A/N: Well, that review thing didn't go as well as I had planned, so I'm just going to make another chapter. Let me remind you guys that I feed from reviews, and that I'm dying. Now you don't want that on your conscience, do you? What's that? You don't care? Bastards!
Magorian was starting to get frustrated. No matter how many times he poked the bear with his pole, it just wouldn’t do what he wanted it to do. He didn't get it- he had wrapped the tightest rope he could find around the bear and tied it by the ankles on a tree branch, and it still wasn't dancing for him. Then he realized the fatal flaw in his plan to get more amusement.
Of course it can't dance, he thought as he whacked himself upside the head with a large mallet he had acquired in El Paso. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of this before. It's so obvious! It can't dance because it hasn't had any lessons yet!
Just as Magorian was about to initiate his attempt at teaching it the Tarantella (which he didn't realize he didn't actually know, and was impossible with four legs anyway), a sudden gust of wind and burst of light whooshed around him. He looked around him, and his eyes dilated so much that you couldn't see the whites anymore. This wasn't because of his surprise to see a Ford Anglia in front of him; it was simply a delayed reaction from one of the forest mushrooms he had experimented with beforehand. Nevertheless, Magorian leaped back in fear and the bear growled in pathetic-ness. However, all the benign automobile did was blink its front lights at him and rev up the engine in semi-purrs. Magorian got a great idea- something much better than getting a bear to square-dance with him. He was going to dismantle this contraption.
Grinning like a corporate lawyer who just captured his very first human soul, the mad centaur charged at the vehicle with no restraint whatsoever. The poor car had not been expecting an attack , and was totally crushed due to Magorian's feral assault- after all, it was an American car. Magorian mercilessly ripped off the parts of the car from the chassis with his teeth and examined each one.
"Hmm... here's the entrance-door-thingy... (SLASH)… the... screen... (RIP)…the top thingy...and the... um... front-door thingy... (CRASH)… Aha! I know what this is! It’s a wheel! And look, there are three more of them!"
Another brilliant idea came across Magorian's not-altogether-ideal mind. He was getting tired of prancing, galloping and trotting. What if he could roll his way to more adventure? As Magorian's grin grew wider, he put a wheel under each of his hooves, and subsequently fell to the floor. Getting up and brushed off the debris, regaining his determination and steely resolve. He fearlessly got on the rubber tires again... and fell off again.
It took several months' long effort, and the sweat, blood and tears of several chickens, for Magorian finally became the master of rolling for transportation. Magorian liked to believe that all the forest creatures, could they talk, would call him “THE WHEELMASTER”. Or at least Tirehoof. Y’know, as a term of endearment. Perhaps he could get his own talk show- “THE WHEELMASTER Show, Starring THE WHEELMASTER”- but then Magorian thought better of it. If he were going to be on televison, he’d be damned if it was daytime television. Then Magorian remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know what television was, and started to roll toward the centaur encampment he presided over to show off his new gear.
When he got there, the centaurs all seemed to be doing nothing and staring vacantly into space, like he had once been. He pitied them. Here they were, creating astrolabes out of mud and vines and whatnot, when he was having the time of his life. Intending to show them the true meaning of fun, he rolled around the herd all night and tirelessly yelled "Yeehawwww!" at frequent intervals, but the centaurs all ignored him. So he decided to just address them normally.
"Centaurs of Styjikuhler, listen to me!" he bellowed, and the forest dramatically echoed his sentiments back, making for a really cool effect.
All the centaurs reluctantly pulled away from their stargazing and looked at him, wincing at the word "Styjikuhler." It was then that Magorian realized that he didn't know what he was going to say, and that he had just been trying to be the center of attention.
"Erm... umm... nice weather, isn't it? I mean, a cloudless night, for sure... hehe." He chuckled awkwardly.
Crickets could be heard chirping in the background, signaling in classic fashion the silence of his obstinate audience.
"Umm... yeah... so... anything new with you Bane?" he stammered, desperate to get a topic of conversation.
"No, Magorian, just contemplating the insolence of humans as usual." was the black centaur's reply.
"Uh-huh... and what about you Bane?" he said.
"Sir, you just addressed me before. I said I was just thinking of the tyranny those insufferable humans have inflicted and continue to inflict upon us." said Bane again. All the other centaurs neighed their approval of his comment and murmurs of “no respect for our ancient tribe” and “desecration of our society” followed.
"How interesting. Bane, how have you been doing lately?" Either it was that he clearly wasn't paying any attention, or that he was really that daft (most likely the latter).
Bane started pawing the ground and baring his teeth, which was definately not a good sign.
"Erm... yes, good to hear, ...umm...," He had obviously taken the hint. Luckily, Magorian knew a quick way to get out of this mess. Quickly, he pointed to his right and shouted, "Look over there, it’s Firenze!"
All the centaurs looked over to the right instantly, some drawing their bows and firing. Magorian used the distraction to roll away.
Hehe, thought Magorian, I can’t believe they fell for that. In savoring the event that had just happened, he himself got distracted and tripped over a collapsed log. Instantly, the Anglia wheels he had used for countless weeks dispersed and hit the surrounding trees in the clearing at ludicrous velocities, awakening the arboreal defenders living in them. Bowtruckles from all over cried to their kindred across the woods, and they came to their aid to punish the common transgressor. One by one, the hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of trillions (Magorian may have been exaggerating a wee bit) of bowtruckles descended towards the fallen centaur at alarming speeds, blade-like fingers brandished menacingly. Magorian's life flashed before his eyes.
He was born... to two males? Eeew, disgusting... Aww, he remembered when he had first learned to whinny... he was made the centaur chieftain... he ate and slept and basically did nothing for 86 years... he slaughtered and ate a Graphorn.. he ate some chickens from Hagrid... he ate Hagrid... wait, he hadn't eaten Hagrid, he had just thought about it... hehe, he's still waiting for his chickens back... he became the nation's most wanted fugitive after doing very illegal and heinous things with pliers that may or may not have involved chipmunks, Flash Gordon and the undead… he was immediately pardoned after trampling over Umbridge... he trained to become the world's greatest Wheelmaster... and now this.
Wow, I've done a lot of things in my life... maybe this is my time to go...
But Fate, that fickle tale-weaver, had a very different design. This was mainly because the author of this fanfic bribed and blackmailed her to change the outcome of the unfortunate turn of events he wrote himself into, but some of it may've been of her own volition. Anyway, all the bowtruckles suddenly stopped. Apparently, there was a brief rift in time-space that had been caused by someone using a Time-Turner to go back in time and kill himself, which is created an impossible paradox, and shattered every law of physics known to man. Magorian took advantage of the situation and walked away unscathed.
So, what should I do now? What haven't I already done? thought Magorian. I know! I'll teach a bear how to square-dance. I've never done that before!
And, with his trademark grin, Magorian galloped off into the sunset, which conveniently appeared out of nowhere. (Thanks again, Fate.)
A/N: Review to tell me what the next chapter will be about, or I’ll sell you all to a burly cheese smuggler I know named Bongo who has made using Chinese water torture on innocent people quite a habit these days. He says the novelty of thumbscrews wore off really quickly. (Fear is the greatest motivator, they say.)