Beginning, Next Section
Posted on Wednesday, 16 June 1999
As the bright light faded and the setting sun cast its normal, warm glow upon the land, Marks frowned, watching Toddles waddle away into the distance. He turned to Teg.
"Now what? We're still stuck in Regency England, it's bloody damp and cold, and not a place in sight to warm us!"
Teg puzzled over his words. Then she looked up. "There's still the Sachertorte Bake Off!" she cried.
Marks snapped his fingers. "That's right. But .... how much time do we have to prepare? With all this time-fiddling the authors have been doing, who knows if we've even missed the event."
Teg pulled out a timepiece from the recesses of her Pudding Mistress apron. She bit her lip worriedly. "It's tomorrow."
Marks sighed. "Well, that's it then. No way we can make it to the event site in time, now..... Unless!" He gazed up into the tree where Leareth had been hiding.
The young lady shook her head at him. "Sorry. I'm not doing the writing now."
Marks looked at Teg. She grinned. Marks looked worried again. Teg reached into another pocket of her apron and pulled out a small device.
"Over here, Marks," she called sweetly.
He looked over his shoulder, then back at Teg. "I wouldn't want you to put yourself out."
She just smiled and gestured at the circle she'd drawn on the ground. "No trouble, Marks. Just put yourself in here."
Shrugging off his misgivings, and hoping that he wouldn't be getting another foot in the face, he joined her at the edge of the pond.
"Okay, here we go....." Teg pushed a button on the device and the light began to fade.......
The hotel was crowded, everyone anticipating the spectacle planned for the next day. Teg and Marks managed to find accommodations, however. Every entrant in the Sachertorte Bake Off was guaranteed a room at the inn.
With little time to get ready, although knowing that all ingredients would be supplied by the sponsors, the two competitors retired to their rooms to make their plans for the big day. They were up all night, well into the wee hours of the morning, rehearsing their routine until both were satisfied. Exhausted, they finally slept until the wake up call came in the form of a loud staccato knock at the door.
Within an hour they were in the arena, put themselves in at the registration table, and were standing in line for the start of the Bake Off.
The event, as always, was Tag-Team style.
The stage was set. Large tables, large bowls and even larger utensils were arrayed across the open space in front of them. All the ingredients one would require were also on the tables, amongst them whipped cream, nutella, and oils of every description.
The judges were just being announced. This year, England was well represented with three. Teg and Marks looked at each other uneasily. No Australian, nor Irish judges this time around. Their work was cut out for them.
The audience filled the seats that surrounded the stage. As each judge was announced a different section of the crowd would cheer.
The first judge was a dark haired man with a fierce scowl and a low voice who muttered the name 'Catharine' repeatedly.
"Heathcliff," the announcer introduced him.
A second man stepped forward imposingly. He was dressed in army regalia but there was a wild aspect about his countenance.
"General Tilney," the announcer intoned once more.
The third judge appeared, a calculating look about the eyes of this woman.
"Mrs. Clay."
Another woman stepped out onto the stage. She had a suave air about her, but in her eyes there flickered a spark that suggested cruelty.
"Zoraide Reuter."
The final judge was also a woman. This was unusual. Teg glanced nervously at her partner. Marks nodded reassuringly. He had recognized the final arbitrator. It was none other than the Lady Wanda. The woman for whom this Bake Off had been named.
Marks stepped forward with the rest of the competitors who would be first in the ring. The judges took their places along the sides of the stage, and the first round was ready to begin. The master of the ring stepped forward into the light.
Marks and Teg gasped simultaneously. It was none other than George Wickham.
Their eyes met, wide and fearful. They were each thinking the same thing.
I thought he was sent straight to hell? Then the realization struck them. This was the Sachertorte Bake Off!!
The bell sounded and the four men and women grabbed their aprons and donned them. A collective sigh arose from a section of the stands as Marks slipped his apron over his head. There was a large number 81 printed on the front. Teg glanced up at the faces in the crowd. She chuckled at the swooning young women. Happens wherever we go, she thought with a smile.
With a rush of feet the competitors now scrambled for the best positions on the floor. This first round was to establish the dominant team. Those with the most advantageous position at the next sounding of the bell would receive the bonus points from the ringside judges.
Marks was the first to reach the table on the right side of the stage. This was the best table of all on the floor, for it would allow the easiest access for Tagging. All of the other tables were quite far from the pits which housed the second team member.
Just as the competitors picked up their utensils, the bell sounded. There was a brief flurry of feet as the partners reversed positions.
"Great job," Teg whispered as she slipped up beside Marks. He passed the whisk into her outstretched hand and grinned.
From this point on it was strictly tagging that would permit them to switch places. The judges were at their stations, eyes ready to make the calls. Only a firm contact between bodies would constitute a legal tag.
The bell rang and Teg brandished the whisk. The crowd cheered on their favourites amidst the sounds of clashing spoons, spatulas and knives. Now and again a cry was heard, but none of the judges could determine its source, and so the entertainment continued. The opposition was strong, but Teg held her ground, refusing to yield an inch. For a moment, she nearly lost her footing, managing at the last minute to prevent herself from smashing face first into the carpet. She lashed out with her wire whisk at one competitor who had pressed his advantage and had her pinned against the edge of the table. It was to no avail. He was too strong for her.
Stretching her arm as far as she could, Teg reached across the width of the table until she could feel Marks' apron under her fingers.
"It's a fair cop!" cried the judge, Mrs. Clay. Her eyes sparkled.
Yes! sighed Teg as the whistle blew to halt the action after the legal tag was declared. She met Marks' gaze, mischievous sparks dancing in her own. Letting out her breath in relief, she said cheekily,
"Your turn!"
Teg-Tag
RRRRRIIIIIINNNNNGGGG!!!!!!! Went the bell to announce the end of the first round.
Marks and Teg went into a huddle with their trainers Spring and Shawn. "I can't put my finger on it," said Spring, "but there is something fishy about the opposition."
"Hmmm!" Said Marks, "You're right! There is always something up when both teams chuck lettuces at the referee! But there's something else. I've seen this lot before, but where?"
Just at that moment Ann Haker the team sponsor stormed up. "You know who they are, don't you??" She cried out. "Its the Republic of Pemberley Parlour Cookie Club" Then she jabbed Marks and Teg in the ribs. "This is a matter of honour! Make sure that the Derbyshire Writers Guild wins this bakeoff! I'll be back for the awards!" With that she stomped off to the champagne and caviar reception for the State Governor.
Suddenly Shawn piped up. "I know where we saw these people last, it was when they won the Black Forest Cake Competition. They just beat us on 'presentation.' Instead of using cherries, they used blue marbles to get their perfect shape."
Marks smirked and looked at Teg, "Well, I think I can safely say that the Dwiggies have this one in the bag!"
The others looked blankly at him.
"Trust me!" he said, doing his best Mr Collins impersonation.
"In that case, I might just try a little harder with the cooking, said Teg.
RRRRRIINNGGG! Went the bell for the final round.
Marks went into the ring and immediately headed for referee Wickham and shepherded him toward the ropes where Teg and Spring poured a liberal dollop of molasses over the back of his muslin shirt.
At the ringside, there was a small commotion as a couple of young ladies with boxes of overripe tomatoes headed for the Dwiggie corner. "Hi Emma EA! Hi Tanisha!" Yelled the rest, "we knew you'd have all the ripe fruit left over from your 'cliffhangers'"
"Well this is the tomato soup cookoff isn't it?" Said the 'Queens of Mean' innocently.
"It's not?" Quoth they in mock surprise. "Well, I wonder! What can we do with all these overripe tomatoes? Hmmm???" They looked at Lise the water carrier who was on the other side of the ring, and gave what appeared to be a prearranged signal. Suddenly Lise darted into the ring with a large pail of water and headed for George Wickham. George backpedalled quicky toward the ropes on the other side of the ring nearest the tomatoes. Unfortunately for him, Dawn and Paula had yanked the ropes down to calf height, and instead of supporting George, it caused him to lose his balance and almost tripped him up so he was teetering on the edge arms flailing to keep his balance. Naturally enough, Emma EA and Tanisha being the sweet and compassionate ladies that they are, put the boxes of rotten tomatoes underneath...er..just to break his fall you understand, if he were to fall that is. Dawn and Paula were distraught that their inadvertant lowering of the ropes had almost caused an accident, so naturally they let the bowstring taut ropes snap back up with a twang, unfortunately catching George in a rather sensitive spot about half way up his anatomy, propelling him upward with a yelp of pain, and in front of a cheering gallery, he described a graceful arc in the air, spinning over and landing in the mouldy tomatoes. SPLAT!!!!
"RIGHT!" He snarled. "No more Mr Nice Guy you Dwiggies!"
"Ooh Dear! Look at you Mr Wickham," said Lise the water lady. "Let me clean you off!"
"If you touch me with that bucket of water, you're for it Missy!" said Wickham.
"Ok, no buckets" Said Lise. Suddenly she pulled out the fire hose from the reel under the ring and opened it full blast on Wickham sending him skittering across the room. "There you go George! All clean, and NO bucket, just like you asked."
George straightened himself up and with as much dignity as he could muster walked into the ring where by this time both the Dwiggy and Republic of Pemberley teams had baked their Sachertortes.
To tell the truth, the Dwiggy torte was the best, but George was past caring in his rage, and if he had anything to do with it, the Dwiggies were going to pay for their insults. So, as he walked past, he "accidentally" tipped the Dwiggy torte on the floor.
George Wickham smirked. "Well Dwiggies, dwiggle your way out of this one if you can!"
He cleared his throat and announced into the microphone. The winner of the 1999 Sachertorte Bakeoff by default (smirk in voice) is the Republ-"
"Not so hasty if you please!" Yelled Marks.
"What now, twerp?" Said George.
"If I am not mistaken, the Sachertorte was created in 1832." Said Marks.
"So What? Lets get it over with, I have a date after this." Said George.
"And if I am also not mistaken, Jane Austen died in 1817."
"Yes! Yes! Very sad! But big deal."
"Well George, don't you know that the Republic of Pemberley has this little rule restricting its members activities to Jane Austen's times. Anyone who wants to have anything to do with anything more modern gets chucked out? They're disqualified!!! HaHaHaHa!"
Marks handed the Pemberley torte to its makers with a smile. "Great cake, ladies! Come around and see our sponsor for the Sydney 2000 Olympics."
Teg bent down and scraped the splattered and crushed Dwiggy cake from the floor and quickly slopped it onto the cake plate. It did look a rather sorry sight.
"Well George!" She said, "I guess there is only one cake still in the competition now, and it's this one!"
George knew when he was beaten (Lise idly playing with the fire hose had nothing whatever to do with it), and announced the Dwiggies the winners of the Sachertorte Bakeoff.
"Oops, Clumsy me!" said Teg as the torte unexplainedly launched itself toward George's face.
Mr. Marks Wild Ride
"Oops, clumsy me!" said Teg as the torte unexplainedly launched itself toward George's face.
George ducked. The torte flew over his head. Teg closed her eyes and cringed as the soggy mass splooshed into Dawn and Paula who were still loitering ringside.
Clumsy, indeed!
"Teg!" they both cried as soon as they were able to clear their mouths of the delicious but unwelcome substance.
George was creeping along the lines of the ring trying to make an escape. He was counting on the distraction of the ladies being more of a help than a hindrance. But he was wrong. Every Dwiggie in the place suddenly converged upon the ring, effectively surrounding the sides and cutting off any escape route. George stopped in his tracks and observed for a minute.
Teg was backing away from Dawn and Paula, unsure.. er... sure of their intent. Both Dwiggie ladies had handfuls of the splattered torte held aloft ready for launch. They advanced on Teg.
The other Dwiggies around the ring were murmuring amongst themselves. Some were chuckling, but all eyes were smiling. At the back of the crowd were the Pemberlians. They thought to linger for the entertainment and on the off chance that they could still pull off a victory here, however improbable.
Suddenly a tomato sailed through the air to land in the centre of the ring. SPLAT!!!
"Who threw that?" demanded Marks. Then he closed his mouth and his eyes grew wide. Oh, never, never draw attention to yourself when there are people armed and ready with cream tortes!
Within seconds it was a free for all. Tomatoes flew, bits of torte were everywhere. Even the leftover nutella from the competition tables was being put to good use. No-one was exempt. Each observer/participant has some sort of ammunition in hand, and even more remained on their clothes, in their hair.....
In the confusion, nobody noticed George Wickham slip between the legs and slide from the ring. He was gone in an instant, never looking back.
Meanwhile in the ring, Lise had turned the fire hose on the madness that was before her in an attempt to bring them to order.
"HEY!" she shouted. "We still have the awards presentation to finish!"
It was her shout that brought them to attention. A giggle or two persisted, especially when they caught sight of one another, but then the entrance of the team sponsor, Ann Haker, brought all frivolity to a halt.
"What the...?" Ann looked at the bedraggled group. Squinting, she tried to determine faces. "Aha!" she cried. Pointing an imperious finger, she narrowed her eyes and said, "Spring. Shawn. Here!" and she thrust her finger downward to point at the floor before her.
Spring and Shawn came forward, but not at all meekly as one would have thought. Spring held her head high as she dismissed the chaos around her and said quite regally, "We won the bakeoff, Ann. The Dwiggies are superior, as we've always known, and now those cretins from the RPPCC cannot deny it."
Ann's face lit up. Then she seemed to recall her sense of decorum and sniffed daintily. "I think cretins is a bit harsh, Spring. But I am best pleased!"
A huge cheer rose from the assembled Dwiggies and they began to chant. There were calls for Marks, and those nearest to him, for who else would have been able to discern him from the rest of the bespattered forms in the ring, began an attempt to lift him into the air. Their intent was to put him upon their shoulders, but the slippery creams and tomato seeds and other such substances were making compliance a tad difficult.
For an awful moment, Marks thought he was going to be sent toppling out of the ring into the pit beside it. At the last moment several hands managed to grab him, and he held his breath in trepidation, but then it was done! He was aloft!
The ladies were proudly parading him around the ring, laughing and chanting. Ann stood in the middle of the ring as the Lady Wanda came forward to present the trophy to the DWG Bake Team.
Teg watched from the corner, silently pouting that Marks was getting all the attention when she had done some of the work, too. And I worked darn hard on it, too! she fumed.
Then something happened. Something frightful. Something frightfully horrible!
A blue marble rolled across the floor. Followed by another blue marble.
Neither was noticed by the crowd of eager Dwiggies, excited beyond imagination as they honoured their hero. Nor did any of them notice the two hundred more blue marbles as they rolled under their feet. Not until the first Dwiggie slipped and lost her balance.
Down came Tanisha. Next it was Christine Marie. There was a scrambling of feet and flailing of many arms as the other ladies fought to retain their balance. But all to no avail. The first ones were down, and the rest would soon follow.
Teg stared in horror at the spectacle. Such a sorry sight to behold as the bodies fell one by two by three, and the chants and cheers became grunts and oofs. There was Lu and Paula. OOF!! Emma EA and Dawn. GRUNT!! Kathlyn, Lise and Spring. OOF, GRUNT, OH!! Laura - No, wait a minute. She wasn't falling. She was doubled over laughing! And she had a handful of marbles!!
Marks was staring in alarm as the ladies were dropping like flies around him. He could see Leareth and JenR losing their grip as they fought to stay upright. Then his world began to rotate, the ladies spinning wildly in an attempt to keep him up.
Down he fell. Time seemed to stand still for a moment. It always does that!! Then Marks saw the floor rise up to meet him, and he landed.
But on something soft.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "That's twice in two days!" And twice in two days he felt a feminine foot hoof him in the jaw.
Fallout
"Ouch!" Said Marks as he tried to get up. A bruise starting on the other side of his face where the Tegian shoe had connected. Note, that tried to get up was the operative word, as Laura rolled a few more blue marbles under his feet, causing a windmill-like flailing of his arms and legs..... "YOW!" He said, as he hit the deck. He looked at Laura with alarm (or should I say aLALAlarm) from the safety of the floor. "What was that for?"
"Well", said Laura. "Look at the lot of you, throwing perfectly good tortes and having water fights. If that wasn't a reason for the intervention of some blue marbles, I don't know what was! Besides, I have some work for you all, I have just heard that some new Jane Austen manuscripts have been found, and we need to get hold of them lest they fall into the hands of someone who wants to make a lot of money from them. Someone unscrupulous!"
Just at that moment, from the door came a familiar voice, a very Wickhamian voice. "Unscrupulous? Do you mean just like me?"
Galvanised by their common loathing of the man, the gathered company raised their various tortes, water buckets and marbles (not to mention the mobile greengrocery operated by Christine-Marie, Tanisha and EE Ann), ready to fire.
Laura spoke up first. "You've a nerve coming here again George, I suppose you have a good reason for imposing on us in this manner?"
George held aloft a sheaf of papers. "The lost Jane Austen manuscripts. I just happened to swindle these from an orphan's home. Ooooh look!" He said, "it looks like she did finish 'The Watsons', and goodness, a letter she wrote to the Prince Regent, very interesting! Too bad you lot aren't going to read any of this after I sell it to a private library and---"
George didn't actually finish his sentence, as a rather larger than usual blue marble arced its way from Laura's hand and smacked him fair on the temple. Our George was out like a light, and the manuscript headed straight for the floor.
Fifty Dwiggies and Pemberlians hurled themselves Toward the door, but unfortunately due to the plethora of bluemarbles and tortes, it resembled one of those rather unseemly mud wrestling competitions that are sometimes featured in jounals not read by the writer, but he has heard of them vaguely. More to the point, before any of our heroes or heroines could get to the door, who should come in and snatch the manuscript from under the prostrate form of GW, none other than John Thorpe!
"Well!" He said, looking at the manuscript. "So Jane did that with Mr Bigg-Wither, I don't believe it! And neither will you lot, since I am going to sell it to one of the British tabloids, and you know what they will do to your precious Miss Austen's reputation." 'Not to mention my bank balance either' he thought.
John turned to face a figure trying to sneak up on him. He curled his lip with a sneer. "Well Lise, I see you have a bucket of water there. But just try throwing that bucket of water all over me! That will ruin the manuscript, and it will be you that gets the blame."
Lise looked at the bucket, then at JenR in resignation and poured the water out of the bucket with a sigh. "I guess you're right Mr Thorpe, I definitely couldn't risk throwing a bucket of water at you. On the other hand, the empty bucket by itself........" Suddenly muscles made hard through years of swimming, rotated the bucket toward John Thorpe at Mach 1. Kerthump!!!
John Thorpe went one way, the manuscript flew the other, scattering to the corners of the room, Dwiggies and Pemberlians hurriedly wiping their hands on each of the others' shirts grabbed for the papers before they hit the rather sodden floor.
All of a sudden a hush came over the room, as they all sat down to read...................
Mum's the Word!
"I can't read her handwriting!" came a wail from deep in the seated crowd.
"Neither can I!" whined someone else.
The Dwiggies looked at one another. Must be those Pemberlians. Dwiggies DO NOT WHINE.
"Hey," called another voice. "I don't see any page numbers on these papers!"
Horrified looks were exchanged throughout the room. There was a mad shuffling of paper as everyone searched for some indication of a page marker. A collective moan went up. (These Dwiggies do everything collectively, don't they?)
"Now what?" cried Tamsin. "'Tis a hopeless case if we can't put them in order!"
Tanisha and Emma EA offered a suggestion. "We could each take turns reading the page we have, and then try to piece it together that way."
Ann fingered a leftover ripe tomato. "Oh, that would be just like you two to suggest that! A cliffhanger on every page!!"
The Mean Queens slunk away.
"Well, we have to do something!!" whined Emmy. All Dwiggie eyes were turned in her direction with a baleful glare that reminded her that Derbyshire Writers Guild members DO NOT WHINE. "Sorry," she whispered faintly. "Must be the stress of provincial finals."
"Right then. Somebody think of something!" Laura said, becoming annoyed with the whole situation.
Silence. Then, as one, all the women turned their eyes on Marks.
"What?" he asked, growing alalalarmed.
Huge grins were appearing on faces throughout the room.
"You always have the answer Marks!" said Spring. She ignored Shawn's grumble of protest. "You always know what to do!"
For the second time in recent memory, Marks wished he'd stayed at home and never gone to cooking school. Couldn't he just have been content with a nice quiet life somewhere without all these besotted women beseeching him for answers?
Naaahhh!!!!
"Alright," he said, hunkering down on the floor beside Leareth. He cast a slightly irked glance at her. The memory of Mar Mar Jinks was still rather fresh. "First, we'll gather up all the pages....."
"Oh, no!" cried one Pemberlian. "You're not getting mine!"
"Nor mine!" piped up another.
There was a chorus of dissent from the perimeter of the group. Voices were raised, insults exchanged. Marks' integrity was questioned. After all, he was a Dwiggie, too. Who knew if the Pemberley people would ever see those papers again! The entire place threatened to erupt into chaos once more.
Until......
A figure stepped in through the door. A shadow fell across the assembly. Marks looked up and his eyes widened in surprise.
"Mum!"
A collective gasp sounded. (Those Dwiggies, really!) As one, heads turned to see the new arrival.
"Marks, what have you been up to?" the woman asked in a tone that had 'mother' written all over it.
The heads swivelled back toward Marks to look at him expectantly.
"Um... we were just finished baking?" he said hesitantly. "And we were about to sit down and read," he finished with a smile.
"Oh, I love a good read!" Mum said with an identical smile. "What have you got?"
"We're not sure," JenR said from her position at the edge of the ring. "It's a bit of a shambles right now."
"The pages are all mixed up," offered Leah Michelle shyly.
"Well, now. You just hand them all to me and I'll sort them out for you." Mum smiled at them all as the ladies eagerly passed the papers around and finally handed the pile into her waiting hand. "Now, let's see."
She moved toward one of the nearby seats, but before she could sit, Marks rushed over with a cloth and hurriedly wiped the tomato juice off. Mum gave him a 'dear sweet boy' look. Then she frowned.
"Marks, what is that on your face?"
Marks wondered what she meant. After all, he was covered in tomato seeds, torte, nutella and his shirt was soaking wet. What could possibly be odder than that?
"Why, I declare!" she continued. "It looks like a bruise! And just how did that happen?"
"He was kicked!" shouted a malicious voice that sounded suspiciously like Laura who always liked to spill the marbles... er... beans.
"It was an accident," Marks said, not wanting to cause any trouble.
"Like heck it was!" shouted another malicious voice that sounded a bit like Danielle, the local answer to The People's Justice.
Mum pursed her lips and stared at her son thoughtfully. "If you say it was an accident, my dear...."
"Accident, my eye!"
"It was Teg!"
"She hoofed him twice!"
The cries were coming fast and furious now. The Dwiggies had taken great offense at Teg's assault upon their precious Man. The Lynch Mob was gearing up.
"One moment, if you please!" Mum's voice cut through their angry shouts like only a mother's can do. When all was quiet she asked softly. "And which one of you is Teg?"
All fingers pointed to the corner of the room where Teg was trying to hide in the shadows.
"Come here, please."
A path opened up in the crowd. Teg stepped forward falteringly. Then she drew herself up tall (or as tall as Teg can get) and, holding her head high, made her way to the lady seated at the far end of the human corridor. For some reason she kept getting images of Rosings Park, but shook it off as being fanciful. Well, not a particularly nice bit of fancy, but......
She stopped in front of the rather nice, friendly, pleasant looking lady, praying that her own smile might be able to save her. So she smiled.
"You think it's amusing, do you?" Mum asked. "Might I enquire as to the reasons you felt compelled to kick my dear son in the face?"
Teg opened her mouth to speak but the boos and hisses from the crowd grew louder. Mum waved them into silence and patiently raised her eyebrows at Teg.
"He made me do it." Teg pouted. Mum waited for her to continue. "Well, he wrote it the first time! As a matter of fact, he wrote it the second time, too! It could have been anybody kicking him the second time, but nooooo, he had to make it me!"
"You know darn well that no other Dwiggie would have the nerve to do what you did!" Dawn yelled. There were murmurs of agreement all around.
Teg scowled at them. "Oh, you're all just a bunch of -!"
"Watch the language!" Marks sharply interrupted. "Me Mum's in the room."
"Oh, right. Sorry, Mum." Teg looked a trifle embarrassed, not that it was a novel feeling for her lately.
Mum looked at Teg and Marks. "I suppose you are both guilty then," she said. "Hmmm. What would be a fit punishment for your behaviour? I could ground you both..."
"NOOO!!!" cried the Dwiggies collectively (author sighs. Aren't any of these people individuals?).
"You can't ground Marks!" Spring sobbed. "He has to finish his story!! I have to know when Lizzy and Darcy will be more than Just Good Friends....."
"You can ground Teg, though." That sounded like Jimmy. "On second thought, don't. Make her go to work. That's less exciting." (Author's note: You traitor, Jimmy!)
"Ladies, ladies! Please!" Mum once again waved them all to silence. "I have made my decision." She fixed a stern eye on the two transgressors. "Marks. Teg. You have both been rather naughty, and I'm sorry to have to say this, but discipline is called for. We can't have you setting such a bad example for all those young minds at the DWG. Now, listen carefully to what I want you to do....."
Mopping Up
"Hmmm!" Said Marks' mother. She looked at the two miscreants in front of her, then at the room covered from ceiling to floor in a mixture of torte, Nutella, tomatoes, Vegemite, (thinks, 'where did that come from?') and blue marbles. It had a vaguely 'Jackson Pollock' look, but unfortunately for Marks and Teg, not to the taste of someone who preferred Joshua Reynolds. "And who threw all those blue marbles?"
Laura raised her hand somewhat hesitantly.
"All right, you and Teg, grab that." She said pointing to the comatose figure of John Thorpe. "Grab one leg each, and turn him upside-down! He will make a great mop. Start mopping up this mess from that end of the room!" Teg and Laura grabbed JT, and found that he did indeed make a fine mop.
"Hold it right there buster!" She turned and fixed her gaze on Marks who had just been trying to sidle out of the room. "Just like a man to try to get out of some housework, but guess what!"
"Er what Mum?" Was the rather nervous response. Marks mother picked up the solid metal bucket which Lise had thrown, and looked at it closely. Lise had thrown it so hard at John Thorpe, that it had a large dent in it. She frowned at Lise who looked innocently the other way, and then went over to George Wickham who seemed to be coming round groggily, and gave him several sharp raps over the head with it. Marks mother looked at it with a smile, her panel beating attempt had removed the dent (not to mention putting George back to "sleep"). She then gave the bucket to Marks and said, "I want all those blue marbles picked up, cleaned up and given back to those nice ladies from the Republic of Pemberley. I like their stories!"
"Aw Mum!" Said Marks.
Marks' mother looked at her son, "And by the way, I also like the Dwiggy stories too, so when you are finished picking up the marbles, guess what! You are going to have to do some housework for them! Oh, and also, you and Teg had better work on opposite sides of the room. We don't need two troublemakers together now do we?"
Marks grumped off, thinking how such a sweet looking little old lady could be so mean.
"All right ladies, now, for the rest of us," Continued Marks' mother, "I suggest that we can separate the manuscripts from the letters easily enough. The letters will have been folded and have fold lines. Manuscript sheets will be flat. How about the Pemberlians get the manuscript sheets and try to get them in order, and the Dwiggies get the letters?"
Pride and Poutiness
THUMP!!
"Oh, Laura!" Teg said irritably. "Do be more careful!"
Laura fixed her workmate with an evil grin. "He won't notice another bruise or two when he wakes up. Lise brained him hard enough with that bucket."
Teg grumbled as the two of them continued to haul John Thorpe's body around the room occasionally smacking his head against a supporting pole for the ring, thanks to Laura's maneuvering.
And Mum thought Marks and I were the troublemakers!
"I don't think this is going to do the trick." Laura surveyed the streaky mess of floor behind them. "I think we need water and a bucket."
"And maybe a mop?" Teg added sarcastically.
Laura scanned the room. She glowered at the quiet group of ladies in the seats absorbed in the oh-so-strenuous task of sorting papers and reading them. The only bucket she could see was the one Marks was using to hold the blue marbles as he wandered about the room picking them up. Laura eyed the bucket thoughtfully and a grin spread across her face.
Teg noticed the direction of her companion's gaze and felt her alalalarm go off. "Oh, no you don't Laura! I'm not risking the wrath of Mum over there just so you can have a little fun!"
"Oh, poo!" Laura sniffed. "You have absolutely no sense of adventure." She ignored Teg's hissed warning and sauntered over to Marks.
Marks watched her approach with a wary eye. He stepped between Laura and the half full bucket of blue marbles (or was it half empty? *shrug*). Laura smiled a charming smile and tried to peer around him.
"Oh Marks, dearest," she said in a voice like honey. "Could I borrow your bucket? Just for a bit, please. I promise to bring it right back."
Marks wasn't fooled. "Go away Laura. If I don't get all these marbles picked up my Mum is going to be disappointed in me. And you don't want to see her when she's disappointed in me."
"Disappointed, eh?" Laura was beginning to take this 'sound like a Canadian' thing a bit too far. "Hmm. I wouldn't be disappointed in you, I'm sure," she said, running a finger down the front of his wet shirt.
Marks patiently removed her hand from his chest and fixed her with an icy stare. "I know what you're really after, Laura. You only want my blue marbles." He pointed to the bucket behind him. "Well you're not going to get them."
Laura wasn't one to give up so easily. "Oh, you can keep your marbles. I'm not after those."
Could have fooled me! thought Marks.
"No, I want your bucket." Laura wheedled and whined (she's a closet Pemberlian!) and even tried to pout her way into his good graces.
But Marks would have none of it. She doesn't pout as well as Teg, anyway. "MUM!" he yelled. "Laura isn't doing her share!"
Laura didn't need Mum to intervene. She stomped back to where Teg was standing, laughing at her botched job.
"Laura, you are too obvious!" Teg chortled. "You need to be a lot more subtle, especially with Marks!"
"Oh, shut up Teg!" Laura angrily picked up one of John Thorpe's arms and started dragging him across the floor once more.
"Wait a minute," Teg said suddenly. "Thorpe's too soggy now to be of much use, but there's Wickham over there." She pointed to the prostrate form of the P and P bad guy in the corner. "Let's use him for awhile."
And so they did.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Marks was doing a rather good job of pouting, himself.
"Housework, indeed!" he grumbled. "I'm not a little boy anymore for goodness sake! Why can't Mum treat me like a grownup?"
He slammed another marble into the bucket and peered around for more. There weren't any more to be seen. Marks smiled and stood up, lifting the bucket. He turned around and saw his Mum pointing a finger in his direction.
"You're not finished yet. Look under the ring."
Marks looked under the ring. Sure enough, there were at least a dozen more blue marbles there. He made a face. There was even more tomato and torte lurking under the ring floor.
"And while you're down there," called his Mum. "You might as well clean up the rest of the mess, too."
Awww, Mum! Marks' shoulders slumped and he reluctantly got down on his hands and knees to crawl under the ring. It was dark and he cursed when he hit his head on one of the joists.
"I heard that!" Mum's voice reached him faintly.
Marks worked as quickly as he could, picking up every marble he could find and scooping up the slimy torte and tomatoes to shove them into a pile. He was just about done when his fingers closed on a small packet hidden beneath a particularly large sludgy tomato.
"Ewww! What's this?" He tried to examine the item in the weak light. Unsuccessfully I might add. Putting the packet into a pocket of his apron (those Pudding Master aprons do have big pockets!), he backed out the way he had come, dragging the bucket of marbles with him.
Just as he emerged there was an excited welcome from the ladies grouped around Mum.
"Hi everyone!" Leonore called out. "I brought us a snack!" She held aloft a huge pie.
"Oh, yummy! What kind is it?" (Yes, it was a collective enquiry!)
"Key Lime," Leonore announced proudly. "Where shall I put it?"
Laura snickered. Teg slapped her arm. "Clean up your act, Laura! I love Key Lime Pie. You aren't touching it."
"No pie until everyone is finished their work," Mum stated in a tone that brooked no opposition. Turning to the ladies, she asked, "All right, now. How are you all coming along in sorting out the letters?"
Therese held up her pile. "We think we've got these sorted. The dates were a little smudged on some," she glared at Tanisha and Emma EA, "but the tomato stains shouldn't hinder our ability to read them."
Leonore placed her pie carefully on her lap as she sat down. "Oh, goody. When can we start reading them?"
"I think Mum should read them to us," suggested Emmy. A chorus of 'ayes' and 'certainly' echoed through the room.
Mum smiled at them all. Then she looked over to where her son was standing, looking a right sorry mess. "Marks, I think you and the two naughty girls over there can take a break while we read these. But," she added with a wag of her finger, "the three of you must sit well away from the papers. I don't want any more of that sticky mess ending up on them."
Laura needed no urging and promptly dropped Wickham's leg to hurry over and plop down on the floor as close as she was allowed.
Marks set down his bucket and picked a spot well away from Laura.
Teg contemplated her choices. No matter where she sat she'd be in trouble. She decided to sit with Marks, since Laura seemed rather determined to get into mischief at the moment.
Marks shifted nervously when Teg sat herself down beside him. "Be good," he warned.
Teg smiled that sweet smile at him. "Aren't I always?" she asked innocently.
"Is everyone ready?" Mum asked. Heads nodded up and down eagerly. "Then let's begin with the first letter. Therese?" She reached for the papers that Therese handed to her.
Bombs Away!
Mum sat down and started to read the first of the letters. This one was from Jane Austen to the Prince Regent's Secretary she announced.
"Dear Mr...." She began.
All of a sudden at the door there was a great commotion and in was hurled a smoke bomb followed by two figures dressed in black muslin, with JERKs written on their shirts. They also wore masks and capes made out of what looked like old tea-towels. They raced in, shoving ladies aside, left right and centre, made straight for Mum, the first of them elbowing Marks out of the way and grabbing his bucket of blue marbles, the second grabbing the letters and manuscripts from Mum's grasp. As they completed the maneuver, racing out of the door making lewd gestures with their hands, they tipped the blue marbles out of the bucket onto the floor. The resulting tripping/armwaving/falling over with unseemly skirtsflying of ladies who had tried to go after them was completely successful. The door shut with a thud and they were away with the precious manuscripts!
Well, almost away. For although Mum sat there doing her little-old-lady-looking-helpless routine, she had that look in her eye that Marks knew from childhood meant trouble... BIG TROUBLE!!!!
"Oh Lise, dear! She said. "Would you please do an elderly lady a big favour, and open that window to let me have some air? Oh, and if it is not too much trouble, just take the bucket with you." This was delivered in the most syrupy of helpless sweet elderly lady tones.
And Pointing to the still comatose George Wickham and John Thorpe she said, "Laura and Teg, would you be nice to those poor rakes there and take them close to the window so that they don't choke in the smoke that those JERKS made."
Marks (who should really have known better) interrupted his mother (rude, rude, naughty Marks), "Mum, they're not rakes, they're brooms!"
Mum looked at the others gathered in the room and replied. "Well dear, those of us here who have read many a Regency romance can discern rakes when we see them, and those are rakes! Right girls?" The ladies tittered, and Marks reddened, suitably chastened.
By this time, Lise had opened the window which was incidentally on the second story up and was waiting for instruction.
"Lise dear, would you just hold the bucket out the window please." Said Mum sweetly.
Lise did as she was told, but with a puzzled look, which became even more confused as she realised that Mum wasn't even looking at her. Mark's mother seemed to be concentrating on her watch.
All of a sudden came a roar from the direction of that sweet little elderly lady. "DROP!!!!"
Lise jumped with shock and dropped the bucket. The others ran to the window just in time to see the bucket hit the first of the fleeing JERKs as he came out of the ground floor entranceway. BONK!
"Right! Spring! Shawn! Grab Thorpe and out the window with him NOW!!!!" Came the command from Mum.
Almost by reflex, Spring and Shawn grabbed hold of Thorpe and flung him out of the window. The others looking through the window saw John Thorpe come tumbling down and hit the second fleeing JERK, SCRUMPLE the mass of his body preventing the Jane Austen Manuscripts from scattering.
Mum turned to Marks and said. "Oh dear, look at all those scattered blue marbles, you'd better go down, get the bucket and pick them all up again."
"Yes Mum!" Marks ran downstairs, retrieved the bucket, then ran back up.
"Please may I have the bucket for a little while my boy?" Said Mum.
"Yes Mum!" Said Marks as he handed it over.
Mum looked at the bucket and sighed "Ahh! A Spear and Jackson number four! They don't make them like they used to though. This one has another dent." She rose from her seat and walked over to the prostrate George Wickham, and thwacked him twice on the head before finally pronouncing the bucket back in shape.
Finally, she looked at Teg, "Well dear, would you go down and retrieve the Jane Austen writings and then come up and read them to us, I am quite tired out by those JERKS. Mark could help, but he is going to be fully occupied with picking up the marbles, perhaps JenR might give you a hand. I think I'll make a pot of tea, would any"
:p (Well you did hint, JenR!!)
Disclaimer:
Mum wishes to dissociate herself from the gratuitous violence and reference to elderly ladies (hits son around head with handbag).
What Mum Doesn't Know Won't Hurt Marks
"I think I'll make a pot of tea. Would anyone else like some?" Mum looked at the faces scattered throughout the room. "I know you do, Marks."
A number of affirmatives greeted her, and Mum set off to find the kitchen, Rebecca TH, Tineke and Hanne in tow.
In a very few minutes, Teg and JenR returned with the manuscript papers in hand. They sidestepped a grumbling Marks who was taking his sweet time picking up the marbles from the floor.
The eager ladies crowded around Teg and JenR, impatient to finally get at the Jane Austen Manuscripts. You may well ask what Shawn was doing 'round about this time, as he was more than likely highly disinterested in that pursuit. Having disposed of John Thorpe, Shawn was happy to stand watch over George Wickham and ensure that the 'rake' stayed asleep. He was armed with the next best thing to a bucket: the fire extinguisher.
"Okay, okay," JenR laughed. "I think if we all sit down we'll be able to hear better."
They all sat down.
JenR pulled the first letter from the pile she was holding and the room fell silent. Even Marks stopped to listen, although I think he was secretly thrilled to have a break from the stooping and scooping of marbles.
"'My darling,'" JenR began and paused. "It's smudged."
"Must be from Bingley!" someone in the back giggled. Everyone laughed.
JenR started again. "'My darling whoever. It has been but three days since we parted, yet it feels like an eternity. I can still feel the warmth of your embrace -." She stopped, coloured and went on haltingly. "The warmth of your embrace as we -."
The paper was suddenly snatched from her fingers by a red-faced Leonore.
"Well, that's certainly a letter of a Different Style!" chuckled Marks. "Didn't sound like Jane Austen to me!"
"Yes, well," JenR stammered. She looked at Teg for assistance. Teg pulled the topmost piece of paper from the stack in her possession.
"'Dearest Jane,'" Teg read. "'I cannot begin to...' I can't read this. It looks like a blot."
"Bingley again!"
"I think so," Teg smiled. "I'll try my best to decipher it. 'I cannot begin to relate to you how grateful I am for your kind attentions to me on the night of our -.'" Teg stopped. She read a few lines to herself and blushed. Then she held the page aloft. "Dawn, I think this is yours."
Dawn came forward hurriedly, eyes downcast, to take the paper from Teg's hand.
To fill in the awkward silence that had descended upon the room, JenR grabbed another letter and her voice rang out loud and clear. "'The sight of him standing on my porch, dripping wet from head to toe -.'" She got no further as Danielle flew from the back of the room to rip the page from JenR's grasp.
Teg stared incredulously at the words on the next letter. "This one has Darcy paired up with someone named Lotte!"
A scream sounded from the middle of the group.
Teg leafed through the rest of the pages. "I don't believe it! These aren't lost Jane Austen Manuscripts!! These are emails sent from one Dwiggie to another!" She looked at the horrified faces around her. "Someone has tapped into our, I mean, your email files!"
There was a collective gasp, and a chorus of giggles from the Pemberlians (because they stick to the style that existed in Jane Austen's lifetime! So there!).
"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" JenR shouted over the noise. "We're going to have to go through these pages one by one -."
"I'll do it!" screamed several ladies, their hands snapping up the pages from JenR's grip. They immediately began to consume the written works with their eyes.
Marks was laughing loudly in his corner of the room. Just seeing the expressions on the faces of the Dwiggies as the excerpts of their illicit compositions were read aloud nearly brought tears to his eyes, he was laughing so hard.
"Oh, listen to this one!" yelled Lise. "This one is about Lizzy having a forbidden tryst in the woods. And guess who the man is?"
"Darcy?"
"Wickham?"
"No!" cried Lise. "Marks!!!"
The ladies howled, while Marks turned beet (or should I say beetroot) red.
"Oh, who wrote that one?" Spring sprang forward to peer at the end of the story for the author's name.
Teg snapped it up quickly. "Enough of this," she said sharply, gathering up the rest of the papers. "We obviously can't go reading all of these. And we certainly can't be reading them to Mum. So, when she comes back with the tea, what are we going to tell her?"
They all mulled that one over for a bit. Marks went back to picking up marbles. It seemed a safer thing to do. But his mind kept wandering back to that last story. He eyed the papers in Teg's hand and wondered how he could get just that one story away from her without anyone noticing.
But Teg suddenly tucked the wad of pages into one of the pockets of her Pudding Mistress apron. Marks sighed. Pudding Mistress aprons had pockets as big as those on a Pudding Master's apron.
"Tea's ready!" announced Rebecca TH as she entered the room. She was closely followed by Tineke, Hanne and Mum.
"We brought plates for the pie, too." Hanne put those down next to the Key Lime Pie and Leonore picked up the knife to begin slicing.
The letters were temporarily forgotten in the promise of food. (this was much better than chat room snacks!)
Mum glanced over at Marks, looking rather gloomy off in the corner. "Come and have your tea, my boy." She held out a cup.
Marks gratefully took the proffered beverage and took a sip.
"Oh, Marks dear," Mum said. "You wouldn't happen to have a lemon in one of your pockets, would you? Some of the ladies preferred lemon, but I couldn't find one in the kitchen."
Marks nodded and set down his cup. "I'll just take a look, Mum."
Reaching into one pocket, Marks withdrew a pen and notepad, three wooden spoons and a pair of socks. "Not this one," he said. He reached into the other pocket. Two mixing bowls, a cheese slicer and a handful of blue marbles.
"What is that?" Mum asked quickly, pointing at Marks' hand.
"Er, nothing." He tried to put the articles back into his pocket.
Mum extended her own hand and beckoned with her fingers. "Come, come. Give them here," she scolded. Marks reluctantly turned over the marbles. "And what were these doing in your pocket."
Marks looked down at his feet. "I was saving them for the next Black Forest Gateau Competition." He brought his chin up defensively. "Well, if the RPPCC could do it, so could we!"
Mum tut-tutted and tossed the marbles into the bucket. "I'm still waiting for the lemon." She gave him that look he remembered well.
Hurriedly fishing about, Marks began emptying his pockets. An assortment of objects were piled around him. Apart from the socks, spoons, and bowls, he had found a boomerang, three eucalyptus leaves, a set of darts, a pair of athletic runners, a didjeridu and a small wrapped packet stained with tomato juice. Last, but not least, he proudly withdrew a lemon. Handing it to his mother, he smiled.
Mum accepted the citrus and pointed to the pile on the floor. "What is in that small packet?"
Marks picked up the small item. He turned it over in his hands looking for some sort of identifying note.
"Give it to me, please," Mum said.
PARTY!PARTY!PARTY!
"Er, small packet mum?" Said Marks nervously. "What small packet?"
"That small packet!" said Mum pointing to an object that Marks was surreptitiously trying to hide under the pile of other things.
"Erm, it's just a packet of, ahem, party balloons Mum. Just in case I wanted to, er, celebrate something. I mean in my line of employment as a Puddingmaster of course." he added brightly.
"Puddingmaster????" Said Mum. "And how did that come about that a son of mine is now a 'Puddingmaster'?"
'Sheesh!' thought Marks. 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire.'
Luckily at this point Tanisha broke in. "Mum, I think I should point out that Marks is trying to hide that packet of 'party balloons.'!" This was accompanied by a less-than-ladylike poking-out-of-tongue in Marks' direction.
'Hmm Tanisha, at this rate you haven't a hope of losing the 'queen of mean co-title' thought Marks.
But out loud, he said with a sigh. "Ok! Ok! Here is the packet!" Then with a sly smile, "Why don't you blow one up Tanisha?"
Tanisha opened up the small packet and took out a piece of rubber with a funny little attachment. She looked a little unsure of herself, and very unsure of the object that she was expected to inflate.
"Come on, BLOW!!!!" Said Marks, with an even wider, more mischievous than usual grin.
With that, Tanisha blew, and blew and blew. As the rubber object grew larger, it became the subject of a deal of speculation from the gathered ladies, some of which I regret to say, bordered on the unseemly!
Finally, Tanisha, red faced and exhausted from her exertions wheezed, "There! She's finished." I say 'she' because it was a life sized balloon of M-nnie M-use (name obscured to prevent legal actions from huge corporations). The funny attachment turned out to be her polka dot skirt.
Laura rushed up and grabbed one. Several minutes later, there were two Lalas there, one made of rubber, the other red faced and out of breath.
Then Lise blew up her balloon, it was "Dipsy"
Then Spring's balloon - Po
Shawn - B Bunny
Then Leareth - Micke- Mo-se
JenR - Da-sy D-ck.
DawnR - W Woodpe-ker
PaulaJ - O Oyl
Finally only two balloons were left, and a crowd of ladies chanting "Me Next! Me Next! Me Next!" It was a riot in the making.
Finally Mum put her hand up for silence.
"Teg, you get one, and Marks you get the last. They were your balloons after all!"
Teg looked at the balloons in a quandary, not quite sure which one to pick. Suddenly she pounced, and started blowing.
Huff, puff, blow, wheeze, red face. A large cheer went up from the gathered assembly (except from the men of course). It was a life size 'Colin Firth'! Teg stopped inflating their hero, and discreetly tucked the inflation point inside Colin's rubber trousers. "How ingenious!" She said, "An inflation point disguised as a watch-fob. Now it's your turn Marks!"
Huff, puff, blow, wheeze, red face. A large cheer went up from the men. "Gwyneth Paltrow!" Marks stopped blowing for a second, looked at the balloon, shook his head and recommenced inflation. A second cheer went up from the men "Dolly Parton!" Marks stopped blowing again, looked at the balloon, shook his head and released some air from the balloon. The men went wild, absolutely beserk!!! "JENNIFER EHLE!!!!!!"
Marks regained his breath, and addressed Teg. "Didn't I see you with a similar packet some time ago?"
A BIG Blowup
"Well, Teg?" Marks asked again. "Didn't you have another one of those packets?"
Teg looked a little puzzled. "No, I didn't."
Marks grinned. "Oh, I'm sure I saw you with one. You'd better have a look in those pockets of yours!"
Shrugging her shoulders, and grumbling to herself "and just how would he know what I keep in these?" she pulled open one of her many apron pockets and peered inside.
Marks frowned. "Oh, not that way, Teg! For goodness sake, just empty them!!" He reached for her apron.
Teg swatted at his hand. "Excuse me, Mr. PuddingMaster! Do I go around putting my hand in your pocket? Do I play with your didjeridu?"
"You leave my didjeridu out of this." Marks smiled.
"Oh, I know PuddingMaster apron pockets are big," Teg teased, "but I didn't realize they were that big!"
There was a titter amongst the crowd waiting to see if Teg would produce the aforementioned packet of balloons. Smiling smugly, Teg began emptying her pockets.
A whisk. A leather riding crop, which she waved at Marks to keep him at a distance. A bottle of wine.
"Is that Australian?" Marks asked, peering at the label.
"No, it's Canadian actually," Teg replied. "I know a lot of people pooh-pooh Australian table wines, but just for you, I have one bottle right here!" Sure enough, she pulled forth another bottle.
"Hey, do you have anymore in there?" called Spring. "We could really have a party. We've got the balloons already!"
"Well," sighed Teg. "I was saving them for Saturday nights... but since we're all here already....."
Several of the ladies came forward to grab the two bottles already in sight. Teg kept reaching into her pockets to look for more. In the course of her search she set aside four more whisks, (you can't have too many of those!), a pudding recipe book, a jar of Nutella, another bottle of wine, a can of Guinness (hey, Laura! This one is yours!), and then she moved on to a different pocket.
The pile on the floor grew with a watering can, a box of chocolate covered cherries, (always have to have a snack to hand!), a small wrapped packet, two more bottles of wine, and a large wad of papers looking suspiciously like the formerly named Lost Jane Austen Manuscripts.
The Dwiggies scooped up the wine and chocolate, and the watering can was handed to Mum, just in case she needed to subdue Mr. Wickham once more seeing as how the bucket was now full of blue marbles again.
There was a scurrying as the wine was opened and poured, and murmurs of "there goes Teg, supplying the alcohol again!".
Marks crept forward, his hand reaching for the ......
Teg looked up.
Marks hand changed course and picked up the small packet. "See? You did have one. Now let's just see what you've got."
Teg eyed him with a narrowed gaze. "You just slipped that right in, didn't you?" Marks flashed her a smile. "I knew it. Well, go on. Open it."
But the ladies, who had somehow forgotten the point of the whole excavation in receipt of the wine, now became aware of the small packet in Marks' possession.
Up went the cries of "Oh!", "I want some!", "give it to me!" as the crowd surged forward. Teg hurriedly snatched up her belongings and returned them to her pockets before they were trampled. Marks was backing away from the mob, his amused grin now changing to one of fear.
"Maybe I should have just left it at one packet," he yelled over the noise of the overexcited Dwiggies.
Teg just stood back and watched the fun. "Ah, well, that's what you get for being so popular with the ladies!" she yelled back.
The packet was suddenly wrenched from Marks' grasp and Emma EA squealed, "I got it!"
But her enjoyment was short-lived as another hand pulled it from hers. Then another, and the packet was soon being tossed about above the heads of the crowd. All eyes were focussed on it as the small wrapped bundle bounced off of heads, eagerly extended arms, and various other parts of anatomy.
The men, of course, were watching all of this from the edge of the seats, perfectly satisfied with their Jennifer Ehle balloon. Or maybe they weren't actually watching, but they did look rather satisfied.
With all of that tossing about, the wrapping on the packet was taking a beating. One second it was spinning circles over the crowd, and the next it burst open, spilling a cascade of colourful rubber shapes into the air.
Leonore grabbed the first one. She huffed, she puffed, she blew. Everyone stared in anticipation as the balloon took shape before them. Gasps and sighs were uttered as they could see the black tails of Regency attire appear.
Leonore continued to blow.
"Ahhh!" was the collective sigh as she finished and stood back to admire her creation.
It was Marks.
Balloons were now being blown up at a furious rate.
"Oooh, look!" cried Danielle. "Here he is as Obi Wan!"
"And I've got him in Regimentals!" announced Morgan.
"And he certainly lends them much distinction I might add," crowed Alethea.
Teg peered over the heads in Marks' direction. "Oh, Marks, dear! Did you have to get these custom made?"
Marks was blushing furiously. What happened to that packet I put in her pocket? Where did all of these come from?
Hanne suddenly screamed. "Oh, this is too much! A leopard skin loincloth! I've got TARZAN!!!" A large number of the ladies crowded around to see. Soon the balloon was lifted up to display overhead.
"If you think that's something!" JenF held her prize up for all to see. "Mine has a number 81 on him."
And indeed he did. And that was all he had on.
"But what a number.." sighed the ladies.
Marks turned a mortified gaze on Teg. She smiled and reached down the front of her PuddingMistress blouse and withdrew another small packet.
"Is this the one you were looking for, Marks?"
"But I was sure I put it in your pocket!" I would have remembered if I'd put it there! Marks tried to slink around the crowd to the other side of the room where Teg was.
"Well, ladies," Teg laughed. "There was talk one night in the chat room of making a pinup of number 81. I thought a blowup, or two, was a better idea!" She caught site of Marks sidling nearer. "But I'm not sure our beloved PuddingMaster is in complete agreement on that."
Hitching up her skirts, Teg made for the door.
The ladies, thankful for her thoughtfulness in providing the party favours and wine, crowded around Marks, preventing him from following.
Marks growled, frustrated. Then he had a thought.
"Hey, Shawn! John, Bill, Art!" The other men looked up reluctantly. "There's more where that came from," Marks yelled. He pointed to the fleeing Teg.
The men grinned at one another and followed at a run.
Flying (T)High
Having decided that Teg was safe from Marks at least and knowing that she was swift enough to outrun the rest of the men (unless she wanted to be caught), the ladies turned their attentions back to their balloons.
Marks made for the now unattended Jennifer Ehle doll, and took it to the window. He pulled some cordage out of his pocket, tied one end round Jennifer's waist and attached a hook to the other. He then dangled the hook out of the window just as Teg came screaming out of the front door. The hook caught her by the strap of a peculiarly feminine article of clothing about which Marks as a single man knows very little (OK Mum). Marks then heaved the Jennifer Ehle doll out the window after Teg. Of course, when the balloon hit the much colder air outside, it shot up like the laws of physics say a well proportioned hot air balloon should do - hoisting the now attached Teg.
As Teg shot up past the window, Marks grabbed her by an ankle, which for those of you who are familiar with the works of the late lamented Georgette Heyer, would be best described as "well turned."
This act of selfless bravery and quick thinking on behalf of the puddingmeister was unfortunately not appreciated. "I am a highly respectable married woman, I'll have you know Marks. Let go of my ankle!" With that she took a whisk out of her puddingmistress' apron and beat Marks about the head with it.
'Yes!' Thought Teg. "You can never have too many whisks in this job!'
Unfortunately, her beating caused Marks to overbalance and topple out of the window. The Jennifer Ehle balloon was not meant for this, and started heading earthwards, fast!!!!!!!
Marks, still hanging to a "well turned ankle" thought fast, and started making his way up Teg's "well turned leg" "Now how was it that that nice Sergeant O'leary taught us all how to climb a rope back in Warradale Army Barracks? Oh yes, now I remember!" Marks grabbed a 'well turned knee'
"Stop that!" Said Teg. "I am a perfectly respectable married woman." She continued to beat Marks about the head with her whisk in a respectability inducing manner as they plummeted toward the ground. (Dramatic music in the background if you please, Mr Tan).
Marks at last reached his object, which was of course the voluminous cavernosity that comprised the Puddingmistress' apron pockets. He reached in and started emptying them in order to lighten the load on the balloon. Out went six assorted pudding basins, six paperback books by some woman by the name of "Jackie Collins" whose titles were unfamiliar to Marks(ok mum). Then came a clothes press, a flower press, a garlic press, a wine press, the Oxford University Press, a bench press, a set of six hand weights, a set of six beer glasses, a sixpack of beer, six bottles of wine, six flimsy undergarments of the finest florentine leather, six soggy biscuits, a copy of a rather suspicious looking magazine and six whisks ('Sometimes you can have too many of these' thought Marks) - out they all went!
Marks finally came to a rather familiar looking sheaf of papers. 'Better not throw these out' Thought Marks with a grin, and stuffed them into his pockets. However, all this Tegeirian sacrifice was sufficient, as the reduction in weight was enough that the balloon and its load now hovered in equilibrium at about head height.
Teg, however, was not amused! "I am a respectable married woman, and you are altogether too close. I must ask that you unhand me Sir!"
Marks grinned, and said, "Are you certain?"
He was answered by a crack over the nose with the whisk that Teg still had in her hand ('Sometimes you can have too many of those' thought Marks).
"OK! OK!" With that Marks took another length of cordage from his pocket, attached it to Teg's waist, and shinnied down it. Of course, this left Teg hanging from the inflated Jennifer Ehle balloon with the only thing preventing her from hurtling skywards being the rope now firmly in Marks' hand.
By this time, the men had come down the stairs and out the front door and were looking in wonder at the sight of Teg suspended about three metres in the air.
"I always wondered what a Puddingmistress wears under her apron. In this case it appears that she has a kilt made of Florentine leather," said Shawn squinting upward.
"Youch!" He said as a wild blue marble came at him from the wild blue yonder, hurled by Spring from the window above. "Watch it Buster!" She said. "You are a perfectly respectable married man!"
The gentlemen were interrupted from their observations by the arrival of two petite persons dressed in rather fetching wild blue uniforms with 'DP' on their arms.
They marched up to Marks and introduced themselves. "I am Dot Police Sergeant Leonore" said the first one who had a rather false looking moustache. "And I am Dot Police Superintendent Lala." Said the other who seemed to have an aerial on her head, and a television screen on her stomach.
"Marks, you are under arrest for writing this sort of frivolity while having not done a hand's tap of work on "Just Good Friends" for months. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney. However, anything you write from now on will be taken down, and may be used against you. Have you any statement to make?"
"Erm, no! Would you just hold this?" With that, Marks handed the rope to the two petite dot police persons who immediately shot into the air. Marks looked on as the Jennifer Ehle balloon with Teg and the two dot police persons drifted slowly over the city.
"Whew!" Said Marks, "I guess I'd better toddle off and have another chapter of JGF written before that lot gets down. By the way fellas," he said addressing the gentlemen, "while I was up there with Teg, this small packet 'dropped' out of her puddingmistress' apron." He handed the small packet to the eager hands of John and Art.