Collective Mutants: Madame Butterfly

By Rossi

"Hey luv, come over here! I wanna tell ya somethin'!"

Fatimah sighed and rolled her eyes. The party of businessmen on Table Twelve had been giving her trouble all night. She would have passed them over to another waitress, but they were tipping well. One of them had stuffed a twenty dollar note into the shoulder strap of her costume the last time she had brought them drinks. She put on her brightest smile and moved over to the table where the man was beckoning her with the exaggerated movements of the very drunk.

'Ugh, he's old enough to be my father,' she thought, repressing a shudder as he grabbed her around the waist.

"Did I tell ya sweetheart yer the most bootifullest thing I ever saw?" slurred the man. Fatimah tried to wriggle out of his embrace, making a mental note to send Geoff with the next round- people didn't hassle a six foot tall body builder. Even if he was dressed as the Easter Bunny.

"Thank you sir, yes you did. Many times. Now if you'll let me go, I'll go and get your dessert before the show starts again, shall I?"

"I've got all the sweets I want right here!" bellowed the man, beaming around at his mates. They were all cast from the same mould: all middle-aged and balding, with crumpled white shirts and tasteless ties at half-mast, faces red from too much alcohol and high blood pressure. Again Fatimah tried to escape, but he was holding onto her tightly, so tightly...

"Let me go," she murmured faintly, cursing the fate that had given her the ability to fly with a balsa wood-light body that was never strong enough...

"Say, now I've caught ya, ya have ta give me ya pot of gold, right?"

"That's leprechauns, you drongo, not fairies," said one of his mates. The table erupted into raucous laughter. Fatimah made another effort to slip out of his grasp, but it had been a long shift and she needed her glucose soon. No amount of money was worth this. As soon as they let her go, she would ask Michelle or maybe Stephanie to take the table...

"Well, how 'bout a kiss? If ya gimme a kiss, I'll let ya go." More laughter, hurting her ears. Panic was welling up.

"Please, sir..." she murmured, pushing ineffectually at his hands.

"Not 'til I get my birthday kiss," he said, pulling her down into his lap. He peered at the name tag she wore. "'Fae' Hey, that's like fairy, innit?"

"Fae, you're needed in the kitchen. Now." Fatimah had never been so relieved to see her boss, Mr Connors. Even in the ridiculous vampire costume. "Geoff," he waved the giant Easter Bunny over, "Another round of drinks for the gentleman. So, is everyone enjoying the show?"

Fatimah slipped away gratefully. Connors might be a cheap skate and a slave driver, but he did look after the female employees. Karen said it was to avoid the sexual harassment law suits. The kitchen was chaotic, as usual, for which she was thankful. Quietly she slipped to the big refrigerator, and retrieved her bottle of glucose syrup, and then headed for the rear door.

"Tough night, Fae?" asked Gerhardt, the German chef, as she passed his work-station.

"There are more octopi out there than in the sea," she laughed tiredly. "If Mr. Connors is looking for me, please tell him I'm on my break." She continued out the door.

"Hey, Fae," said the waitress dressed in a skimpy nurse's uniform (complete with fake bloodstains) who was sitting on the back steps. "It's insane in there tonight, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is, Michelle," sighed Fatimah. She tugged at the short hem of the Tinkerbell-like green leafy dress that was her own work uniform. "Who says theatre restaurants are dying out? There are certainly enough people here tonight."

"Probably your rat-bag mate Karen," Michelle replied, blowing a thin stream of blue smoke into the warm late-summer night. "At least there's plenty of work."

"Mmmm," Fatimah agreed, wrinkling her nose at the smoke. "It is a pity Mr. Connors makes us work for every penny he pays us."

"And the shows suck so badly," Michelle added. They both giggled. "I'm thinking of chucking it in. Finding somewhere that doesn't make me dress like a prostitute and where I don't get groped by fat, greasy businessmen." Michelle took another drag on her cigarette. "I've had it with this."

"At least you can find another job," Fatimah sighed again, "Who'd want to hire a mutant like me? I'm too small to even reach the bar in most places. Mr. Connors was the only person who even agreed to trial me, and that was only because of the saving he'd make on my costume." She took a deep draught of the glucose drink.

Michelle squirmed uncomfortably. There were times when she honestly forgot Fae's wings and antennae were real. She seemed so... normal.

"Me and Simone and Tony were going clubbing after work," she said instead. "Wanna come?"

"I'd love to, but I had better not. I haven't gotten to bed before three the last few nights. Adrian has been taking me out almost every night."

"This the new boyfriend?" asked Michelle. "Why not bring him along?"

"Because I want him to keep going out with me," teased Fatimah. "Besides, he's in Sydney on business. No, I'd better get some sleep tonight."

"That's what daytime's for, isn't it?"

"For you maybe." Fatimah laughed, a light tinkling sound in the dirty alley. "I'm a butterfly, not a moth."

The next morning. Sunday. Seven-thirty. Very early, by student standards. The peace of the still summer morning was broken by the pounding of heavy fists on the door of number 74. Somewhere, a dog started to bark.

<<"Fatimah! Open the door! It is your father! I've come to take you home!!">> More hammering, until it seemed the heavy wooden door would break. Several more dogs joined the first.

"What the fuck is going on?" Fish swore, coming out into the hall. Being closest to the front door meant he'd been woken first. It also meant he had time to throw on a pair of board shorts, which was just as well, considering his usual sleeping attire was as little as possible.

"Sounds like our monthly visit," yawned Karen leaning over the railing from the landing upstairs. She was wearing her oversized "Save Jabiluka" T-shirt, and her hair was a frizzy mess.

"Which one is it this time?" Allison asked, following Karen out of their shared room. She'd thrown a short cotton bathrobe over her pyjamas with the sheep on them. "Dad, brother or uncle?"

From Fatimah's room they heard a window being opened, and Fatimah shrieking shrilly in Turkish:

<<"Go away! Leave me alone! I'm never going back there!">>

"Lessee," Fish said, peering cautiously around the blind on his window. "Ladies, it looks like we've won the jackpot. We have Daddy Achmed, brothers Mustafa and Mohammed, and Uncle-without-a-name number two. Better call the police, things could get ugly."

"I'll do it, it's my turn," Allison offered, heading down to the bottom step and reaching through the banister to grab the phone from the wall.

"Police? What's happening?" James asked, stumbling down the stairs in his Cartman boxers.

"Fatimah's psycho relatives again," Karen explained as he passed her. "I'd better go check on her, see she doesn't do anything stupid." James opened his mouth to ask another question, but the stern expression on Karen's face told him it would be wiser not to. The tone might be light, but the situation was serious. So instead he decided to ask Fish or Allison.

There was more incomprehensible (to those who didn't speak Turkish) shouting from outside the front door:

<<"Niece, you bring only shame on your family! You belong at your father's house!">>

<<"We've come to take you home, Fatimah, come down at once!">>

<<"Come down now, or we'll come up and fetch you!">> There was another thump on the door, as if someone had run into it.

Upstairs on the top verandah, Karen was struggling to calm Fatimah down. She was hysterical, babbling in a mixture of Turkish and English, but not making sense in either. Karen had picked up a bit of Fatimah's second language after a year of these sort of incidents, but was only able to make out "Go away!", "No!" and "Fuck off!", from the jumble. She held the tiny girl in her arms, careful not to crush the delicate wings, and leaned over the edge of the balcony to see what was happening downstairs.

On the 'phone, Allison was arguing loudly with the local police.

"Look, I don't care what you _think_ is happening. We've got four very pissed off Turkish blokes banging on the door. You have to send someone over here before someone gets hurt!" There was a pause. "Yes, we bloody well do have a fucking intervention order, for all the good the fucking thing does. He's breached it once already!" Another pause. "Yes, we reported it!" Pause. "No, I don't know what came of it. Two of your blokes came 'round and saw the damage he caused, and told us they'd have a word. Now are you going to send a car over, or do I have to ask for your senior sergeant again?" Another, longer pause. Then Allison said somewhat more calmly, "Good. Fine. Fifteen minutes you say? Make it ten. Okay. We'll sit tight 'til then. Thanks." She hung up and yelled up the stairs, not caring if their unwelcome visitors heard: "THE COPS ARE ON THEIR WAY!!"

"Hear that, Fatimah? The police are coming," Karen said soothingly to the shaking, crying girl in her arms. "Hold on, we'll look after you, we won't let him hurt you again..."

"Still like living here?" Fish joked as James joined him at the window.

"Does this happen often?" James asked, watching as the four men stepped back to hurl abuse up at the balcony. "Shouldn't we do something?"

"We have," Fish shrugged. "Police are on their way."

"But we've got powers..." Fish snorted.

"And they don't. The minute we do anything, the pigs'll come down on us like a tonne of bricks. Besides, what use is my power anyway? You and Allison are the only ones with anything really practical for fighting."

"It's not worth it." Allison added, joining them. "Fish, this place is a tip."

"So why do they come here?" James asked, stalling the usual bikering between the two.

"Fatimah's Dad turns up regularly to try and take her back home," Fish explained. "Even though it was him that chucked her out in the first place when her powers manifested."

"It's a cultural thing," Allison said, "Turks, especially traditional men, see women as possessions, and to Achmed, Fatimah is still his, to do what he wants with. Even if she's flawed in his eyes."

"That really stinks," James started to say. Then the window exploded inward in a shower of glass. A half-brick bounced off Fish's desk. Allison and Fish only received some minor cuts; James, however, also got a large gash to the forehead which bled profusely.

"Bloody nutcases!" Allison shouted, storming towards the front door.

"Allison, wait!" Fish was torn between stopping Allison from doing something she'd regret later and which could jeopardise the whole household, and stopping the blood oozing from James' head at an alarming rate. In the end, his first aid training won.

"You complete maniacs! You could have fucking well hurt someone!" Allison screamed at the four men as she charged down the front steps.

"Filth like you deserves it!" one Fatimah's brothers, Mustafa, yelled back.

"Oh yeah? Let's see if your brave enough to take me on, you gutless wonder, instead of beating up a girl half your size!" Allison screeched back, her clenched fists bursting into flames. The garden around her wilted from the heat of her anger.

"Oh fuck, she's going to bloody barbecue the lot of them," Fish muttered. He handed the dazed James the handkerchief he was holding to the gash. "Here, take this, keep the pressure on it. I've got to stop her before things get completely out of control." He rushed out after her, shouting, "Allison, don't be a complete idiot!"

"You are coward, to hide behind woman," jeered the oldest man in broken, thickly accented English. "Are you monster too?"

"Get stuffed, Achmed," Fish retorted, grabbing Allison by the shoulders. "Why don't you get a life instead of trying to take Fatimah's?"

<<"Father! What have you done?">> called Fatimah's voice from above their heads. Then Karen's voice cried out:

"No! Fatimah! Don't!", as Fatimah herself appeared, fluttering down from the balcony and landing on the front path between her relatives and her house-mates.

<<"If you want to hurt my friends, you'll have to hurt me!">> she said, the tremble in her voice echoing the fear in her swollen eyes. It was a ridiculous sight, the tiny sleep-dishevelled girl in the "Hello Kitty" nightie facing down the four large men, hands on hips.

<<"Come home, daughter. Stop this defiance. Stop bringing shame on our name,">> her father grated.

<<"No. It's my life, Father. You threw me away, remember?">> Karen and James appeared at the front door, James still pressing the handkerchief against the gash on his forehead and his face pale beneath the freckles.

<<"A mistake. I was angry.">> Achmed made an effort to soften his voice. <<"Please, Fatimah, your mother misses you. You belong with your family, not with these mistakes of nature.">>

Fatimah's dark eyes flashed fire. <<"No, Father, I'm never going back there. In case you'd forgotten, I'm one of those 'mistakes of nature' too. A mutant. And it doesn't matter how much you beat me, that's what I am. I'm staying here. With my friends.">>

Karen nudged James. "At last, she's sticking up to him. Never thought I'd see it. And there's the cavalry. About bloody time." She nodded towards the police car that had appeared at the end of the street. Fatimah's brothers and uncle saw it too, and tried to get Achmed to leave. He ignored them, glaring down at Fatimah.

<<"Then you are no longer my daughter, piece of filth!">> he roared, and before anyone could move, he hit Fatimah across the face. She crumpled without a sound. Achmed made a move to hit her again, but was restrained by the telephone and power cables that came whipping out of the ground to wrap themselves tightly around his arms and legs.

"What the fuck?" Fish exclaimed. Achmed, looking as surprised, echoed the question in Turkish. His sons and brother were edging towards their car, the naked fear clear on their pale faces.

"You're fucking lucky I don't break your neck," James hissed, coming down the front steps, his normally light blue eyes dark with anger. "I could, you know. As easy as snapping my fingers. But I won't, because scum like you isn't worth going to jail for." He went down on one knee and carefully lifted Fatimah's limp form. "Then again, it might be worth it, to see Fatimah get you out of her life."

"James," Allison said warningly as the police car stopped outside the house and two officers got out, hands on their pistols. "Let him go. Or the police will start taking pot-shots at you."

"Do as your friend says, kid, let him go," added one of the police officers, opening the gate slowly and moving forward. He had drawn his gun and was aiming it at James' head. At first, it seemed James hadn't heard, or was deliberately ignoring them. Then he sighed, and his shoulders slumped. The cables snaked back underground, obedient to his mental command, releasing the stunned man. Achmed fell to his knees, praying thanks for his deliverance. James looked at his house mates and grimaced.

"Sorry guys. Looked like I really stuffed this one up, hey?"

Three hours later. Karen, Allison and Fish sat on the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the police station's waiting room, doing just that. Waiting.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Allison complained, pacing back and forth. The constable pulling front counter duty looked up at the sound of her voice, but then returned his attention to his paperwork.

"Getting your undies in a knot isn't going to help," Fish said calmly, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. Allison growled at him. "Look, they've got our statements, they know what happened. James'll be right."

"Maybe," Karen muttered under her breath. She was reading an information pamphlet about getting your licence back after drink-driving, trying to hide the deep-seated fear she felt. This place was bringing back bad memories. Memories she didn't want to know about.

Another constable joined the one behind the counter. "You lot need to come with me," he said.

"Where to?" Allison asked suspiciously.

"To see your friend, of course. Come on."

"You mean you're not going to charge either of them?" Karen asked, her voice high with incredulity. Sergeant Beamish nodded patiently behind his desk. The four mutants- James had been there waiting for them- were crammed into his small office.

"Your mate here should consider himself very lucky. The penalties for assault are quite severe, and the magistrates frown upon mutants who use their powers to interfere with others," he said, his tone reasonable but firm. James looked subdued. The time he'd spent in the police cells had not been particularly pleasant.

"What about Achmed? Your blokes saw him hit Fatimah!" Allison burst out.

"She doesn't wish to give a statement. I can't charge him if the victim won't cooperate. Same goes with the intervention order breach. Unless she agrees to give evidence against him, I can't really charge him."

"What about the window?" Fish asked. "Can't you get him for that?"

"Did any of you actually see who threw the brick?" When they all shook their heads, Sergeant Beamish nodded. "Without a witness, I can't charge him. There's no evidence of _who_ threw the brick through your window."

"Why can't we give evidence of the intervention order breach?" asked Karen. "Your constables were there. He's not supposed to be within one hundred metres of the house, but he was. They saw him as well as we did."

"Achmed has undertaken not to attend your address any more," Sergeant Beamish said, "And without the evidence of the aggrieved family member, which is Fatimah, there's no guarantee of a conviction. Do you really want to go through all that? The man has agreed not to go near his daughter again, and I believe him." He stood, indicating the discussion was over. "Now why don't you lot go home? Or the hospital? You'll be wondering how Fatimah is, no doubt."

"But..." Karen tried.

"No buts, Miss Perkins. I don't want to see any of you back here again."

"I don't believe it, they cut a fucking deal," complained Karen loudly as they left the station and headed for the tram stop. Fish shrugged.

"What do you expect? We're mutants, remember? At least James got off."

"I wish I hadn't, not if it means that bastard will get away with it," grumbled James, pulling on his jacket. He'd been carted off to the station in his boxers, but the others had been allowed to bring him some clothes.

"Well, we know whose fault that is," Allison said. "If Fatimah would make a complaint, we wouldn't have this shit happening every couple of months."

"I'm sure she has her reasons," James began hesitantly. Allison snorted rudely, and was about to say something scathing when Karen's firm voice cut her off.

"No, Allison, don't say it. It's her choice, okay? It's not our place to hassle her about it. She's going to need our support, not get grief from us about not making a statement. Understand?"

Allison's reply was almost lost in the rumble of the approaching tram and the ever-present Sydney Road traffic.

"Yes, I suppose. But I don't like it." Karen gave her a warning look as they climbed on the tram.

"Not a word to her, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Fatimah hated hospitals. Strange, considering how often she'd found herself in them over the last five years. They were so cold, so impersonal, so ugly. And they smelled strange. In the bed next to her, an old woman moaned and wheezed, her breath whistling in and out so loudly Fatimah found herself breathing in time with her, holding her own breath until the next weak wheeze was heard.

"Hey, you've got visitors." Fatimah's attention was drawn from her room-mate at the familiar voice.

"Karen!" Too late, she remembered the pain in her face when she smiled, and winced. The wince was echoed by Karen, as she saw the explosion of bruises across the delicate face.

"Yep, it's me. And the rest. The whole gang's here." Karen came forward and helped Fatimah sit upright.

"They're not... mad at me?" Fatimah whispered, looking towards the door with trepidation.

"Why? What did you do? Don't tell me you finished off the milk again without telling us," Karen joked. She gave Fatimah's shoulder a small pat. "Don't worry, they're fine."

"They're gonna start charging you rent here, Fatimah," Fish said as he came in, a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. "Here, we got these for you. Buggered if I know why I've gotta carry them." He dumped the flowers unceremoniously on the bed. James and Allison followed him in, James practically having to drag the blonde girl in.

"Thank you, Raphael," Fatimah said, burying her nose in the bouquet. She seldom used his nickname. "James, how is your face?"

"Better than yours," he said, smiling shyly. He pushed back his hair to show her the line of circuitry that had covered the wound caused by the glass. "See? Do It Yourself Bandaids."

"Just as well, or the police would have had to bring you down here for stitches," Allison muttered from the end of the bed. Karen gave her a Look, but Fatimah had heard.

"Police? What happened?"

"James decided to play the hero after your darling daddy decked you, and nearly became a police shooting statistic," Allison said bluntly before anyone else could explain. "He got arrested and spent three hours in the cells." James jabbed her in the ribs with a tendril of circuitry.

"You promised!" he hissed, eyes narrowing. Allison was unrepentant.

"James, are you all right? The police, they did not hurt you?" Fatimah's dark eyes were wide with concern.

"No, I'm Fatimah. It was my own stupid fault. I sort of lost it when I saw... well, you know," James finished weakly, not knowing how to say it.

"My father hit me?" Fatimah supplied sadly. "Do not be worried for me, James, it has happened many times before."

"And it will keep on happening unless you stand up to him!" Allison exclaimed. "When are you going to stop being such a complete pillow?"

"Allison! Stop it!" Karen snapped back, placing herself between the angry pyrokinetic and the broken butterfly. "You said you wouldn't do this! It's not the right time!"

"And when is it the right time? When he sets the house on fire and kills us all?" Allison spat. "I'm sick and tired of all this crap!"

"Allison..." James said, putting a hand on her arm, torn between the girl who had shown him nothing but friendship from the start, and the girl who stirred such protective feelings in him.

"No, Karen, let her speak." Fatimah's voice was quiet, but steady. "This has waited long enough."

"Fatimah, you don't have to..." Karen said.

"Yes, I do. I don't want to be the cause of the house breaking up." She took a breath and met Allison's gaze. "You wish to know why I do not report my father's violence?"

"It'd be a start," Allison said in a slightly calmer voice, folding her arms across her chest. "Go on, I'm listening."

"To understand my father, you must understand my culture. You already know that women are often seen as possessions, the property of the men in their families?" When Allison nodded, Fatimah continued. "My father is not a violent man. When I was small, he loved me dearly. He would give me presents and take me on outings and show me off to his friends. But he was also strict, and as a child I learned to obey him.

"When I turned fifteen, he told me he had arranged for me to marry the son of a family friend, back in Turkey. I was to leave school, go to Turkey with my mother, and marry this man, who was twenty-nine."

"But that's fourteen years older than you! It's not legal, is it?" James interrupted, outraged.

"Not in this country, no. Which is why my father wanted me to return to his beloved Turkey."

"And what did you want, Fatimah?" asked Karen quietly.

"My wishes did not come into it. I had to obey my father. I didn't want to go, but I was unable to say so." Fatimah gave a small laugh, and winced again as the movement pulled at her bruises. "But my body found a way to tell him."

"That's when your mutancy showed?" Allison asked.

"Yes. My parents found me in a cocoon one morning when they came to wake me. Two days later, I came out as you see me now."

"And that's when your father beat you," Karen said flatly, knowing the answer. She had heard Fatimah's story before, had seen the marks from the numerous beatings Achmed had given his daughter. It had been Karen, two years ago as an idealistic first year Law student, that had given the sixteen year old Fatimah a home after meeting her in the refuge she volunteered at.

"Yes. He locked me in my room and tried to beat the mutant taint from me with a coat hanger," Fatimah said simply, watching the expressions on her friends' faces. Fish and James were angry, outraged. Allison shocked. Karen, as always, was nothing but sympathy and support. "My mother helped me escape after a week. She was afraid he would kill me, and be sent to prison. So she waited until he had gone to sleep and then put me in a taxi and told me to never come back."

"But I thought it was your father who threw you out?" Fish asked.

"He tracked me down to this hospital, and told me that I would never be welcome under his roof again. Unfortunately, my father tends to change his mind fairly frequently, which is why he kept finding me and trying to make me come home. There is pressure on him from the Turkish community to keep his family under control. If Karen hadn't offered me a place to go, I might have ended up returning."

"So why not report him? Get him out of your life for good?" Allison asked.

"You do not understand the power of the community. While I am simply a runaway, the community can tolerate me. If I have my father arrested and imprisoned, I will no longer be just a nuisance, and the whole community will take steps. If you consider my father's actions to be terrible, they are minor compared to what some of the more... traditional men will do, not just to me, but to all of us."

"So you're protecting us from a bunch of religious zealots?" Allison said at last, the expression on her face unreadable. Fatimah nodded. "Fine. I feel so much better now." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.

"She is still angry at me," Fatimah said to Karen in a small voice.

"Don't worry, she'll come around. She just hates being proved wrong," Karen said, squeezing Fatimah's shoulder reassuringly. "I'll talk to her. Thing's will be fine by the time you get home."

A week later, Fatimah sat in the passenger seat of a red sports car and looked up at the cheerful pink walls, glowing in the last rays of early autumn light, trying to summon her courage.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?" asked the driver. He laid his large warm hand over her small cold one.

"No, Adrian, I'll be fine. I'm just a little nervous, that's all. Karen told me Allison wouldn't listen to her." Fatimah looked into her boyfriend's warm blue eyes, and smiled, carefully. The bruises on her face were fading, but her face was still tender.

"Well, don't let her give you any shit, okay? I'll call you tomorrow." Adrian kissed her gently on the forehead before she climbed out of the car. As he drove away, she gave him a wave, and then steeled herself to go into the house that had become her home.

She opened the door, and noise, welcoming and familiar, washed over her.

"James! Did you steal my hair-drier?" came Karen's outraged shriek from upstairs.

"Um, maybe?" James stuck his head out of the lounge room door to answer. He caught sight of Fatimah, hesitating in the hallway. "Hey you're back! I thought Fish was going to pick you up?"

"I got a lift with Adrian," Fatimah murmured, her smile fading as Allison came out of the kitchen, a scowl on her face. She was carrying an armload of gym clothes, Fish's by the smell.

"I'm going to kill the overgrown goldfish, if he dumps his laundry on the floor again and leaves it there all week..." she was muttering. Then she caught sight of Fatimah. "Oh. Hello. We weren't expecting you 'til tomorrow."

"They released me early. They needed the bed," Fatimah explained. There was an awkward silence. "Um, is Raphael being a slob again?"

"And then some. If he wasn't down at the pool right now, I'd shove these down his throat," Allison grinned briefly. "Maybe I'll just make myself a little bonfire."

"The methane would probably cause an explosion," Fatimah said. Allison considered her a moment longer, and then smiled.

"Nah, I've got a better idea. Does Adrian still have that pet of his?"

Later that night, a most unmanly shriek broke the peace.

"Arrgghhh! Get it off! Get it out of here! Allison!! There's a snake in my bed!" On the upstairs landing, Allison and Fatimah looked at each other and giggled.

"Welcome back, Fatimah," Allison said, before exploding into laughter again.

The End.

Glossary: Most of these are self-explanatory, but what the heck... Anything you don't understand, feel free to ask.

Theatre restaurant: I'm not sure if these are just an Australian phenomenon, but these are theme restaurants that put on a show, usually "comedy". The staff all wear costume, and usually have amusing name tags. These places have names like "Dracula's", "The Looney Bin" and "Witches in Britches".

Drongo: another word for moron, but not as harsh.

Board shorts: those long baggy shorts that surfers seem to live in.

Jabiluka: National Park in the Northern Territory that the current Federal Government wants to allow uranium mining in.

Intervention order: court order preventing an individual from approaching, contacting going to the residence of or damaging the property of another person, the aggrieved family member. Designed to prevent domestic violence, these are also known as restraining orders and domestic violence orders, and believe me, I've seen a lot of them in my job.

Nightie: short for nightgown.

"Get your undies in a knot": like getting your knickers in a twist.

"Being a pillow": being soft.

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