respectable parlor run by none other than the notoriously chatty mistress Ms. Jennings. But when their caretaker is murdered along with the Willoughby of that period the two sisters set out on a most daring if not ludicrous journey across the countryside northwards, making friends and foes alike in their quest to find the one responsible for making their lives oh so bothersome.

What follows is an excerpt from the final confrontation between our sensible heroes and the deranged Time Lord Willoughby:

"I was curious as to when you would finally show up, dearest Dashwood Sisters," spoke the man that looked like Willoughby but with a demented look atop the strange steaming contraption.

"Willoughby," said Elinor in a low commanding voice. "Of course it had to be you; our Willoughby would never have been so diabolical as to kill so many people of good intention."

"But how can you speak so highly of him when I am Willoughby, oh intrepid Elinor?" inquired the present Willoughby.

"Yes, Elinor; how can you be certain that our Willoughby wasn't as dastardly as this one?" asked Marianne humbly.

"You're speaking of the one who had every intention of making an engagement with you, but instead wound up being murdered in cold blood. With a knife!"

"Oh Willoughby!!" Marianne cried from the bottom of her soul.

"Now stop breaking my concentration you foolish girl. You've done enough of that this outing," Elinor followed up in order to silence her wailing sister.

"Well my my me; you two are more outspoken in your squabbling than my recollection recalls. You certainly must have had a rougher upbringing to exhibit that kind of truant behavior," the looming Willoughby doted.

"How can you recall how we used to squabble? We've never met your type before, and neither has our caretaker or anyone else for that matter," challenged Elinor boldly.

"Ahhh but there is a most definitive albeit seemingly absurd explanation to my knowledge regarding yourselves," quipped Willoughby. "For you see my dreary dearies I am of another time period. Nay, rather, I'm of a different reality. A separate plane of existence. Where I came from the skies were clear; the meadows were lush and verdant; and our most advanced source of home lighting was that of candlelight. But now all I see are neon signs and fume-spewing automobiles and a ban on private hunting. A ban of all things, and for one of the few worldly pleasures I have left after turning out this way!"

"I have to say dear sister that this man is clearly mad. Who ever heard of only using candles for lighting?" Marianne wondered.

"Oh yes Marianne my sweet formerly fair Marianne I am most repulsively mad, but for more than just one reason. Sure, the main cause of this madness of mine was my mind's incapability to comprehend something as trite and meticulous as time travel, but I asked many a time how did it come to that? The answer to that is you Marianne. You, and your sister, and your whole bleeding family is what drove me to where I am now. There was something between us, something I didn't want to capitalize on, but it was also something you were at fault for failing to keep alive. You all clearly knew my nature; my selfishness; my worldly desires; yet none of you did anything to separate me from them. If you hadn't left me to my own devices I wouldn't have ended up miserable and unhappy and I certainly wouldn't have stepped into an unending hell of changes well beyond my understanding! Because of you, Dashwood Sisters, I am above all moral men, but at the same time I'm trapped within a Hell I never deserved!! You are all to blame! Damn your pampered hearts!!!!"

"Not to seem uncaring to your plight Mr. Alternate Willoughby," spoke Elinor calmly. "But we have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

"Quite definitely," agreed Marianne. "We have never known of your existence in any of our early years, much less the supposed something between your person and myself."

"I'm afraid that you are quite daft in this situation my not-so-good sir," surmised Elinor rather matter-of-factly.

"Daft, you say?" responded Willoughby right before giving a sarcastic laugh and relaxing somewhat. "To think… how you used to love me, Marianne… Quite so fondly."

"What was that?" asked Marianne.

"But enough out of the both of you! I will destroy this land and everyone in it, much in the same manner as I did in that withered clap-trap Jennings and that goody two-shoes Other Me," said Willoughby showing satisfaction from remembering a fond moment and regaining his original evil-bent composure.

"I cannot allow you to do that you monster!" cried Edward, at long last joining the conversation at hand just as it nears its conclusion.

"Who in the blooming devil blazers are you?" asked Willoughby rather bluntly. "Well it doesn't make any difference what you are; you're all going to meet the same fate by my hand."

"You have it wrong, Willoughby. It shall be you who meets his fate: By My Hand!" Grabbing the right sleeve of his shirt Edward tears it off, revealing a shiny metallic appendage that catches everyone's eye, and a loud audible gasp from Marianne. Heroic music starts to play.

"Gracious Edward; what happened to your arm?" spouted Elinor in a startled yet restrained voice.

"Ooh what do we have here now?" It was clear that Willoughby couldn't resist taking a gander at the artificial arm.

"I had hoped to keep this a secret from the both of you I'm ashamed to admit, but extreme circumstances have forced me to reveal the extent of my dark past," Edward said in a bold yet sincere tone.

"Several months ago me and my brother Robert had endeavored in the forbidden study and practice of Alchemy, and during a particularly well-intended session the experiment backfired, costing me an arm and a leg and my brother his entire body. The only way I could save my dear brother was to transfer his soul into the body of a crotchety foul-mouthed Yorkshire gardener, who retains half ownership to this day. The guilt and humiliation over such a travesty bore heavily upon my soul, but I knew I had to restore our bodies back to their former wholesomeness, which is why I had grafted mechanical limbs to my stumps and set out in secret the way to atone for our past mistake." The ladies were clearly star-struck by such a dashing tale.

"…Wait," spoke up Marianne with a doubting tone. "Isn't it 200 years too early for all of that to be labeled as a blatant rip-off of something?"

"Do be quiet, Marianne," snapped her sister courteously.

"But now, when I think about what it was all for," resumed Edward. "I still believe me and my brother's losses were worth the trouble. That ring would have been the most beautiful thing science would have ever made."

"A ring?" asked Marianne bluntly.

"Yes. All those months ago I had little money, and thus didn't have the funds to buy the most befitting ring, so I was forced to make my own: One worthy enough to be worn by someone I truly cherished."

"Edward, you don't mean…" Elinor couldn't finish the sentence.

"I do, Elinor. If that experiment had succeeded, I would have used the ring in asking for your hand in marriage."

"Oh Edward!" At that moment Elinor broke into a most extravagant fit of hysterics that left everyone dumbfounded. After two minutes Elinor had composed herself back to civility.

"That has to be the most wonderful thing you've ever done for me, my darling Edward!" She still hadn't calmed her voice, though.

"It would have been for sure. But I only got this," he stated holding up his shimmering arm. "And I intend to use it to protect the ones I love and care for. Willoughby! What you've done up to this point is inexcusable and I won't let it continue! Your reign of murder and destruction ends here and now!"

However rather than quiver with fear Willoughby shook with a deep chuckle that grew into a steady, hardy, and maniacal laughter.

"What is so funny you fiend?" asked Edward impatiently.

"Oh ho ho ho! That was a rather entertaining story you were yarning there, but you honestly believe it's going to end with you being the hero? HA HA HA HA HA AHHH!! Do tell me, EDDDDward: Why do you think I had arranged our meeting at so early an hour?" Suddenly Edward groaned as a thin mist began covering the bottom of the room, followed by him falling to his knew grabbing his fake arm which had begun squeaking.

"Edward!" cried Elinor worriedly.

"Blast; the early morning dew is causing the gears to rust. I can't move, much less smite this demon!"

"Bwahahahahaha!!" the evil Willoughby laughed with victory as truly dastardly music started playing in celebration. "You just gotta love this damp and balmy English weather. Hmhmhmhm, yes. You see, I happen to have foresight. Just one of several benefits granted by my current occupation, meant for good of course but also for thwarting any upstart surprises, like yours just now! Dahaha! Now is the Spring of your Discontents my pretties. Prepare to be eradicated at long last!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it, Fiend." Coming from the rear walked in Colonel Brandon shirtless and totally ripped hefting a huge mini-gun.

"Stand aside friends; make way. Terribly sorry for being so late," the colonel said in a mannerly disposition.

"Colonel Brandon!" Elinor exclaimed somewhat exasperated. "What in Heaven's name is that?"

"Oh, just a little something on loan from the Germans, which I intend to use with much impunity. Understand, ladies, I have my own personal score to settle with this 'gentleman' over there."

"Oh, Oh! The withering Walrus of War wants in on our little get-together now, is that it!?" boasted Willoughby from what appears to be the first stages of a frenzy. "Well Whoop-Dee-Flippy-Dee as the Americans would put it. And look he's even brought a menacing new toy, which, *Gasp!*, doesn't wear out under slightly humid conditions!"

"These gears were all I could afford," Edward said attempting to defend himself in a pitiable manner.

"Well alright; I'm DOWN with that," Willoughby continued; as he began tearing open his own shirt. "Fools! I am a bloody Traverser of Time and Space; my body is primed like a god's! I can outrun any and all manner of projectile sucka so go ahead, do your worst you brittle dust bin of a man. I can take any of what you got!" The challenged ushered Willoughby unleashed a salvo of various arm and facial gestures.

"He's absolutely loony; there's no way Colonel Brando can ever hope to stop him," whimpered Marianne in fearful reverence.

"Marianne… shut up," said Elinor.

"That is enough from the likes of you!" Then, at the side of the room, there walked in a well-dressed and seemingly important individual of a man, with a very stern look on a face best suited for lofty ideals. Marianne gave another loud gasp upon recognizing him.

"Acclaimed Pioneer of Nature & Romanticism William Wordsworth!?" Marianne announced/questioned. The sound of an applauding studio audience filled the room briefly.

"My days of wandering as a lonely cloud are now over," the prominent literary figure proclaimed. "I will not stand idle as this madman threatens to sully the serenity of English landscape and endanger the pursuit of romantic opportunities. He is the plague of modern devastation, and I shall be the home-brewed, all-natural cure that will end it before it even dares ascend towards the English sky." At that moment he made a commanding pointing gesture.

"Come My Army of Daisies! Quell this abomination toward Romanticism and human tranquility once and for all!" Just then dramatic music started and a swarm of buff men in tutus and frilly sundresses poured into the room making cooing noises and waving their arms around in a dainty fashion, skipping toward Willoughby atop his machine.

"I must say: this is the most original and interesting turn of events I've ever been faced with," contemplated a vile-looking Willoughby. "However, you're not the only one to have brought friends along for a good quelling. Isn't that right, fellows?" Suddenly the entire Spanish Inquisition streamed out of the time machine behind Willoughby, pouring into the sea of Daisy-Men spouting "Confess Confess!," beating them over the heads with crosses and setting up torture chairs and Iron Maidens. The Wordsworth Daisy Coup had been effortlessly crushed, and the heroes could only look one with vast disbelief and defeat.

"Yes! I Am Invincible!" shouted Willoughby in an Eastern accent with glee, raising both his fists up in the air and making a big toothy grin. After lowering his limbs Willoughby began a comforting though inconsiderate laugh. Then, at that moment, out of the time machine appeared,

"Jesus!!" cried Marianne pointing. Before he could turn around Willoughby had raised his hands to halt the thin piano wire that the Holy Savior planned on strangling him with, putting the two in a deadlocked struggle that was set to an action theme.

"Hey, that's from my pianoforte!" noted Marianne over the Shepherd's weapon of choice.

"Jesus Christ! I knew I should've dealt with you when I had the chance," said Willoughby straining against his assailant.

"What is the meaning of this, Oh Lord?" asked Edward.

"My Children, I died once for the sake of humanity, but I wouldn't mind sacrificing myself again to rid the world of this ass. Colonel Brandon, while I'm able to keep him in place, use your weapon to finish him. Make him pay for what he did to you."

"What, and get torn to meat ribbons yourself?" Willoughby jested breathlessly. "How absurd. That desert sun must've really got to ya!"

"Perhaps you were deaf of hearing when I last spoke, My Son," said Jesus to his truant captive. "Hurry My Child; before he breaks free!"

"Yes Sir Jesus; I will get on with it," replied Colonel Brandon earnestly.

"Oh, and one more thing," Jesus spoke. "Inform Sir Middleton that I received his invitation, but that I must regrettably decline. Try to get him to understand."

"It will take some doing but I'll see to it that your wish is carried out, My Lord," swore Colonel Brandon, right before lifting his mini-gun into firing position.

"Wh…What do you hope to accomplish?" Willoughby said snidely though he was suffocating slightly. "I'm a freakin' Time Lord!"

"This is for Eliza, you bug-bear." Colonel Brandon opened fire on the two.

What Happens Next?

YOU Decide!!

Thanks for Reading!

NEVER TO BE CONTINUED

To Be Properly Concluded…