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Further adventures with werelobsters
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thesme_01's work. She will, I am sure, explain in the comments if required. Mr Bucky is a small plastic chicken
The daring duo rushed up the back stairs to the attic door. The attic door was always locked and only Wingnut had the key. Mrs McGee, the housekeeper, never went there. Occasionally she had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened but all she ever heard was absolute silence.
Wingnut inserted the Golden key into the keyhole of the old door and the two stepped inside, holding their breath as they did so. Their once-friend, now adversary, had returned to the Bering sea to wreak havoc on the dangly essentials of an innocent man, and nothing would prevent them from saving the situation.
Before them, squatly gleaming, sat the Cock Summoner. It twinkled oilily in the dusty evening sunlight that streamed in through the attic window, a rectangular machine consisting of a series of interconnected brass tubes with rubber piping snaking in between. A large, pink button thrust itself forward invitingly. Holding hands firmly (a faint dew of sweat visible upon Alphonse’s brow), each placed their index finger upon the button and pressed.
Nothing obvious happened, however if one looked closely and listened hard, one could hear a faint hum emanating from the machine, along with a dull glow and vibration in the air above the machine. Then, suddenly: “OoooooaaaAAARKEEEEEEEEEEEE” an unbearable noise tore through the attic and the two fell to the ground, clasping their ears in a distinctly Star-Trek manner. Moments later an answering ‘WARK’ could be heard and the Giant Cock landed on the roof, and dropped his handy travel ladder in the attic window.
‘We’ve really got to fix the speaker on the summoner, you know’, muttered Alphonse to Wingnut as they climbed up. ‘Patience, dear Alphonse’ Wingnut answered, with perhaps a hint of irritation.
The Giant Cock lifted off and headed north, towards the highlands of Scotland.
Chiuidh and Dàibhidh were at the crucial point in the Ritual O’Giving. Chiuidh, in particular, was visibly excited and bobbing gently in the breeze as they approached the young man, now strapped to the stone table but still clasping Mr Bucky firmly. Dàibhidh had his ancient flint sickle and Chiuidh reverently carried the sacred granite collecting bowl. As they bent over the young man, Dàibhidh noted the cut of his jib and approved of his manly steadiness. This gift would truly increase the power of their ‘cloth’. Chiuidh muttered some words of comfort, and positioned the cup under the chéad craiceann*. Dàibhidh readied the knife. A hushed silence fell. The young man stared stoically into the sky, ready for what was to befall him.
But he wasn’t ready for what happened next. His eyes widened as an impossible figure wheeled in a circle of descent in the sky above him. Just as Dàibhidh was about to make the cut, both himself and Chiuidh were whipped out of the air by giant chicken claws and whisked away, leaving the young man strapped to the table, naked, alone except for a suspiciously silent Mr Bucky. ‘Ach fer f**k’s sake, ah wonder will ma sister gie us a lift’ he grumbled.
* DO NOT TRANSLATE THIS.
ION my work email seems to be going wonky again. Either that or no-one is emailing me :/
But wait, there's More! (by mine own fair hand)
Hugh’s sleep was fitful; tangled dreams of being chased lobsters, demented captains with scissors, and a unicorn (damn, but these fish drugs were good) tormented him. And always, lurking in the background just out of reach, the greatest torment of all – Cal. Sunglasses on, fag in hand and that smug smirk on his face. The bastard.
So he was actually relieved when Sig kicked the door in again. Couldn’t the fucker just OPEN it? “Help is on it’s way, just hold tight and stay put”.
Hugh had to ask, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer “What KIND of help?”.
“Special Help. Specialists. The world’s foremost expert on Werelobsters – you’ve read his article.”
Hugh cut him off “That Tweedy fucker? HIM? What fucking good will he be?”.
“He knows this shit. And don’t interrupt. He’s bringing the other specialists too. The... cutting ones.” Even the Sig looked almost sympathetic now. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it. And it’s better than… the alternative”. He flung in a fresh bag of ice and was gone again.
Hugh flung the stupid crab mags to the floor and lay back on the bed again, trying to think. What the hell could he do? He was trapped on a boat in the middle of the Bering seas with a pack of deranged fishermen and some tweed wearing academic pounce was on his way with maniacs to cut him where he least wanted to be cut.
If this was a drug trip it was turning bad; if it wasn’t, then the boat trip was turning WORSE. He couldn’t let them do it – mutilate lil’ Hugh? How could he? He had to get off this fucking boat. How the hell was he going to get off this fucking boat? He’d have to ask someone – anyone. It would hurt his pride, but that wasn’t much of a price to pay to save … well. No price would be too high. Werefuckinglobsters. Right.
He fumbled around in his pockets to find his phone; miraculously there was a signal – about time he had some luck. He scrolled through, found the right name and. Wait. How the hell do you call someone and explain THIS? You fucking don’t he thought. One word would do. Just one. Help.
He sent the text, lay back and waited. There was nothing else he could do now.
And as he slipped off into sleep again, his Doom was steadily and speedily winging its way towards him. Sailing silently through the night sky flew the Giant Irish Cock. On its back, Wingnut and Alphonse, sharing a substantial hipflask of rum against the chill and arguing over the various constellations above them.
Dangling in a basket from his claws, two rather confused Highlanders, wrapped furs and sharpening their sickles.
And what of the cause of all this trouble? Lurking in the crab cage, occasionally testing the air with an antenna, and clicking his giant claws, Mr Pinchy also waited. They would come. HE would come. And then. And then what? He wasn’t sure, no more sure than his unwilling victim. But something would happen; one way or another, his loneliness would end. Mr Pinchy waited, as only a lobster can wait, for the dawn.
And eventually, as all dawns must, it came. The blackness lightened, the winds died and even the rain stopped. Edgar, keeping watch with the telescope finally sang out “Giant Cock approaching Captain!”, with the gleeful air of one who’s waited his whole life to say that without getting punched.
First, just a speck, then growing bigger faster than anyone onboard could believe, the massive bird closed on the ship.
“Ed, go wake up the patient.” Sig ordered “Bring him some of your home brewed… whatever you call it. He’s going to need it”. He strode out onto the deck, waiting to receive this bizarre group. Behind him, the fateful crab cage rattled and shook as the lobster scuttled impatiently back and forth, terrified crabs cling to the edges.
With a deafening SQUAAAAALK SQWAAAAAAARK, the bird landed, dropping the basket on deck, sending the Highlanders sprawling. Wingnut and Alphone naturally made a much more dignified dismount.
“Welcome aboard old friends!” Sig enveloped both men in a massive – and very manly – hug, while his crew helped Chiuidh and Dàibhidh to their feet, amid muttered “Hoots” and “Away with ye laddies” and a lot of trying not to look at the Kilted Region.
“Delighted to be back aboard old chap. And in such thrilling circumstances” Wingnut strode over to the crab cage, glaring down at the lobster, which somehow managed to look abashed. “You, my recalcitrant chitinous chum, I will Deal with later. Now, take us to the Victim, for time is awasting and there is a Ritual to be performed!”
And tomorrow, The Thrilling CONCLUSION. Honest.
thesme_01's work. She will, I am sure, explain in the comments if required. Mr Bucky is a small plastic chickenThe daring duo rushed up the back stairs to the attic door. The attic door was always locked and only Wingnut had the key. Mrs McGee, the housekeeper, never went there. Occasionally she had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened but all she ever heard was absolute silence.
Wingnut inserted the Golden key into the keyhole of the old door and the two stepped inside, holding their breath as they did so. Their once-friend, now adversary, had returned to the Bering sea to wreak havoc on the dangly essentials of an innocent man, and nothing would prevent them from saving the situation.
Before them, squatly gleaming, sat the Cock Summoner. It twinkled oilily in the dusty evening sunlight that streamed in through the attic window, a rectangular machine consisting of a series of interconnected brass tubes with rubber piping snaking in between. A large, pink button thrust itself forward invitingly. Holding hands firmly (a faint dew of sweat visible upon Alphonse’s brow), each placed their index finger upon the button and pressed.
Nothing obvious happened, however if one looked closely and listened hard, one could hear a faint hum emanating from the machine, along with a dull glow and vibration in the air above the machine. Then, suddenly: “OoooooaaaAAARKEEEEEEEEEEEE” an unbearable noise tore through the attic and the two fell to the ground, clasping their ears in a distinctly Star-Trek manner. Moments later an answering ‘WARK’ could be heard and the Giant Cock landed on the roof, and dropped his handy travel ladder in the attic window.
‘We’ve really got to fix the speaker on the summoner, you know’, muttered Alphonse to Wingnut as they climbed up. ‘Patience, dear Alphonse’ Wingnut answered, with perhaps a hint of irritation.
The Giant Cock lifted off and headed north, towards the highlands of Scotland.
Chiuidh and Dàibhidh were at the crucial point in the Ritual O’Giving. Chiuidh, in particular, was visibly excited and bobbing gently in the breeze as they approached the young man, now strapped to the stone table but still clasping Mr Bucky firmly. Dàibhidh had his ancient flint sickle and Chiuidh reverently carried the sacred granite collecting bowl. As they bent over the young man, Dàibhidh noted the cut of his jib and approved of his manly steadiness. This gift would truly increase the power of their ‘cloth’. Chiuidh muttered some words of comfort, and positioned the cup under the chéad craiceann*. Dàibhidh readied the knife. A hushed silence fell. The young man stared stoically into the sky, ready for what was to befall him.
But he wasn’t ready for what happened next. His eyes widened as an impossible figure wheeled in a circle of descent in the sky above him. Just as Dàibhidh was about to make the cut, both himself and Chiuidh were whipped out of the air by giant chicken claws and whisked away, leaving the young man strapped to the table, naked, alone except for a suspiciously silent Mr Bucky. ‘Ach fer f**k’s sake, ah wonder will ma sister gie us a lift’ he grumbled.
* DO NOT TRANSLATE THIS.
ION my work email seems to be going wonky again. Either that or no-one is emailing me :/
But wait, there's More! (by mine own fair hand)
Hugh’s sleep was fitful; tangled dreams of being chased lobsters, demented captains with scissors, and a unicorn (damn, but these fish drugs were good) tormented him. And always, lurking in the background just out of reach, the greatest torment of all – Cal. Sunglasses on, fag in hand and that smug smirk on his face. The bastard.
So he was actually relieved when Sig kicked the door in again. Couldn’t the fucker just OPEN it? “Help is on it’s way, just hold tight and stay put”.
Hugh had to ask, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer “What KIND of help?”.
“Special Help. Specialists. The world’s foremost expert on Werelobsters – you’ve read his article.”
Hugh cut him off “That Tweedy fucker? HIM? What fucking good will he be?”.
“He knows this shit. And don’t interrupt. He’s bringing the other specialists too. The... cutting ones.” Even the Sig looked almost sympathetic now. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it. And it’s better than… the alternative”. He flung in a fresh bag of ice and was gone again.
Hugh flung the stupid crab mags to the floor and lay back on the bed again, trying to think. What the hell could he do? He was trapped on a boat in the middle of the Bering seas with a pack of deranged fishermen and some tweed wearing academic pounce was on his way with maniacs to cut him where he least wanted to be cut.
If this was a drug trip it was turning bad; if it wasn’t, then the boat trip was turning WORSE. He couldn’t let them do it – mutilate lil’ Hugh? How could he? He had to get off this fucking boat. How the hell was he going to get off this fucking boat? He’d have to ask someone – anyone. It would hurt his pride, but that wasn’t much of a price to pay to save … well. No price would be too high. Werefuckinglobsters. Right.
He fumbled around in his pockets to find his phone; miraculously there was a signal – about time he had some luck. He scrolled through, found the right name and. Wait. How the hell do you call someone and explain THIS? You fucking don’t he thought. One word would do. Just one. Help.
He sent the text, lay back and waited. There was nothing else he could do now.
And as he slipped off into sleep again, his Doom was steadily and speedily winging its way towards him. Sailing silently through the night sky flew the Giant Irish Cock. On its back, Wingnut and Alphonse, sharing a substantial hipflask of rum against the chill and arguing over the various constellations above them.
Dangling in a basket from his claws, two rather confused Highlanders, wrapped furs and sharpening their sickles.
And what of the cause of all this trouble? Lurking in the crab cage, occasionally testing the air with an antenna, and clicking his giant claws, Mr Pinchy also waited. They would come. HE would come. And then. And then what? He wasn’t sure, no more sure than his unwilling victim. But something would happen; one way or another, his loneliness would end. Mr Pinchy waited, as only a lobster can wait, for the dawn.
And eventually, as all dawns must, it came. The blackness lightened, the winds died and even the rain stopped. Edgar, keeping watch with the telescope finally sang out “Giant Cock approaching Captain!”, with the gleeful air of one who’s waited his whole life to say that without getting punched.
First, just a speck, then growing bigger faster than anyone onboard could believe, the massive bird closed on the ship.
“Ed, go wake up the patient.” Sig ordered “Bring him some of your home brewed… whatever you call it. He’s going to need it”. He strode out onto the deck, waiting to receive this bizarre group. Behind him, the fateful crab cage rattled and shook as the lobster scuttled impatiently back and forth, terrified crabs cling to the edges.
With a deafening SQUAAAAALK SQWAAAAAAARK, the bird landed, dropping the basket on deck, sending the Highlanders sprawling. Wingnut and Alphone naturally made a much more dignified dismount.
“Welcome aboard old friends!” Sig enveloped both men in a massive – and very manly – hug, while his crew helped Chiuidh and Dàibhidh to their feet, amid muttered “Hoots” and “Away with ye laddies” and a lot of trying not to look at the Kilted Region.
“Delighted to be back aboard old chap. And in such thrilling circumstances” Wingnut strode over to the crab cage, glaring down at the lobster, which somehow managed to look abashed. “You, my recalcitrant chitinous chum, I will Deal with later. Now, take us to the Victim, for time is awasting and there is a Ritual to be performed!”
And tomorrow, The Thrilling CONCLUSION. Honest.
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and a unicorn (damn, but these fish drugs were good)
HEY. that was NOT a BAD DREAM! (ANYWAY. that was joe! :p)
Mr Pinchy waited, as only a lobster can wait, for the dawn.
there is something BADLY wrong with me. this is almost... poetic!
Edgar, keeping watch with the telescope finally sang out “Giant Cock approaching Captain!”, with the gleeful air of one who’s waited his whole life to say that without getting punched.
aklnlakDLNadnlaNDSLandk. have you been watching the show?
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wrong with you? I WROTE IT *sobs*
heee. I haven't seen much of the show, but you did post that edgar pic spam a while back, it seemed like something he'd enjoy saying ;p
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