Oi, you lot, careful! The ocelot cage goes next to the Bengal tiger’s, an’ so help me you scratch it I’ll feed you to 'em.
Crack to, you, that hippo tank ain’t gonna fill itself.
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Oi’, @Tom_Ratchetcrank… I got the wagon you asked for.
What do we need to move and to where?
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Just in time mate, just in time. Seems we’ve got a little bureaucratic misunderstanding with the Crown’s agents. The good Cmdr managed to bring his ship down close enough to port the Customs boyos had a go-through what before me fellas could scoop up the wreckage.
So I was thinking, who could possibly solve this conundrum? Why, none other than our very own Rocks and the esteemed @liversnaps-grayson, that’s who!
If you could kindly give a lift to just outside the Customs House, I figure Liversnaps you and your pip-pop gone in a hop should have the breeziest of times to reaquire my wares, in the wagon and back here safe as the Gates of Rome.
Why, you could even consider it as a public service! Think of the savings to the Crown without all those Joe Hoppers wasting their time on a few little boxes of macadamias and sundry sorts.
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Sounds like an interesting caper, Ratchetcrank! I feel sure there’s more than just “macadamias and sundry sorts” at stake… And since Rounder is busy reading fortunes, I have nothing but time on my hands.
Along with a few tricks up my sleeve…
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That’s a good mate. An’ for your troubles they’ll be a little something to keep your master ‘predicting’ a while yet longer.
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[ Dick ambles up the alley, talking to himself, looking slightly worse for wear ]
I wonder if Rocks and Ratchetcrank might be up for a little dinner party gate-crashing…
Could be fun, could be fun, mmm-hmmmm.
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I do think that could be a riot, and a rather amusing diversion from counting this week’s earnings…
But for I it will have to wait, for I am committed already to join the Duchess for dinner.
Say, why don’t you and Rocks take the new “carriage” around town, bit o’ flash might remind those Whipweeed Boys on the lower east side who’s runnin’ bangers n’ mash in Weatherby.
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[Franksenketchup tentatively pokes his head out the Leviathan’s side door, and seeing the alley vacant starts muttering to himself as he heads toward the main street and a conveyance waiting there]
Damn! It’s not here either. It was a poor clone to begin with and the Mind-Fillness™ technology is clearly still buggy. Biologically unstable, and with half the knowledge it needs to navigate the world. Igor should be jealous of it. Bah! Where to look next?
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Tom steps out of the shadows of a doorway, smiling as he approaches the Dr.
Say, Old Timer, where you off to in such a hurry? Care to clue ol’ Tommy in on why you seem to have a Federation suit that looks remarkably like one my boyo Walleye, rest his sole, used to wear?
As his smile turns cold Tom signals to two previously unseen goons at the other end of the alley
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Suddenly, kilometres away from the scene taking place in the alley, while in the middle of an intense discussion with his caterer about the proper way to blacken a hart cutlet, St-Patrick-Hartbrooke feels the inexplicable yet almost irresistible urge to gaze up at the heavens and ask the Heavenly Father, “Why?”
Of course, being rather well-acquainted with this feeling due to the course of events, as well as the various people he’s met, over the past few years, he swiftly stifles the blasphemous urge and continues to press his opinion about the exact shade of red that the innermost portion of the steak should be when served.
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Oi, boyos, you hear that? Trout I heard some-fin reely sanctimonuious, comin’ from some-plaice… anyhoo…
Right then, Dr., no need for this to be orcaward, we’re all fins here, not anemones. So w’eel ask you again, what’s the porpoise o’ that uniform?
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Look here you irreverent, wet-behind the ears, sea scoundrel, are you implying I had something to do with Walleye’s death? No. I didn’t. His demise did look suspicious to me, seeing as he was stuck clean through with an implement of some sort, but as I was in Leviathan’s when he stumbled in, it wasn’t likely that I was his murderer.
I may have obtained a small keepsake to honor his memory, but his clothes would hardly fit the ample frame my age has afforded me. I’m sure your protector, and my good friend Commander Caspianturnstile would be very interested in your malevolent menacing. Now do you intend to attempt me harm, or am I free to go about my day? I have most urgent business to attend to!
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“Menacing?” Dear me Ol’ Top, no no, we simply have a tragic misunderstanding 'ere. Why, what hazard could a simple ward like me pose to such an eminent True Citizen such as yourself? You do indeed wound, sir, to think such of me.
With an exaggerated movement Tom engages in a cartoonishly obsequious bow, his hand motioning towards the open end of the alley. As the Dr. hurries on his way a dart of the eyes and flick of fingers from Tom sends two shadows slinking after him.
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Oi, Tom. You want for me to do anything else. I’ve got to say whole lot strangeness goin’ on with that one.
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Nah Rocks, Dick and 'arry will keep an eye on 'em and let us know.
'Sides, we got an appointment with those Laudnum Lads trying to run up on the Southside.
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Oh dear me dear me, a little bird’s flit down an’ sung a song right into my own ear!
Oi, @liversnaps-grayson, @Rockford_Julius, seems like a honest gentlesentient’s work is never done!
I tell you, I just don’t know wot’s 'appened to the fine Weatherbean appreciation of an entrepreneurial spirit . Sad times these are my friends, sad indeed.
So this little bird tells me the fellar Liv, @MalevolentPixy, him who owns the Post Ledger seems to have some misconceptions about our endeavors and 'e plans on spreading these lies all over town!
Now, Mr. Twitterly-dee tells me they expecting us to come full force at the gates like a buncha barbarians! Well says me, that wounds almost as much as him thinkin’ this is some sort of criminal syndicate.
So Rocks, you send what boys we can spare to where we talked about, and then gather close my stalwart mates, and 'eres what we gonna do…
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