“Well, Parasol, the *white* version.” Parasol chuckles here. “Looks like we can leave Storybrook again since we’re together once more.”
“Right you are!”
“Now all we have to do is round up that little girl of ours, Marsha ‘Pink’ Krakow, and skedaddle outta here, like we’d planned before. The job opening in Drane underneath that open hill is still available. Freedom at last!”
“I like the sound of it.”
“So… where is Marsha?” The Mann looks around, as if he’d missed her in the immediate vicinity.
“Probably with Beige. Or Brown or whatever drab color she’s going by now.”
“Ring her up,” requests The Mann, glad to delegate responsibilities to the wo-Mann of the house again.
“Okay,” Parasol offered, just glad to be loved and wanted once more. Charlie Banana was such a tool!
—–
“Thank you Belinda.” Parasol hangs up the phone after looking for the carriage a bit.
“Alright, she says there’s no word from Marsha *or* Beige.”
“Or Brown or whatever,” The Mann furthers himself this time.
“Right. Dr. Hockentopper down in the opposite corner of “Good Town” hadn’t seen her in about a day.”
“Looks like it’s time for a search party. The Hockentoppers of course. And then us. No need to bring in Tank or Bazooka right now.”
“No.”
“Well… at least *Tom Banks* is locked up. We know our little girl is safe from…” The Mann then absentmindedly flips over the unread morning paper in front of him.
“Jeepers willikers, Parasol!” He turns the headlines toward his recently restored wife.
