Little Lobella (EC42-E.4) managed to worm her way to the very eave-end of the family dwelling where she could peer through the thatch and - uh - eavesdrop on EefSin as he completed the chanting of Act V. His voice now huskie with strain and the ravages of the smokestacks of his homeland Runcorn, he concluded this preformace with as gasping wheeze. As he prepared to leave the square for another night of rest and debauchery at the nearby inn - he took a small glass vial of wicked looking green fluid and downed it in three swallows. Screwing his face into an expression that would stop a clock, his knees buckling, he slouched off to the applause (and some exclamations of relief) of the assembled crowd. But - not before stooping to grasp his tattered hat which the more naive had filled with pennies and bits of coloured string.

That evening, as Lobella sat at the family table for supper, her Mother placed before her - a plate of potatoes scones!
Looking up delightedly, she queried, "Mother, what's a 'Three-Way'?"

Fsn, the mastery of your art and sheer scope of your observations and conjectures is a wonder. 

The farce is strong in this one!

Quote from: d_Guy on 21 December 2016, 05:21:06 PM
Looking up delightedly, she queried, "Mother, what's a 'Three-Way'?"

In Runcorn, that's what comes about a year before the paternity test.

 

Part 6 in Techno makes an appearance and Mart calls in the tanks
Techno drove into the Naked Tony Playzeer in the vehicle he originally bought to drive along the motorway to London to see Mr Baden-Powell. Yes, it was his M3 Scout Car, and yes he eschewed the blue and red variants and settled on the White Scout Car (BR70). He had popped out to buy the Sunday Herald on Tuesday, and was sure that he should have turned right instead of left at the end of the drive. Though, he wondered, did he actually have a drive?

FSN saw the car from the roof. How though was he to attract the attention of the occupant? He took the torch from the bag he was just carrying until he could find its rightful owner, and sent a carefully coded Morse message.

"Oooh! That looks like Morse!" Said Techno, but it was definitely Lewis. He put the copy of "TV Detectives Monthly" back in the glove compartment and stopped the car. From the roof of the tall building, which he was pretty sure wasn't Tesco's, a light was blinking at him.

"Faulty connection somewhere in the wiring I expect." Thought Techno. If Techno could have read Morse, it would have said "-.. --- - -.. .- ... ... -.. --- -" which of course means "dot dash dot". FSN didn't really understand Morse code.

As Techno contemplated the difficulties of life, especially trying to write "left" and "right" on your shirt cuffs when you are right handed, so ending up with both "left" and "right" on the left cuff, an object bounced off the bonnet of his car.  

"Oh dear. I seem to have hit something." Though Techno, misunderstanding again that it is difficult to hit something with a parked car. "Perhaps it won't really be dead and will haunt me like on that film, um ... with ... and the stabbing ... " Techno mimed the stabbing to no-one in particular, but being Techno, managed to nick himself with the imaginary knife. "Breakfast at Tiffany's! Well they must have had a knife to take the end of their egg." Being a solid if not very deep citizen, Techno stepped out the car and after some rooting found the torch. Attached to it was a note, in purple and green crayon.

"Hello. I am on the roof of this bilding. It has been captured by Asstecs. Send help. Love." Then there was a small drawing of a heart. Techno stared up at the roof, and was narrowly missed by a walkie-talkie radio. Attached to it was another note.

"You can use this to keep in contact with me." Again, a little heart, and this time a picture of two stick figures, smiling broadly. One was carefully labelled "you" and the other "me". Around these two champions were littered the bloodied corpses of stick Aztecs.

"Aw sweet!" muttered Techno. He fiddled with the radio for a while, trying to find the "on" switch. Five minutes went by, with Techno still as unswitched-on as the radio. A thump on the bonnet drew Techno's attention. It was detailed instructions about using the radio, drawn in very neat crayon, including diagrams, settings, power levels and care instructions, in English, German, French, Japanese, Arabic and Serbo-Croat neatly attached to the second radio. Techno devoured the instructions in all languages, and thought the Serbo-Croat was a little clumsy, but managed to get his radio switched on and on the correct channel. See, reading the instructions does help.

"Hello." He said cautiously.

FSN, watching from the roof realised the flaw in his plan. Now that he had thrown the instructions down to Techno he didn't know how to use his own radio. Beside which, it now lay 40 floors below him.    

Undeterred, he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and pressed speed dial 1.

"Hello." Said Techno. All he got was a ringing in response. After some experimentation, he found that the ringing was coming from his pocket. Furthermore, it came from a mobile phone.

"Hello." He said.

"Hello Techno!" came a cheerful voice.

"Who's this, please?" asked Techno, using his telephone voice, which is something like Parker out of Thunderbirds – before puberty. "Oh!" sudden dawning.. "It's you. Oik! OIK!"

"Yup Techno, it's me."

"Can't talk now, Oik, I've got to help someone on the top of this building."

"I know, Techno, it's me!" Techno peered suspiciously upwards.

"How did you know it's me from way up there?"

"Well, I get used to looking at you from a distance, and sometimes I don't even bother to bring the rifle."  

"You're a rotten rotter you are. Always making fun of me." Techno whined aggrievedly.  "You say I'm always hurting myself and .. ow! .. and that I'm really old and that I'm always getting lost and ... and .. there's something else..."

"That your memory's awful?" Offered FSN. "Oh! Wait a moment. I've got another call coming in. It may be my pizza!" FSN's fingers flew across the keypad. "Hello."

"Hello?" The voice at the other end of the line was filled with curiosity.

"Is this about my pizza? 'Cos I forgot to say that I want double anchovies as well .."

"I'm sorry. This is not about pizza. I have to go, I have a tower block full of hostages ..."

"Could it be about shoes? I phoned you earlier because there were some killer heels I was interested in. For my Mum."

"Of course ..."

"Hang on did you say hostages? There's a funny thing, 'cos I'm on the roof of a building that's got lots of people being held hostage in it." Even FSN's brain isn't that slow. His fingers flew to the keypad.

"Techno!" he called desperately. "It's him! The hostage taker."

"Well I don't know if I'm going to help you Oik. You're always rotten to me. Saying that I always hurting myself and .. ow! .. and that I'm really old and that I'm always getting lost and ... and .. there's something else..."

"Mr Oik!" Both FSN and Techno froze. "It would seem" gloated Loubouitin, gloatingly, "that instead of putting me on hold, you put us all onto a conference call. I hope to meet you soon - face to face." He laughed evilly.

"Yoikes!" Said FSN. "Listen Techno, I'm going to hide on the 39th floor. You've got to get help."

"Still here!" Called Loubouitin sweetly.    

"Wait a minute though, Oik. How did you know I had a mobile phone, and what the number is?"

"Oh Techno! Mrs T slips the mobile into your pocket every time you go out. It's got an app on it called WheresTheSillyOldSpuggerGoneNow. We've all got the app so she can always get one of us to find you."

"She's right clever is Mrs T." Smiled Techno.

"That she is!" came a voice from behind the aged sculptor. It was Leman, looking tall and handsome in his full hero rigout – tights, cape and tiny budgie smugglers that showed where he kept his spare socks. "I'm here to help, and I have brought help!" He waved a mightily thewed arm, and scores of armed police (BR168) appeared and surrounded the building. He grinned, showing impossibly white teeth, and winked as only a hero can wink.

"Wonder if my teeth are that white?" Thought Techno, so he took them out to have a look.



Bert had been woken by some energetic movement inside the FIAT. He woke to find Westie lying beside him, stubby legs kicking rhythmically.

"How sweet!" though Bert. "The little chap is chasing rabbits in his sleep." The dog gave a throaty little bark. In Westie's dream, he'd finally managed to get his teeth into Anne Hathaway's skirt and she'd giggled. Now just one sharp tug ...

Bert's elbow in his ribs woke him from the dream.

"Aw Belgium! Nearly had her that time."

"Westie? Are you awake?"  Westie felt for cracked ribs.

"Aye."

"I can't get to sleep."

"I'm not singing you a smegging lullaby."

"I need a drink of water." Westie sighed, and had a  rummage. "Here y'are." He yawned. Bert took the glass and sipped.  

"Westie?" He asked.

"How do you keep the water so cold?"

"I keep it in the fridge."

"And where do you keep the fridge?"

"By the freezer of course. Go to sleep." Bert considered this new information.

"Westie?"

"Yes?" Westie replied sleepily.

"Will you sing me a lullaby?"  



On the 39th floor, FSN was hiding. He had just managed to conceal himself behind the only curtain on the floor, when a half dozen armed and angry Aztecs led by an armed and angry Loubouitin kicked through the door. They scoured the floor efficiently. Brought it to a beautiful shine in fact, but they didn't find FSN. Loubouitin pulled out his phone and dialled. FSN had anticipated this and had his phone on vibrate only. Besides there were side benefits.

"Are you here, Mr Oik?" Asked Loubouitin.

"Noooo." Replied FSN.

"Zark it!" howled the Leader. "I need my foot lotion!" He fought to regain control. "Mr Oik. If you leave the bag you have, then you can leave with no harm done to you."

"Can I keep the photograph of Anne Hathaway?" Sloth, listening in to the conversation, violently shook his head

"Of course!" Slimed Loubouitin, then seeing the disappointed look on Sloth's face put his hand over the mouthpiece. "We'll get you another one." Sloth took another drag on his fag, and a faraway look came to his face.



At the base of the tower, Techno and Leman had been joined by Mart, who had been alerted to the proximity of Techno by the WheresTheSillyOldSpuggerGoneNow app. Mart stood 6'2" in his sock feet. He'd forgotten his shoes again. He had a broad intelligent face. He carried it in backpack. He and Leman looked at each other, hero measuring hero. Leman flexed his pecs. Mart pumped his biceps. Leman stroked his luxuriant moustache. Mart adjusted the medallion that nestled in his chest hair. Techno yawned. It was way past his bedtime.

"I shall storm the building with my specialist police units!" Leman declared. One hand on hip.

"You're a gorram fool!" Growled Mart. "You need armour to crack that nut." But with a cheerful laugh, Leman moved confidently off towards the Naked Tony Tower, his cape flapping at his heels.

"He's a gorram fool!" Reiterated Mart unnecessarily. Techno nodded sympathetically. Mart slammed one mighty fist into the palm of his hand. He winced as he realised that it hurt.

"That's Oik on that roof." Said Techno. "He's trying to help." Mart sneered.

"He needs to keep out of this. Leave it to the professionals."


Leman came back, crestfallen.

"It's closed." He said. "Sign up on display and everything." He looked at the file of policemen (BR168) retreating back towards their lines, and shook his head dejectedly. "They even had a purple rope."

Techno's phone rang.

"Hello." He said carefully.

"Techno, it's me."

"Oh hello Oik. I've got Leman and Mart here with me." The heroes looked horrified and made head shaking and hand waving gestures that strongly suggested that they didn't want to talk to FSN.

"Oh, it wasn't my pizza?"

"'fraid not."

"Oh, by the way, tell those policemen not to try and break in. The building's closed. There's a sign up and everything. Possibly even a purple rope."

"We know." Said Techno sadly.  Loubouitin's laugh came over the line.

"We are very well prepared." He chortled. "Now, please prepare some helicopters preferably UH-1 'Huey' transport helicopter (AV14)."

"Undercoated or base coat?" Asked Techno.



He never received a reply. The air was suddenly filled with a low rumble.

"The tanks have arrived!"



On the 39th Floor, Loubouitin screeched his fury. He had to rescue his foot lotion, but also had to deal with those damned tanks. How to keep FSN pinned until he could deal with him properly. The Leader's eyes alighted on some boxes of Pendraken goodliness. He laughed a barking-quacking laugh. He tore open one of the boxes – brand new League of Ausberg "Pikemen wondering if it's tea time." Loubouitin took a handful of the figures and threw them across the floor.

Eagle and Jag-eew-are were quick on the uptake. Soon the floor resembled a glittering cemetery of tiny LoA soldiers: "Musketeers marching, but thinking they left something behind" were piled with "scythemen realising they'd brought a knife to a gun fight" atop "drummer with stone in his shoe".

With another evil laugh, Loubouitin slapped shut the door.    

You OIK !!

Cheers - Phil

Told you Phil!

 

Nice! 

I could get on board with the new LOA stuff!

I do like the latest instalment. 

QuoteTechno mimed the stabbing to no-one in particular, but being Techno, managed to nick himself with the imaginary knife.

sorry Phil!

Not sure whether to be pleased or miffed at my red shirt style demise early on...

Quote from: mad lemmey on 22 December 2016, 11:06:50 AM
Told you Phil!

Spot on, Will. 

From the three you put down, I thought I'd probably end up being Al. 

Now.....Where is the Oik ?......Must be time !

Cheers - Phil (You can call me Al.)

Part 7: The Fall of Loubouitin
FSN waited for a few moments, until he was sure the Aztecs had gone.
"Stupid spugger." He said, pulling on Loubouitin's comfy shoes. He stamped across the League of Ausburg to the door.


Mart peered anxiously over his shoulder. The tanks were on the way. He could hear them, everyone could hear them, but where were they? Suddenly, from a convenient bank of fog, which had been placed there for dramatic effect, they appeared – huge green monsters, turrets poking from every orifice.

"Frell me!" exclaimed Techno. "T35's!"


On the 38th Parallel Floor, Loubouitin was barking orders to scurrying Aztecs.

"D-Guy! Break out the anti-tank pipe-cleaners! Quickly now!" There was a long silence. Loubouitin felt it descend. He turned. D-Guy was going through his hat-twisting act again.

"Well?" Asked Loubouitin, icily.

"Well, Boss, you know we bought them anti-tank pipe-cleaners from BigJackMac? Well, he smuggled them in to us in that dopey dog, and they've been kinda rolled up."

"Can't you straighten them out?"

"We can have a go, but they'll never fly right. We'd be lucky to hit anything."

"Why doesn't it matter that Aztecs can't?" Asked Herry rhetorically. "Because Texlacan." The black humour caught at  Loubouitin.

"Indeed, Heron. We had best pray for a miracle."

"I could always get one of the prisoners ..."

"What did we say?" The Leader's voice was stern. "No sacrifices. There will be no heart ripping until after the job is finished. Understood?"

"Aw, Boss." D_Guy turned and tantrumed away. Loubouitin returned his attention to the oncoming tanks.


The first tank broke down when on the far side of the square. Great black oily clouds of smoke poured from the engine housing and the crew abandoned the tank, tears streaming from their eyes.

The second, blinded by the smoke turned sharply to avoid the first. With a sound like a metallic band (say Black Sabbath, or Iron Maiden. Maybe Motorhead, with a touch of Judas Priest) being fed into a shredder the T35 shed a track. Going at its full speed of nearly 20 miles per hour, the behemoth turned onto its side with a screeching like Maria Carey being bent over and having an electric sander applied to her rump.

The third tank driver was either more cautious, or more clever than her compatriots. (Editor's note: Actually, she was having trouble with the transmission, a common problem with the T35). The third tank nosed into the square, its five turrets moving like the legs of an upturned insect that been the victim of a rather naughty school boy. The T35 passed by its beached comrades, moving deliberately towards the Naked Tony Tower.

"By the dripping of the Dark Lord's underarms!" Yelled Mart. "He's going to do it! Go on you big beautiful Belgium!"

"Why does the Dark Lord spread beef fat on his armpits?" Techno wondered.

The T35 was close to the building now 40 yards – 30 yards – a chain – then they converted to metric and the driver got a bit confused, so went out to 27 meters before sanity and the Imperial system were restored and she closed to 4 rods.

"Oh no!" Mart's crie de Coeur was enough to wake Techno up.

"Wassup with the T-baggy-tanky thing?" He asked disinterestedly.

"Steps." Indeed, the T35 had reached the impressive and rather steep steps leading up to the entrance. The driver was game though. She swore and kicked the gearbox until she found a low gear, then pointed the green monster at the steps. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the T35 was actually going to mount the step, but as the first track plate bit concrete, there was a gnawing, rending sound like Macaulay Culkin getting what he deserves from the zombie burglars in George A Romero' remake of "Home Alone". The T35 stopped. It didn't burst into flames. Bits didn't drop off. Not even a mild leakage. It just stopped. Cursing, the eleven young, female crew climbed cautiously out from their vehicle and ran across the square to the police lines.

"Why are they all wearing bikinis?" Asked Techno, paying close attention to their ankles and being mildly surprised that even with some energetic movement, they didn't snap.

"Putin's Russia." Answered Mart, enigmatically.


FSN keenly watched the debacle from on high.

"Hope that doesn't mean my pizza delivery won't get through." He mused. His phone rang. It wasTechno. Someone had shown him how to make calls.

"Listen Oik." Techno sighed. "I've got to tell you a story."

"Tell me, Techno."

"The Aztecs. I think I had a hand in them."

"And were they OK with that?"

"No, you misunderstand." Techno sat down heavily as he continued his story. "The Aztecs, I think they're my fault."

"How so, Techno?" Techno passed a hand over his face. Whose hand, he wasn't sure.

"It was about a year ago. Someone had phoned me up and asked me to make a range of Aztecs." Techno heard the gasp on the end of the line.

"Sorry, this seat's cold."

"It was a voice on the phone. I was tired, dog tired. I'd just returned from touring with ..." his voice caught and broke with the emotion welling up in his chest "... I was being Bjorn in Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley's ABBA tribute band – ABBAsolutely Fabulous. ABBAFabba we called ourselves, ABBA Fab. Sometimes ABFa. Or just Aaaa." Techno tailed off.

"Is Bjorn the skinny one or the one with the beard?" Asked FSN.

"The skinny one. We'd added 'Does Your Mother Know' to the set, and so I'd got lead solos. The tour was crippling, always another town, another train, and I was shattered. We'd just get one place then  we'd be off. It was arrival, and then hasta manana. Move on. Always plastic food. Usually, we'd just pop out fer Nando's. I was sick and tired of everything, when I sculpted a knight in Glasgow, then I get this call. The line was bad, but what I did hear was the price being offered for Aztecs. Aztecs! Frelling Aztecs." Techno almost become a bit upset, but regained control. He sighed. "I just heard 'money, money, money', so I must wasn't paying attention or forgot or something, but I'm sure he said he wanted Aztecs with Stoner weapons. I didn't know what rule set he wanted to use, there's all sorts out there. If I'd only asked what's the name of the game, none of this would have happened. He said nice things about me, too. I was just sort of pleased he decided to take a chance on me." FSN remained silent. Techno recognised the technique. "So I made them. I got home and called out to Mrs T. 'Mam, I'm here'. I always call her Mam. She always calls me S.O.S." A thought made the arid journey across his synapses. "Didn't know why before, I guess it stands for Silly Old Spugger." He laughed. "Oh! Mrs T! What a sense of humour. Anyway, I started making the Aztecs, but it didn't go well. Like, I was just making this one replacing a magazine, when I Mrs T dropped her load of scaffolding behind me, and the magazine got all bent and flattened. *Bang* A boomerang! But the voice kept calling me. Ring, ring, all hours of the day and night. Throughout July, I spent long evenings sculpting – summer night putty. Anyway, I made them. Made them all. Jay-gwar, Eagle, Shorn, Jag-ewe-are – even Sloth."
Techno paused. He thought FSN was considering his plight. Then there was the sound of flushing water.

"Techno, old thing!" called FSN happily. "What are the natural enemies of Aztecs?"

"Smallpox, measles, mumps, the 16th Century Megadrought, competing tribes ..."

"Exactly. Spaniards on horseback. Conky-doors. Where can we get a conky-door at this time of night Techno?" Techno snapped his fingers – but he knew he could reset them.

"The Riders of Murcia are camped outside Stockton-on-Tees!"

"No, Techno. That's a long shot. We're going to have to do this ourselves. All we need is a horse, a suit of armour and a command of the Spanish language."

"Who do we know that speaks Spanish?" Gasped Techno.

"Que?"

"Who do we know who speaks Spanish?"

"I do! Didn't you hear me then? That was Spanish!" Slightly peeved at Techno's lack of imagination, FSN made his way upstairs.    



FSN leaned on the rail of Reject's paddock, deftly fashioning a morion out of silver foil.

"How am I to gain the trust of this wall-eyed brute?" he pondered. He rummaged in the bag and brought out an apple. Reject's head came up. FSN, missing his pizza took a bite. The pony's head cocked to one side.

"Good pony." FSN soothed, taking another bite. The pony took a step towards him. FSN reflectively took another nibble. Reject took another step, snickering gently and nostrils flaring. FSN made to take another bite, then paused. He looked thoughtfully at the apple, now little more than a core.

"Ah well", he said "just have to do this the hard way." He tossed the core towards the goat pen, then as the astonished pony watched it fall, he leapt.


The pony didn't try to leap the barrier. It charged through it, chest first, sending debris flying in its wake. FSN clung atop, hands clenched in the beast's mane, ridiculous tin foil helmet crammed on his head. The pony bolted straight for the stairs and downwards.

"Dos cervezas por favor!" He cried. "Qué?!" The Aztecs, saw the approximation of a man bellowing the approximation of Spanish from the back of the approximation of a horse, and knew fear. It was a deep fear, from a primitive part of their being, almost a racial membership, and fed by the stories of the elders told around fires on cold mountain nights. Their reaction was akin to the reaction of a chicken seeing a fox, the natural reaction of the prey to the predator. They fled.  


Mad-Lem didn't break down the door so much as march through it as if it didn't exist. Leon was tied to the chair, slumped forward. Mad-Lem felt her heart jump, and wished it wasn't Organ Olympics year. She really dreaded the kidney synchronised swimming.

Her gall bladder breasted the tape when she saw Leon's chest moving. He wasn't dead! She knelt by him as he opened his eyes.

"I hate nips!" He snarled.

"I'm sorry?" Retorted Mad-Lem.

"Well, every time the Leader asked me a question, he's twist my nipple and shout 'nips'. Then he'd laugh. I hate 'nips'. I may even have bruised." He said coyly.  He smacked his lips. They had been naughty. "Could you cut me free? Have you a knife?" Mad-Lem patted where she would have had pockets.

"No, I'm sorry. I gave up." She turned to the forum members crowding in at the door. "Anyone?" There was much patting of pockets and shaking of heads, then significant stares at Ithoriel.

"I have a copy of 'À la recherche du temps perdu', 3 groats, half a Mars bar, a bus ticket to Penge, and " he paused significantly "a Swiss Army..." the Forum members gave a collective intake of breath "... from about 1450." By this time, Mad-Lem had bitten through the rope binding Leon.

"Are you all right?" She asked solicitously. "We heard screaming. Did they torture you?" She caught sight of the CD cover on the desk. She gasped when she saw the title.  

"Ah! FSN's Pendrakenmas offerings." Leon said.

"The fiends!" Gasped Mad-Lem again.

"Oh FSN is just one barmpot on a pot full of barms. A bigger barmpot that most of the rest, to be sure, but I've long been able to ignore his drivel. The forum membership in general is just like ... er ... like a mildly irritating thing in a Pendraken thing." Leon furrowed his brow. "Like wombats in the Pendraken henhouse?" Mad-Lem looked confused. "No, the ants in the Pendraken mole hill?" Again. He shook his head. "FSN used to be so good at these. Remember 'the fish-heads in the Pendraken stargazy pie'? That was my favourite."

"But the screaming?" Asked Mad-Lem. Leon sighed.

"Every time they put the headphones on me, they caught my glasses and pulled my ears a bit. It hurt."


Reject quickly tired of FSN's horsemanship. Indeed to FSN, "horsemanship" meant blokes meeting ladies of easy virtue on a boat. So Reject returned to his pen as instinct demanded. FSN climbed off the panting pony, and found it in his heart to carefully give him the second apple. From the corner of his eye he noticed a figure skulking in the goat pen. It was Loubouitin! Before FSN could stealthily make his escape, or as stealthily as someone of FSN's peculiar shape, wearing tin foil, and wheezing like a pervert at a sorority house window could. Loubouitin ceased skulking and stood full height, the Browning pointed at FSN's head, where one could reasonably assume some organ of thought was stored.

"Well, Mr Oik. We meet at last." He hissed.

"What now?" Asked FSN. He wasn't playing for time, he really is that stupid.

"I shoot you and escape." Loubouitin wasn't pandering to the hero, explaining his plan so that the hero gets time for a last desperate ploy, he was just very polite and literal. FSN saw movement behind Loubouitin. The goats ... the rope ... the baulk of wood ... with a gentle sigh, the rope parted and the baulk swung.

"Duck, man!" Yelled FSN, who as we have noted before is really a caring sort, but his warning had the opposite effect on Loubouitin. He froze and the arcing baulk struck him squarely on the ribs and threw him over the side of Naked Tony Tower.

FSN rushed to the side to see Loubouitin falling, but very slowly.

"You discovered my secret!" Accused Loubouitin.

"Yeeesss." Said FSN, uncertainly.

"You have discovered that I am Duckman and wished only for Pendraken to produce only what I want!"

"We're all a bit like that." Assured FSN.

"You sort of stamped on my big line there Mr Oik. What I was going to say was 'and I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for those nibbling kids!'"

"Oh bravo! Well played, Sir!" FSN applauded politely.

"I have concealed my duckiness. The down on my jacket, the yellow feet and now my ability to fall very slowly from heights and land unharmed. It's because I'm fluffy." He smiled depreciatingly. "Look this fall may take some time. Have you anything to read?" FSN patted his pockets and looked blankly.

"No I'm sorry, I've given up." He looked over his shoulder for Ithoriel, but for all to note he was gobbling stolen stollen with Fenton. "I think I saw a copy of Kant's 'Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics' downstairs. I could pass it to you if you drop by."

"Very kind, " Loubouitin looked dejectedly downwards. "but I think I best be off." And he drifted downwards.

"Yippie-ki-ay, Mother Lover!" FSN whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Not quite sure why I said that. Sort of felt the need."


The police had rounded up the Aztecs and were herding them out of the Naked Tony Tower. All eleven of them. FSN was explaining to Leman, Techno and Mart that Loubouitin was really Duckman.

"Duckman?" The voice came from under the sheet carrying the body of Stan Lee, which was being carried from the building by three Ambulancemen in brightly coloured pyjamas. They carried piñatas, an eagle, a jag-ewe-are and a heron with its bill taped up.  

"Duckman?" Continued the cadaver. "Say there's an idea! But didn't we do Howard the Duck? Is it too similar? Don't want to shell out, go down and be left with a huge bill."

One of the ambulancemen ripped open Lee's shirt and drew on a cross, just left of centre. He nodded significantly to the other two, and they hurried from the building.

FSN turned and Mad-Lem stood there, a small dab of soot on her nose. Why, nobody knew, for there hadn't been a fire.

"Well?" She said.

"Well?" He replied. They both through coins in the well and made a wish. Suddenly she was in his arms.

"FSN?" She asked. "Could we have made it work?"

"Well I believe there are some medical techniques ..." He broke off as he saw a face in the crowd – dark hair shimmering impossibly, dark eyes like pools of brown velvet ...

"Anne Hathaway!" He cried and ran off. Well, he didn't so much run as use a form of locomotion peculiar to FSN. Sir David Attenborough has been shown film of FSN progressing at speed and his comment was "frelled if I know what to call it!"  Mad-Lem watched his departing form.

"Oh FSN! You magnificent spugger! Always ... moviing away from me." She said softly.

"You have a tear on your cheek." Orcs said, offering her a slightly used tissue.

"I haven't been crying." With an effort, she drew her attention away from FSN.

"No, a tear. A cut or wound. That's how to use homographs." He said. Cocky little twonk.



In the FIAT, Bert and Westie awoke. They looked at each other and laughed.

"You know what, Westie? I've had a good Pendrakenmas. No FSN to worry about, just a good bloke to have a few drinks and a laugh with." He sighed.

"Aye, we should do this again."

"Not wait to next Pendrakenmas? Sooner?"

"Aye. That would be good." They both knew their words were hollow. They would return to the back of FSN's mind and not be brought out again before next Pendrakenmas. Then, Bert would be nursemaid and foil to the bumbling oaf, and Westie ... well who knew? Next year he could be a dragon or a 6th form schoolgirl or a flying monkey. Bets could be put on schoolgirl.

But they shook hands and counted themselves blessed that they had spent at least one Pendrakemas in good health, good comfort and good company. And what more is there to be wished for?

Merry Pendrakenmas everyone.    
   

And you, Nobby !

Excellent work, that man ! ......Loved it !

Cheers - Phil

Insane genius! Wonderful stuff. Thanks, FSN!

Chris

Very good, Nobby!  More than a few gems in there.  Bravo!   

Thank you for your kind words.

You'll be pleased to know that Techno has told me that there are 6 Die Hard films, so I'm OK for material until the Pendraken 30th Anniversary.

He's also offering two tickets to ABBAsolutely Fabulous's gig on 3/2/17 for the first to identify all the ABBA songs in his big speech. Unfortunately, he's not sure if 3/2/17 is 3rd Feb or 2nd March.



Hey America? Why do you put dates that way? Where else in any measurement system is something put in any order apart from smallest-largest or largest-smallest? You don't say 3 minutes, 5 hours and 26 seconds. 4 pounds, 16 stone, 5 ounces.