Aug 14, 2007

Journey to....Mysterious Island: Crash! HRONK!

After many days (God knows why it took so long since I can ride my horse or fly from sim -to-sim in a matter of minutes) at sea observing the volcano from the ever-shrinking distance and carefully taking measurements on the scientific instruments provided by the Royal Society Offices, we finally heard a sound from overhead. Well, we had heard many sounds coming out of the crow's nest, but I really should not repeat those in polite company. Mind you we discussed it no end around the card table in the evenings whilst playing, talking, and drinking, but that is another story.

"Land HO!"

Not generally being used to hearing that term used outside the context of one of Carntaigh's raves late at night, the first response from many of the ladies' lips was, "Yes?" Then realizing where they were, there were furious blushes from the ladies, and several coughs from the gentlemen.

"I beg your pardon." was naturally the next response.

Having sailed on numerous occasions with the Royal Society Expeditionary Group, in service of Caledon, and with a few close friends, I knew that the boy in the crow's nest was not addressing the group, but notifying us that he had spotted land. Really - we had been watching Phillip grow closer for days....but it was his job.

And so the group began excitedly preparing for our landing on Phillip. There was much debate about the best approach: immediate penetration, careful circling, dropping anchor and watching, jumping on dingies, &tc.

Suddenly a rather angry voice called out of the apple barrel: “Before you all go dashing onto the damn beach maybe you should let the kitten OUT of the bag before she FREAKIN‘ suffocates after all this DAMN time? JEBUS!”

Miss Kiralette? Many exclamations hit the air, which were once again, not repeatable in polite company.

Just as I was walking over to the barrel where the dear kitty was hiding...


I found myself in a pile of arms and legs, and apples. It rather looked as though Dr. Sputnik had been involved in a Duchess, Duchess, Baroness Triple Decker Sandwich gone wrong. Kiralette's luxurious, if rather cider-scented, tail was wrapped around my head.

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed as I picked myself up on the deck and attempted to assist my fellow travelers as well as I could.

It was not long before I saw that the Baron had gotten himself together, walked to the gangway, which had just been lowered by Sparrow's crew, and said, "All ashore that's going ashore."

I shot down to my stateroom and grabbed my bow, and slid my dirk into my garter. Coming back topside, I picked up some of my equipment and gave instructions to Gnarlihotep regarding which other pieces of scientific machinery his young Sherpas should be engaged to carry.

We hit the beach en masse. The ground was covered in a thick layer of ash from Phillip and I took a few samples for Drs. Krogstad and Honeydew. We could see lava flows to the west of us and several decided that we would head that direction in the morning. Darkness was beginning to set in and we needed to set up camp.

The beach seemed the obvious choice for this since the volcano continued to rumble and the lava was still pouring out to the west and possibly the east (there was a red glow all around us). It was too dark also to run into the forest that stood just below the volcano (odd that a full grown forest was here on a newly created island....hmmm....what evil is afoot??).

The crew got camp set-up much more efficiently than anticipated given their laziness aboard ship. I suppose it could have been related to Lady Darkling's persuasive discussion with them earlier. I had seen her talking very closely to them and heard something about using their bones for some ritual or another if they did not get their arses in gear. She is a very motivational speaker.

Gabrielle busied herself setting up her tent and ensuring that her music player and cylinders were usable after the landing. Lady Amber was working on some sort of circle around her tent - perhaps getting ready to place an altar. I was not yet sure.

I found Dr. Sputnik and Miss Lightfoot working on his ETC - muttering something about the "confounded dust and ash", and working on a solution to keep this material out of the inner workings of the machine.

Mr. Abel and Miss Kiralette were busily shepherding the penguins as they brought our equipment out to base camp. Although I heard both of them excitedly chatting about getting on with the adventure and exploration of the island.

Bardhaven was pouring over what appeared to be the map and drawings that Kate Nicholas and Professor Krogstad had provided us. Dagger in hand, point twirling on his chin as he thoughtfully stared at the maps. What plans are being created?

My own tent was successfully in order. Gyroscopes, barometers, steam powered specimen collectors all seemed to be in order. What the dear little Sherpas apparently forgot on board ship were my personal essentials: hammock, mosquito netting, tea set, cask of whisky. Grumbling I determined that I would head back to the ship myself to pick up a few things and see if any of the penguins were at hand to assist.

Finding the ship essentially empty, and quiet, the temptation to remain on board in my stateroom for the night was too great. I slipped into my lingerie and slid into bed. Shortly I was sound asleep.

At some point in the night, however, I became quite restless - almost fitful.

A wait!


I woke up in a cold sweat. I was screaming! HRONKING!



Then I saw him. That damnable little penguin who had been following me for the entire journey thus far. HE was the one who gave me nightmares! What is he doing in my bed??



Gabrielle Riel said...

*Gabrielle pokes her head out of her tent*

Eva...why are you covered in feathers?

Edward Pearse said...


Tries desperately to stop laughing

HeadBurro Antfarm said...

Yag! Another brave soul falls foul (or fowl?) of the aroused passions of a thawed out pingu! This often happens when otherwise well behaved hronkers are taken to warm climes and their usually-frozen-solid naughty bits begin to heat up. May I suggest a frrying pan to the mush? That usually dissuades them :)

Telemachus said...

OH my gosh, that was the funniest thing I've read, or seen, ahem, in the blogs.

Does protecting you against oversexed penguins count as part of my bodyguard duties? If so, I have failed in my duties; I will have to get a good shoe, for kicking the little polar horndoggies.

Or perhaps this is the beginning of a wonderful relationship...Caledon is all about tolerance, I know. The pictures were quite romantic in a very odd sort of way.

Be well Duchess. And keep writing.

Sir Tele

Her Grace, Eva Bellambi said...

Damn it all, Tele. I knew I should have brought you along on this journey. Someone should be protecting the ladies from such fowl advances!

Now, next time I see you, though, I shall have to slap you across the face for the romantic and "wonderful relationship" remark. Hrumph!

*smirks and tries not to laugh*