A DUEX DUX PRODUCTION
Authors' Note: This is a joint round purple martin type effort by
a couple of Trulie Evile Ficcers: Duck736@aol.com and Graduc@aol.com
OK, Once upon a time a Mountie was sauntering along the Thames and
noticed some papers splashing upon the seashore. Always curious to mysterious
occurrences he stooped to investigate and found them to be some personal
type records with the Royal's Stamp..."Oh dear", said he, a loyal subject
of the Crown, "My wee Queen's health notes all soggy and sticking against
the mud...and congealed with green slime and with a bit of seaweed also
and some shells and feathers, most likely anas platyrchynos or something
similar". Taste, spit, "Yes it is seaweed and of a variety that grows
on the shores of Northernmost Scotland where the bagpipes play on the
Mountainsides in the early dawn of the new moon".
Parte the Seconde.....
Carefully brushing the myriad bobbing rubber yellow duckies out of his way Benton reached deep into his pocket and withdrew the large and sterile plastic bag he always kept upon his sturdy person for such contingencies. With due reverence to the Royal documents, the noble and well muscled Mountie popped the soggy mass carefully down his pants. The extreme cold against his torso was a painful yet wistful reminder of his homeland.
He knew his duety however and made rapidly for the headquarters of the UK (those with particularly rosy tinted spectacles would name United Kingdom) police. "Ah" he breathed, his breath perfuming the air with delicious scents of pemmican products and part digested furry nightcrawlers, as he gazed with no little awe upon the large architecturally styled building, "New Scotland Yard, not to be confused with Scotland Yard or indeed the most excellent country way up North, land of my forefathers (and mothers probably too)."
As he carefully mounted the steps of the majestic building, gathering
as he did curious stares from passing members of the public, including
indeed tourists from his own beloved country and the not so beloved country
to the South of it, loud squishy sounds emanated from his puffy but regulation
nether uniform. Becoming aware of sly sniggers close behind his well
formed butt the steadfast, almost tree-like, Benton Fraser whirled round
only to be confronted by.......
Part Trois
Lou
Skagnittooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Quartre Par
However our bold Constable was unaware that his gaze fell upon the notorious Skagnito. In fact he ignored the cannibal altogether for his eyes were blinded by the beauteous princess by the monster's side. For a moment, and a moment only, he totally forgot his duety, the location of Canadada and his shoe size - the latter being quite important since he had travelled to the somewhat United Kingdom to purchase a pair of new shiny mountie-type boots. For reasons that don't quite need exploring at this juncture his splendidly repaired but somewhat aged boots were no more.
The moment passed however and iron entered the Mountie's heart as he recalled his past errors with beautiful longhaired women, especially those swathed in silky roiling dark hair which unfortunately most always tended to foretell an ever so and equally dark heart. Coincidentally a No 73 London bus had just roared past advertising on its side the venerable Victoria and Albert Museum. Many might recall the Mountie's previous extraordinarily dubious association with a woman of the same name as the late Empress, and might be sorely tempted to link this event with Fraser's sudden attempted dash for the safety of the inner sanctum of British constabulary. Many might very well be right on the money with that well founded supposition.
Lou Skagnito turned to the princess, his own princess for whom he had given up his evil ways, and his heart sank. For her part the princess stood transfixed.
"Why oh princess do you stand so?" wailed the former evil person. "Could it be your love for me has evaporated into the morning mist since your laying your pretty blue eyes on that Candadian creature?" Skagnito might have been an evil monster but he sure could tell a person of Canadian origin when he saw one.
"Ah" replied the princess slowly coming to her senses, and suddenly
wary, for she knew that it was nearly lunchtime and her reply might well
mean the difference between a snack with Lou and being a snack for Lou.
Part V....
The princess was torn....as the Mountie was inadvertantly standing
on her billowing skirts......Lew was angry, beady little yellow eyes
askance, eyebrows knitting a fair isle type sweater, brow tightly furrowed,
gums beating.. What was he to do to rid the environment of this beauteous
gentleman with eyes the color of the deepest blue sea sapphire, teeth
like hand picked pearles, and the voice of an angel's finely tuned harp
<VBG>.....but he is a wee bit klutzy and lacks one kind of polish
whereas he has too much of another type of polish. One would think a
balance could be struck but it is not forthcoming..will the princess
notice, I fear so..that she may lean toward
..........................................................................................................................................................................................the
Mountie..!!!! "I can't allow it, I must due away with him....what is
that?!"..Whoops, ploop...splash...bark, bark, growl. A wolf , a real
wolf pushes the great swimophobe LOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUu
SKAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGggggggggggggggggNNNNNNNNNNIitto into the moat of lost
dreams!!!!! "Oh stop!", shouts Lou as the wolf pulls and tugs the villian
toward the drain in the hopes of losing him forever... A VERY BIG SPLASH
is seen as a flash of red is making its way to the rescue...
Doggie thoughts: <no Benny, noooooooooooooooooo..after all I've
done for you..out on Prince Ruperts Sound, I mean after I rescued you,
you rescued me and although you don't always treat me as you should,
you have never abandoned me and hopefully you will return me to my homeland
soon which is very far from this stinking stetched moat with this squirrely
gangling villian. Back off and let me finish him off>
Alas no good as the muddy, fowlsmelling critter is dragged up on the
creaking bridge while a lovely flock of new fluffy ducklings with their
motherduck float under the red tuniqued gentleman who is working feverishly
to rescue LOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
Skagggggggggnittoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
"That will teach you to pollute the moat, you poacher. No swimming
in the salmon pool..eh...and this is the purest of waters that is consumed
in the Royal Molson Drink...swimming is not allowed here and you will
dearly pay for what crime you have committed"....The Beautiful Mountie
removed his lanyard and quickly executed two double haft hitch knots
and Lou is trussed tighter than the Thanksgiving bird. The knot is then
secured to a lovely weeping willow on a block and tackle and he is left
dangling in the air.
Meanwhile the Mountie scours the streets of A Certain Scottish City
for a laundromat to wash his duds, a cobbler shop to buy some more cordovan
polish for his soggy boots, and a towel with a maple leaf emblem to cover
his royal self while the laundry is in process.
Saxth pairt...
On viewing her former though truly wicked lover hanging forlornly
from the block and tackle the Princess began to shed bitter tears which
sparkled like the most expensive of white diamonds in the summer sun.
Her heart went out to the hapless villain whose salty tears, betokening
his truly broken heart, swept in torrents down his lilywhite cheeks polluting
the Royal Molson water bigtime. Her opinion of the Beauteous Mountie
did an 180 degree turnabout. Why oh why had the big galoot left her
Lou to dangle so whilst he (the Mountie) made the long journey to the
port of Aberdeen for dry cleaning purposes??
"Oh Lou" she whispered "Lou Skagnittooooooooooooooo" she cried softly "do not weep for me for I have had a complete and utter change of heart and due truly love you"
"Oh Princess" sobbed Lou quite overcome by the news, which percolated
like strong coffee through the neuroreceptors in his tortured brain,
"how could you love one such as I when the Noble Benton Fraser still
breathes, exhaling and inhaling the oxygen in the atmosphere of this
quite badly polluted planet? If only I could be as he and care for more
than my own selfish pleasures" Lou heaved a huge gusting sigh which
quite blew the eavesdropping motherduck and her precious fluffy ducklings
off course.
"Dash it!" quacked the motherduck frantically attempting to gather her babes together as the waters of the moat, which had surprisingly appeared overnight to guard the building and to provide an excellent source of Royal Molson water, turbulently washed over the little family.
"It's alright mamma" quacked little Liam duckling nestling close to
his mom, "we're here aren't we Samuel?"
"For sure!" quacked tiny Samuel valiently swimming alongside his brother.
When she had composed herself and her brood, the motherduck began
to think hard about the situation that presented before her. For this
was no ordinary (though could there ever be such a thing?) duck, this
duck had devoted her life to humankind in an effort to make these puny
creatures see sense about ....well most of everything.
"This Lou Skagnittttttttoooooooooo" she pondered, "Can I, a mere yet
ultimately sensible duck, redeem this tragically flawed character? And
what of the Mountie? Why had an apparently noble and heroic type person,
almost seeming like a character from a twice cancelled television series
with a really bad singer for the lead role, why had he deserted his obvious
duety for uniform care and maintenance?" Something stank here and it
wasn't no otter poo!
Parte septe
Hamlet swithered, Lear was prideful, Oedipus was a reckless mommy's
boy. All heroes have their flaw. Benton Fraser's just happened to be...
laundry. The Silver City Cleaners beckoned as a siren's sweet song to
the young(ish) moat-sodden Mountie. As he boarded the Virgin Express
from Kings Cross his only thoughts were of his precious uniform and its
present unclean state. Blind he was, blind as the aforementioned ancient
riddle-answering King, main protagonist in many a Freudian slip. The
English countryside slid or possibly slithered past..many tunnels were
entered as the 125 thundered its way towards Benton's ultimate clean
dream.
"Tell me, my young though rapidly bordering on 40, representative
of Canadian law enforcement.." began his fellow passenger, mysteriously
swathed in a huge Inverness cape, as he leaned forward into the Mountie's
personal space.
"Tell me why you wish to visit the fair city of Aberdeen? I am eager
to learn. Due tell."
"Ah" sighed Benton in best romantic type poet fashion, only rather
more healthily than the dying in an attic full of dangerous and fully
illegal substances kind. Thus the hapless laundry loving Canadian fell
into a contemplative whiter than white dream where every day was washing
day and every stain a goner.
The stranger, a mite peeved, tried another tack. Desperate he was
for conversation for he had been brought up for some 30 or so years by
a wandering tribe of deaf wolves and for 20 years since his eventual
rescue he had made strenuous efforts to learn human speech. Unfortunately
just has he had become fluent in his mother's native tongue, his own
tongue had been severely ripped from his head during a fly fishing accident.
Happily the tongue had been retrieved before the pike pounced and through
the miracle of modern microsurgery, firmly reattached. This was to be
his first *big* conversation since the operation. Only it didn't look
like the Mountie was gonna play.
As he began to tell a convoluted tale of murder, suicide, murder and
murder, the legalities of which made ping pong look like a preserved
yeti, a muffled snuffly yawn caught his ear. The very ear which had
become the tragic victim of an unhinged ear slasher. Again however microsurgery
had leapt to the rescue and he could yet wiggle his almost Prince Charles'
size lug wantonly.
He swivelled his eye, his only working eye that is, slowly towards
the snuffling origin. One would wish to draw a veil over the horrific
hoovering accident that had disposed of his other eye. Microsurgery had
failed him this last time but he had persuaded his surgeon to do some
really neat cross stitch for his eyepatch.
"Nice doggie."
"Don't bother he's deaf."
"Deaf!"
"Yup."
Well this indeed was a start, dog owners were usually completo nutso
about their mutts. Perhaps the long fantasised conversation could begin.
"So what breed is the little fellow?" he beamed.
"Wolf"
"A deaf <gulp> wolf?"
"Yup."
The rest of the journey was peaceful.
*************
Squelching through Union Street in determined search of the laundromat
o' his dreams accompanied by a thoroughly cheesed off and hungry wolf
like being the truly focused Mountie was stopped, nay halted in mid tracks,
by a consumer association survey type personage dressed as a giant pack
of washing powder.
"Just the *very* fellow!" exclaimed the pack bouncing up and down
losing a few flakes in the process. "Due due follow me and I will lead
you to the cleanliness of your heart's desire. Your soggy uniform will
gleam and show wondrously crisp pressing, and Her Majesty, whose health
records by the way have been safely delivered back to the relevant filing
area as per the H L Dewey Decimal system, will no doubt knight you on
the spot! Or rather on the exceedingly clean area where she no doubt
stands, which is most likely diligently dusted by a squadron of the Queen's
Own Cleaning Persons."
An eager gleam lit in the blue eyes of Benton. Visions of becoming,
Sir Benton, The Royal Presser of Ye Pants can canned wildly across his
one track imagination...with a side track towards wondering nethergarments
could be included. Ironing boxers was *so* very satisfying to his soul.
He thus followed the giant pack without a care or heed as to the recklessness
of his actions. Dief had vanished in search of sustinance.
Octavo
"Oh my oh my!" sighed the Mountie in the deep depths of dark despair,
almost as deep as the despair which seared through him when his most
favourite cop in the whole world deserted him to masquerade as the notorious,
yet devastatingly attractive, Armando "The Bookman" Langostino. He
sat with his head in his hands and moaned softly, oblivious of the harsh
jangling chains shackling his well toned and practically Michaelangelo-type
sculpted hands and feet.
How could he have been so utterly utterly foolish? Why or why had
he sniffed heartily and with gusto the gleaming white T-shirt proferred
by the villain in pack guise within the confines of the stripy tent
adorning a small nook of Gardens of a Unified Terrace nature, rather
too close to the gents for his nasal comfort but the lure had been stronger
than the odour.
The whole of this north-easterly Scottish city had practically yelled
"beware, doom, doom lies here oh Benton most Fraserly of the Frasers!"
at every laundry obsessed step. That....restaurant, a mere 100 yards
from *that* department store....how much more of a clue did a man need?
Dief lay at Benton's bare sockless, bootless, feet. The half-wolf's
paws were crossed over his muzzle as he muttered exceedingly fowl imprecations
towards his alpha partner. <Saggin frazzin Mountie...one bite of
the cherry and wham bam.....led by his....>
"Diefenbaker!" scolded the (almost) pure of heart law enforcement
officer of Canadian extraction.
<Humph> mumphed the unrepentant canine licking his lips wistfully.
He could just make out the last remnants of that delicious pork pie he'd
so expertly snagged from the baker's van as it made its early morning
delivery to......*that* restaurant. The criminality of his act bothered
him not one whit. He needed food and by gum it didn't look like his
usual source was up to snuff, no siree.
This fairly silent battle of wills was suddenly interrupted by an
overwhelming flood of light, though obviously the Mountie's highly trained
and pretty much cerulean eyes adjusted in nanoseconds.....as the door
opened revealing.......
Part Nino
LLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
SSSSSSSSSSSKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGNittoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Dix
.....here oh most imprisoned of Mounties!!" hollared the afore (or
most probably afive) mentioned Lou smugly. However the smirking villain
should have withheld that smirky grimace from his dot-to-dot type pockmarked
visage for tis truly stated that thou shalt not rest easy till the feminine
gendered person of above average avoirdupois lets loose with the ole
vocal cords. For as will be shortly but nevertheless descriptively revealed,
Lou's self-satisfied announcement of his presence echoed eerily through
the thick dank dungeony corridors of the old TollBooth bouncing like
a shiny bouncy ball from wall to wall, from ceiling to ....er ceiling,
narrowly avoiding by mere good fortune, being sliced in painful twain
by the city's onlie remaining yet still deadly guillotine. The sound
travelled further......and further....right up past the Boulevard, took
a quick shot of Mad McMaxx's spiffy new ride and sailed effortlessly
across the billowing North Sea with not so much as a lone bagpipist to
send it on its weary way.
In the next continent of a similarly northerly persuasion another
shiny yet completely unbouncy ball rolled swiftly to reach its target.
In adjoining lanes many many unbouncy balls of varying sizes and weights
joined their gravity bound compatriots as they attempted yet another
attack on the vile forces of upright skittles. For was it not written,
somewhere or other, that the only possible position for a skittle was
on its back!
"Sodo thiso!" sighed the ex-lobster mobster in the white duck trilby as he gazed with beauteous green as emerald from the fabled city of Oz-type peepers on the scene of furious conflict below.
"RRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraymondo" pouted his spouse lifting the
trilby and planting a luciously lipsticked smackerooni on his well polished
yet still very much the babe-magnet type hairstyle....or mostly in fact.....head.
"Will that stain?" asked her less than loving spousal partner grouchily.
"Ummmmm" stated Stella kinda very much doubtfully, ex powerful authority
figure in the Chicago Law Courts. She scooted her bright pink crimpelene
clad behind off Rrrrrrraymondo's well stacked.....desk and began to search
for some suitably powerful cleansing agent.
The winner of the golden shot slammed with perhaps undue force the
trilby hat atop his bonce once more. The brim of the slightly overlarge
headgear almost but not quite covered his ears for his petulance had
been that well.....petulant. However fortune was with him for his partly
covered eardrums still made out the faint hemidemisemiquavering..........
"Louuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu Skagnetttiiiiiiiiiiiiiooo here oh most
imprisoned of Mounties." Even the smugest of smug smirks had been preserved.
"Oh me oh mio!!" exclaimed the Vecchian one in one heck of a bad Italian
accent. He had obviously been hanging round with mobsters with acting
ambitions of a Godfatherly nature too long.
"Benito!!!!!!!"
"Ben who??"
"Er......Benny.....you know Benton......Benton Fraser.......Constable
Benton Fraser......RCMP?"
Stella Vecchio......which one must admit does not even scan well.....shook
her completely bleached hairdo and shrugged.
"The guy in red......with the.......buns!"
"Ah!" nodded the less than stellar intelligence. Poor girl had completely
lost most of her marbles since moving to the heated Florida sunshine.....or
it could have been the bleach. Anyway she was now incapable of earning
a good living from a States Attorney type career , though too proud to
leech of her fairly traditional Italian hubbie. This had led to some
fairly spectacular arguments until she had settled in employment as a
Day Care Assistant for French Poodles.
Raymondo Albertino Vecchio......just a smidgen short of ravishing....stood
up and declared to his newest wife and the world in general.....accidentally
that is for he knocked the on button on the bowling lane loudspeaker.
"I declare that hereforth and henceforth and heretoforth I shall sally....not
dally.....most probably on a forthcoming Florida flight ......and rescue
the fair.....I mean dark.....Mountie! He shalle notte fall into the
clutches of that most evil of villains......Looooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu Skagnittttttttttttttttto!!".
Cue round of applause from busy bowlers? Nah......fortunately or
unfortunately most hearing aids were turned off due to the clatter of
the busy balls below.
One short hop to the airport whose name a quick search of www.yahoo.com
or some other fine net search facility would no doubt produce, and selfless
disposal of a wad of duely earned moolah later, the elegantly lean machine-type
figure of the ex-cop settled his peachy buns into the soft comfy seat
of the gleaming 747.
Now at this point some may be wondering how the faithful person of
Italian extraction was able to zone in to the exact destination for former
partner saving type dueties. Wonder no longer oh attentive and high
IQ-bearing reader! Vecchio's wondrous schnozz, whose abilities were
sadly underused by the, possibly over 6ft in a thick fog and a bad squint,
Mountie of Canada, had given him the precise directions to the last seconds
of latitude and longitude dude.
Anyhoo....getting back into the thicket of the ahem action......
"No! No!" wailed the almost strongwilled Mountie shaking his lustrous
pelt which no one in their right mind could ever suppose to be artificially
coloured. No indeedy L'Oreal were making no profits from this boy's
wig.....oops......er......hair......?
"Yes! Yes!" came the equally strongminded response.
"Now open oose moufies and eat...........or it will go worse for you
Benton my sweeting.....*much* worse!!"
A silvery spoon, crested with an heraldic crest of the House of Windsor
and therefore most likely purloined from the same house, pressed urgently
against the Canadian's pouting but firmly sealed red lips.
"Now now don't turn your pretty head away from me!..or....I'll tickle
you!"
Benton's eyes, as per previous descriptions, grew bright with unshed
tears and he sniffled piteously.
Dief moaned to see his partner brought so low by such an evil creature.
"C'mon now my pet, *someone* has to taste test my new peeps recipe.....and
you're it!" The voice dropped to a seductive tone and a tongue circled
the quivering Fraser's seashell-like outer ear slowly soooooo slowly
as if memorising the contours for a very special show an' tell.
"Just think" the voice whispered tickling the fine hairs within the
inner ear.."If you *don't* drop down dead within say....the next 15 minutes
or so....I can take this recipe and.....the whole North American Continent
is mine! Mine I say! All mine!!"
At this point Benton's curiousity killed notte the cat, but it did
get the best of his better judgement.
"But....." he began, only to have his mouth estuffed full of NewPeep
(tm) recipe.
Without so much as a by your leave red tipped fingernails rapidly
tickled the Mountie into swallowing the confection.
"Oh dear" muttered Benton very much shamefaced.
"Oh Benny!"
Rrray had arrived too late for his plane had by some unnatural quirk
of fate, very much contrary to the normal deus ex machina typical of
the pair's usual adventures....anyway his plane had succumbed last night
to the local airport's 10.30 rule which meant that the ex-cop had lost
precious hours bussing in from the Smiling City. This also meant that
his fellow travellers learnt some very interesting, colourful, inventive
yet strangely physically impossible, Italian swear words.
15 minutes later a *very* large, very *red* Peep shuffled out of the
TollBooth. On one side of the strange creature strode an unshaven fairly
depressed Italian-American muttering darkly to himself whilst scribbling
post-its. A fair number of these were already decorating the Peep like
square yellow polkadots. A close observer could read
"Bite Me!", "Yeah Really... Go On!"...."Any Side!"
On the other side hobbled a shaking quivering wolf, drooling steadily.
<Oh yeah......oh......oh........just.....one......little......ickle......bit......just.....ooooooooooooh>
Atop the TollBooth evil triumphed.....cackled......wept with joy......and
snacked on freshly bought rowies. A discarded Louoooooooouuuuuuuuoooooo
Skagnittoooooooooooooo disguise lay on the bed as Victoria Metcalf began
to plan her glorious future.
LA FINISH!!
1. The name of the infamous eaterie? .......Victoria's Restaurant (I kid ye notte)
2. The name of the store?....Fraser's (again no legs are pulled here
babeeeeee)