Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 16

The slender man with long blond hair stood there in the doorway of his blimp high above laughing madly at us. He wore a black leather kilt and inexplicably clutched a rubber chicken in one hand. Grant waved it at us in what I imagine was intended as a threatening manner. Punctuating his words with wild jabs and swings of the yellow rubber head, Grant screamed “YOU SEE PANACHE! I HAVE MY OWN ZEPPELIN NOW…”

“No you don’t.” Todd cut him calmly.

“YES I DO!” Grant shrieked.

“That’s a blimp not a zeppelin.” Todd pointed out.

“SAME THING!”

“No it isn’t, not at all. A zeppelin is an airship with a rigid metal skeleton, made of longitudinal girders and a series of rings.”

“SO?”

“This allows for a zeppelin's great size and the ability to mount powerful multiple engines which in turn gives them great speed, and of course their capacity to carry heavy loads and multiple passengers over huge distances.”

“WELL MY BLIMP CAN DO ALL THAT!“

“No it can’t!”

“YES IT CAN!”

“Look your blimp is really no more than a fancy balloon. A single Gas Bag which relies on slight overpressure to maintain its shape.”

“SHUT UP! THE MIGHTY MAPLE LEAF OF THE SOKS IS MORE THAN A MATCH FOR YOUR STUPID ZEPPELIN!” screamed Grant.

“Socks??” I asked

“SOKS!” Shrieked Grant

“Soaks?” I said confused.

“SOKS! SOKS! SOKS! S - O - K - S !”

“SOKS?”

“THAT’S RIGHT THE SINISTER AND OBSCENE KILT SYNDICATE! THE MOST EVIL AND POWERFUL CANADIAN KILT ORGANIZATION TO EVER …err…um...BE! ”

At this information we three all exchanged querulous glances at each other.

“Is there anyone else we might talk with up there?” inquired David politely.

“SHUT UP!” screamed Grant

“Do you have to scream like that?” asked Todd.

“SHUT UP!” screamed Grant.

“What exactly is your game Grant?” said I.

“I WANT THE SAME THING YOU DO! I WANT THE PELT OF THE ACRYLI-BEAST FOR A SPORRAN! THE MOST WONDERFUL SPORRAN IN THE WORLD. WITH THIS SPORRAN I WILL BE IRRESISTABLE TO ALL WOMEN. THEY WILL LINE UP FOR MILES TO ASK ME “THE QUESTION” AND THEN THERE WILL BE KILT CHECKS ! OH YES, YES, YES, KILT CHECKS GALORE! AND THEN I WILL LEAD THE SOKS TO CONQUER THE WORLD!” screamed Grant who sounded a bit ragged and hoarse from all his screaming.

“How exactly does that last bit work?” asked David raising an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t it hurt your throat to scream like that all the time?” asked Todd.

“You need some weird scheme to get kilt checks?” I laughed in disbelief. “Come on! You have got to be kidding! Kilt Checks are a rude annoyance. Anyway, doesn’t everyone get more than enough of the things without even trying?” I chuckled.

“SHUT UP!” screamed Grant.

I continued, “I mean we work with this old goat named Mike, and to tell the truth he is a veritable fossil, a relic, but even he has to duck out the backdoors of restaurants and movie theaters for fear of being mobbed by hordes of nubile females when he wears his kilt. Look Grant you are a nice looking fellow and young, well youngish. If no one is interested in giving you a kilt check it isn’t because of your sporran. Have you ever considered it just might be your personality…”

“SILENCE! I WILL HEAR NO…no...no...” all the shrieking finally caught up with Grant as his voice suddenly gave out mid rant. He doubled over coughing. Someone within the blimp’s gondola handed him a glass of water and he almost fell off his own airship while trying to gulp down the liquid and threaten me with his rubber chicken at the same time. When he had recovered his balance and voice he screamed,

"BY MY GORGEOUS, FLOWING, GOLDEN LOCKS AND FIRM ROUND BUTTOCKS I…”

“You know that’s a terrible villainous line”, declared David, cutting off Grant. David and I nodded in agreement.

“SHUT UP! AS I WAS SAYING, BY MY GORGEOUS, FLOWING, GOLDEN LOCKS AND FIRM ROUND BUTTOCKS I WILL HAVE THE ACRYLI-BEAST PELT! I WILL MAKE IT INTO A SPORRAN! I WILL GET ALL THE KILT CHECKS…”, here Grant began coughing again and required another glass of water to continue.

“ …AND THEN …I...WILL…RULE…THE…WORLD!!!”

He then turned to the blimp’s pilot inside the gondola and called out “Forward MacHummel!” With this we watched the Maple Leaf sail away Northward into the clear late afternoon sky.

David looked at Todd and I, and said “He was rather weird wasn’t he?” Todd and I readily agreed. I noted “Well, weird or not, he is after the same thing as us. So we have little time to lose. We must get back to the Saltire!”.

I returned to the dining room and examined the disheveled heap of injured waiters and busboys amongst the broken furniture. Finding the maitre d’ semi-conscious beneath a large silver wheeled desert cart, I freed him and helped the man stagger to his feet. “Might I have the bill for the President of Burundi’s table please?”, I asked.



To Be Continued