Duchess, you came! I must say you’ve certainly brightened our humble little hangout with both your talent and presence.
hurriedly kicks craps game behind him and discretely shoos the other, now somewhat annoyed, wards away. The other wards pay no attention to his urging
Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you, I was trying to find you the perfect gift.
I advise against trying it, though. There’s a cat in the Club who ate one and she’s been totally bloopy for days now.
Oooh it looks super cursed and shiny! It’s not like lethal or anything, right? Like, if we had nothing better to do we could hold like a seance and see what happens when someone eats it! Thanks! That’s sweet. I know just the right place to put this in my apartment!
Now as for thanking you for the beans, I brought us some perfect sandwiches. Glob, that’s totally false advertising, but the lady who works at the sandwich shop is super meticulous. It’s kind of like performance art, but really I think she’s just using some crazy science do-dads to raise the price! Everyone says they’re tasty though!
It’s all yours!
Excuse me.
Has anyone seen Ensign Crusher?
He was supposed to return with the .NETS devices that got frozen-under the lake fisheries of Mr. Karekin and Dr. Franksenketchup.
Sir, I do believe your young ward headed off in that direction…
[ Dick’s ears prick up suddenly and his eyes momentarily lose their focus ]
Please excuse me, won’t you? Something feels not-quite-right.
[ Dick briskly walks down the alley, disappearing halfway through ]
Oh, Rounder, what have you done?
Thank you, Richard.
If you see him, tell him I’m inside The Leviathan Club.
Qaaxtzl heads out of the Leviathan club, a box under his arm, and spots a darkened looking alley, which he heads down. Checking that nobody is around, he opens the box and takes out some papers.
Inssstructions…
Place cone of sssssilence over head, point at dessstination, ssspeak normally.
consulting a map, he looks towards an address on Dragoon Mews.
Agent Pumpernickle…Agent Pumpernickel…your misssssion issss not complete. Do not break cover. Do not return to Königssssberg. Continue infiltrasssshion. You are not ssssuspected.
After a final furtive glance around, Qaaxztl removes the cone, places it back in the box, and hurries off in the direction of St. Marrowbone.
Night. Coldish. Dampish. More than a bit smellyish.
A light breeze disturbs a mildewing scattered pile of copies of last season’s Weatherby Space Times. The hem of a fetchingly au courant frock is revealed, along with some scaly clawed toes. The talons are painted a sultry blood red.
Well, maybe that’s not paint.
As footsteps recede down the alley, a hungover reptilian head rises from the trash heap.
A horizontally-lidded eye blinks once, blearily. Then again, less blearily.
Space Lizards sober up fast.
“An Arcturan Cone of Silence. All the way out here. That’s an interplanetary treaty broken, some stiff tariffs dodged, and at least three bribed customs officials. We’re dealing with a professional here.”
The lizard sighs.
“If only I knew what was being said. That has to be a valuable bit of intelligence. Otherwise, they wouldn’t use such advanced tech as the ACoS.”
Ssskidwish rises to his feet to engage in stealthy pursuit, then pauses as a thought strikes him.
“No lisp.”
He gingerly licks his gumline. Two sharp new fangs have erupted from their sockets.
Ssskidwish grins broadly and terrifyingly. He feels ten years younger.
“Oh, yesssss. Romance will have to wait. Thingsss are about to get nasssssty!”
The fetching youngish Space Lizard scampers down the alley after his quarry.
Oi, @liversnaps-grayson, @Rockford_Julius, is it true what they sayin’ about our boy? He really baked the brown bread? A boyscout he was, but a good 'un.
Back to business, gentlesentients. Rocks, got your gear all Brighton Pier, even managed to pull a few out whole.
Liverschnapps, I’ve got just the thing to keep your master on cloud 9. No, no, put your quid away, this one’s on ol’ Tommy.
Much obliged, Ratchetcrank, much obliged. I’m in your debt, friend.
He’s on his way to the club now, so I’d best get this to him. Let’s hope he doesn’t make a spectacle of himself in the meantime.
[ peers in one of the Leviathan’s windows ]
Uggghhhh… too late.
Ol’ Tom, you are the resourceful one.
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.
Oi’, @Tom_Ratchetcrank… I got the wagon you asked for.
What do we need to move and to where?
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.
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…
That’s a good mate. An’ for your troubles they’ll be a little something to keep your master ‘predicting’ a while yet longer.
[ 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.
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.
