CAPTAIN'S LOGE, ENTRY FOURTEY ONEY POPPI

FALLING OUT OF THE SKY WAS OF SLIGHT INCONVENIENCE. HAPPILY, I HAVE MUCH EXPERIENCE IN THIS DEPARTMENT. MEMORY ARCHIVES REPORT THAT ONE OF MY OCCUPATIONS IN THE DISTANT PAST OF MERRY LONDON WAS A JOB AS STERN, NO-NONSENSE NANNY.

"SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS" I SHOUTED AS THE MEMORY FINISHED REWINDING AND PULLED AN UMBRELLA OUT OF MY POCKET. MY DESCENT BECAME ONE OF STYLE AND GRACE.

NOW, THIS IS A MOST PROPER FORM OF TRANSPORT. ONE CAN ENGAGE IN RESTORATIVE INTROSPECTIONS WITH ONLY THE TICKLISH WIND FOR COMPANY

. . .

WHY, I CAN REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I ARRIVED UPON SUCH CONVEYANCE. MY MINIONS WERE IN DIRE NEED OF BOTH MY PARTICULAR GIFT OF LEADERSHIP WHEN I BENEVOLENTLY INTERVENED UPON THEM.

WHEN I ARRIVED, PILOT WAS REDUCED TO CIRCULAR WANDERINGS, WHIMPERING ABOUT SILLY MATTERS LIKE “must find the Unscannable” AND “get out of my eyespaces, pesty goodlegeek!”

IT WAS NOTHING SOME SOLID MENTORSHIP AND DISCIPLINE COULDN’T CURE.

MR. SNIPPY IS A MUCH TOUGHER CASE. HE IS NEAR-TERMINALLY AFFLICTED BY PERSISTENT GROUCHINESS, AS WELL AS CHURLISH DISRESPECT FOR ALL THE THINGS THAT HE ENCOUNTERS. IT IS NO SMALL TASK KEEPING SUCH A BOOBISH PERSON OUT OF TROUBLE, AS HE INSISTS ON OFFENDING EVERY HARDWORKING ENTITY HE COMES ACROSS!

MORE WORK IS NEEDED TO ACHIEVE THE DESIRED ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT. TO THIS END, I HAVE TASKED HIM WITH THE MOST RESTORATIVE LABOR OF PAINTING THESE UNINTERESTING RUINS TO BETTER RESEMBLE GENTEEL LONDON. HIS BRUSHWORK IS SLOPPY, BUT HE WILL SURELY GET BETTER WITH PRACTICE.

I’VE ALSO WORKED TO DISLODGE HIS DOUR COUNTENANCE WITH A REFRESHING CHANGE OF VESTMENTS. OF COURSE, HE WAS STUBBORNLY CLOSEMINDED TO SUCH THINGS. HOWEVER, WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF PILOT I SUCCEEDED IN MY GOAL.

HE HAD MANY PROTESTATIONS LIKE “enough with the forced cosplays!” AND “why are you both using British accents today?” BUT HIS IMMATURE FLAILINGS WERE EASILY OVERCOME.

PILOT, OF COURSE, WAS DRESSED LIKE A PROPER VICTORIAN GIRL.

MANY RUDE LAUGHS WERE HEARD ABOUT THIS FROM SNIPPY, UNTIL AN AUTOMOBILE WENT FLYING IN HIS GENERAL DIRECTION.

"GOODNESS-GRACIOUS! LADIES DO NOT THROW AUTOMOBILES!" I ADMONISHED PILOT. "APOLOGIZE TO YOUR BROTHER AT ONCE!"

WITH MUCH TEETH-GRINDING PILOT OFFERED SNIPPY AN APPOLOGY, BUT I DO SUSPECT FROM HIS OUTLOOK THAT HE PLOTTED A VENGEANCE.

BEFORE WE COULD HAVE ANY FUN IT WAS NECESSARY TO CRACK ZEE GOOD WHIP OF WHOLESOME DISCIPLINE. I THEREFORE TASKED SNIPPY WITH THE RESTORATIVE LABOR OF CLEANING HIS ROOM, A DEPLORABLE MESS IN IMMEDIATE NEED OF A GOOD DUSTING.

“I don’t have a room,” SNIPPY COMPLAINED WHINGINGLY.

“NONSENSE!” I CORRECTED HIM. “WE ARE STANDING IN IT RIGHT NOW.”

“The wasteland is not my bedroom!”

“AU CONTRAIRE, MY STUBBORN LITTLE SNIPPY. THERE ARE MANY BEDS IN THIS VAST ROOM. AS A CITIZEN OF CAPTANIA, YOU HAVE ACCESS TO MANY OF THESE BEDS.”

“That’s just semantics. I don’t have a bedroom.”

“GET SWEEPING!”

“Fine, fine. G-damn”—

“—IS THAT PROFANITY I HEAR?”

“…no?”

“GOOD.”

WITH SNIPPY PROPERLY DRESSED AS A GOOD BRITISH LAD OF BOURGOISE STATUS AND CHASTENED BY HIS MORNING CHORES WE SET ABOUT A DAY OF MAGICAL ADVENTURING.

SNIPPY DEMANDED THAT I LET HIM GO, BUT I TOLD HIM THAT WAS NO WAY TO ADDRESS A GOVERNESS OF MY STATURE. BESIDES, IT HAD TAKEN US SO LONG TO GET HIM PROPERLY DRESSED THAT IT WAS ALMOST TIME FOR ELEVENSES!

WE WENT TO TAKE OUR TEA AND BISCUITS WITH MY MANY ESTEEMED FRIENDS, WHOSE ACQUAINTANCE WILL BE MOST IMPROVING FOR MY UNCULTURED MINIONS.

ASSEMBLED WITH US WE HAD MY FRIEND DIXON THE WASTELAND DEX, TODD THE SEATING AND COMFORT APP, MR. KITTYHAWK THE MOST CUDDLY SECRETARY, OF COURSE THE AMORPHOUS ONE, A BUCKET OF SENTIENT MOLD THAT SAYS SHE WAS ONCE MANY DEX UNITS.

SNIPPY SCREAMED WHEN HE SAW DIXON AMBLING OVER TO JOIN US. IT WAS MOST UNBECOMING; I HAD TO APOLOGIZE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE SO THAT WE COULD HAVE A CORDIAL SNACK OF SCONES AND TEA WITHOUT MY FRIEND FEELING OFFENDED.

“PARDON HIM, MON AMI,” I SAID. “HE IS A MOST INCORRIGIBLE LITTLE SCAMP.”

“You’re telling me,” DIXON AGREED MOST HEARTILY. “Always skulking around, breaking and entering and such.”

“Pilot, if that wraith eats me, please tell Captain that it’s zeer fault,” SNIPPY WHISPERED CONSPIRATORIALLY TO PILOT, WHO GASPED WITH OUTRAGE AT SUCH SLANDERS AND BEGAN A SEARCH FOR A SHARP AND POINTY IMPLEMENT.

“Easy, Pi,” MR. KITTYHAWK SAID TO THE TWITTERPATED PILOT. “Don’t stab the nice man. It’s not his fault.”

MR. KITTYHAWK WOULD MAKE AN EXCELLENT GOVERNESS, I DO SUSPECT.

AS IF HE HAD NOT DONE ENOUGH ALREADY SNIPPY THAN SAT HIS UNEDUCATED DERRIERE UPON MY FRIEND TODD.

“I say!” TODD PROTESTED.

“Oh, God, that chair totally just talked,” SNIPPY SQUEAKED MOST GAUCHELY. “Everybody else heard that, right?”

“I am a smart-chair, after all, good sir!” TODD STIPULATED, MOST RIGHTEOUSLY PEEVED.

“You’re not making this any easier for yourself,” Kittyhawk admonished Snippy.

“I’ll just sit on the ground, then,” SNIPPY SAID, THE BEST AMENDMENT HE COULD HAVE PRODUCED.

“Suit yourself,” DIXON REJOINED. “I’m taking a chair. My back acts up most ferociously when I sit on the ground.”

PILOT, ALSO CHOSE HIMSELF A CHAIR AND SAT UPON IT, HAVING ASKED FOR PERMISSION FIRST, LIKE A PROPER LADY SHOULD [ SETTING A GOOD EXAMPLE FOR SNIPPY ].

“What!? How come his chair doesn’t talk?” SNIPPY WHINED. OF COURSE ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS POLITELY ASK THE CHAIRS FIRST, BUT HE FANCIES HIMSELF FAR TOO COOL FOR SUCH THINGS.

“You ought to be easier on yourself,” TODD ADVISED DIXON. “There is an absolute dearth of good chiropractors around here. The wait list at the Good hospital is ridiculous I tell you, ridiculous!”

AS A GOOD CHIT-CHAT GOT GOING I PRODUCED A DELIGHTFUL TEA SET FROM WITH MY POCKETS AND POURED US ALL A DELICIOUS BEVERAGE FROM MY TRUSTY MUG.

“PILOT!” I REPRIMANDED MY UNSTYLISH MINION AS I FINISHED POURING FOR DIXON, “EXTEND YOUR PINKY! ARE YOU A LADY, OR AN ANIMAL!?”

“Say, why don’t you come over here, love?” THE AMORPHOUS ONE ENTREATED PILOT FROM HER BUCKET. “I have a surprise for you…”

“Is it surprise with friends and chocolates?” PILOT ASKED ASTUTELY, DELICATELY SETTING HIS TEACUP DOWN. MY, HOW HIS LADY-MANNERS HAVE IMPROVED!

“…maybe…” THE AMORPHOUS ONE DEMURRED. "... just reach into the bucket, there are so many friends in me that you can party with..."

PILOT CROSSED HIS ARMS.

“No way, them tiny parties usually have greatly exaggerated entry fees! I’mma stay right here, bucket-lady!”

IT WAS A MOST DELIGHTFUL DAY, WITH MANY STRANGE FRIENDS OF THE WASTELANDS PARTICIPATING IN OUR FORAY THROUGH BRITISH CULTURE. SNIPPY COULDN’T DAMPER THE FUN DESPITE HIS BEST EFFORTS.

AS EVENING DARKENED OUR FAIR SKIES I TUCKED MY MINIONS IN FOR THE NIGHT. PILOT WAS MOST TIRED, BUT SNIPPY HAD TO BE TUCKED IN WITH EXTRA DUCT TAPE TO ENSURE A RESTFUL NIGHT.

. . .

HMM, IT SEEMS THAT THE WINDS ARE CHANGING. FLOATING OFF TO RECRUIT NEW CITIZENS OF CAPTANIA WOULD BE A DELECTABLE EVENING DIVERSION. BUT I MUSTN’T LEAVE MY JIGGLY MINIONS JUST YET. THEY STILL HAVE MUCH TO LEARN OF BRITISH PROPRIETY AND WHIMSICAL ADVENTURINGS.