We had been in Dickens' London for Christmas...all Russ' characters and a large groupling of his faithful fans. (This number gets pared down as the epis progress and gradually get adjusted to their new set-up. Over time, the plots get more and more involved and complicated than ever. By the time we get to YOOK, there's even real drama, if you can believe that!)) Russ had been having sort of an identity crises one snowy evening... probably as a result of the previous storyline wherein we were in the Galapashire Islands doing The Return of the Captain (see the Elder Epis) Here, Sid had disguised himself as Santa. Sid's motivation is that he wants to be either the ONLY character...or Himself, as Russell is called. Properly to begin our saga in Egypt and beyond, the stage must be set a bit. Russell has just had his Miracle on ThirtyPeepth Street and is heading back to the Waterloo Bridge to find the scruffy angel he talked with earlier:
 

"YES!" he bellowed upwards into the now-starry sky. Thirty Peepth Street had once again lived up to its function. Russell ran back to the Waterloo Bridge, looking for the scruffy angel. "I want to be myself again," he cried. If only he had seen the man in the red suit, lurking in the shadows of Parliament, watching, also wanting to be Himself.

It was a terrible decision. Should he attempt Peepnap again, or should he stuff the Aussie into his toy bag and take over Himselfitude? He smiled wickedly. "Of course!" and then he....

.....let out the softest, most provocative "moo" he could manage. Naturally, Russell turned, eyes scanning the shadows for wandering bovines. His boots scuffling through the still-falling London snow, Russell left the Waterloo Bridge and headed heedlessly into the deep, dark shadows cast by the Parliament buildings. Sid backed down a small path between Parliament and the Thames, clutching his large Santa bag with both strong, young fists, still mooing softly in a perfect imitation of a 2-year old angus heifer. Russell was intrigued. "Wow," he thought, "a genuine 2-year old angus heifer right here in the heart of London!" He longed to locate it, to wrap his partially-flanneled arms about its neck and whisper Aussiely in its adorable black ear. It would be almost like....like....home! He sighed. If only there were some poisonous snakes slithering about and a platypus or two...and some venomous spiders...then it would REALLY be like home. But that, he guessed, would be asking too much of London.

Sid stopped at last behind a boxwood hedge clipped in the form of a gallows. So clever, these English gardeners! It was perfect! Russell walked closer and closer, making soft little sounds deep in his throat...sounds he knew cows found particularly irresistible.

Ten minutes later, "Russell" strode out of the shadows, rounded a corner, and strummed his strong, young fingers along the iron fence around Westminster Hall to the tune of....gasp...Saturday Night Fever! He looked up and smiled as the quick form of a sleigh crossed briefly high over Big Ben and disappeared into the clouds, headed heaven only knew where. From inside the large toy sack came muffled Australian curse words. "Russell" continued on down the sidewalk, frowning now at the way the snowflakes landed on his bare elbows. "What disgusting taste in attire the actor has!" he muttered, fingering some flannel fray. He decided to go back to Trafalgar Square, glad that, now Christmas was over, they could be done with all this silly Dickens crap and get back to more progressively scientific times.

Lucilla noticed his coming and stopped patting the pigeons on their little bobbing heads as she was wont to do in London on snowy nights. Straightening up and brushing the last of the pigeon down off her palms, she studied him. Something was different. Yes, it was the way he was walking! It was...it was...more of a strut, it was....than a regular walk. Her brow creased. Now WHY was Russell walking like THAT?

"Russell" with his marvelous eyesight, noted her brow frown and changed his gait, pretending to trip over a frozen salamander stretched across the sidewalk. "Oooops!" he said, then flashed white teeth at the former Fuegan hostess (earlier storyline). "Gotta watch those frozen salamanders!"

"Where have you been, Rusty?" Lucilla queried suspiciously, spitting out the last five raspberry seeds that had remained lodged in her teeth for several months now.

"Russell" stared at the pattern the five tiny red dots made in the slush, then answered a bit too brightly perhaps, "Oh, just down by the river, hugging angus."

There was that brow frown again. Lucilla had not seen any angus hoofprints in the snow all evening. Her eyes narrowed. "Why....." but she was interrupted by Amanda, who rushed up with a black leather jacket.

"Oh, Russell!" Amanda cried, "You poor dear! Here! Put this on!"
                                       

"Russell" smiled. This Amanda broad might prove useful...as well as decorative with that long blonde hair of hers and that cute little smile. Now....if only he could get rid of those annoying quotation marks around the actor's name, everything would be great. Once the giant elbow holes were securely covered with black leather, he looked around. He needed amusement! Perhaps he could dismember that little old lady with the birdseed on the steps of St. Paul's? Nah! Joimus would notice. Indeed, at the thinking of her name, that very Pittsburgher jumped down from the fountain edge and walked up to him.

The wind had blown most of the clouds suddenly away and in the bright moonlight Joimus commented, "Why, Russell, what glittering eyes you have!"

Russell, his quotation marks having scattered with the coming of that wind, replied, "All the better to keep an eye on your keyboard, my dear."

Joimus scanned the face of her favorite actor with deep scrutiny. "Why, Russell, what tight skin your jaw line has." Becoming somewhat irritated, Russell replied stiffly, "All the better to take Jim Braddock's punches, my dear."

Joimus smiled tentatively, remembering how hard Russell had, indeed, been working to get in shape for Cinderella Man. But, my goodness, the man certainly did look GOOD! Diet and exercise and alcoholic abstention had taken a good decade off Himself. "You must tell me your secret, " Joimus whispered.

"My SECRET?" Russell stammered, taking a step back.

"Yes," Joimus continued. "Was it South Beach or Atkins?" Now whyever did Russell laugh like that?

"Worms!" he laughed. "It was the Diet of Worms!" Joimus frowned. Did the man think she was theologically-challenged or something?

"Ha...ha!" she laughed with sarcasm at his weak attempt at historical humor. She had expected better from Himself.

Cyd was sitting on a nearby wall, watching everything and shaking her head. It was SO obvious! Well, at least to HER it was...which was probably why Russell kept his back turned toward her at all times. Cyd chuckled softly. She would say nothing. This would be too much fun.

More and more characters were gathering in the square. Russell seemed ready to make some announcement. "My people," Russell said, spreading his arms wide like some Biblical patriarch, "you are all here because of ME....because I either brought life to dead scripts or because you worhip the ground I place my boots upon."

"Sheesh!" said Ann. "Talk about your arrogance!"

"Yeah," Terry replied, brushing snowflakes off his equipment, "he's not usually THAT bad!"

Maximus was frowning. Himself was sounding way too much like Commodus. "And so....," Russell was continuing, "I think for our next mass adventure we should all rob the Bank of England!!"

Susan Guildford laughed nervously then remarked to Judy, "Do you think he's serious?"

"HEY!" called out Hando, "how about Fort Knox!!"

Alas, such an adventure was not to be....thank heavens.....for just at that very moment a shadow dashed down the street, trailing shredded ribbons of some ancient whitish material....along with several rubies and emeralds. The shrill shriek of a bobby's whistle pierced the London night. "Stop that mummy!"

And....so it was.....that our merry band of characters and, of course, the quotation-markless-Russell found themselves putt-putt-putting in a leaky boat down the Nile, headed for the Valley of the Kings. If only......