Syrian goddess. Yes, I see what you did there
That Algy! A little too keen on his, hobby that boy! Still, he is a clever chap.
Whip you, dear Eul? If you insist
Can I paint you afterwards my dear?
btw "Birchgrove Press" ? Really!
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Venus Verticordia
- Thread starter Wragg
- Start date
Syrian goddess. Yes, I see what you did there
That Algy! A little too keen on his, hobby that boy! Still, he is a clever chap.
Whip you, dear Eul? If you insist
Can I paint you afterwards my dear?
btw "Birchgrove Press" ? Really!
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
"Well I buggered that one up, didn't I? Doubt if I'll get the invitation to Ascot now. Or promotion. Or the new house.
"The American's case is not so simple either. In my lifetime I've seen the steam locomotive go at speeds that the Georgians thought would kill them. There are a few road locomotives as well, thankfully the '65 Red Flag Act has slowed them down. I hear the Germans are trying to make the locomotive powered by 'internal combustion' rather than steam. So much progress.
"So is it possible the American is telling the truth? That we will fly like birds? That we will go back and forth in time? If he told me how he travels in time I could go back to yesterday, believe Miss Moore, telegraph Lord Wragg and say I had rescued her, get rewarded, get invited to Ascot, be Lord Wragg's Head of Security, join in with all the goings-on that are rumoured to take place at Cruxton.
" Fantasy, you silly old fool. Get back to reality. Sprout! Have you put fresh sawdust in the privy like I told you?"
"The American's case is not so simple either. In my lifetime I've seen the steam locomotive go at speeds that the Georgians thought would kill them. There are a few road locomotives as well, thankfully the '65 Red Flag Act has slowed them down. I hear the Germans are trying to make the locomotive powered by 'internal combustion' rather than steam. So much progress.
"So is it possible the American is telling the truth? That we will fly like birds? That we will go back and forth in time? If he told me how he travels in time I could go back to yesterday, believe Miss Moore, telegraph Lord Wragg and say I had rescued her, get rewarded, get invited to Ascot, be Lord Wragg's Head of Security, join in with all the goings-on that are rumoured to take place at Cruxton.
" Fantasy, you silly old fool. Get back to reality. Sprout! Have you put fresh sawdust in the privy like I told you?"
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Lord Wragg, my dear chap, you have mentioned the time-span of 140 years three times to date (a policeman's trained memory, don't ya know), and Bertie Wells is still studying at Thomas Morley's Commercial Academy in 1876. He hasn't written any books about Boeings, or even discussed the idea with me.
To my sharply trained mind, these lapses point to only one conclusion. You, Lord Wragg, are also a devious character, and I've got my eye on you.
RacingRodent
Consul
I wondered when that would get picked up on...though it might be flux from Repertor's time vortex shifting stuff about
yes, glad you noticed that
H'm, that's not to say Bertie Wells hadn't read Jules Verne and started thinking about the future....
Course not. It's like a 3 story block of flats. Silly idea to think it would fly.Mind you, I didn't believe a 747 could fly, either, the first time I saw one
She's rather cute when she's all grateful like this, eh, Wragg old man? Such obvious relief. Well worth rescuing."seraphic smile" .... I like that very much ... think I will put it in my personal CF lexicon along with "tumescent nipples" and "tight little".
Imagine being rescued at the very last minute from that awful Inspector Slave by none other than good old Wraggie himself!A storybook ending to this chapter, if I do say so myself. Now pass me my blanket please, I say with a seraphic smile. My tumescent nipples are getting hard, and my tight little is drawing a few too many furtive stares from that pimply-faced young PC standing over there in the doorway.
She's rather cute when she's all grateful like this, eh, Wragg old man? Such obvious relief. Well worth rescuing.
Awwwww... everyone is being so sweet here. How long will it last?
As our PM David Cameron thought to himself today,
as he presented his European Reform Agreement to the Cabinet
The Wedding of Sir Eustace Algernon Roderick Wragg of Cruxton, to Miss Barbara Alexandra Moore, of Minnesota, was the social event of the year. Everybody was there. Even the Prince of Wales was there. Tree, of course, wasn’t there – he was breaking rocks to while away the weeks until his trial. Repertor wasn’t there, no-one had seen him since the police raid. But Rossetti and Eulalia were there, once Inspector Slave had got them both to write statements which further incriminated Tree and proved beyond all reasonable doubt that he was the Racing Rodent, they were free to go.
The bride’s parents had declined to make the hazardous Atlantic crossing, but Barb’s younger sister had married a fantastically rich and powerful German Count, so it was that she was given away by none other than Count Loxuru of Schleswig-Holstein.
Wragg’s best man was Lord Jollyrei himself, and Lady Thessela was the maid of honour. Some of the Count’s children were pages and bridesmaids, the sun shone, the birds sang in the trees, the best men produced the rings at the right time. The bells of St Eulalia’s church resounded with the joy of the occasion, and everyone was thoroughly happy.
I do realise that the ladies among the readership will want to know all about Barb’s dress, but your Chronicler has Y chromosomes and isn’t very good at that sort of thing. It was kind of white, with lacy bits, it showed off her shoulders wonderfully, it showed off her figure wonderfully, she carried these kind of flowery things and (the most important thing) the Earl thought she looked simply ravishing.
Inspector Slave, in the very back pew, had to agree that she looked pretty good. As the Vicar turned to the congregation and declared, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” even he had to acknowledge that Miss Barbara Moore was now the Countess of Cruxton.
He would also have agreed with most red-blooded men in the congregation that Wragg was one lucky bastard.
After the service, the spotlight shifted to Cruxton Abbey for the reception. The Abbey was looking at its very best, Wragg had driven the servants hard cleaning, painting, gardening. The house was spotless, the gardens perfect. Even the weather hadn’t dared to defy Wragg’s imperious will.
As is usual, the talk at the wedding breakfast was all about what a lovely ceremony it had been and how beautiful the bride looked, then it dropped through conversations about that ghastly dress that Aunt Cecilia is wearing, until, quite quickly, talked turned to the notorious criminal, the Racing Rodent, at that moment on remand in Newgate prison. The newspapers were full of lurid tales about the heinous crimes of the Racing Rodent.
Roland Rattington, Esquire, of Pimlico, an old school pal of the Earl, found himself seated near to Miss Roxandra Carlyle, an old school friend of Barbs. For a while they entertained themselves by wondering what embarrassing stories might come up in the various speeches. That topic ran out of steam over the sweet course.
“What about this ‘Racing Rodent’ character, then, Mr Rattington?”
Roland nearly choked on his food.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said “but England’s a safer place, now that he’s behind bars, don’t you think?”
Roland restored patency to his respiratory tract. “Oh yes, old girl. Absolutely. Frightful cad. American, I’m sorry to say…”
“Hey! We’re not all gunslingers, you know!”
“No, no, quite. That’s what I mean. It must be embarrassing for you….”
“Not at all. I fail to see why it matters. He could be from Mars, for all I care. Honestly, you Brits are so uptight about pedigree! Besides, he may not be guilty!”
Once again, Roland jumped like a cat. “N-not guilty? Why on earth do you think that?”
“Well, apparently he denies everything. Especially the murders.”
“Well, he doesn’t have an alibi!”
“Neither do I…we can’t hang everyone who doesn’t have an alibi. Do you have an alibi?”
“As a matter of fact….”
“Never mind. They found that painting on him, didn’t they? The Penis Perticordia.”
“Venus Verticordia.”
“Whatever. It’s a smoking gun.”
“Indeed it is, Miss Carlyle.” Roland Rattington Esq. of Pimlico, fell silent, frowning slightly, as he did every time he was reminded of it. So what the hell was hidden in his attic?
Luckily for him, that was the moment that, banging a teaspoon on a glass, Count Loxuru rose to his feet to begin the speeches.
The bride’s parents had declined to make the hazardous Atlantic crossing, but Barb’s younger sister had married a fantastically rich and powerful German Count, so it was that she was given away by none other than Count Loxuru of Schleswig-Holstein.
Wragg’s best man was Lord Jollyrei himself, and Lady Thessela was the maid of honour. Some of the Count’s children were pages and bridesmaids, the sun shone, the birds sang in the trees, the best men produced the rings at the right time. The bells of St Eulalia’s church resounded with the joy of the occasion, and everyone was thoroughly happy.
I do realise that the ladies among the readership will want to know all about Barb’s dress, but your Chronicler has Y chromosomes and isn’t very good at that sort of thing. It was kind of white, with lacy bits, it showed off her shoulders wonderfully, it showed off her figure wonderfully, she carried these kind of flowery things and (the most important thing) the Earl thought she looked simply ravishing.
Inspector Slave, in the very back pew, had to agree that she looked pretty good. As the Vicar turned to the congregation and declared, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” even he had to acknowledge that Miss Barbara Moore was now the Countess of Cruxton.
He would also have agreed with most red-blooded men in the congregation that Wragg was one lucky bastard.
After the service, the spotlight shifted to Cruxton Abbey for the reception. The Abbey was looking at its very best, Wragg had driven the servants hard cleaning, painting, gardening. The house was spotless, the gardens perfect. Even the weather hadn’t dared to defy Wragg’s imperious will.
As is usual, the talk at the wedding breakfast was all about what a lovely ceremony it had been and how beautiful the bride looked, then it dropped through conversations about that ghastly dress that Aunt Cecilia is wearing, until, quite quickly, talked turned to the notorious criminal, the Racing Rodent, at that moment on remand in Newgate prison. The newspapers were full of lurid tales about the heinous crimes of the Racing Rodent.
Roland Rattington, Esquire, of Pimlico, an old school pal of the Earl, found himself seated near to Miss Roxandra Carlyle, an old school friend of Barbs. For a while they entertained themselves by wondering what embarrassing stories might come up in the various speeches. That topic ran out of steam over the sweet course.
“What about this ‘Racing Rodent’ character, then, Mr Rattington?”
Roland nearly choked on his food.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said “but England’s a safer place, now that he’s behind bars, don’t you think?”
Roland restored patency to his respiratory tract. “Oh yes, old girl. Absolutely. Frightful cad. American, I’m sorry to say…”
“Hey! We’re not all gunslingers, you know!”
“No, no, quite. That’s what I mean. It must be embarrassing for you….”
“Not at all. I fail to see why it matters. He could be from Mars, for all I care. Honestly, you Brits are so uptight about pedigree! Besides, he may not be guilty!”
Once again, Roland jumped like a cat. “N-not guilty? Why on earth do you think that?”
“Well, apparently he denies everything. Especially the murders.”
“Well, he doesn’t have an alibi!”
“Neither do I…we can’t hang everyone who doesn’t have an alibi. Do you have an alibi?”
“As a matter of fact….”
“Never mind. They found that painting on him, didn’t they? The Penis Perticordia.”
“Venus Verticordia.”
“Whatever. It’s a smoking gun.”
“Indeed it is, Miss Carlyle.” Roland Rattington Esq. of Pimlico, fell silent, frowning slightly, as he did every time he was reminded of it. So what the hell was hidden in his attic?
Luckily for him, that was the moment that, banging a teaspoon on a glass, Count Loxuru rose to his feet to begin the speeches.
I think we'll leave the wedding at that point, Ladies and Gentlemen.
I mean, I don't know about you, but I find wedding speeches rather dull. Thanks to the bridesmaids, thanks to the Bride's father, gaining new members of the family. Yawn, yawn. It's not as though Loxuru might possibly have anything interesting to say about Barb, for instance. And Jollyrei and Wragg were exemplary pupils at Eton. There's nothing embarrassing that he could tell about old Wraggie, fear not.
So in the next episode, we'll just move onto something more interesting, shall we?
RacingRodent
Consul
Wait...murders?
I mean character assassination yes but murder seems a bit rum...even a bit red rum...okay that pun was painful and it was me
A very dodgy Duchy (or two?):
The Schleswig-Holstein Question was a complex set of diplomatic and other issues arising in the 19th century from the relations of two duchies,Schleswig and Holstein, to the Danish crown and to the German Confederation. The British statesman Lord Palmerston is reported to have said: “Only three people have ever really understood the Schleswig-Holstein business: the Prince Consort, who is dead, a German professor, who has gone mad, and I, who have forgotten all about it."
But who was Wragg's fag?
Senator Tree did find a homing pigeon and miraculously the bird and the message somehow made it to the America even bucking the headwinds crossing the Atlantic. Weeks later it landed in the town of Pacific, Missouri known for its mines where fine silica is harvested essential for exquisite crystal and many decades later for microwave-safe cookware. Pacific is also the home of a fledgling bar and coffee shop already known as far east in St. Louis and as far west as the small cattle town of Kansas City, Missouri.
Bull reads the message and says the message and tells Gunner, a recently freed slave, that Senator Tree is in trouble and is doing hard labor in a British prison. Gunner says "We need to go get him!"
"Ok, but we need to pack light; maybe only a few Winchesters and four or five Colt .45s."
"Fuck that, Bull, we are going to put a whipping on those fucking Brits they have known since the War of 1812" Gunner thunders.
Gunner begins packing enough ordinance to win the U.S. Civil War when Bull says "The Missouri Pacific Railroad is not going to let you take a loaded cannon on one of their trains."
Gunner uses his cigar to light the fuse and discharges the cannon out a window.
"Happy now, white boy?" Gunner asks. "Now let's roll!"
T
Bull reads the message and says the message and tells Gunner, a recently freed slave, that Senator Tree is in trouble and is doing hard labor in a British prison. Gunner says "We need to go get him!"
"Ok, but we need to pack light; maybe only a few Winchesters and four or five Colt .45s."
"Fuck that, Bull, we are going to put a whipping on those fucking Brits they have known since the War of 1812" Gunner thunders.
Gunner begins packing enough ordinance to win the U.S. Civil War when Bull says "The Missouri Pacific Railroad is not going to let you take a loaded cannon on one of their trains."
Gunner uses his cigar to light the fuse and discharges the cannon out a window.
"Happy now, white boy?" Gunner asks. "Now let's roll!"
T
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Never mind politics! I'll tell you - Bratwurst und Bier verdammt noch mal - she is a hübsche, schöne Maid!
Jawohl, jawohl!
(btw in 1876, the question was settled already since 10 years. the solution had come out of the guns of Bismarck's army: the whole duchy was Prussian since 1866. Palmerston died in 1865).
Never mind politics! I'll tell you - Bratwurst und Bier verdammt noch mal - she is a hübsche, schöne Maid!
Jawohl, jawohl!
View attachment 334490
(btw in 1876, the question was settled already since 10 years. the solution had come out of the guns of Bismarck's army: the whole duchy was Prussian since 1866. Palmerston died in 1865).
JaWOHL!!!!
View attachment 334514 Ahem ...................
That's kind of the idea, Barb.....perhaps, given that fact that you're joining the aristocracy, you could afford to spring just a little more cash on material
RacingRodent
Consul
That's kind of the idea, Barb.....perhaps, given that fact that you're joining the aristocracy, you could afford to spring just a little more cash on material
Her material assets look fine to me