Forget Captain Morgan, Boba Fett can kick his arse any day!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Americans Just Do NOT Understand Roundabouts
From in front of where I work,a piss poor attempt at a roundabout here in the states. It's mind boggling how much this has messed up drivers.
The Old Firm: A Steampunk Tale
The Flying Welshman raced down the tracks its massive pistons driving its sixteen man high drivers chugging along the iron rails as it approached the Britannia/Alba border. The massive gates across the the track at the border, a black mass in the silver moonlight, just before the sharp curve that led to the massive iron and stone Scotia Bridge across the River Tweed were closed as the ten car Flying Welshman picked up speed on the straight.
Lights blazed sun bright and shot out into the night as alarms hooted and and the rumble of steam boilers being brought on line shattered the spring night. Another set of iron gates began to close across the tracks, the mighty pistons of the steam engines muscling the massive gates into place. Whistled blew as boilers were engaged and chunky Pods stamped forward gears clashing and hydraulics whirring as the Flying Welshmanrumbled closer.
No whistle blew from the darkened Flying Welshman as it made the final curve sparks shooting out from its drivers as it barreled down the straight approaching the border. A flash of light and flame and a Pod fired upon the approaching train. Still the Flying Welshman picked up speed as the last set of gates locked with a loud crash that could be heard across the valley. The drone of approaching airships could be heard over the chugging of the drivers.
Orders were barked and guards scrambled to open gates for the Pods as the Flying Welshman jumped the track the engine crashed into the iron gates at the border the triple boilers exploding shattering the gates.
************************************************** ***
"Pass the tea love," Rebecca said as she flipped through the Dumfries Daily. Maureen passed the pot as she nibbled on her scone in the Ferintosh breakfast room. Outside the newsboys were having hawking special editions concerning the wreck at the border and the escalation of tempers between Britannia and Alba.
"I see you started without me," Stefania said with a grin, a hint of northern Italy in her voice, as she took a seat across from the others. The three young ladies were the rooms only occupants so late in the morning.
"We got tired of waiting," Rebecca said with a grin as she selected a rasher of bacon from Maureen's plate. "He was summoned this morning before dawn and hasn't returned," she licked her fingers delicately as she pointed to the headlines of the various papers at the table.
Stefania nodded as she chewed on smoked salmon and stirred her tea. Maureen folded her paper and set it down and looked out the window towards the train station. Dreadful news," she said softly as she took her gloves in hand.
"Yes, most dreadful," agreed Rebecca as she poured herself another cup of tea and added a splash of whisky from a flask that vanished back into her purse. Stefania smiled and reached for scone and jam.
"Here he comes," Maureen said suddenly and stood. The tinkle of the bell on the door could be heard and booted steps approached.
Rebecca lowered her cup of tea as Maureen stepped back towards the table and Stefania stood. The door to the breakfast room opened and in strode John McBride. "Ladies, we're needed."
Lights blazed sun bright and shot out into the night as alarms hooted and and the rumble of steam boilers being brought on line shattered the spring night. Another set of iron gates began to close across the tracks, the mighty pistons of the steam engines muscling the massive gates into place. Whistled blew as boilers were engaged and chunky Pods stamped forward gears clashing and hydraulics whirring as the Flying Welshmanrumbled closer.
No whistle blew from the darkened Flying Welshman as it made the final curve sparks shooting out from its drivers as it barreled down the straight approaching the border. A flash of light and flame and a Pod fired upon the approaching train. Still the Flying Welshman picked up speed as the last set of gates locked with a loud crash that could be heard across the valley. The drone of approaching airships could be heard over the chugging of the drivers.
Orders were barked and guards scrambled to open gates for the Pods as the Flying Welshman jumped the track the engine crashed into the iron gates at the border the triple boilers exploding shattering the gates.
************************************************** ***
"Pass the tea love," Rebecca said as she flipped through the Dumfries Daily. Maureen passed the pot as she nibbled on her scone in the Ferintosh breakfast room. Outside the newsboys were having hawking special editions concerning the wreck at the border and the escalation of tempers between Britannia and Alba.
"I see you started without me," Stefania said with a grin, a hint of northern Italy in her voice, as she took a seat across from the others. The three young ladies were the rooms only occupants so late in the morning.
"We got tired of waiting," Rebecca said with a grin as she selected a rasher of bacon from Maureen's plate. "He was summoned this morning before dawn and hasn't returned," she licked her fingers delicately as she pointed to the headlines of the various papers at the table.
Stefania nodded as she chewed on smoked salmon and stirred her tea. Maureen folded her paper and set it down and looked out the window towards the train station. Dreadful news," she said softly as she took her gloves in hand.
"Yes, most dreadful," agreed Rebecca as she poured herself another cup of tea and added a splash of whisky from a flask that vanished back into her purse. Stefania smiled and reached for scone and jam.
"Here he comes," Maureen said suddenly and stood. The tinkle of the bell on the door could be heard and booted steps approached.
Rebecca lowered her cup of tea as Maureen stepped back towards the table and Stefania stood. The door to the breakfast room opened and in strode John McBride. "Ladies, we're needed."
John swept into the room the tailoring of his tweed kilt suit impeccable as always. He had a twinkle in his eye as he grabbed a decanter and poured himself a whisky and joined the lovely ladies at their table.
"The ministries are all running about over last night," John said as he sipped his whisky the delicate aroma of peat wafting from the the glass.
Maureen gave a snort. "Short sighted bureaucrats looking ot cover their own arse's more like it," she said reaching for another paper.
"Cover or not we have been summoned for King and Crown, hopefully before the papers get a hold of the story." John finished his whisky and reached for a quails egg.
"I gather the general's are all crying for blood?" Stefania said as she smoothed the front of her wool jacket.
"On both sides of the border," John acknowledged as he neatly placed the remains of the quails egg on the plate before him.
The clock in the Ferintosh breakfast room began to chime. "Goodness! Ten already! Hurry ladies, we must catch the express!"
************************************************** ****
The Express was sitting at the station belching massive jets of smoke from its dual stacks the rumble of its triple boilers vibrating the solid stone work Dumfries Central Station. Rebecca and Stefania had their arms looped through John's as they made their way to the First-Class carriage. Porters bustled about their handcarts overloaded with chests and misshapen luggage .
The Express let loose a long whistle as its massive double drivers began to slowly turn as the Express pulled out of the station. A porter held open the door to their private compartment. When the door closed cutting off some of the clack of the rails John removed his jacket hanging it and smoothed his pleats as he made himself comfortable.
"What the papers did not mention, the Flying Welshman had no crew or passengers."
"Surely you jest John! All of them?" Maureen gave him a look of total disbelief.
"Aye, all of them, not a soul was found among the wreckage." John gazed out the window as the Express curved along the Solway Firth the grey clouds thick over its waters.
"Any word from Britannia?" Stefania asked as she went over what little there was in the folder.
"Just the usual, though they do have their hands full with the Welsh separatists and their military actions in Flanders."
"No chance of us running into Steede or Peele then?" Rebecca's tone was less than complimentary.
John chuckled. "I doubt it, they are off down in London, Whitechapel I believe, chasing after some madman who's been cutting up women down there in the slums."
Stefania shuddered and closed her eyes her hand at her breast as Maureen and Rebecca gave John the look of disgust. John grinned and turned ot gaze out of the the Solway Firth as the Express turned from the shore and aimed south over the brick causeway the waters of the Solway crashing whitely against the brickwork.
"The ministries are all running about over last night," John said as he sipped his whisky the delicate aroma of peat wafting from the the glass.
Maureen gave a snort. "Short sighted bureaucrats looking ot cover their own arse's more like it," she said reaching for another paper.
"Cover or not we have been summoned for King and Crown, hopefully before the papers get a hold of the story." John finished his whisky and reached for a quails egg.
"I gather the general's are all crying for blood?" Stefania said as she smoothed the front of her wool jacket.
"On both sides of the border," John acknowledged as he neatly placed the remains of the quails egg on the plate before him.
The clock in the Ferintosh breakfast room began to chime. "Goodness! Ten already! Hurry ladies, we must catch the express!"
************************************************** ****
The Express was sitting at the station belching massive jets of smoke from its dual stacks the rumble of its triple boilers vibrating the solid stone work Dumfries Central Station. Rebecca and Stefania had their arms looped through John's as they made their way to the First-Class carriage. Porters bustled about their handcarts overloaded with chests and misshapen luggage .
The Express let loose a long whistle as its massive double drivers began to slowly turn as the Express pulled out of the station. A porter held open the door to their private compartment. When the door closed cutting off some of the clack of the rails John removed his jacket hanging it and smoothed his pleats as he made himself comfortable.
"What the papers did not mention, the Flying Welshman had no crew or passengers."
"Surely you jest John! All of them?" Maureen gave him a look of total disbelief.
"Aye, all of them, not a soul was found among the wreckage." John gazed out the window as the Express curved along the Solway Firth the grey clouds thick over its waters.
"Any word from Britannia?" Stefania asked as she went over what little there was in the folder.
"Just the usual, though they do have their hands full with the Welsh separatists and their military actions in Flanders."
"No chance of us running into Steede or Peele then?" Rebecca's tone was less than complimentary.
John chuckled. "I doubt it, they are off down in London, Whitechapel I believe, chasing after some madman who's been cutting up women down there in the slums."
Stefania shuddered and closed her eyes her hand at her breast as Maureen and Rebecca gave John the look of disgust. John grinned and turned ot gaze out of the the Solway Firth as the Express turned from the shore and aimed south over the brick causeway the waters of the Solway crashing whitely against the brickwork.
The lively music of the can can drifted up through the wooden floor as the smoke and shouting of drunken revelers enjoying the burlesque show. The decor of the room clashed with the revelry going on below it. Burgundy drapes covered the walls and marble busts of Napoleon, Caesar, Attila the Hun, and Ivan the Terrible were placed on pedestals around the room. A four poster bed sheathed in black lace dominated the room overshadowing an oak desk covered with vellum and parchment.
"Dinner is served sir," a thin wavering voice announced from the darkness of the doorway. From the confines of the bed the sound of silken sheets rustling could be heard.
"Set it on the table," came the reply followed by several chest rattling cough's.
"As you say sir,' the butler shuffled in his thin frame weighed down by the tray in his hands. "Just as you like it, bloody rare and the Brittany vintage you are so fond of."
More coughing and a rustling of lace and a liver spotted bald head emerged from within the blackness of the bed. The bony frame was draped in red silk pajamas barely clinging to the stick frame as it struggled to its feet and jerkily moved towards the small table and the waiting chair.
The wine was blood red in its crystal twinkling in the candle light. The tender steak ran bloody juices down the chin as it was greedily consumed. "Shall I prepare your nightcap sir?"
Fork pauses just breaths away from blood stained lips. "Make it two, I must go out tonight."
"Very good sir," crystal on crystal tinkles and the gurgle of liquids mixing and the swirl of chemical process blended with the jubilant can can music.
"More arsenic this time, the last batch was too weak, it failed all to early."
"I do beg your pardon sir, I swore I had measured accordingly."
"I need more, it fades in potency with each use, more arsenic and more radium, I find myself weaker at he end."
"As you say sir," splashes and tinkling follows and then two small crystal vials are presented upon silver flickering in the candle light.
"Thank you Johnstone, you are dismissed for the evening."
"Good night sir," the door clicks shut quieting the blast of revelry that intruded upon the room. Thin hands grasped a crystal vial trembling as the cork stopper was pried loose, the glowing interior flowing thickly over red lips. A thud of crystal on carpet, sweats dripping from exposed skin, limbs trembling, silent screams.
"Now McBride, we shall dance."
"Dinner is served sir," a thin wavering voice announced from the darkness of the doorway. From the confines of the bed the sound of silken sheets rustling could be heard.
"Set it on the table," came the reply followed by several chest rattling cough's.
"As you say sir,' the butler shuffled in his thin frame weighed down by the tray in his hands. "Just as you like it, bloody rare and the Brittany vintage you are so fond of."
More coughing and a rustling of lace and a liver spotted bald head emerged from within the blackness of the bed. The bony frame was draped in red silk pajamas barely clinging to the stick frame as it struggled to its feet and jerkily moved towards the small table and the waiting chair.
The wine was blood red in its crystal twinkling in the candle light. The tender steak ran bloody juices down the chin as it was greedily consumed. "Shall I prepare your nightcap sir?"
Fork pauses just breaths away from blood stained lips. "Make it two, I must go out tonight."
"Very good sir," crystal on crystal tinkles and the gurgle of liquids mixing and the swirl of chemical process blended with the jubilant can can music.
"More arsenic this time, the last batch was too weak, it failed all to early."
"I do beg your pardon sir, I swore I had measured accordingly."
"I need more, it fades in potency with each use, more arsenic and more radium, I find myself weaker at he end."
"As you say sir," splashes and tinkling follows and then two small crystal vials are presented upon silver flickering in the candle light.
"Thank you Johnstone, you are dismissed for the evening."
"Good night sir," the door clicks shut quieting the blast of revelry that intruded upon the room. Thin hands grasped a crystal vial trembling as the cork stopper was pried loose, the glowing interior flowing thickly over red lips. A thud of crystal on carpet, sweats dripping from exposed skin, limbs trembling, silent screams.
"Now McBride, we shall dance."
Stefania and Maureen were on the platform as Rebecca descended causing a stir among the predominate military passengers at her exposed ankle as John held out his hand for her. She gave him a dazzling smile and murmured a demur thank you. John grinned and signaled a porter for their luggage.
"The ministry has a private rail car awaiting us, " Stefania pointed to a side track where a long rounded car sheathed in slabs of iron and rivets stood belching thick black smoke from its triple stacks.
"Mustn't keep the bosses waiting," John said as he helped the ladies across the numerous rails the porter struggling to keep up. Waiting in the black oval of an access at the rear of the car stood a solid chap in full regimental kit. As they approached he lowered steps and extended his hand as each of the ladies gathered their skirts in hand and gracefully climbed aboard.
"Lets get this crate moving shall we? John said and the soldier nodded barking orders in his thick northern accent into the com tube in the wall. With a lurch the rail car began to quickly pick up speed as its oversized boilers powered its massive drivers speeding it along the iron rails.
"A wire from the minister," Maureen said as she glanced at the coded message in her hand. "Funny."
"What is it?" John asked as he poured himself a whisky from his portable bar.
"Reports of sightings in Britannia of, they must be kidding, ghosts of the dead passengers from the wreck." Maureen frowned and shook her head. "Such superstitious nonsense." Stefania and Rebecca both grinned at Maureen, they were known to tease her about her attitude towards superstitions and myths.
"Ghosts? Really? My word I hope they do not take up haunting the rails,' John said as he sipped his whisky.
"Do you think the Unionists are responsible?" Stefania wondered as he opened Johns files and began to review them. "They have been awfully quiet of late and they do have the resources to pull off a job of this nature."
"Except the Unionist can't keep their gobs shut and would of been crowing over this whole affair from the start," Rebecca replied as took John's whisky from his hand and sipped at it.
The rail car thundered down its track approaching the Scotia Bridge at full throttle its stacks throwing great gouts of black smoke into the crisp mid day air. With a scream of metal on metal the rail car raced onto the Scotia Bridge and across sparks flying from its drivers as it approached the Alba/Britannia border.
"Approaching the border sir," came the soldiers voice over the comm tube, thin yet loud.
"Blast! No time for another drink," John swore as he took his whisky back from Rebecca and finished it off in one go.
"Stefania raised her skirt to expose her thigh and checked the sheath of her pistol and the special slit in her skirt that allowed her access to it.
John raised an eyebrow. 'Expecting trouble on the border?"
"Only from you."
John looked at her hurt. Maureen and Rebecca shook their heads and opened their purses showing their more lady like revolvers. "You always bring trouble John," they said in unison.
"The ministry has a private rail car awaiting us, " Stefania pointed to a side track where a long rounded car sheathed in slabs of iron and rivets stood belching thick black smoke from its triple stacks.
"Mustn't keep the bosses waiting," John said as he helped the ladies across the numerous rails the porter struggling to keep up. Waiting in the black oval of an access at the rear of the car stood a solid chap in full regimental kit. As they approached he lowered steps and extended his hand as each of the ladies gathered their skirts in hand and gracefully climbed aboard.
"Lets get this crate moving shall we? John said and the soldier nodded barking orders in his thick northern accent into the com tube in the wall. With a lurch the rail car began to quickly pick up speed as its oversized boilers powered its massive drivers speeding it along the iron rails.
"A wire from the minister," Maureen said as she glanced at the coded message in her hand. "Funny."
"What is it?" John asked as he poured himself a whisky from his portable bar.
"Reports of sightings in Britannia of, they must be kidding, ghosts of the dead passengers from the wreck." Maureen frowned and shook her head. "Such superstitious nonsense." Stefania and Rebecca both grinned at Maureen, they were known to tease her about her attitude towards superstitions and myths.
"Ghosts? Really? My word I hope they do not take up haunting the rails,' John said as he sipped his whisky.
"Do you think the Unionists are responsible?" Stefania wondered as he opened Johns files and began to review them. "They have been awfully quiet of late and they do have the resources to pull off a job of this nature."
"Except the Unionist can't keep their gobs shut and would of been crowing over this whole affair from the start," Rebecca replied as took John's whisky from his hand and sipped at it.
The rail car thundered down its track approaching the Scotia Bridge at full throttle its stacks throwing great gouts of black smoke into the crisp mid day air. With a scream of metal on metal the rail car raced onto the Scotia Bridge and across sparks flying from its drivers as it approached the Alba/Britannia border.
"Approaching the border sir," came the soldiers voice over the comm tube, thin yet loud.
"Blast! No time for another drink," John swore as he took his whisky back from Rebecca and finished it off in one go.
"Stefania raised her skirt to expose her thigh and checked the sheath of her pistol and the special slit in her skirt that allowed her access to it.
John raised an eyebrow. 'Expecting trouble on the border?"
"Only from you."
John looked at her hurt. Maureen and Rebecca shook their heads and opened their purses showing their more lady like revolvers. "You always bring trouble John," they said in unison.
To be Continued...
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