Over the rise of a hill, the giant Harley lifted off, covering hundreds of yards airborne and landing perfectly balanced at immensely illegal speeds directly alongside the 30 foot land yacht with the mysterious Goddess within.

The strange rider struggled, keeping a risky position along the yellow line, balancing against the turbulence caused by the gigantic limo, and gesturing and yelling toward the passenger window, using one hand to wave a small piece of yellowed parchment. "Neeeeewwwww soooong for ya!" he howled aginst hope, into the buffeting airflow. And Goddesses and lipreaders being what they are, the window on the side of the sleek mink-covered limo rolled down.

The cape flapped, the dark eyes flashed, as he stretched out one hand with the papyrus in it, balancing the hurtling machine with the other. Grim determination and hopeless commitment came over his face, and with a single swift gesture as her pale arm reached from the obscure depths through the open window, he leapt in a single death-defying graceful instant to the pegs, to the saddle, and threw himself across the distance, diving through the open window as the Harley hog hurled itself to port and screamed into sculpture against the base of a towering and ancient oak.

The window rolled up and the great car hurtled on into the night, strains of "Hail Britannia" seeping from its front compartment...under the waxing, pearllescent moon...the smokey strains of the Mudcat Tavern fading behind it.