Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[Scratchy's Lass]

"...the flaming penguin squawks at midnight."

“EXCUSE ME! WOULD YOU MIND EXPLAINING WHY YOU ARE FONDLING MY SPORRAN!"

More!!! More!!!

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 2:

As the well dressed crowd approached with great suspicion and reproach in their eyes I released the gentlemen’s extraordinary sporran and stood straight with shoulders back to meet them. That oft quoted bon mot “the greatest inspiration is often born of desperation” proved itself true as an idea to save my reputation sprang forth from amongst the somewhat jumbled contents of my brain. Reaching into my jacket pocket I produced my billfold and quickly flashed a glimpse of a round medallion* I kept inside it to the angry crowd. I spoke in the loud staccato monotone that many associate with government authorities.

“CITIZENS PLEASE REMAIN CALM. I AM WITH THE KILT POLICE AND WAS CHECKING TO MAKE SURE THIS MAN’S SPORRAN WAS NOT SEAL SKIN. NOTHING TO SEE HERE. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR NORMAL ACTIVITIES’

Now of course there is no such thing as the “Kilt Police”. Yet in the back of the minds of most who wear the brave tartans of their ancestors the fear of somehow dressing inappropriately and being exposed for it in public has caused a collective, almost Jungian, concept of the dreaded “Kilt Police”. On this fear I successfully played in my attempt to escape a most awkward situation. I hoped that none requested a closer look at my “badge” being that close scrutiny would reveal it was a Fencing medal* from my Salad days at college.

The crowd gave a collective murmur of understanding and returned to the party. The orchestra started playing a Rumba and I noted my Flame-Haired Celtic Amazon Goddess was now dancing with a noted Kipling fan of our beloved forum who sported a formal coat with the new fashionable “butterfly tails”. I wondered what bias the musicians had against the Viennese Waltz .


The neatly dressed gentlemen whom I had accosted now showed a far less hostile demeanor. He looked apologetic and quietly said “ Sorry about that Sir. I thought you were some sort of weird pervert.”

I looked affronted “I am member of the League of the Moderators!”

“That really doesn’t help your case”, he replied. “Anyway”, he continued “I’m sorry about causing a scene there I didn’t realize you were on official business. I’m Jim” and he extended his hand which I shook.

“It really is a handsome sporran”, I commented

“Thank you. I’m very proud of it, being as I constructed it myself”

I ventured to inquire what manner of creature the dazzling white pelt had come from.

“It’s Acryli-beast”

I was most confused at this. Being that I had in my experiences come across many an acrylabeast sporran and none of them were even remotely like this glorious fur. I related my confusion to Jim.

He looked carefully about to insure no one was listening and whispered conspiratorially “It’s not the lesser Acrylabeast, spelled with an “a”. Those are fairly common and related to the South American Nauga. This is a vintage pelt I found in a curious old antique shop. Apparently it had come in a case from an estate sale with several other Inuit made items from the early 1880‘s. I had never seen anything like it. After I purchased it I did some research and was finally given the answer in correspondence with the noted kilt maker Mr. Steve Ashton of British Columbia. He was able to identify it as a small piece of a Greater Acryli-Beast pelt.”

“Greater Acryla-Beast? “ I pondered aloud.

“A-C-R-Y-L-I. Spelt with an “i”. It’s supposedly a fierce animal that lives at the very top of the world in the Artic Circle. It’s a different species than the lesser Acrylabeast. There are apparently a few Inuit legends about it. A lot of scholars and scientists believe it is only a myth, but here is the proof! Though who knows they may be extinct now”

I asked Jim if he would be willing to part with his magnificent sporran? Jim shook his head. “Never in a million years, this is one of kind. If you want a pelt you’ll just have to go to the North Pole and see if you can find one yourself.”

I gazed at the shimmering fur and considered, “It would be worth the trip…”

Jim laughed, “Don’t be daft man. The only way you could get there would be dog sled teams!”

I thought struck me, a wonderful thought. “Or a zeppelin” I murmured.

“A zeppelin! How on Earth would you acquire a zeppelin?”

“How indeed”, I mused.

I thanked Jim for his time and to maintain my deception gave him a warning for wearing his left set of flashes a quarter of an inch too far forward.

Stroking my neatly trimmed beard and lost in thought I stepped forward without much attention to where I was going. In my reverie I walked into a kilted gray bearded mountain of a man and fell over backwards. Rising to my feet and turning I stopped short of colliding with a second kilted gentlemen of robust build with a short neat beard. As a third kilted bearded fellow wearing his hair in a short pony tail came up I found myself surrounded. The three gentlemen all politely introduced themselves as (respectively) Mr. Mender, Mr. Splash, and Mr. BEEDEE.

To Be Continued ...


* Western Regional College Fencing Tournament : Shiniest epee’ - First Place

[McClef]

That's the first time I have heard of the Kilt Police having a sporran division!

And Hamish! What an unfortunate location to think of in the circumstances!

[Hamish]

..................................................

And Hamish! What an unfortunate location to think of in the circumstances!

Ah, Trefor, do you not recall the tale of the phantom rice pudding thrower of the Balls Pond Road? Perhaps not - you're far too young!! Well, I believe there is a connection. Perhaps Jamie will reveal all before he's out!

[McClef]

Ah, Trefor, do you not recall the tale of the phantom rice pudding thrower of the Balls Pond Road? Perhaps not - you're far too young!! Well, I believe there is a connection. Perhaps Jamie will reveal all before he's out!

I regret that it does not come to my memory banks Hamish.

I do remember Bruce Forsythe's Generation Game and the "plays" put on by the Balls Pond Rd Amateur Dramatic Society.

And I was once taken to a pub called The Entertainer on that thoroughfare to hear quite a good band.