Missions of the Retrieval Team - Kilts in a Cage

[Coemgen]

[Standard]

Does this mean that I have to take off my white Tilley?

[davedove]

It obviously isn't my husband Jamie, he whose every waking moment is spent just dreaming of the time he gets to spend with me.

Fear not, dear lady. This is only a work of fiction. Though we may try to deny, it is a fact that all men dread the time that is spent away from our significant others, and anxiously await the time when we are reunited with our loved ones.

Whew, do you think she bought it guys. What? What do you mean the recorder is still on!! Uh...uh..now back to our story.

[Jock Scot]

Fear not, dear lady. This is only a work of fiction. Though we may try to deny, it is a fact that all men dread the time that is spent away from our significant others, and anxiously await the time when we are reunited with our loved ones.

Whew, do you think she bought it guys. What? What do you mean the recorder is still on!! Uh...uh..now back to our story.

No!Not a hope, my dear chap.The best advice I can give you is:"when in a hole, stop digging!"

[Panache]

Folks,

These "movies" that davedove writes are cinematic blockbusters that exist for the enjoyment of the characters within the literary universe created by me in a few Victorian serials. So they are a fiction within a fiction (why else could Mike1 be glamorized so?) Nothing to worry about.

Though if these fictional movies exist with the a fictional literary universe within the constructs of an electronic online forum, then why is Grant the only one who seems unchanged. He is the one constant, a derranged constant, a blond mane and pert buttock obsessed constant, but a constant nonetheless.

Hmmmmm....perhaps Pleater was on to something with her All the Myriad Ways approach...



Cheers

Jamie

[Pleater]

The philosophy surrounding the anomalies at MHICE doesn't quite mesh with the quantum discoherence of ATMW, as it throws in value judgments, and a mechanism by which the multiverse becomes not only more coherent but in small ways better than it was.

In this way the infinite number of infinite universes is resolved - it being impossible to reduce it, into the multiverse where the blade of the wind turbine does not chop the bird out of the sky, where the juggernaut misses the hedgehog, and so on.

A much better quality of multiverse with better interactivity all round. Some call these things coincidences - which is of course what they are.

Though when Grant appeared at the MHICE and began to benefit from the benign influences of the place, he must have fallen through into another version of events or faded away completely. Doubtless features of the MHICE reality can interact with other similar realities on a literary level, in which the Grant character is a constant, because better interactivity means just that.

Having created the alternative reality where Madam Director Pleater avoids the accident that damages her knee, so freeing her from difficulty walking, that variation must also be removed from a significant number of other universes, including this one I'm in at the moment. The one where I just had a trampoline delivered.

It could be proposed that somewhere bad things do not happen is going to be utterly boring, but boring is 'not a good thing' most of the time so it does not happen as often in the multiverse as in the discontinuous universes.

Hmm as I own and wear both a black kilt and a white - or at least natural cotton colour Tilley hat - this might indicate that somewhere I have a dark side. Let's hope it isn't thinking of trying to encourage Mister Dove to write faster or more frequently.

[davedove]

These "movies" that davedove writes are cinematic blockbusters that exist for the enjoyment of the characters within the literary universe created by me in a few Victorian serials. So they are a fiction within a fiction (why else could Mike1 be glamorized so?) Nothing to worry about. ...

The philosophy surrounding the anomalies at MHICE doesn't quite mesh with the quantum discoherence of ATMW, as it throws in value judgments, and a mechanism by which the multiverse becomes not only more coherent but in small ways better than it was. ...

I think my head hurts.

[Pleater]

Write more episodes soon and I'll take the pin out of the Dave Dove dolly.

[Pleater]

Oh dear - quickly Matron, a glass of Benedictine - the special recipe - we must revive Mister Dove so he can complete his narration.

[davedove]

Scene 9


Aboard the Cruise Ship Ceilidh


I was a little slow getting out of bed the next morning, probably the result of a few too many margaritas the night before. I knew that a good breakfast would salve that problem though.

Ms. Stork was coming back into the suite as I stumbled into the sitting area. She was wearing her spandex workout clothing, so I assumed she had been up early to workout. Her skin had a bit of a flush too it and a pleasant sheen from perspiration.

“Good morning,” she said, a bit too cheerfully. “It’s about time you got up.”

I mumbled a greeting back to her as I opened the refrigerator and retrieved the orange juice that the steward had left, per my instructions. I greedily opened it and quickly drank about half of it, straight from the container.

Ms. Stork giggled at my discomfort and went to her room to get ready for breakfast.

After I finished the orange juice, I returned to my room to do the same. Between the juice and a shower, I was soon ready for another day. I have never been the type of person that needs a shot of caffeine in the morning, but the quick shot of vitamins and fluid that the juice provided did me a world of good.

The site that greeted me when I came back out of my room also perked me up a bit. Ms. Stork had chosen a simple wrap style dress to wear, but it fit the curves of her body well and the floral print complimented her skin tone brilliantly.

With more than a little pride in my bearing, I walked with her to breakfast.

After breakfast, the rest of the day passed without any incidents. I did see Grant getting short with the staff a few times, but Big Mikey seemed able to control him for the most part.

I took a tip from Ms. Stork and joined her on deck to read for a bit. I found the warm sun and the slight movement of the deck soon had me completely relaxed, and I quickly flipped through several pages of daring heroes, sinister villains, and mythological beasts. Before I knew it, it was time to return to the cabin to prepare for dinner. It was formal night, and we wanted to look our best.

I felt I was looking especially good that evening when I was ready. I was wearing the MacIan tartan that evening, in honor of my father’s mother, who was a McKean. It’s red base made for a very striking tartan.

When Ms. Stork stepped into the sitting area though, I realized that no matter how good I looked, I could never compete with a beautiful woman who knew how to do it right. Her simple black gown fit her well and she wore just enough jewelry to highlight her own incredible features. Her hair and makeup had that strange dichotomy of making her look incredibly elegant, yet at the same time seeming completely natural.

She wore a simple wrap in the MacIan tartan around her shoulders so that we would match. However, in most cases the simple black of such an outfit would frame the tartan. In her case, the red of the tartan highlighted her elegance.

Ms. Stork is often considered the mousy one of my team, because her work so often keeps her buried in books, searching for obscure references. Tonight she proved that she didn’t have to take a back seat to anyone when it came to her appearance.

I offered her my arm to escort her to dinner, proud to be her companion for the evening.

When we arrived in the dining room, I saw that all the men in the room were sharing my own experience. Although they all looked resplendent in their formal kilted outfits, none of them could hope to compare to the ladies in their finery.

As we were seated and waiting for the rest of our dinner companions, a surprised murmur passed through the crowd and everyone’s attention was directed to the room’s entrance.

There at the door was James MacMillan and his wife. I had seen them earlier in the day, so I knew they were on board. What caught my eye, as well as the attention of everyone else in the room, was his attire. His kilt and formal jacket were not unusual in any way. What caught our attention was the hat he was wearing.

James was wearing a black Elizabethan style hat, which was decorated with a large, blue ostrich plume.