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RMS Humbug and
Chatterbox: Inkwell
RMS Humbug and
RMS Humbug and RMS Tiny Invite You To Their Maiden Voyages!
On September 22, a day that looks, smells, and tastes like any other day – which, for that matter, it probably is – an “ordinary” person much like yourself (maybe even yourself?) finds in the back of their cupboard a five-year-old mayonnaise jar. The nutrition facts label reads as follows:
Vitamin B12 – 2%
Vitamin Z564 – 26%
You, random but lucky person, are invited to the maiden voyages of the RMS Tiny and the RMS Humbug, two cruise ships belonging to the Ridiculous Management of Seagoers (RMS) Company! Isn't that awesome? It starts on October 10, so you have lots of time to pack! Isn't that even awesomer! And it's completely FREE*! Please RSVP by October 5. Anyone who wishes to join after October 5th but before October 10 has a lot less chance of making it onto the ship on time. Anyone attempting to board the ship after October 10 will find that the ship has already left, and I am afraid that under no circumstances can we pick up latecomers.
Cheesiness – 41%
Corniness - 22%
Good Old Random Humour – 5555555555%
Logic - (-111%)
Vitamin A+ - 4.67%
The person squints to read the fine print (the finest print they've ever seen) at the bottom of the label:
*This may or may not include certain expenses, including but not limited to: food, accommodation, extreme trauma counselors, staff, my new billion-dollar fridge, etc. NOTE: Some of these expenses may seem entirely unrelated to the subject at hand, but let me assure you that, when viewed from a holistic point of view, they are all completely necessary.
-Your Future Captain,
The Ominous
ANOTHER NOTE: Any complaints, questions, forwarded expenses, or wishes to sue may all be sent to John F.Q. and CaptainRead of the Cricket Chatterbox!
ANOTHER NOTE: We here at RMS Co. believe that there are two possible reasons why the Titanic sank. One is that it had such a huge, grand name that the sea serpents got angry and told the iceburgers to “let 'em have it broadside!”. Of course, as you all know, iceburgers don't have very good aim, so instead of “having it broadside”, the Titanic was rammed from the front, causing the deaths of millions. The other is that everyone thought it was unsinkable, and so we all jinxed it and of course it just had to sink after that. This is why we have built the RMS Tiny and the RMS Humbug. The former ship will be completely unsinkable because of its unassuming name, and the latter will be a test to see if we were right. The RMS Humbug has been equipped with all the sorts of things that superstitious sailors think contribute to the angering of sea serpents and the sinking of ships, and it will probably be sunk almost immediately.
AND ANOTHER NOTE: When everyone has boarded the RMS Tiny (no one will want to go on the RMS Humbug, we are certain), their names will inexplicably appear in Pandora's Fedora, owned by your captain, The Ominous (that's me!). A “murderer” will be drawn out of it, and the game will begin! From then on, those whose names are drawn out of Pandora's Fedora will “disappear”, unfortunate “victims” to the will of the hat.
YET ANOTHER TEDIOUS NOTE: This was inspired by T.O.N.'s Ski Lodge Murder Mysteries(TM), and we here at RMS Co. sincerely hope that it is different enough to avoid any copyright issues. To be sure of this, there is a rather severe plot twist that we can't tell you a single thing about. We will not use the Ski Lodge, nor any of the characters from it, and we will attempt to use our own style of writing, no matter how much we may be unconsciously influenced into doing otherwise because of the sheer awesomeness of the Ski Lodge. "Days" will be written whenever possible during the busy schedule of The Ominous, and you can hope to expect from one to three of them per week. Everyone who signs up may post their view of the "day," but please wait until you've read whatever The Ominous has written before doing so, and because of the severe yet unknowable plot twist, your memories will be wiped once you die, so there are unfortunately no ghosts. If you really want to, dreams or hallucinations are allowed.
The person snorts dismissively. “Some silly, outdated advertisement or conspiracy meant to get more people to eat mayonnaise! Well, it certainly didn't work very well...” They think, staring at the uneaten mayonnaise jar for a few seconds, and then throwing it over their shoulder into a garbage can and inadvertently causing a snowstorm in Italy.
DINGALING! DINGALING! The phone rings. You pick it up, wrenching your gaze from the scattered tea leaves in front of you that had just produced the story above. “Hello?”
“Good evening. This is Super Mayonnaise Incorporated, business partner with RMS Co. We have been looking through our records, and it has come to our inattention that the five-year-old mayonnaise jar you just now allegedly threw over your shoulder was never sold, stolen, or even brought into existence in the first place. It does not exist, and neither does your house, no matter how real it may appear. Furthermore, you do not exist. We deny everything, and have lawsuits in place to make sure you do not claim otherwise. In fact, I am talking to thin air right now, because you do not exist. Neither does your telephone. Goodbye, thin air, and thank you for your co-operation.”
Before you can speak, the line goes dead. Now thoroughly mystified, you decide to thwart reason and pack your bags to wherever it was that the ships were supposed to leave from. Not that there had been a location mentioned anywhere in the story your tea leaves just told you, but you still think you have an idea of where to go. You hope.
submitted by The Ominous, age unknown, mysterious
(September 22, 2014 - 7:25 pm)
(September 22, 2014 - 7:25 pm)
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(October 7, 2015 - 5:48 pm)
I have not died, I was merely sleeping -- ahem -- I mean working! That's right, I've been hard at work all this time, typing my fingers off and writing up a storm, in fact I was so busy working I forgot to post anything!
. . .
If only I had a true excuse that good... But, like my old friend George "Sticky" Washington, I cannot tell a lie. Well, I could, but then I'd feel bad about it. Probably. Aaaanyway, the only thing I can say about it is sorry, and you're probably all tired of hearing me say that because it doesn't change anything. So instead, I'll give you a really ridiculous excuse and if it entertains you I might be able to stop feeling guilty. Okay? Okay. Well, here it is: I was time-travelling. The RMS Humbug has a handy-dandy time-travel button that I kept forgetting to push, and then I accidentally fell on it (I tripped over one of the staff, I'm not sure which one because they'd been turned into sheep. Trying to get them to stop eating the insurance forms was another delay in me getting this out to you, but that's another story). I didn't notice that I'd pushed the time travel button until I went out on deck and saw the fleet of Roman ships outside, and then I had to do some very fast talking -- and some faster running -- to get out of that mess. By the time I was able to push the time-travel button again and get the RMS Humbug back in the right time, the automatic jump-back time had been reset to a month later than when I'd left. Was that good? Well, here's the first part of Day 10, and if that doesn't satisfy you I promise to send the next part of day 10 (it's a really long day) in by Sunday night!
* * *
I had an amazingly funny thing to say to start this day off, but now I can't remember anything about it except that I was certain that it would be easy to remember. I believe this is what could be called irony, if it weren't quite so annoying. Bother.
-- The Ominous
The tale of the CBers spread quickly, and was soon being told in every pub, every bar, and every tiny cafe serving chopped pineapples in the land.
“I hear those CBers went and got old Tom's inn burnt down!” one old codger would say, slurping some of his lemonade.
“Aye, and they didn't even kill the dragons that done it!” another old codger would reply, nodding sagely.
“I 'ear they're prejudiced 'gainst 'edgehogs, too! How 'orrible!” a third old codger would say, dunking his dentures in a nearby glass of water.
A fourth old codger, with a leg (or some other limb) missing, would doubtless join in at this point. “Oh, I can understand not likin' hedgehogs!” He would pick his teeth with a hedgehog spike and stare nostalgicly at where his missing limb had been. “Some hedgehogs can be mighty vicious, the one that took my leg was the size of a cow!”
“Too true, too true.” The bartender would say, passing out more chopped pineapples all round. (it's good for business to agree with your customers) “Now what I don't understand is the tapdancin'...”
“Aye, kids these days with their tapdancin' and their foxtrottin' and their waltzes!” The first old codger would say. “Back in the good old days, (at this point all the old codgers would nod and look wistfully into the middle distance, murmuring “Ah yes, the good old days...”), why, back then all we had was the good, simple jig!” Now at this point, if the weather wasn't too humid and the speaker hadn't had too few drinks, he would usually jump up onto the table and start jigging, accompanied by the clapping of his audience and the occasional creak and groan, if he had arthritis.
After the dance, the old codgers would start talking about something else, like the weather or the good old days or what kids these days were doing that kids back in the good old days would never have done, or at least they would have gotten away with it if they had. So, all in all, the CBers were quite popular, relatively speaking.
Now, I'm sure at this point that you are on your toes wondering what happened to the CBers, so we shall return to the wreckage of the inn. The dragons were gone, because they were so fiery that when my automatic sprinklers' puny droplets touched them, the dragons simply evaporated. However, puny droplets are no good at putting out fires. The inn burnt to the ground, but fortunately the fire didn't spread. This was lucky, for my engines did not seem to be able to make the forest disappear, and I myself might have been burnt to a crisp.
Something moved in the ashes of the inn. A small hedgehog with a slightly singed lute slung over its shoulder emerged and looked around. The CBers were nowhere to be seen. The hedgehog began to play a slow waltz on its lute. Hedgehogs from all over the forest gathered around, dancing in pairs. One, two, three. One, two, three. The hedgehog stopped playing and stood on a bit of rubble. “Hear ye, hear ye! My fellow prickly creatures, pay attention!” The hedgehogs stopped dancing. “I have gathered you here to rescue some humans who were last seen in this inn, and are probably trapped within the rubble!”
“Why should we help any humans?” one hedgehog asked. “They chased poor Rupert all around the forest!”
The first hedgehog nodded sagely. “That is true, however, one of their company saved Rupert from the others, and I am sure that the others will have repented by now. Anyways, it's not your choice, I'm the leader. Get to it!”
The hedgehogs dove into the rubble, their cute little paws digging away, their cute little noses sniffing and snuffling, and their cute little nonexistent eyebrows waggling in concentration. They were many, but they were small, and the inn had been larger than it had looked, so they hadn't gotten very far when, through the woods, there came a rumbling and a crashing as something about the size of a cow came ominously closer. The hedgehogs dug faster. Then the creature broke through into the clearing, and it gave a loud roar! “I hope I'm not too late! Did you finish the waltz without me?”
“I'm afraid we did, but I'm sure we can have another waltz after we're done this job, Bob! Come and help!” One of the smaller hedgehogs piped up.
And so, with the help of Bob the cow-sized hedgehog who wasn't really vicious at all (he had tried to explain to the old codgers that it was an accident and he couldn't help being cow-sized, but old codgers aren't usually ones for accepting that evil monsters are actually quite nice), the hedgehogs were able to dig the remaining eight CBers out of the rubble.
With their job done, the hedgehogs scurried off to have another waltz somewhere else within the woods. They were gone before the CBers even realized that they had been rescued.
Brookeira stumbled in a circle, blinked hard, and then raised her sword. “Attack the dragons! CHAARGE!”
The other CBers screamed in fright, and tried to hide behind the little bits of rubble that used to be sofas and lampshades. As you can see, they were still very dazed. Curio lay on the floor – well, what used to be the floor – and mumbled, “Caaabage..... Caabbaaage!” and Forrest tried to grab a nonexistent chair and throw it at the nonexistent dragons, but merely succeeded in covering her face with soot.
After a few minutes, they came to their senses and saw that the inn and the dragons were no longer there, and that they were all still alive, (except for the ones who were dead, of course). Much to the disappointment of the murderer, I'm sure, no one new had died since Indigo.
Everinne jumped up. “Well, I think that this adventure has been too dangerous for its own good. Let's go to the library!”
Because of the slight engine malfunction I mentioned earlier, I couldn't make the woods disappear, so the CBers had to trudge through them, searching for a way out. Finally, after what seemed like a few minutes (and probably was only a few minutes), Bookbug spotted something. It was a mysterious door, covered in ivy and surrounded by trees, as most mysterious doors are. However, unlike most mysterious doors, this mysterious door was bright pink and smelled like cheese.
Bookbug grabbed the handle and yanked it open, pulling it off its flimsy hinges in the process. As the CBers passed through the doorway, Winter Firefly remarked, “They don't make mysterious doors like they used to, now do they?”
Conveniently, the doorway led to the library.
As the last Cber walked through the mysterious doorway, the door swung shut behind them, becoming almost invisible because it was disguised as a bookshelf. The CBers scattered, each one searching for a good book. Forrest found a copy of The Princess Bride and grabbed it off the shelf, Madeline, who wasn't looking for a picture book but found one anyways, spotted the book Madeline, and Curio found a book called 101 Things To Do When Your Flying Ship Is Crashing (by S.O.S.). “Curiouser and curiouser!” Curio muttered.
“Hey guys, look what I've found!” CaptainRead yelled. She held a book called A Book Of Murderers Aboard The RMS Tiny: Past, Present, And Future (by A Helpful Guy In A Tweed Suit). The other CBers crowded around, staring at the book CaptainRead held in her hands. “Are you sure we should open it?” Winter Firefly asked nervously.
“Don't worry, it's just a book. It's not like it's going to kill m – ergh!” CaptainRead fell to the ground, a knife in her back.
NOTE: The knife in question was a butter knife. This could be taken to imply that the murderer has a small budget, but we'll never know. Or will we?
The CBers staggered back, shocked. I quickly employed the No-Gore Teleporters, but nothing could wipe the image of a dead CaptainRead from the minds of the remaining CBers. The book fell to the ground, opening as it fell. Its pages were blank, save for four words: Ha, made you look! It might have been funny in any other circumstance, but it wasn't funny then.
The Butler was ready for his part, playing a mournful violin solo. The CBers stared suspiciously at each other. It suddenly struck them all that it could have been any one of them. They had all been crowded around CaptainRead. They had all been close enough to do the stabbing. They had all been close enough to have been the one being stabbed. 10 people, 10 CBers, 10 amazing personalities, had died aboard this ship. And it was one of them who had done it.
“Ahem.” The CBers looked up. On the balcony above them stood a tall, plump man wearing a thick blue overcoat and a police helmet. “I'm Inspector Scotty, of Scotland Yard.” The small black scottish terrier at his feet barked, as if to affirm that this was true. “I hear there's been a murder, and I'm here to investigate!”
* * *
END OF DAY 10 PART 1
(October 16, 2015 - 5:02 pm)
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(October 16, 2015 - 5:07 pm)
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(October 17, 2015 - 7:36 am)
DAY 10, PART 2
* * *
The CBers sat in the Billiards Room,
watching the Inspector warily. Inspector Scotty strode across the
room. “First order of business: Interrogation! I've already interrogated a lampshade, that sofa you're sitting on, and all the
billiard balls, so now on to you, the CBers! I'm hoping for some
juicy confessions, so please don't disappoint me!”
The Inspector's finger fluttered over
the CBers, and he muttered, “Eeny meeny miny mo, catch a criminal
by the toe, if he hollers, make him yelp, better safe than to call
for help.” His finger pointed accusingly at Madeline. “Right then
young lady, come along into the interrogation room!”
“Please take a seat.” Madeline sat
down on the wooden chair that had been provided. Inspector Scotty
continued, “Now, I know you're just as innocent as the last person
I interrogated, but I need you to answer some questions just in case.
Question One: What is the capital of Finland?”
“I don't know.” Madeline stared
confusedly at the Inspector.
He nodded. “Good, good. You've been
most helpful so far. Now, Question Two: Where were you on Friday, the
fiftieth of January?”
“That's not a real date!”
“Ha!
A likely story! Now tell the truth, where were you?”
“I wasn't anywhere! I'm telling you,
there's no such date as the fiftieth of January!”
“Aha! Nonexistent, were you?” He
scribbled something on his notepad.
Dedant! Dedant! Dedant dedant dedant!
Dedant de deeeeee doo! The Pink Panther theme played out of nowhere.
“Oh, that's my cell phone! Excuse me a minute while I take this
call.” The Inspector left the interrogation room, locking it behind
him.
Madeline sat there, staring at the
wood-panelled walls. There wasn't much else to the room other than
the walls and the chair. Oh, and the floor and ceiling, of course.
She waited. And waited. And waited. A few times she thought she heard
the Inspector outside of the door, saying things like “Aha! Very
interesting...” and “When was the last time you were in Brazil?”
and “Are you allergic to watermelon? Really? Well then, are you
allergic to butter? Hmmm...” This went on for a while, and Madeline
felt she would soon go crazy, waiting for the Inspector to come back.
She had already inspected the walls for secret passageways (and found
none), and she had checked the door several times to see if it was
actually locked (it was). Finally, she snapped. Pounding on the door,
she yelled, “Let me out! Let me out of here now! I'll confess, I
promise!”
“Finally, I thought you'd never give
me a confession!” The Inspector said, opening the door. Madeline
fell to her knees. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! It was an
accident! I thought that if I stayed quiet nobody would notice!”
The Inspector looked happy. “So
you're confessing to the murder of CaptainRead, Indigo, BookWizard,
and the rest of the now-deceased CBers?” It sounded less like an accusation and more like a fact.
Madeline looked confused and horrified.
“What? No, I didn't do that! I'm confessing to stealing 5 pies and
21 library books! I'm very sorry, and I won't do it again, I
promise!”
The Inspector's expression looked more
like a pout than a smile now. “Oh. Well, it's good to know that my
investigation was a complete waste of time! Well, go on back to your
friends, I have to start looking for clues now.”
Madeline ran off
to find the other
CBers, who had all been interrogated by Inspector Scotty while she
was stuck in the interrogating room, and they were now playing badminton
in the Conservatory. Apparently he had asked the same sort
of ridiculous questions to everyone.
Winter Firefly batted at the birdie,
which flew across the room, tweeting loudly.
Bookbug deftly caught
the birdie, and
grabbed the egg it laid in her hand. She cracked the egg into a pan,
which was resting on the Billiards table, which had been brought into the Conservatory by Inspector Scotty (when he did it, he'd been
muttering “billiard table, stovetop, billiard table, stovetop...”
almost maniacally).
Forrest stared. “Why are you playing
badminton with a live birdie?”
Masked Piester grinned. “It scrambles
the eggs better! Try them! They're very good with ham!”
Forrest backed away, looking nervously
at the cooked egg, which was a bright green colour. “Um, no
thanks!”
“Would you eat them with a mouse?
Would you eat them in a house?”
“No! Dr. Seuss is all well and good,
but I really don't think eggs should be bright green!”
“Would you eat them if they were
turned into a pie?” Masked Piester suggested, grinning slyly.
“Maybe... it depends what type of
pie. Is it egg-flavoured?”
Bookbug interrupted. “The author must
be really stuck for ideas, to be quoting Dr. Seuss. Let's liven
things up a bit and have a party!”
I most certainly AM
NOT stuck for
ideas! Didn't you notice that most awful of lame puns? And Dr. Seuss
is an excellent source of refined literary humour . . . about a cat
wearing a striped hat. Okay, fine. Just continue reading, and maybe I
can bribe The Editor into letting me see her top-secret Idea Box. NOT
that I need ideas, you know! I'm absolutely chock-full of ideas! Full to
the brim! Overflowing! I'll just look at The Editor's ideas to . .
. er . . . uh, make sure they're professional enough! After all, (cue
dramatic music, please, Butler) We're All Professionals Here.
(that's the new motto of the RMS Humbug, as of a few seconds ago. I think it's much better – I mean more professional – than the last
one, which was Don't Look Too Closely At The Sardines.) Ahem,
well, anyways, please continue reading!
-The Ominous
Winter Firefly said, “What were we
talking about again? Oh yes, a party! To the ballroom, everyone!”
* * *
END OF DAY 10, PART 2
(October 18, 2015 - 7:43 pm)
Bother, sorry about the formatting. I just spent half an hour on part 3 getting the formatting to work properly, so I hope it works better...
-The Ominous
Yes, part 3 looks fine, Ominous.
Admin
(October 20, 2015 - 9:25 pm)
DAY 10 PART 3
* * *
In the ballroom, a never-before-mentioned disco ball hung from the ceiling. This disco ball had never been mentioned before because it had been locked away, deep within the vaults of RMS Tiny, never to be used, never to be looked at, except in the uttermost of dire needs.
Which was now, of course! You just can't have a party on board the RMS Tiny without a sacred and horribly dangerous artifact hanging from the ceiling, now can you?
Catchy music blared from catchier-looking speakers. And by saying that the speakers were catchy-looking, I literally mean that they looked like traps, ready to spring out and catch you if you stepped in the right place. Brightly coloured lights spun about the room, reflecting off the shiny disco ball.
All of a sudden, because the author couldn't think of an appropriate icebreaker for the party, everyone began to dance. And I mean everyone. The CBers danced wildly, having the time of their lives. The Captchas filed into the ballroom and began to dance slowly, shuffling rather disjointedly in an attempt to look like they knew what they were doing. The old ladies of M.U.R.D.E.R.O.U.S. walked in and started doing a lively jig that would have made the old codgers proud. But we won't worry about that, this isn't a romance story.
Inspector Scotty, after briefly questioning the disco ball about it's motives, hesitantly began to dance the jitterbug. Aldo danced into the room, staring accusingly at his feet. George, who hadn't been seen all day, walked in and promptly got lost in the crowd.
Glennis walked in reluctantly, looking for all the world like she wouldn't dance, but then she suddenly started waltzing energetically across the room. There was nothing she could do about it, and her face bore the expression a penguin might have if it was forced against it's will to fly. If penguins could have facial expressions at all...
The Ominous moved into a dark corner and began tapping his feet to the music. “Perhaps havingeveryone
dance wasn't such a good idea..." he mused to himself.
Gollum, who was in an even darker corner of the ballroom, sat and stared lovingly up at the disco ball. Not knowing how to dance, he began to sing instead, “My precioooouuuuus! My ooooonly! Our birthday preeeesssent! I caaaaannot stand a day withoooouuuut you!” His voice was surprisingly deep, and he sounded a bit like a Disney movie hero singing about his love of the blond, blue-eyed heroine. Except disco balls aren't particularly blond or blue-eyed.
The room was very crowded at this point, and it looked like everyone was there. (this is the sentence that explains me having forgotten to list anyone else who should have been dancing at this point...) After a little while the dancing slowed down and people began to chat a bit.
Suddenly, the green sofa burst through a door and began to tango with a beaded lampshade!
All conversation stopped, and there was a brief moment when Mary the M.U.R.D.E.R.O.U.S. president threatened to tie it up with her lasso. After a short scuffle, she was reminded that she didn't have a lasso and the sofa felt awkward and shuffled off to dance somewhere else.
Conversation resumed, and the room was soon loud with excited chatter.
Glennis was talking to Gollum about interior design and the importance of cleanliness in water-filled caves, while the Masked Captcha plotted with the other Captchas, planning a glorious raid on the Wreck Room, full of flames and fury and cute fluffy four-lettered creatures.
Masked Piester was thinking much along the same lines, and she shared her thoughts with The Blaster, “You know, the state of destruction these days has reached an ultimate low! Don't you think we should up the standards a little?”
The Blaster grinned and rubbed her hands together in glee. “Delectable idea, my friend! Shall we start with the fruit punch, and then work through to the brussels-sprout pies?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of finding an incredibly dangerous magical artifact to steal, but that might be too hard. In this day and age, you rarely find dangerous things hanging just above your head.” The disco ball glinted menacingly above them, but no one noticed. The Masked Piester continued, “But you're probably right, we should start small with the fruit punch, and then work our way up. Don't forget the Mountain Dew!”
The Blaster pretended to look offended. “I would never dream of forgetting the Mountain Dew!”
They both grinned, and slipped away into the crowd towards the table filled with food, which Aldo had managed to set up while dancing.
Not knowing of the impending chaos, Curio was dancing by herself, humming a little tune. She was deep in thought, and so was startled by a hand on her shoulder. The sound of a loud quack jolted her out of her shock, and she whirled around. An old lady that Curio knew was part of M.U.R.D.E.R.O.U.S, but didn't know much else, stared intently at Curio.
The duck that had quacked was sitting on the old lady's shoulder. The duck was the most interesting part of the old lady, who could only be described as looking like every other old lady in the world. She smiled. “Hello, little girl! I'm Jemima Goose, and I couldn't help noticing that you were staring rather dreamily at the Inspector over there.”
Curio frowned. She hadn't really noticed where she was looking, she had been too busy thinking about the events of the day. She opened her mouth to explain to the old lady, but Jemima smiled at her and interrupted before Curio could say anything. “You're blushing, dearie! Don't worry, I must say he is quite the handsome fellow! Would you like me to introduce you to him?”
Curio quickly said, “NO! I mean, thank you very much for your thoughtfulness, but you've got it all wrong --” She was about to explain, but Jemima cut in again, “Oh, so it's like that, is it? Don't worry, I've got some excellent tips on how to write love letters! Or would you like me to give the Inspector a nudge in your direction?” The old lady looked kindly down at Curio, smiling knowingly.
Curio sighed, exasperated. “No, I don't want you to do that. The Inspector must be at least 30 years older than me!”
“Oh, don't worry about that, dearie! Love has no bounds of age!”
“I'm not in love!”
“That's what they all say!” Jemima started off towards Inspector Scotty.
“Wait! Come back Jemima!”
The old lady turned back to Curio, smiling. “So you want me to write those love letters after all?”
Curio sighed in exasperation and crossed her arms.“No, do you want me to have to take violent action against you?”
Jemima smiled, “I'll write those love letters for you, don't worry.”
“That was a rhetorical question!"
“Oh, um, okay.” She grinned. “I'll just go start on the first paragraph, shall I?” She turned and walked slowly away.
BANG!
Jemima ducked, but there was no sudden pain in her head, nor was there the usual cliched whistling noise as a bullet went over her head. She looked around the room, and saw Inspector Scotty holding a pin in one hand and the remains of a balloon in the other.
She marched over to the Inspector. “Why, young man! You nearly gave me a heart attack with that balloon! What was that for? I doubt you'll get very far with interrogating the balloons if you've just killed one of them!” She stomped off in a huff, having apparently forgotten about the love letters.
The Inspector frowned as the little old lady walked away. “I will stop at nothing in the pursuit of justice!” He declared.
Masked Piester, who had overheard the entire conversation, took this as her cue and heaved a pie in the Inspector's direction. “Pursue this, Inspector! Justice is pie!”
The pie smashed into Scotty's face quite spectacularly. The Blaster applauded loudly. “Great shot, Masked Piester! Let the destruction begin!” The Blaster started throwing bowls of fruit punch everywhere.
Through the bits of berry filling and crumbly crust, the Inspector mumbled, “Quite right, quite right. It's a well know fact that suspects must be interviewed 3.14159 etc. etc. times before they tell an inkling of the truth. Very suspicious indeed...”
* * *
END OF DAY 10 PART 3
(October 20, 2015 - 9:22 pm)