Fresh on to these shores, Ziva was just about finding her feet in this thing of ours. Bearing the name and an uncanny resemblance of her great-great-however-many Grandma, Ziva, who had led Fort Hubcaps... and the campaign to raise awareness of the possibility of a beaver revolution, lead by a particularly sneaky fiend by the name Prince Nigel McBeaverson the Fourth. It had been a story that her own mother had told her many times, in her younger days, before either of them had faced the call to join the world left an age ago by the first Ziva.

Ziva was unsure whether it was her resemblance to the first Ziva, the name, or just sheer bad luck, but since stepping foot onto the streets of Chicago, she had had a very real feeling that she was being watched, observed, having her strengths and her weaknesses weighed up. By the beavers. For all out total war. After reading up on the diaries of Ziva and the first Beaver World War, she feels as though it may be time to step up in the streets and speak of her suspicions, and to see if anyone else had similar fears. She'd heard a little chatter of it in the coffee shops, but to stand a chance against the beaver onslaught, she knew that people had to stand together, and stand firm.

Taking deep breaths, to steady her quite significant nerves - after all, she, as a newcomer to these shores, was about to stand up and speak out about her fears of being devoured by a beaver. Clearing her throat, she starts to speak.

Ladies, gentlemen.. has anybody, well.. noticed anything suspicious, lately? I don't wish to speak out of turn about the politics of this thing of ours, that isn't the type of suspicious I mean. I refer to suspicious in the sense of the furry, the deranged and the downright bizarre. I refer, of course to beavers.

Since I stepped off the boat, I feel as though I have been stalked, followed and tracked around this thing of ours. I don't know why. Maybe the beavers links to my ancestor,  the first Ziva. Maybe I just seem to have all the qualities of the perfect queen of the beavers, who knows?

But, maybe... just maybe, if anybody else has been feeling victimized by these ferocious fiends, we can work out what acts of supreme evil may be planned in their little beavery heads.

Toberius quickly approaches Ziva and firmly plants a card in her hand before turning his coat collar up and disappearing down a side street. 

Ziva, visibly concerned, looked down at the slightly crumpled business card and notice some faint writing on the back. 

"Dunder Mifflin. 3PM. THEY ARE WATCHING YOU."

Miles away the sounds of falling trees and dammed rivers echo through the forest as the beavers plan their attack. 

Imhotep approached Ziva in a crowded place and beckons her to the near by dark alley. once in the dark alley he greets her and reaches in his pockets. He notices that Ziva is reaching for something but doesnt know what it is.

"Good evening Ziva, I am Imhotep. I am the high priest of teh underworld. my bloodline and yours havent had the best of chances to get to know each other as your mother was taken from us well before we could. My father before he died left me this letter to hand you should we ever cross paths."

Imhotep hands her the letter and waits a few minutes for her to read it. She opens the note and reads it.

Dear Ziva,

The finals days before you were struck down and taken from us we had a short conversation that introduced what i had hoped would be the start of a good friendship. I hope your daughter returns to us as I am honored to have my son take care of anything you may need. You had friends in life and that gave your daughter street credit. If you read this letter then you have finally met my son. should you need anything he will help you. 

With the sincerest of reguards,

Tony Accardo

The captive-top stood out perpendicular to the flask, drained of all of its courage. Upended and shaken in a lazy centrifugal manner yielding nothing. Not even a scant drop of grainy goodness. An audible sigh escaped him and a grim smile played out along his lips. Not enough to drink but just enough to get you convicted and thrown under the jail these days. Damn the luck.

This tale he heard, of furried furys with wizened paddle-like tails and a taste for revolution stopped him cold. The dead have told these very same stories-  to the living. Why, just this morning he had himself a run-in with these "beee-vairz" as the Québecois call them. The memory still lingered, foul and repugnant. A horrifying descent into madness where hellspawned toothy beasts viciously bullied customers and rioted, turning an honest workingman's haberdashery into a scene of chaos and violence.

He cleared his throat <ahem ahem> and with much trepidation started retelling the incident. Slowly at first. The words faltering and dieing on his lips. Then spewing forth forcefully as the tenebrous tale took on a life of its own.

I...I..have seen them. Beavers. Hairy and menacing. Eyes as dark as a dead man rolling snake eyes. Savage and untamed. Heathen devourers of souls. Downtown.....just this morning....

Digging a hand in and hefting the flask in his hip pocket, hoping vainly that there might have been an mana from Heaven type of miracle occur. Nada, Still bone dry. Nuts. His eyes shifted to the shadows growing taller on the wall. His voice seemed so very far away from him.

I stopped in at Natty Nate's Not-So-Big-and-Not-So-Tall Shop for Men, looking for something to pick me up. I was coming from the LampLighter Inn (damn good coffee) and full up on pie. I should have known something was up. You could feel it in the air. Nate didn't even cuss me like usual when I let that goofy cat of his run clean out the door. Not like him a-tall.

I bellied up to the counter but he wouldn't meet my eyes- just looked right past me. Like he had seen a ghost, you know. I asked him what was on his mind but he waved me off. No account suspender peddler. I'd a roll burning a hole in my pocket though and I aimed to walk out of there a considerable might lighter. Cocked my head to the side a bit and nosed at the hats on the wall behind him. I swear he paled a shade and I could hear him sucking air. His eyes were as big as the hubcaps on a Packard. Hell got into him, anyways?

"Natty, I aim to make you some richer today. Let me take a hold of that Stetson on yonder wall and try it on, see how she runs". That mook had the shakes like my gran coming off a week long bender and he shot a sideways look at the back room of the joint. Tried to hand me a damned trilby that was ugly as six times nine. Slapped it out of his hands I did. "Naw, that hunnert X beaver is the one for me, go on and fetch it...."

Nate made the sign of the cross and slowly disappeared behind the counter, a sinkin' to his knees. That's when the lights dimmed down low- that's when I saw them. Must have been laying in wait, biding their time. Beavers. Beavers everywhere. Very very ANGRY beavers. I was transfixed-  rooted to the spot. They surrounded me...kneecapped me with their might tails...took my wallet and my watch. Stripped me of my dignity...and shoes...and my pants. I wanted to run but they blocked every avenue of escape. I'm ashamed to admit it but I said a prayer that a...that..a....that...a....hell...that a cop might somehow come in and rescue me. But it didn't play out that way. Not at all.

Their leader was a big ol' beaver. Brown. Big brown beaver. Big brown hate-fueled beaver he was. Took my wallet and skimmed through the bills then pulled my license and grinned at me. He knew. Knew where I lived. He could find me out any time. Grabbed up all my folding money save a tenner and tossed the rest to one of his beaver buddies real slick like. He slammed that sawbuck down on the floor and thumbed at that plug-ugly trilby. Nuts. I was obliged. It felt as flimsy as a soup sandwich in my hands. Like it had been cobbled together from scraps pulled from sewer rats. Smelled just as odious. The inner-band wasn't even leather...God-a-mighty! This was a farmers hat not something fit for a man of means. I pulled it on anyways and tried my best to smile at that damnable assembly of aqueous mammals. They just pounded their tails on the ground in terrible tattoo rhythms and barked beaver barkings while I gathered up my britches and pulled my shoes back on. I swear I heard them laughing as I lit out of there like my teeth were on fire....

Closing his eyes shut tight nothing stopped nor stemmed the memory from coming back to life.

"It...that hat...it was made....of MARMOT!  I can't let anyone catch me wearing that abomination! If anyone back at the HQ should see me they'd ask me where I parked my tractor. I went in to the goodwill store to try and give it away and some lady placed a nickel in my hand and said a hail mary...like I was some bum. Damn those damned beavers. Damn them all...I wanted a hat, not a stigma...

Since I stepped off the boat, I feel as though I have been stalked

It appears dear Ziva wasn't as crazy as that statement made her seem. Only it wasn't little furry beavers she had to fear, it was God!

Let this be a lesson to everyone who speaks out against Beavers, God will find a reason to lock you up if you dare question his creatures!  Having stalked Ziva long enough to realise she had neglected her Homework and used that to incarcerate her, there is no telling what fate awaits the other people who were brave enough to speak out about Beavers!

Swell.

Now I've got the "Speaking-out-against-beavers-shakes" real bad. Speculators should invest heavily in Parke, Davis & Co. stock, as I'm about to go on a laudanum binge that would make Charles Dickens look like a Benedictine Monk.

Scarpers off to the chemists

I always make my girlfriend shave her's, that way I have nothing to fear.

Sidewinder, I'm not sure why a hairless rodent is more dangerous than a hair one. Never the less, I applaud your style.

Perhaps it's a Samson and Delilah-esque mazel, and once freshly shorn the beaver losses it's source of power? We should keep this on the down low lest those beavers start wrapping themselves in Faraday cages and start wielding Tesla coils before we can commence to shaving. We'd surely be in a pickle then.

Beavers. Damn Beavers.

Still shaking after her ideal in beaver prison jail, Ziva makes her way back on to the streets, eyes darting left and right, seeking any possible future beaver attacks. Fearing for her life now, knowing how the beaver mind operates, she has to swallow back fear to even emerge in public without the use of a disguise. Seeking a familial face in AlabamaWorley, she heads over, and in hushed tones whispers to the people gathered around.

Alabama, thank goodness you understood what was going on, it was terrible! Those beavers, they locked me up in a dark room, and they wouldn't let me go til I'd worked on my essay, it was simply horrifying! But, hearing the whispers of the beavers as they passed the room, I learned some interesting things. They were disappointed with the results of incarcerating me, I learned. I didn't react how they expected, didn't show the fear, they thought it was almost like I had expected it -- which I had! It was like they could read my mind! But that's how I knew they were going to let me go, see? Because they thought that locking me away like that would make me crack up.

So, I fear they may be moving on in their plan for domination. I heard talk of full scale invasions of our streets! Imagine it; cars overturned, head quarters set on fire, beatings in the streets, furniture destroyed! Can you imagine the devastation? Something must be done to stop this before life as we know it comes to an end! They'd make us build dams on the sides of the rivers, imagine how quickly New York would flood if they made us dam the Hudson? It'd be awful!

We must do something. There are no two ways about that. These tyrants have to be stopped in their tracks!

Maybe if we just get rid of all the trees? I think the beavers are just after wood.

Getting.. rid of the trees? Lulu, what a fantastic idea!

Ziva kisses Lulu on the cheek.

Okay, so it's simple! Volunteers to help clear the forest of wood? Maybe we can do as Jonny suggests, replace the wood with metal?

I'm not sure about that Ziva, there simply isn't any replacement for good wood.

Its an interesting idea though, who knew that a Beaver loved wood?

Clear the forest?!? Brilliant idea.

I say we pitch tents on site to get an early start. OPERATION: MORNING WOOD starts at dawn!

Alabama, is there any ethical objection to forcing associates to take the place of furniture?

Au contraire Alabama. I've found what many have told me are more than suitable replacements for wood. Just the other day I cast watera for a friend to sit on, and she said she didn't see the point in sitting on wood ever again!

What if.. what if we replace all of our furniture with gigantic piles of pillows?

Think of it!

Not only have we cornered the market in squishy furniture - I mean, think of the millions we can make from that, think of the squashy happiness we can introduce in this world - but the beavers will leave us alone!

It's simply magnificant! All our troubles will be over! Money, prestige, comfy furniture.. and a beaver free lifestyle

Ziva gazes off into the distance, her heart filled with happiness. She wipes a tear from her eye and sighs happily.

Can we make the forts out of them too?