According to Jennifer’s Beret, the Spine once owned many hats. It is rumored that behind closed doors, these hats fought over who got to wear him because he made them all look good. Now, only Fedora remains.
(So is that the right idea?)
[AN: Yes it is]
(#00652 - A287)
There used to be a Hall of Hats, just like there is a Hall of Faces in Walter Manor. It isn’t there, any more. It got re-absorbed owing to it’s emptiness. Why?
Well, for that story, one must understand a few things. For example: Walter Manor is one of the few places on the Mundane Plain that is riddled with Kazooland magic. The house, since it has been continuously loved for generations, is alive.
Things can be imbued with life. All it takes is enough love. Or, in a pinch, enough Belief.
Before they took him away for his military overhaul, The Spine had loved each and every one of his hats. He would play them elaborate sonatas on the violin. And he had a roster so that no hat would feel neglected.
That all changed because of Vietnam.
They took him away in the 50’s. And he didn’t come back until the 70’s.
And during those twenty years… well… things got ugly.
“He hasn’t come, today,” murmured the Beret. “It’s my turn and he hasn’t come today.”
“It was my turn, yesterday,” said the Trilby. “He didn’t come then, either.”
“Maybe we should look for him,” said the Tam o’Shanter.
“Maybe he decided he doesn’t like us,” worried the Toque.
“Nonsense,” insisted the Boater. “He loves all of us. He must have… got caught up in something.”
"You only say that because you’re the oldest,” said a young and cocky Fedora. “If it were up to strength, some of you old dusters would be shredded.”
“I’ll take you on,” challenged a Top Hat. “I’ll take you all on!”
Many of the cloth hats were the first to fall. Torn asunder by others’ brooches, pins, and hard edges. It was when some hit on the idea of using weapons that things went mad.
No holds barred. Survival of the vicious. The youngest amongst them had the most to fight for.
It was the most brutal war that had ever been fought inside of one room.
*
Power on. Systems green. The Spine opened his eyes and saw his friends. His family.
“Welcome back, th’ Spine,” cheered Rabbit.
The Spine was never happier to see his[1] face. Or the beaming grin of The Jon. The man in the lab coat was not the Peter Walter he remembered. “Mister Walter, I presume?”
The young man nodded. “That’s right. Another Peter Walter. You’re good to go. Need anything?”
The Spine reached up to touch his head. Bare. The helmet he’d perched up there must have run off. Or rusted. Kind of a mercy. He didn’t really like helmets. “One of my hats, if you please, Mister Walter.”
“…uh…” said one of the Walter Workers. “There’s only… one… hat. In The Spine’s room.”
Odd. Something must have happened to them. “That hat will do, thank you ma’am.”
It was a black Fedora. Which matched his black clothes. Stylish and simple… although it had a slight nick on its outer edge.
A brim reminder of the conflict that it survived.
[1] period-accurate gender.
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