October 21, 2006

Thrisp-Smatchet Begins

The story began, in medias res, here.

The old rector's broad yellow incisors, like playing cards, clacked meditatively.


He gazed out the office window at the sunlit lawn for a long moment, eyes unfocused.

"...dear boy."

Gradually, his massive turretlike head swivelled to face Reginald.


Reginald waited. No further sound forthcame.


The rector's brow clouded as he spoke.

"Well then perhaps I shall enunciate more clearly. Nnnnnffff."

"Oh. Yes... quite. Indeed. Yes. I quite see."

"Mmmmmmmm..." The rector began turning back to the window, so slowly that the motion could hardly be perceived, but within fifteen minutes he was again glaring placidly at the lawn. He then began to utter a low and plaintive moaning sound.


The moaning continued, and Reginald's palms began to sweat. An hour passed. At three sharp, a brightly smiling young woman bustled in with another young man to see the rector.

Reginald rose.

"And how was your interview?", she chirped. "Now, Mr... Twinge, if I've got it right?"

"Uuuuuuu..." The rector began to lean slowly forward, and then back again, cyclically.

"Nkrumah, Miss."

"As I thought! Please sit. The rector will be with you quite soon."

Reginald exchanged a polite nod with Nkrumah, gathered his things, and left.

To be continued. Eventually.

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It's a bit slow-moving, this story. You might think about introducing a clowan.
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