Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[starbkjrus]

That does sound like a good process for hides.

But breath?

:crap:

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 7


There are some memories that gleam brightly in my mind for their beauty. Their remembrance is set within the stone of the core of my recollections. There they remain undiminished by time to stand as the touchstone from which I compare all other experience. The morning of the Saltire’s maiden flight is one of them. The sun shown bright that morning in late May. The birds sang cheerfully to welcome the dawn, and the Mountain which the Great Hall of X Marks the Scot was built upon was covered in the lovely blooms of Yellow Jessamine. A gentle spring zephyr bore their scent to fill the corridors of the Great Hall of X marks the Scot. The delicate hum of bees filled the air as they gathered the sweet nectar of the golden yellow flowers. The birds sang …

… hmmm…actually, come to think of it, Yellow Jessamine is without scent and extremely toxic, even bees drop dead after sipping their poisoned nectar! Perhaps it wasn’t Yellow Jessamine, or perhaps it was but there wasn’t a scent in the air…err…the humming could have been from a low flying aero plane… hmmm…Well anyway it was a grand morning in late May regardless of the exact details.

The day had been picked carefully as Hank and Mike were away from the Hall performing an in depth inspection on some of the League of the Moderators’ investment properties in Caribbean. Our one remaining Herald, Dee was in Scotland on an important Pub survey. This left only the Moderators Colin and Nelson to deal with. In order to insure that they did not notice the expedition’s departure, David had casually suggested to the two of them that they inventory our single malt collection. They had readily agreed to this and had spent the better part of the previous night hard at work inventorying our many fine vintage whiskies. As was to be expected, they felt the need to perform several quality tests to make sure that our stocks were of sufficient merit for inclusion in our prestigious cellar. Given the condition we had found Colin and Nelson in when the hour struck Midnight, and that we had had to render a fair amount of assistance to get the two of them to their chambers, we felt it highly unlikely they would achieve anything resembling consciousness before noon. As for Spasm, we three conspirators decided that in the extraordinary event our addled and ancient butler was able to remember and relate the exact details of what transpired this fine morning, no one would believe him.

David and I shared a light breakfast. Todd had eaten earlier and already departed to the dirigible’s hanger for final preparations. Finishing our coffee we gathered our bags and adjourned upstairs to the long hallway that led to the Library. David stopped before a massive walnut grandfather clock. He pressed a small carved wooden sheep that was part of the clock’s decoration and stepped aside as the big timepiece slid silently aside to reveal a short passageway. We entered and carefully slid the clock back into place behind us. An ornate small elevator took us deep within the bowels of the mountain to David’s mono tracked railway system. Settling into the crushed velvet maroon seats he pressed a button and the small but powerful train hurtled forward into the dark labyrinth of tunnels to take us to the hanger.

On arrival Todd waved to us from the Saltire’s Gondola. At the small stairway leading into the airship David now stopped me and regarding me with an arched eyebrow asked “So Jamie where is our crew? We need at least twenty people to properly operate a ship this big. You said you had it planned out but all I see is the three of us and we have room and provisions aboard for at least a hundred.”

“Not to worry David, all is arranged”, I said calmly.

“You realize we need a very precise team to act as a crew? They are going to have to work together like a fine tuned machine…”

Checking my pocket watch I saw it was but seconds until the hour struck six.
I counted them off “eight, seven, six , five , four, three, two, one”. At that exact moment some 80 men and women entered the hanger in an orderly line. They all wore black argyle jackets, white shirts, black ties, and kilts in the Wallace tartan. Each carried a small knapsack, an instrument case, and a copy of the book Zeppelin Operation Made Easy tucked under their arms.

I turned to David, “I think that these good people will work together in perfect harmony“ I said smugly.

“Isn’t that Nelson’s Orchestra?”

“Yes I believe so. I decided to borrow them.”

“Does Nelson know about this?” David asked with another raised eyebrow.

“I may have forgotten to inform him” I replied in my most apologetic voice.

Now I should note that Nelson is an absolutely splendid fellow who delights in sharing the music of his pipe band, his jazz quartet, his hurdy gurdy player, and most of all his symphony orchestra with all that would take delight in their music. Note that I mention the music of this performers and not the performers themselves. David and I share a great fondness for Wagner, a composer that sadly Nelson was not too keen on. Our attempts to slip a few movements from Wagner’s Tannhauser or Ring Cycle in his orchestra’s repertoire had met with stern disapproval and stiff resistance from our most musical member of the League of Moderators. He had in no uncertain terms indicated that we were to leave his musicians alone.

David smiled broadly and evilly. “You are beginning to show promise Jamie.” Our purloined crew embarked onto the airship to take their stations. David and I headed for the Gondola near the front of the craft which was the Zeppelin’s bridge and command center.

We found Todd there giving directions to a violinist and cellist from his station at the helm. Where David and I had seen fit to dress ourselves in the kilted daywear outfits appropriate for a Scottish gentlemen setting forth on an expedition, Todd had clearly had a different idea in mind. He wore knee high black boots, gray military breeches and matching gray military jacket. The whole uniform was topped off with a elaborate Captain’s hat. When I asked him what he was dressed up for he replied brightly “This is a German Zeppelin officer’s uniform, perfectly accurate an appropriate for our expedition . I‘m especially proud of the hat. This is an authentic Zeppelin Commander‘s hat”.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“It’s a Zeppelin Commander’s hat” he confirmed.

“Hmmm…Which would be worn by?”

“Well the Zeppelin’s Commander of course!”

“Who would be?”

“Well you…err.. oh… oops”

I held out my hand and he reluctantly handed me the hat.

I put it on at a jaunty angle.

Todd looking a little put out, remarked “That hat doesn’t go with your outfit”.

“Luckily, being there is no such thing as the Kilt Police, I don’t have to worry too much about it. To your stations all!”

Todd saluted and replied smartly “Ya Herr Kaptain!”

I sat in my Captain’s chair behind the helm. At long last our journey was about to begin.

I cleared my throat and called out “Open hanger doors” .

“Hanger doors open” replied the Cellist working at her controls.

“Engage engines 1 and two”

“Engines 1 and 2 engaged ” answered Todd.

“Cast off mooring lines”

“Mooring lines away “ said the violinist.

“Ready David?” I asked.

“Ready Jamie!” he said pulling out his conductor’s baton from his sporran and heading up the ladder into the belly of the dirrigible.

“Ready Todd?” I asked.

“Ya mein Kaptain!” he said hands at the controls.

“Then let us be off. Take her forward Todd!”

Todd adjusted a few levers and with slow majesty the Saltire began to move forward. We cleared the hanger and began a gentle ascent to a clear sky.

“ Engage engines 3 and 4.” I called.

“Engines 3 and 4 online” said Todd.

I spoke into the ship’s intercom “The Sky is ours! Forward and onward to Adventure!”

From the interior of the zeppelin came the opening bars of a Wagner piece.

Far below, the sad and lonely figure of the hurdy gurdy player waved goodbye to us as we flew higher and higher to the stirring music of the Ride of the Valkyries.

We were on our way!




To be continued…

[cloves]

nice choice of music!

[Weasel Mender]

Herr Captain,
I am at the appointed location awaiting your arrival. One thing I have forgotten to mention in my resume and interview, I am an expierienced L.T.A crewmember having served in such a capacity for several hot air balloon teams in my home location.

YMOS

Weasel Mender
Ens. Security Detachment
League Of Moderators L.T.A craft Saltire

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 8


On the last day of May a great shadow fell upon the City of Greenville South Carolina . It swept purposely across the city like a dark storm cloud heralding a fierce tempest. Motorcars stopped dead in the street and their occupants spilled out to stare at the mighty airship. With purpose the airship maneuvered implacably over each street and neighborhood. The residents of Greenville gazed up to behold the huge dark blue zeppelin with the white saltires on each of her flanks. Some of them looked on with wonder, while others quivered with dread. The sense of awe and power was assisted by the rising notes of “Mars: Bringer of War” by Holst from the composer’s “The Planets” suite that emanated from the airship. The steady beat of the bass drums mixed with the ominous droning of the ship’s mighty engines and the rising crescendo of the horn section to fill the air. Long would the city remember that day that the symbol of the great forum X Marks the Scot and The League of the Moderators rose up and dominated their sky...

“You’re lost, aren’t you.” declared Todd from the helm.

“Furman University is around here somewhere. Just keep a sharp eye out for a football stadium” I replied tersely. I was somewhat irked that the moment of grandeur I had been enjoying had been disturbed by this plebian (though sadly accurate) observation.

The Cellist shouted from her station “Stadium portside at 7 O’clock!”

Todd asked “Wo ist der Fulghafen?”

In the short time we had been aloft Todd had shown a distressing tendency to often communicate in German. I attributed this, much like his grey military attire, to his desire to really throw himself into the proper frame of mind to be a zeppelin pilot.

“What?” I queried?

“The airport? Where is it?”

“Err there isn’t one. I thought we would just sort of swoop down in the football field”

“You mean the one in the stadium?” he gasped.

“Indeed”

“Without a runway?”

“Err…yes”

“Or mooring tower?”

“Err…quite”

“Swoop?”

“Well, or gently land. Whatever is easier.”

“I assume you would prefer if we don’t crash into the stadium while we are doing this as well? It might put a bit of a kink in your plans if the Saltire is destroyed and we all die because we have to land in a stadium instead of something easier. Say perhaps an empty field? Do you have any idea how hard it is to park a zeppelin? ” Todd asked with a somewhat sarcastic tone that I much preferred to use than to be a recipient of.

The Cellist and Violinist who made up the rest of the bridge crew exchanged looks.

“Just land the airship if you don’t mind” I answered sheepishly

“Unglaubliche!” he exclaimed

“What?”

“Das macht nichts.”

I decided to let it drop.

“Take us down Todd”

“Sehr gut. Gehen vir!”

This must have been an affirmative as the Saltire began to angle earthward. I issued instructions to reduce speed. Luckily for the expedition Todd proved a proficient pilot and the dirigible descended to the exact center of the football field with the wheel of the front landing strut touching the ground with a most gentle bump. I ordered the violinist
to have the woodwind section of the crew secure mooring lines. “Ja Kaptain!” he smartly replied and issued instructions into the intercom tube. Todd was proving, if not a bad influence, at least a Germanic one.


The musicians scrabbled down rope ladders to secure our mooring lines in the bright green turf of the Paladin’s gridiron.

The field was almost deserted. Some fifteen lovely young lasses, who by their dress appeared to be members of the cheerleading squad, seeming both awed and put out by our arrival (no doubt spoiling their practice) stood off to the sidelines. In addition four gentlemen approached the lowered ramp for entry to the zeppelin.

The first three wore kilts and the bright red long sleeve tunics of our security detail. I stood at the entrance to hatch of the Saltire to warmly greet our newest crew members. First came Mr. Splash who arrived with small valise in hand and a wide grin on his face. Next came Mr. BEEDEE who carried a set of bagpipes as well as a suitcase. Following our new piper came Mr. Mender. Now Mr. Mender was already a gentleman of great height and girth but he was even more imposing as he carried on his back a bow with two quivers of arrows, an ax, a claymore, a dirk, a dagger and various other weaponry. In his arms were a suitcase, as well as two trunks. One was labeled “TAXIDERMY SUPPLIES” and the other “DINNERWARE”. Not having a free hand I patted him on the shoulder as I offered my welcome. “Pleasure to be aboard sir, when do we eat?” he spoke as he passed by into the interior of the Saltire.

Following these three came a stranger of short but fit stature. He wore glasses and his hair was curly and worn slightly long. He too was kilted and had a brown leather satchel slung over one shoulder. The most odd feature of this gentleman was the strange electronic apparatus he carried in one hand. A speaking tube projected from it and he was offering a narrative into the device as he walked up the ship’s ramp.

“…as I walk up the majestic zeppelin’s gangplank I see the Captain of the expedition standing there full of confidence and his grand vision of adventure, unsuspecting of the horrors that lie…”

At this moment he must have noticed my concerned gaze. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself. “I’m with IKNS : Independent Kilted News Service, the name’s Jake. Pleased to meet you.” I shook the reporter’s hand and began to inform him that we had no need of a reporter as my skills as a recorder of our travels would be quite sufficient for our needs when David popped his head out of the airship.

“Ah Jake. You made it! Excellent. Jamie I took the liberty of inviting a proper writer along to record our little expedition. We all know how often you digress and how digression is the sign of a poor writer and dull conversationalist.”

I frowned but David jauntily continued.

“…hoping to make a bit of money on the residuals for the serial rights. Not to mention perhaps adaptation for those moving picture cinema shows. This could be big. Step inside Jake.” David led the reporter inside.

I sighed.

Returning to the gondola. I gave orders to alight once more. Todd and our two string musicians worked efficiently and in moments the Saltire rose from the field. Inspired by the moment, the cheerleaders below started to chant. They danced and waved their pom-poms and cheered:

“There is only one site!
With the best sight!
That feels right!
And we love it a lot!
X X ...X MARKS THE SCOT!”

From inside the main part of the airship David took that as his signal to launch our airborne symphony orchestra into the prelude from “Tannhauser” as we soared heavenward.

To Be Continued…

[davedove]

“You’re lost, aren’t you.” declared Todd from the helm.

“Furman University is around here somewhere. Just keep a sharp eye out for a football stadium” I replied tersely. I was somewhat irked that the moment of grandeur I had been enjoying had been disturbed by this plebian (though sadly accurate) observation.

See, I told you that you needed a navigator.

[McMurdo]

Well the journey has really begun, can not wait for the next installment, the Saltire is aloft safe flight gentlemen.

[McClef]

Perhaps we should rename this story Das Kilt?

And what an opera Wagner would have made of it - is he paying you royalties for the plugs Jamie?

(My fav from Tannhauser is Freudig begrussen wir)!

[macwilkin]

Perhaps we should rename this story Das Kilt?

Now that's GOOD!

"It's a long way to Tipperary..."


Todd

[McClef]

Well with all this deutsch I had an image of Jurgen Prochnow in Das Boot