Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic

[WeaselMender]

Nothing for over a month?

It seems likely that there is much more than a single gin and tonic at work here.

I've only found this thread today and have been able to read it all in a single afternoon. Now there is yet another thing to jones over...

Yes, McClef, by all means get busy on that trans-dimensional rubber chicken detector.

I have this HUGE firecracker shall I light it????

A large bearded gentleman wearing a camo kilt and red shirt sneaks into the authors chamber and discovers the author sound asleep, he places a large red object under the sleaping author's bed holds his trusty lighter to the stringlike item depending from one end of the sinister red object then exits the chamber rapidly.



BOOM




The same bearded gentleman sticks his head throuth the door and shouts" So finish the story already!'






Weasel :ootd:

[Rob Wright]

People just don't respect the artistic effort it takes to craft a story. Anyone can write but a craftsmen appreciates nuances that are intangible to others (and often found after enjoying several creativity inducers in succession). Appreciate the beauty already given t oyou and enjoy what ye shall receive.

Rob

[ccga3359]

People just don't respect the artistic effort it takes to craft a story. Anyone can write but a craftsmen appreciates nuances that are intangible to others (and often found after enjoying several creativity inducers in succession). Appreciate the beauty already given t oyou and enjoy what ye shall receive.

Rob

Nah, he's just dreaming up distortions to the truth about me, making himself out to be the hero. He only wishes he was Queen of the Arctic.

[davedove]

As we all wait patiently (or not so patiently).


The Herald Dove found himself in what could only be called a seedy bar, but a bar unlike any he had even seen before. Looking around he noticed the patrons resembled the bar scene from Star Wars, only weirder. At one table, what looked like an Elven princess was sharing a drink with a Klingon warrior. At another, the group consisted of a man-sized praying mantis, a Roswell Grey, an amorphous blob, and what looked like a panda bear ninja.

Then, at the bar, he noticed a familiar face. Tending the bar was Spasm, or at least someone who looked like Spasm, except this man seemed much more vigorous.

The herald walked over and sat on one of the stools. Spasm walked over to him.

“Well, hello,” he said to the herald. “Welcome to the Floating Vagabond.”

“Spasm, is that you?” the herald asked.

The bartender chuckled a bit and replied. “Well, my name is Spasm, but I’m probably not the one you know.”

“Actually, you’re right. The Spasm I know is a bit, how should I say this, less secure in his awareness of reality.”

The bartender smiled as if contemplating a personal secret. “Anyway, I’m not you’re Spasm.”

“Is this some sort of alternate dimension then?”

“Well, not exactly, are you familiar with the theory that the universe is folded to create the fabric of reality?”

“Are you talking about the Tewksbury Theory?”

The bartender brightened up. “Yes, that’s it. Great, if you’re familiar with the theory, then the explanation will be easier. Okay, the fabric of reality is folded or pleated into multiple planes of existence, many of them similar but all different is some way.”

“Is this one of those other planes?”

“No, let me expand the theory for you. To keep up the analogy of the fabric of reality being pleated into a kilt, when you make a kilt there are always some scraps of fabric left over. This place is where those scraps go.”

“Are you saying that this place is the trash can of reality?”

“That’s not exactly right, but essentially correct,” he admitted.

“Then how did I get here?”

“Well, it seems that there are forces at work that are ripping apart the fabric of reality. The thread of existence that is you has come unraveled from that fabric. Thus, you wound up here.”

The Herald looked around at his surroundings. “Then why am I in a bar?”

“Well, everyone needs a drink now and then, especially those in the trash can of reality. What can I get you?” Spasm asked with a smile.

[Panache]

Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic:

A Victorian Serial told in Chapters

Chapter 9

Climbing into the hull of the airship I decided that this was an opportune time to give her a thorough inspection from bow to stern. As I proceeded through the great zeppelin’s corridors and catwalks I was greatly pleased to see that my airship was in absolutely tip top condition. The crew of Panaches worked in perfect harmony with each other. It may have been feared that with 80 odd copies of myself that all my personal faults would be magnified and lead to complete and utter chaos. But such was not the case. One could only assume that each one of the Panaches saw those faults in his fellows and resolved to be a better man, hence they worked together in pleasant cooperation . They came on and off duty as needed without discussion and the operation of the zeppelin proceeded seamlessly.

This is not to say they were not without their quirks.

Whilst otherwise showing perfect discipline and respect for my authority they failed to comprehend that my private supplies of Tanqueray gin were in fact not meant for the general distribution to the crew. However I could not conceive of any argument that I would accept that would satisfactorily explain a prohibition on this delightful balm, so therefore I didn’t imagine that any of my counterparts would either. So the grave concerns I had about the daily rate of consumption of cocktail olives and vermouth I kept to myself.

Even in their pilfering of my stock of this precious nectar of the Gods came an advantage. For it was quite simple to tell the “on duty” Panaches from the “off duty” ones. This being that those working held white mugs of steaming coffee that they readily refilled from the various red nozzles distributed throughout the airship whilst those not working carried cocktail glasses.

Of further note was that the clinking of glasses and / or mugs had taken the place of saluting onboard the Saltire. It all seemed perfectly civilized to me.

Making my way to the hangar amidships of the zeppelin I saw above the four stored 2 man SparrowHawk biplane fighters the Saltire's fearsome new missile battery that could be lowered through the hangar bay door below to wreck havok if the need should arise. I sincerely hoped I would never need to engage it. Walking over to the plane marked #3 I reached out and touched its fuselage. The right corner of the top wing was decorated with a pattern of two gold stars above two silver ones.

This was my personal fighter (though one, now vanished, English member of the League of the Moderators always referred to it as my “escape craft”. Darn that David!) and the stars were in honor of my beautiful red haired wife. I stood there a moment and allowed myself to think about my guiding Star and my sorrow at being without her.

Did tears roll down the cheeks of the captain of the XMTSAS Saltire ? If so there was none there to see them.

With a deep breath I left the hangar and continued my inspection.

I stopped by the hatch to the chamber housing our “Cloud Cloak” device. The ingenious machine drew in air from around the ship and ionized the water in it. The resulting vapor was released from a number of small apertures from the skin of our zeppelin to form an artificial cloud concealing our bright blue airship. From the doorway I regarded Arlen deep in conversation with one “on duty” and another “off duty” Panache. For once he seemed almost his old chipper self as he spoke to my fellows.

“…so I think that Dave Dove didn’t really get disintegrated at all. He is just lost, wandering between here and there. Who knows maybe he found the place where all those socks disappear to? Or maybe a world covered in all those ball point pens that seem to vanish without a trace? I’d like to think that he is just like Alice following the White Rabbit and he is certain to pop up again sooner or later…”

“That is a heartening thought” said the “on duty” Panache scratching his beard.

“Totally wrong though” emarked the “off duty” Panache sipping his Gibson.

“I refuse to believe that Dave Dove is DEAD!" wailed Arlen his façade of happiness cracking away like old paint on a barn door.

“Well he isn’t” remarked the “on duty” Panache

“Absolutely not dead in the least” added the other.

“Well at that is something” said Arlen regaining a little of his composure.

“Buck up lad, Dave Dove can’t die because he has never existed” said the “off duty” Panache

The "on duty" Panache continued “...Nor has his parents, nor his parent’s parents, nor has his parent’s parent’s parent’s …“

Arlen’s wailing filled the room and I hastened down the corridor.

I finished my inspection with two sets of “The Reel of the 51st Division” in the Grand Salon and having worked up an appetite headed for the mess.

Grabbing a sandwich and a hot cup of coffee I made my way to a free table where I found Colin sitting looking completely traumatized and in a state of shock. His hair stood up on end, his eyes were wide open but glassy, his skin cool to the touch, and his body periodically racked in small tremors. A Panache sporting a red cross armband was offering him tiny sips of tea.

“Good gracious what happened to Colin?” I asked

“ Apparently he went down to the Grand Salon and stood in the middle of a dance set Captain…” began the Medic Panache as he wiped some drooled tea from Colin’s chin.

“And?”

“…well the boys thought he wanted to finally joined in so they grabbed him and made him dance the Reel of the 51st Division”

“How many times did they make him dance it?” I demanded

“Well he passed out after the 8th repetition.”

“Oh my”

“Not to worry Sir, a cup of tea or two and he will be as right as rain”.

“Very well, carry on. By the by did he finally get it at the end?”

“Well apparently as a Scottish Country Dancer he makes a great rugby player”

“Pas de Basque, Pas de Basque….the horror…the horror…” whispered Colin weakly

I patted him on the arm and reached for my chicken sandwich. Mid bite I heard my voice come over the ship’s intercom (which in truth I found slightly disconcerting as it made me think I was performing a ventriloquist act)
.
A very excited Panache all but shouted,

“Captain to Bridge! Captain to Bridge! We have detected traces of the Maple Leaf’s passage!”

I sprang to the nearest wall speaker and replied “I’m on my way!”

Looking at my still glazed fellow Moderator I ordered “C’mon Man! Snap out of it we have work to do!“

Colin nodded, slowly rose to his feet, and followed me.

[Panache]

Minutes later we were climbing down the ladder into the command gondola. Our staunch Welshman Trefor pointed proudly at his machine . It was spinning wildly and all the crystals brightly shone white save for when each one spun to the 3’O clock position on their rotation at which point they shone bright blue.

“According to the device, Jamie, we are very close!"

I sat in my Captain’s chair and quickly issued orders:

“Communications, call all hands to stations! Helm, take us 45 degrees to Starboard.”

The small crystal candelabra atop the navigation station spun even faster and the crystals’ blue flashes gradually moved to the 12 O’clock position.

Trefor couldn’t contain the excitement in his voice “Captain we are dead on target and getting very close“

“Helm, ahead full! Communications tell our spotters to keep a sharp look out” I commanded.

Arlen came down into the gondola.

“What’s happening?” asked the young Scot.

“Arlen, we have found the trail of the Maple Leaf and are in pursuit”

The blue flashings changed and became red at the 12’O clock spot.

“Captain we are still on target and getting very close to what I think must be one of the holes the Maple Leaf has rent in the fabric of reality.” reported Trefor.

Colin had begun to come to his senses and asked groggily “Jamie, how are we going to find a hole in all this blackness? What exactly are we looking for?”

Arlen suddenly shouted and pointed forward “THAT!”

Ahead of us in the darkness shimmered a huge crackling ring of blue light surrounding a whirling vortex of black smoke, illuminated within by pulses of blue lightning.

“All hands to battle stations!” I ordered. As the klaxon alarm sounded, I regarded the maelstrom we had to travel through.

Trefor gestured to the spinning sensor. It’s motion had become a blur and the whole thing pulsated with a red light.

“All decks report in Captain, we are ready” called the Panache at communications.

Colin said, “This is the moment of truth”

Arlen whispered, “We have no idea what lies on the other side, or even if we can survive the trip through”

The Panache at the helm announced, “1 minute to entry into the hole Captain”

I quoted Tennyson quietly to myself

"Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do or die"

Colin loudly said “Isn’t that supposed to be “Do and Die” Jamie?”

Trefor added and I believe the next line is “Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred”

Arlen cried, “WHAT!”

“5 seconds to entry” came from the Helmsman Panache

All I could think to say was “well, this should be interesting…” as the prow of the Saltire entered the vortex.



And then… everything happened





To be continued

[McMurdo]

Eight repetitions of the reel of the 51st, that's just mean, I do remember doing three times over in class once, but eight?

[davedove]

... From the doorway I regarded Arlen deep in conversation with one “on duty” and another “off duty” Panache. For once he seemed almost his old chipper self as he spoke to my fellows.

“…so I think that Dave Dove didn’t really get disintegrated at all. He is just lost, wandering between here and there. Who knows maybe he found the place where all those socks disappear to? Or maybe a world covered in all those ball point pens that seem to vanish without a trace? I’d like to think that he is just like Alice following the White Rabbit and he is certain to pop up again sooner or later…”

“That is a heartening thought” said the “on duty” Panache scratching his beard.

“Totally wrong though” emarked the “off duty” Panache sipping his Gibson.

“I refuse to believe that Dave Dove is DEAD!" wailed Arlen his façade of happiness cracking away like old paint on a barn door.

“Well he isn’t” remarked the “on duty” Panache

“Absolutely not dead in the least” added the other.

“Well at that is something” said Arlen regaining a little of his composure.

“Buck up lad, Dave Dove can’t die because he has never existed” said the “off duty” Panache

The "on duty" Panache continued “...Nor has his parents, nor his parent’s parents, nor has his parent’s parent’s parent’s …“

Arlen’s wailing filled the room and I hastened down the corridor.
...

(found in a crumpled napkin in Arlen's pocket)

Fear not, Arlen lad!

Meer changes in reality cannot keep down the intrepid Mr. Dove. However, I will not be able to assist you at this time. I seem to be trapped "somewhere else". However, the bartender was able to somehow send this message for me. There really is more to this man than what he appears to be.

But do not worry about me; I am in fine health and good spirits. I really must find out what is in that incredible drink the bartender is serving; I believe he called it a 'singularity'.

P.S. Please excuse my choice of writing materials. It seems the only paper around here are these bar napkins. There does seem to be an over-abundance of ball point pins though!

As always,
David Dove

[Panache]

Gentle Readers,

This might be of possible interest to those enjoying this particular tale I have begun to relate again after a prolonged hiatus

http://www.xmarksthescot.com/forum/l...312/index.html

Your Most Humble Servant


P. .

[Panache]

Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic

A Victorian Serial told in Chapters

Chapter 10



The command gondola was bathed in alternating pulses of brilliant blue light followed by absolute darkness. The mighty zeppelin Saltire shook as if she were in the midst of a hurricane. The temperature dropped suddenly and a deathly chill pierced us all to our very marrow.

A eerie high pitch whine filled the bridge above the klaxon alarm.

“Nacelle crews report engines beginning to severely ice over Captain! Estimate they are close to freezing and shutting down.” called the Panache from Communications.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Have the crews shut down the Coffee Heat Exchangers” I ordered

“Jamie without the Wizard of BC’s ingenious coffee system to cool the engines we could overheat them and they’ll blow” exclaimed Trefor

“Plus we won’t have any coffee!” shouted all the Panaches in the Gondola in a panicked unison.

“If we don’t keep them running I don’t think we will make it through. SHUT DOWN THE COFFEE SYSTEM!” I commanded

“Aye Sir”, came from the communications station.

The pulsing became quicker, the air colder, and the noise grew almost painfully loud.

Arlen shouted “How much more can the ship take?“

Colin answered grimly “I think we are about to find out”

“Helm is buckling Sir, I’m having trouble maintaining course. Permission to reduce speed” shouted the Helmsman Panache.

“STAY ON COURSE AND MAINTAIN SPEED! WE NEED TO RIDE THIS OUT!” I screamed over the now unbearable whine. In my very soul I knew this to be true. The flashing lights were almost blinding and I shivered uncontrollably. And then…

I and the all the crew were wearing matching seersucker suits, blue dress shirts, black knit ties, tennis shoes, and nasty straw hats…

I and all the crew wore our best white tie outfits for a certainly formality was required for properly operating a zeppelin...

My command chair was made of lemon custard and I sank deep within it as my crew of penguins looked on…

I was Ja-Mie, King of the Saltire Tribe and we flew proudly in our Sky Home made of mammoth bones and hides. I sat regally on my throne of mammoth tusks and smilodon pelts and adjusted my nose bone…

I sat back in my command chair and regarded my bridge crew of identical 18 year bikini clad Charlotte Ramplings and was so happy that I didn’t have to share them David. Life was good…

I, my chair, the command crew, the gondola, and in fact the entire zeppelin were entirely made of gingerbread...

Just like before in the Great Golden Hall of XMTS I was confronted with infinite variations of existence simultaneously. Most disturbing of all these was the one where I wore a chartreuse off the shoulder evening gown and a tiara as the black pumps I sported didn’t go with the rest of the ensemble. Mercifully I again blacked out.

I awoke with Arlen shaking me “Wake up Captain Wake up Captain!“

Groggily I came to. I was on the metal floor in front of my command chair.

Arlen shouted happily “we got through Sir! We are at least somewhere!“ he gestured towards the window which showed blue clear sky and the sun rising in the East. It was a most welcome sight after the endless black void we had moved through. We were moving at cruising speed and someone had turned off the klaxon alarm.