Mythlands: THE HEIST

HARE, HARE

HARE, HARE

The first thing The Hare did, on returning to the Lucky Cactus, was to do what he did best.

He bolted.

Away from Vali, past Captain Hook and into the casino complex, with the shouts of anger and questions ringing in his ear.

'Hare! Do not seek to run from me by Od's beard!'

'Mr O'Hare, my listeners want answers. Firstly why do you assume an Irish surn...'

The Hare ran down corridors, bolting past startled guests and staff, up stairs, around corners, knocking over room service carts and upsetting cleaning trolleys. He ran, with tears streaking down his face ... determined only to put off the coming moment of reckoning.

He ran ... where?

Pulling up sharply, the miserable cony was aware that he had become lost in the maze of corridors. He was far beyond the familiar red carpeted hallways and somewhere he had never been. The Lucky Cactus was a huge sprawling casino, hotel skyscraper resort, with many levels, he was aware of that. He hadn't explored a quarter of it.

Now he was somewhere else, in a hallway just as plush as any other in the Cactus, but this one was carpeted with a blend of rich royal and navy blues. Up ahead was an open doorway, leading to an impressive atrium and above that doorway was a golden plaque which read 'The Lucky Cactus Myth Vegas Museum.'

'Greetings Sir.'

The Hare spun around. A young human in coat-tails and an elegant cravat stood in front of him.

'I am Mr Grey,' announced his host. 'I came here many years ago, when my name and legend were cast into the realm of myth, through the portal of human imagination.'

The Hare blinked. 'I ... think I've heard of you. Christian is it?'

Grey frowned. 'Not THAT confounded hack work. I am Dorian Grey and I am your guide to ... the picture room.'

'Um, no offence, but I didn't see the movie when my ex girlfriend Jessica wanted me to and I'm not about to ...'

'Look deep within the portrait!' commanded Grey as he steered his lop eared guest into an alcoved space.

The Hare stared at the massive frame in front of him.

'It's me!'

'Aye, tis you to be sure, begorra,' spoke the image, making The Hare jump back.

'Why are you ...'

'I'm showing ye the troot o ye affectations,' responded the picture. 'Ye call yeself O Hare an ye boast about ye Oirish poet blood, but tis a lie.' The portrait took a swig from a bottle of champagne and puffed on a cigarette. It's features had shifted, from slim and athletic, to vain, fatuous, lazy eyed and pot bellied.

The Hare's first thought was to pat his belly and breathe a sigh of relief that it was still flat.

Dorian Grey leaned over his shoulder. 'Look closely at your true self. Look into his dull eyes and open your own.'

'Why did ye pretend to have Celtic blood Hare?' demanded the portrait. 'Do ye know how offensive it is to steal another culture for yer own, pathetic feeble moinded crayture!!!'

'Stop it!' cried The Hare. 'I don't sound like that.'

'Why do ye pretend ye wretched Hare?'

The Hare collapsed to the ground sobbing. 'I don't have any identity. I don't even have a name ... I'm just ... sob ... The Hare. That's the way they wrote me!'

'Plenty of others are in the same boat.' Grey placed a hand on The Hare's shoulder. 'Take The Tortoise ... he wears his name proudly, as do the Owl and The Pussycat and many more. The mortal realm of imagination shaped us all and some were better shaped than others. Own your mistakes or ...'

The Hare looked up and saw Grey pointing at the portrait. The painted Hare was still now, but he had changed ... grown corpulent, slothful, old and ugly. The Hare shuddered and turned away.

'It is not too late Hare,' came a rich and smooth voice from in front of him. The portrait had changed to a gilt framed mirror that reflected a tear streaked Hare. 'You can change and become a new and better hare.'

The Hare slowly stood, shaking his head. 'I ... can't. It's too late for me ... but at least I can face it like a man.'

As he walked away, Grey stood by the Magic Mirror and sighed. 'We have failed and all the Mythlands may suffer as a result.'

A blurry face in the mirror shook its disembodied head. 'Events will play out as they must. Even now the gods of evil plot and the cats gather. We have merely planted the seeds of our possible salvation.'