Lord B! DAHling! Dreadfully sorry Im SO late, but I know your parties, dear, and I felt certain it wouldnt be quite over. I must apologize. You see, the second floor of my manor house rather…fell down. Horses are heavy beasts, arent they? Have you any absinthe? What? A spanking? Why Bucky, dearest, Id be simply delighted! You always know just what to say to put me in a good humour.
Ahhh, my dear Lord B.;
would it be possible for you to offer assurances that your eeevil relatives have departed for the nonce? I should like to put my uniform to soak before these bloodstains set, clean and sharpen my blade, and raid the pantry (combat does make one hungry, you know!). After which I’d like to look up the lovely Lady Phouka, pour l’amour pour l’sport and a good back rub with maybe a nibble or two…
After which I should like to assist you with the spankings in the library!
VB
Tempus is fugiting all over the place! Carpe that diem!
Little does Lord Bucky know that the evil is not over.
Deeply engrossed by thoughts of – well, a gentleman does not speculate what goes on in the mind of a lady – the Demoiselle Le Neurosis de Garbage fails to notice a large form slinking behind her in the secret passages. Bulky though the man is, he moves through the passages with all the noise of a ghost, a feral grin playing over his thin lips.
Could it be ?!? It is!!! It is that American bounder, cad and criminal, a man wanted on five continents, but known only by his nom de crime. It is The Peyote Coyote, impeccably dressed in the latest evening wear, a heavy black overcoat concealing his soup-and-fish, and a mask and salt-and-pepper beard concealing a face strangely unlined by decades of degeneracy.
Oh, poor Lord Bucky! The Peyote Coyote is a master of depravity; he even breaks the law of gravity.
The port view of the Demoiselle Le Neurosis de Garbage arouses strong emotions within The Peyote Coyote’s savage breast. As she stops in the door of the dungeon, contemplating a … toy, he contemplates a crime worse than death, but restrains himself. Rouge, thief and bounder that he is, The Peyote Coyote decides to remain a gentleman.
He uses occult powers learned from the Hopi and Hohokam Indian tribes of Arizona to cloud the powerful mind of the Demoiselle Le Neurosis de Garbage and steals past her. An evil grin plays over his face as he wends his way through Lord Bucky’s cellars to milord’s exclusive wine cellar.
Lord Bucky has locked the cellar, of course, but the rather ancient lock proves no match for The Peyote Coyote’s lockpick and skilled fingers. He enters the cellar and leaves after only a few seconds.
However, the nefarious Coyote did not leave empty-handed. He roobed Lord Bucky of two cases of Napolean Brandy, laid down in 1813, and a strange bottle, said to contain wine at least 1,000 years old, found in the Persian Gulf under strange circumstances. The bottle was pulled from the sea in an incident that cost Lord Featherwit and three Egyptian coolies their lives in a gruesome and macabre fashion. However, it is not wise to speak of such things; the Great Old Ones might be listening.
None detects the diabolical Coyote as he moves back through the lower passages like a puff of smoke. He moves through Lord Bucky’s fields and jumps on a coal-black stallion hidden in a copse.
At an inn in the wee hours of the morning, The Peyote Coyote lies on a luxurious bed, sipping a flute of the Napolean brandy with the appreciation that only the Master of Intoxicants can bring to a debauch and responding to the … ministrations … of comely serving wench with an incredible mouth. He takes a puff of a strange powdered vegetable material from an elaborate Arabian hookah, and thinks to himself:
“Ah, the English. Such demned silly twits.”
Uncouth, indeed! What unspeakable churl wouldst dare imbibe brandy from anything but a snifter?!
Beware, evil coyote, lest VBs’ Vorpal blade should go snicker snack upon thy pate, you beamish boy!
VB
Tempus is fugiting all over the place! Carpe that diem!
Master Blue!!! I’m hurt! sob These fickle men…I think I shall just have to console myself in the arms of Max the bootblack… winking at everyone who was in the chatroom the night this came up…
Be still, Wench! I still want you for the main course! 
VB
Tempus is fugiting all over the place! Carpe that diem!
Strewth! What does a lady have to do to get debauched around here?
An infinite number of rednecks in an infinite number of pickup trucks shooting an infinite number of shotguns at an infinite number of road signs will eventually produce all the world’s great works of literature in Braille.
:::Thinking, “I’ll debauche you, NTG.”:::
Madamoiselle D’Garbage Neurotique, I must return those marbles to their rightful owner. Please follow me. We have this wonderful device to aid us with their removal…
Napolean brandy in 1813? Egads, that bounder Peyote Li’l Doggie (or whatever the cad calls himself) is clearly delusional. There was no Napolean brandy existent in 1813. this must be one of those deleicious “urban legends” one hears so much about.
Right then. Katy, Madame Garbage, Scarlet, Falcon! I have a lovely little surprise for you girls. Swiss chocolates, orange marmalade, a new tennis racquet, one Hungarian stable-boy’s rope, two new leather slippers, confectioner’s sugar, one birch branch, two nanny’s uniforms, one ballet dancer’s outfit, a large towel, and a Turkish bath.
Yes, it’s time for another game of “The Sequel to King Lear!” I’ll warm up Scarlett’s bottom first (smack! yes, you ARE late! smack smack!), and then we’ll play.
I DON’T have to remind anyone of the rules, do I?
Lord B
I’ve got three demerits. When do I get spanked?
< Master Blue, rolling up his sleeves to reveal muscular forearms >
Well Lady Pixoid, M’dear, you can get in line for Lord Bucky, or I can take care of it and the aftermath now, if you like; I particularly like the aftermath, don’t you? Gets things going like a firecracker, huh?!
And I don’t need a paddle, either!
::cracking knuckles::
How about you, Lady Falcon? Or are you still pouting?
VB
Tempus is fugiting all over the place! Carpe that diem!
::The young, slightly hung over, John wakes up in the basement, still wearing a soiled sheet. He decides to take a walk (stumble drunkenly) up to the pool for a quick dip (jump in, scream, climb out, repeat). Too bad he forgot his swimming trunks. Ah well, Lord B isn’t opposed to people skinny dipping::
I sold my soul to Satan for a dollar. I got it in the mail.
Confectioner’s sugar! Dearest, you remembered! Ehh…does the rope come with the stable boy attached? Lady de G, darling, will you wear the nanny’s uniform this time or shall I? I really wish you would - you have such a delightful hand with a leather slipper.
John, old son, you really should sober up and join the rest of us; I fear that you are definitely behind the power curve here, so please come up to the parlor, there’s a good lad.
Oh, and get your filthy arse outa the pool; you’ve left a ring!
VB
This sigline is closed for renovation.
'ello-
Anyone order a pizza??
Extra sausage??
-Frankie
“Mother Mercy, can your loins bear fruit forever?/Is your fecundity a trammel or a treasure?”
-Bad Religion
'ello-
Anyone order a pizza??
Extra sausage??
-Frankie
“Mother Mercy, can your loins bear fruit forever?/Is your fecundity a trammel or a treasure?”
-Bad Religion
What’s that, the parlour you say? Well, of course!
::grabs the sheet, does a quick nip and tuck, and begins running up to the parlour::
Oh, Lady de G, you look absolutely SMASHING in that nanny outfit, but a bit cramped. Need any help getting it off, or would you prefer some aid in your disciplinary duties.
What’s that, Katy dear? You want to clean the sheet? Well, take it, by all means.
I sold my soul to Satan for a dollar. I got it in the mail.
Well John, Much better!
::sniff::
You’re still a bit whiff, I must say; Oh, Lady Katy, please take Master John in hand and sanitize him thoroughly, please, along with the sheet; On second thought, just burn the sheet!
::shudder::
Oh and frankie, you must be hungry, double posting an’ all; yes, the pizzas are on order, courtesy of Lord B.s’ ever-diminishing expense account.
Lady Falcon, oh, Lady Falcon? Dratt! Where has that dear girl gotten off too?
< VB leaves the parlour to hunt for that Sassy Bird, Falcon >
VB
The ways of cats and little girls are mysterious.
rearranging skirts after talking to Max the bootblack…
Yes, Master Blue? You were looking for me? batting eyes again
Ahh, there you are!
Rearranging skirts? You used body language, no doubt!
I have a lovely book of Shelley in the Library; care for a little Port and reading?
VB
The ways of cats and little girls are mysterious.