Chapter 2: The Scarecrow & The Tin Bird
"...all I'm saying is, if she can fly don't you think it'd be easier to fly us to this Emerald City or something? Man, it's like that stupid Lord of the Circles things. When those dwarves were gonna die at the end old grey beard swoops in on these massive birds! Why not save em all the anguish of three insanely long movies and just FLY em there?" Bloo had been complaining about the walk ever since the two had began their 'mission', and that was a good three hours ago. Mac groaned, shutting his eyes and putting his hands over his ears. You could only take so much of Bloo's insistent whining until it ate your brain away.
"Bloo..." he muttered, testily. It was here when they realised at some point in the past few minutes they had wandered into the country side of Oz. The yellow brick road was surrounded by fields of corn, stretching as far as the eye could see. But something else caught their eye, right ahead, the brick road came to a fork and spit in two different directions. The two came to a stop.
"..follow the yellow brick road she says. It's easy she says. I don't remember he mentioning FORKS in the road!" Bloo complained more, happy to have a reason to talk even more. And complain.
Mac strummed his chin with his fingers as he looked to the right, then to the left. "Now which way do we go.." he mumbled to himself. If they took the wrong direction they might never reach the Emerald City, then they'd never get home again. That wasn't an option Mac was about to let happen. But what choice did he have? He had a 50% chance of getting there, and 50% chance of probably going in circles.
"Excuse me, but if it's okay to say but that's a nice direction."
The voice came as a surprise, since the two thought they were alone. Both automatically looked to where the voice came from, but the only thing that caught their gaze was a scarecrow. A very very tall scarecrow. Insanely tall scarecrow who stuck out in front (and above) the corn that he was guarding. His face was unlike any shape the two had ever seen before, but stiches were apparent from years of wear. A black hat sat atop his head that was painted with pale blue diamonds, and his eyes (much like a snails or slugs) stuck out from holes in the hat. The red material that was his face was tied to a small torso, his left arm was a stump (probably ripped off by hooligans) and left dangling by his side while his other arm which was far too long for such a small body was pointing to the right. His feet barely touched the floor. But despite all of this, his most recognisable feature was the huge grin probably painted on his face, and that one of his eyes were bent and broken.
Bloo and Mac stared at him blankly for a few moments before looking to the other.
"But that's a good direction too."
The voice returned, and their eyes snapped back to the scarecrow, whose long arm was not pointing in the other direction.
"Maaaaac..." Bloo started, taking a step back. "Is he..."
"Don't be dumb Bloo." Mac replied, but also taking a step back. "Scarecrow's can't talk."
"In actual fact I do recall seeing people go down both ways!" this time it was for certain, for the long arm whipped itself up and pointed to the left, then to the right again. They didn't see him talk - it seemed he couldn't move his painted mouth - yet he was speaking to them. The two boys stood in silence, one out of fear, one out of wonder until Mac finally took a few steps forward but not before shaking Bloo's grip on his hand off.
"Um... a... are you trying to get us lost or something... or can't you decide on which direction?" he asked, not sure how one should speak to a scarecrow, of all things.
The Scarecrow remained silent for a few seconds, processing the question. His head bobbed to the side, his broken eyestalk blowing in the wind. "Oh, I can't decide. You see, I'm sorry to have to say this but..." his one eye glanced around before he lowered his head as low as it could go, "I haven't got a brain." he whispered, but rather badly so he was talking normally but sounded like he was trying to whisper.
"You haven't got a brain?" Bloo echoed, a small look of delight crossing his features.
"I haven't got a brain." the Scarecrow echoed again, looking as conspirational as a scarecrow could whilst attached to his pole.
"Why're you failing at whispering?" Bloo asked. The Scarecrow shrugged again.
"Sorry but I don't know."
"Wait a minute, if you haven't got a brain... how are you talking? Huh?" Bloo was glad he didn't have a neck for he felt having stared up at this guy for so long, anyone's neck would begin to hurt.
The scarecrow's good eye blinked in what you could guess was thought for a few moments, "Oh well... uhhh...." gosh that was a tough question. His eye squinted shut whilst his bent one wobbled in the breeze. His eye suddenly snapped open, "Oh I know! You see, from what I hear from the crows, that there's some people, politicians I think they said, who seem to talk a whole lot but don't have any brains. Is that okay to say that?"
"He's got a point there." Mac said.
"So why don't you have a brain? Watched too much TV?" Bloo asked, still delighted at having finally met someone who was without a brain.