Return to the Clocktower...

Ahh, there you all are! Good show.

*notices tracks in dust on floor* Hmmm...
*follows tracks*.... Ah-HA! There you are - I can spot Dodo tracks from a mile away. I say you don't look too good... You look a tad stiff old boy.

*taps dodo on head* Oh...
*dodo disintegrates into dust* OHHH...OOPS!

*notices the nest now covered in dodo dust* oh.... I wonder *blows dust off* Ah! *grins*

I say, anyone here know much about hatching Dodo eggs? This calls for a cigar!... or maybe we wait until it hatches?

Barkeep, I'll take a bottle of Rocket, thank you.



SS

I suppose mention of a truly world-class omelet at this point would be met with disapproval.

Ah, well.




Chas.

*Wanders in, carrying a large anaconda and three coconut shells* Waitamminute, this isn't Tasmania is it... *Consults watch* Eh, it was bound to break eventaully...

*Draws a line through the dust on the bar with one finger, and seeing the place is deserted sets the anaconda and shells down and heads back behind the counter to examine the dusty bottles and jars.*

ah... what have we here, pickles...? *blows away the dust* Eugh... no, squids. *sets the jar down on the counter. The anaconda slithers over to stare at the shapes inside*

Ah, there it is... *pulls down a bottle, and looks at the dust-covered, slightly fuzzy glasses* Good thing I brought my own. *Pours a measure into a coconut shell, takes a seat on the bartenders stool and sips slowly from the shell...*

There is a loud crash upstairs, causing the dust to swirl around in the barroom, and plaster to rain briefly from the ceiling. MW closes the door of nuber 223 behind him, an dstumbles downstairs. A tentacle protrudes briefly below the hem of his long frock coat, snags a dusty magazine from a side table, and disappears back up inside the coat as he walks behind the bar. Ahhh, yes, her it is, right whjere I left it. He puts a sqwuat bottle of Milk Stout on the bar and pops the top with the skin of his forearm muscle.

Cheers to you, Miss.

*upends the bottle and takes four large slugs*

"Pardon, M. W., but one of your slugs is crawling away down the bar..."

Hmmm. Something different this time. Tallisker's, I think, just for a change.


Cheers!

Chas.

*peruses the dusty bottles and finds what Cpt. Lyerly is asking for.*

Here you go. *hands over the bottle* I'm afraid there aren't any clean glasses, you can have one of the shells if you like though...

*Notices the anacona has curled up into a coil on the counter, and is very intently watching something oozing down the bar* Hey you, *nudges the snake away from the oozing thing.* You don't know where that's been... or what it is. *Picks up the jar of squids and shakes it slightly, placing it in front of the snake as a distraction.*

So what brings you here to... *looks around the room* wherever this is?

Oh, you know, the usual; just an old soldier of fortune looking for some peace at last, in a world that has become chaotic and rudderless, where nobody will follow the rules any more. Did you know that politicians will LIE, to get what they want? Amazing, I know. Next thing you know, army recruiters will fall from truthfulness!

I gave up looking for Tanelorn ages ago; I realized that Carcosa was just the same place with the labels re-done. I have a villa just a short jet-ski ride down Lake Hali from Carcosa now, but I hardly ever visit any more.

Lately I have been out on safari in the Beast, my shooting brake. Just stopped in to cut the trail dust, then off again.


Cheers!

Chas.

another tentacle shoots out, and flips the slug into the fireplace.

Damn! Light the fire, somebody, will you?

"Let's see if this still works. A little trick I picked up from a funny old chap in Roumania some years back..."

(assumes thoughtful look, snaps fingers)

"Ah. That's better!"

There is a low crackling fire now amongst the logs in the fireplace, gradually building to a cheery glow.


Cheers!

Chas.

I was just in Tasmania myself, testing out a dimensional relocator I found in the bottom of my sock drawer this morning. *Frowns slightly* Seems to be broken now though, the longitude and latitude indicators either won't set or stick on Wichita Kansas.

*The anaconda strikes at the jar of cocktail squids and starts to gnaw at the glass*

Alright you, here, I'll give you one... *Opens the jar and dusts off a fork from under the bar, and offters the anaconda a squid. The snake happily swallows the squid, and starts to beg for another.*

I found him, (or her, I'm not sure) at my second-to-last stop in Brazil. Odd really, you don't find many snakes in post-industrial totalitarian cities... Suppose I should name him, can't really keep calling him 'you'.

"Huggy", perhaps?

Anyone for some billiards? I think the chessboard is still occupied...





Yep. Still at it. I don't think they have made three moves in the last 6 months... not that there's anything wrong with that. Billiards it is... Damn.







How many of them are there?



Cheers

Chas.

*A blue vortex appears in middle of room, becoming unstable and growing uneven. A tendril of aetheic plasma whips out and vaporises half of a nearby leather armchair. The centre of the vortex darkens, black and foreboding. Suddenly an energy burst rips through the vortex, it's blinding blue-white light bleaching all colour from sight, leaving only ghostly pale blue outlines of nearby objects and those witnessing the event a little too closely. A shape appears, hurtling through what appears to be a vaporous tunnel of some sort, rapidly increasing in speed and size. The object comes crashing through the event horizon of the vortex, skidding across the floor surounded by flying debris. The vortex now highly unstable begins to flash and pulsate like a giant Arc welder's torch, before collapsing in on itself with a fading sound like distant thunder. A strong smell of Ozone hangs in the air.*


I....what the.........where.....I......

*Siliconous is sitting in a somewhat damaged leather armchair, a broken table and a carbonised cheese toastie lay at his feet. Behind him is half of a bookcase, the outer books reduced to chared, still burning lumps. Scattered around are various books from the bookshlef - mostly the farmyard erotica section...*

Sorry about that - looks as if this damn device of mine is in need of urgent attention! And I...

*looks at singed book nearby - "Squeal Piggy Squeal!"

...ERR... - THOSE ARE NOT MINE!!....

Does anyone have any brandy or whiskey - I need a drink!... That last trip was...a little bumpy!

SS

A bit hard on the furniture, what? But as long as you are okay, the furniture can easily be replaced.

Here, have a Calvados, just the thing for spatio-temporal displacement.

I've arranged for dinner to be served in the formal dining room - arranged for the formal dining room first, the topography here is... mutable, to say the very least. The tailor can fit you up in a jiffy, we dress for dinner here when we can.

How are things... where ever it was you just vortexed in from?



Cheers!

Chas.

Hmm, what's this... *flips through a page of a smouldering pamphlet that's landed on the bar* Ugh, nevermind... *Tries to surreptitiously nudge the pamphlet off the edge of the bar, looking a mite embarresed*

*takes a sip from the coconut shell, and feeds the anaconda another squid* Now then, how about Mr. Huggy for you?

*The anaconda shrugs*

Not sure how you managed that, but okay. *Takes a sip from the shell, and looks at the contents thoughtfully* This could use some lime. *looks through the bottles, but finds nothing but a basket of mummified citrus.*

Shame, I miss my Venutian lime tree. They're banned in half the states at home now. Silly in my opinion, if you alway wear the proper protective gear they're really quite frindly once they learn they can't strangle you.

"Evening Chaps" *Sits on a dusty stool at the bar*, "A large Peach Amaretto please".

*Sets down the dried citrus basket and starts to mix up ingredients for Mr. Well's drink in one of the coconut shells*

Here you go sir, I'm afraid the shell is the only thing that's clean, until we can coerce someone into evicting the brown recluse nests from the glasses and washing 'em...

"No problem", *Takes a big mouthful, swallows and gasps for air straight away* "Wow that's good".

Sad... I tried to check in at the old Clocktower in the alternate (BG) dimension. It seems to have been foreclosed and condemned.

Ah, well. Tempus fuggit, and all that.


Chas.

Well, somebody get the lights and dust off the barkeep, I will get a fire going in the grate.

Irish coffee, I think, for a night like this, what?



Cheers!

Chas.

The gaslights'll have to do 'til I can get the aethermat working. Here, and hand me that key so's I can can wind up the barkeep...

Right - here you go.

Those gents still on with the chessboard - and the billiards. You'd think... ah, well. Nice to know nothing will get stolen with them here!

Here, now... surely that mounted head of a... I do believe that's a Frumious Bandersnatch! That wasn't here before! Nice taxidermy, though. Wonder who does their mounts - they certainly do good head. Er, um... well, it wasn't there above the fireplace last time we were in. Did you take that, or is that Mr. Skumins' trophy?


Cheers!

Chas.

*opens cupboard door, finds self in alternative universe again*

Nope, that one above the fireplace is nothing to do with me...


Well it seems like my temporal perambulaor device is either on the fritz again, or that it was perhaps not the best device to use to stop an expanding pocket universe from being created by preventing it's own history. Temporal mechanics are such a tricky thing to get right...

Now, let's see - I think I left some cigars here, last time I was here......ah - there they are! *takes one and lights it*

I'll take a Gill of Absinthe please barkeep - no water, just as it comes, thanks.

I wonder if it is just another temporal artifact... You know, I have been planning a safari, going after the usual - a Snark, the Frumious Bandersnatch, Questing Beast, Boojum - and this may be the result of that safari. Or it might be someone else's, you never know.

I have a Holland and Holland double rifle in .900 Nitro Express, I wonder if I should go for something bigger?



Cheers!

Chas.

My friend Brantley - the fellow from that transtemporal regulation company, you know, Aunt somethin'-or-other - He always opts for a monstrosity he calls the "Dilemma Gun." Sort of a pump-action version of Mr. Knock's volley gun, chambered for... you know, I can't remember the caliber, I just remember it's something gawdawful huge. Took out a rogue cthuloid martian in one go, don'cher know.

That trophy looks like something He'd bring home, come to think of it...

I like the name - solves the 'dilemma' of whether the gun you brought is big enough. "There is no overkill" - the Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries.

Well, as long as we are stuck here, I think I will experiment with combinations of hot chocolate and alcohol. Hmmm... chocolate derives from a tropical plant, which suggests rum. A nice, dark, spiced rum, such as The Kraken. It will be a sweet concoction, so a dash of creme de menthe is called for, I think.

I will try that, then report on the results.



Cheers!!!

Chas.