The Order of the Dandelion: A Quest for the Truth! (Or Victorian Hyperbole...)

[KD Burke]

“The RAGWEED BROTHERHOOD?” I sputtered. “Wha…?”

“I know!” he replied. “I’ve come to regret choosing that name. It has…unpleasant connotations.” He dabbed again at his nose. “And the plants are a nuisance! But it seemed wise at the time. We wanted a clear distinction between us and those Dandelion misfits!”

“I’m the First Brother. The founder of the Brotherhood.” He continued. “Our purpose is to uphold normalcy and enforce conformity. To conserve the mainstream! We believe that by emphasizing our similarities, minimizing our differences, we can bring peace to the world!” At these words his eyes took on the glint of the zealot.

“We brought you here because we fear for you. We got interested when you ordered that kilt from Scotland. Normal people don’t do that. Not without a compelling reason. Then you started posting on that absurd website; a hundred-odd posts now. We became truly concerned when you began wearing the kilt. In public. For no reason at all!”

He appeared to catch himself, as if afraid he’d begin (begin??) to rant. "We felt it an intervention was necessary. I’ve prepared a brief PowerPoint presentation…..”

I groaned inwardly as he switched on the projector and attached a laptop computer. For the next hour he droned on about “normality and conformity.” He railed against tattoos, science fiction, fantasy literature, comic books and others; but he reserved special venom for kilts. At his conclusion he looked at me intently. A large golden question mark on a blue field was the last image in his presentation.

“Now the question!” he intoned. “Are you prepared to renounce this kilt foolishness and return to the norms of proper society?”

“Ummm….sorry. No.” I replied. “You see they’re just so comfortable that…”

“We’ve lost this one.” He interrupted. “He knows to much. Dispose of him!” He turned to leave the room, then paused. “And the dog too!”

Burly sneezing men bundled me back through the office and into the elevator. One held the doors open as another man led my beloved Abigail (lovely dog that she is!) in with us. Abby wagged her whole body with delight at seeing me and jumped up to place her forefeet on my belt to accept my enthusiastic scratches, hampered though they were by the handcuffs. The elevator started down.

We were bundled into the van. The blindfold was omitted this trip. I suppose they were unconcerned with my learning the headquarters whereabouts if I was shortly to be “disposed of.”

It was late in the day. The sun was low in the western sky. We drove south of the city for some distance, turning onto a dirt road that led to a boggy area. I supposed we were somewhere near the Tolomato river. There were no trees about, but the man-high saw palmetto effectively blocked view from the road. We were extracted from the van.

A breeze from the west blew. We were silent. Abby sniffed at the ground in interest at the novel smells. One of the men spoke. “This will do. The alligators will take care of the big pieces, the crabs will handle the rest.”

Suddenly, I heard a droning noise from above. Appearing out of the sun, startlingly near, was a bright blue dirigible with a broad St. Andrew’s cross rendered in glistening white! My guards swore and ran back toward the van.

Hatches on the gondola opened and ropes tumbled out. A moment later kilted commandos were rappelling toward the earth. I fell on my face. For my sanity’s sake I would NOT look UP!

A score of kilted warriors quickly immobilized the van and took the guards into custody. A giant of a man wielding a five-foot claidheamh mòr as if it were a kitchen knife stomped up to me. “You the one all the fuss is over?” he asked, greeting Abigail with a quick ear scratch. “You don’t look like much. Oh well, best come along then.”

The majestic airship ghosted to the ground, strong hands grasped the mooring lines. A boarding ladder was lowered and Abby and I were hustled aboard.

A man dressed in an impeccable kilt, tweed jacket and waistcoat, and topped by a pith helmet addressed me. "Welcome aboard the XMTSAS Saltire!"

[ccga3359]

I'm starting to think that "KD Burke" is just a nom-de-plume for Panache. As we know Panache's "books" are banned on XMTS because of all the negetive remarks concerning the hero Grant. And despite desperate pleadings from the general membership it reluctantly did stop writing and printing of his latest claptrap to destroy my good reputation. And now this "KD Burke" person has suddenly picked up the quill laid on blank page. You watch it soon he'll the word Grant using the words Grant and Idiot in the same sentence!

[Dirka Skene]

Someone has to keep us entertained.

[KD Burke]

I'm starting to think that "KD Burke" is just a nom-de-plume for Panache. As we know Panache's "books" are banned on XMTS because of all the negetive remarks concerning the hero Grant.

I assure you of my bona fides, sir! I will never speak ill of any sea-faring man, and a Coast Guardsman least of all! (Excepting, of course, my own beloved US Navy!)

[ccga3359]

I assure you of my bona fides, sir! I will never speak ill of any sea-faring man, and a Coast Guardsman least of all! (Excepting, of course, my own beloved US Navy!)

Ohhh, I like this new Panache.

[pdcorlis]

Ok Grant, I smell a rat - how much are you paying this guy? Its obvious you've hired some sort of PR firm to try and rehabilitate your sketchy history.

[ccga3359]

Ok Grant, I smell a rat - how much are you paying this guy? Its obvious you've hired some sort of PR firm to try and rehabilitate your sketchy history.

Mariners code Phil, it's like the photographers code but more salty. So yes! You smell a bilge rat.


I'd also like to take the opportunity of hijacking Phil's post to say;

Welcome to our newest brother to the Order of the Dandelion

:ootd::ootd::ootd: KD Burke :ootd::ootd::ootd:

[pdcorlis]

I think I've been keelhauled...

[KD Burke]

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, we need to be leaving!” The Captain returned to his controls, spinning the traditional wheel between the pilot and copilot seats to put a climbing angle on the airship’s enormous elevators before advancing the throttles of the engines. The ship rose, nose first. The experienced hands all seemed to have a firm grim on something stationary as the pitch of the deck changed abruptly. I would have tumbled but for a kind hand from one of the crew. Abigail (lovely dog that she is) huddled against the floor and looked miserable.

Some minutes later, as we leveled off over the Atlantic, I raised the courage to ask “How did you know we were in trouble?”

The Captain looked at me over one shoulder and replied “Amy. The waitress at Culhane’s.” He caught my blank stare and started over. “She’s one of our best operatives. For some time now we’ve been keeping track of this so-called Brotherhood. Amy was assigned to keep track of the local pubs and listen for leads. She saw you being hustled out and raised the alarm.”

I nodded, not entirely in understanding, but not wishing to look the utter fool. “So what about the headquarters?”

“As we speak, a team of investigators is boxing up files, confiscating computers and interrogating the members of the Brotherhood. They identify themselves as FBI, CIA, DEA, Customs, Federal Reserve even FDIC. If anybody asks, it’s a joint task force. They are ladling out so much alphabet soup that no two people will be able to agree on any but the broadest outlines of what happened.”

“They’re questioning each and every Brother at length. They aren’t answering any questions themselves, but the questions they ask will make it seem they are investigating a Ponzi scheme of unprecedented scale. When they’re turned loose, I doubt any two of them would admit to ever having met unless it was at gunpoint!”

I smiled at the elegant way the Order had deflected the thrust of the Brotherhood. “What about the First Brother?” I asked. “He’s too dangerously charismatic to be permitted to rebuild.”

“That he is” the Captain replied soberly. “He’ll be sent to the pipers. A few years of being the test audience for the novices will….quell his ambitions.”

So… I did come to the truth about the Order. After a fashion. And I joined up of my own free will. Not because I realized that I might just know more about the Order than they’d be comfortable with outsiders knowing. And most emphatically NOT because we were cruising 8000 feet over the Atlantic ocean when I realized it.


And so, I happily sign myself. :ootd:

PS. Although I’ve received no requests whatsoever, I’m fully aware you’ve all waited with ‘bated breath for a photo of my beloved Abigail (lovely dog that she is):

[Heming]

You watch it soon he'll the word Grant using the words Grant and Idiot in the same sentence!

You watch it yourself, or I'll soon the want and heel my words right up your Idiot!

Do keep going though, this is the most enjoyable thread for weeks!



:ootd: