- Location
- Melbourne, Australia
- Pronouns
- She/They
Fuck that's a good line.
I also have to say that the Corb In vs. Corb Out thing has been both the dumbest and funniest gag in this fic for me.
Last edited:
In the Empire of Eng-Land Beyond the Eldritch Continent
I also have to say that the Corb In vs. Corb Out thing has been both the dumbest and funniest gag in this fic for me.
How to Win Friends and Influence the People, Part III: Grims By Brexit
mouli
Terrible QM
- Location
- United States
How to Win Friends and Influence the People, Part III: Grims By Brexit
To deal with F i s h, it appears, we must make use of the Iron Donkey of the British Rails. Much like the Iron Horse although more down-market and built for the People. Or so the Shadow of Brexit tells me with carefully choreographed motions that blend in with the common folk of the Train. As a consultant for the Spire, I however remain suitably attired and accented as we head for the wilderness of Grims By. As the Parliementarian of High Gate tells me, Grims By is much like a Sell By. When the time comes, the Party attends to it. But not before. Now that the season of Brexit is upon us, says the Shadow, we must meet with the Chair of the Parliamentary Committee on Bowels.
We encounter the Iron Donkey at the heart of the High Gate Parliementarian's power, the soaring spined red edifice of Saint Pancreas' Station. It is here that the Tubes of London intersect with the iron intestines of the rest of Eng-Land, and where the silver-steel tethers to the Eldritch Continent meet the pathways to the Square Mile. As the Shadow of Brexit tells me, the Tether to the Eldritch Continent was built to renew London and further swell the Square Mile. It has apparently succeeded, at the expense of leaving the rest of Eng-Land to the mercies of the Iron Donkey and its Rail Lords at TLC. I am told that it is called TLC camouflaged as Transport for London as a moniker for what the Rail Lords do, the Tender Loving Care that is stolen from those who ride the Tubes or the Rails and used to gorge the Rail Lords who thrive on such thievery. The gray, soulless surfaces that beckon with a greasy croon and sing of the Norf of England are testament to that. The Parliementarian and I are able to board with no change in our emotions, perhaps because there is no TLC to steal.
The correct usage of the Iron Donkey is a matter of heated debate, although the question of practical ethical experimentation rather than simple unsophisticated journeying has some merit to it. It is a question of solving the Trolley Problem, I tell the Parliemantarian who sits next to me. With the practical experiments of the Rail, we have solved it using the expertise of the Civil Service who very civilly found a solution. When one is late, one saves all lives on a track. There is no need to worry about running over a body. As such, we must budget time for being late on the Iron Donkey. The Parliementarian nods gravely, mentioning the ever present problem of leaves on the tracks. One of the Rail Denizens hears him and nods solemnly as if at a funeral, their hands stacking a trolley with suspiciously squamous and rugose packages labeled as Feed for Passengers.
London – and, as the High Gate Parliementarian tells me, civilization – are left behind with aching slowness, the Rail being ejected from Saint Pancreas and into the Northern Intestines. I am left to sample the feed that is handed to those encased in the Iron Donkey and speak to the Shadow of Brexit beside me, who seems to be shielded from the pernicious influences of the Norf by some means beyond my ken. He smiles with the same unnatural dentition that the Cheery Manager of Mac Kin Say wielded with such skill, telling me that we go forth to Grims By due to the central nature of the place with respect to F i s h. I am polite and accommodating as always, pointing out the obvious – I am to aid the Corb in adjusting his image, not aid the Party of the Workers in adjusting their image. Unfortunately all I receive is a vague nod, a reference to the soporific effects of the Rail and an appeal to discussion later. Behind the back of the High Gate Parliementarian, the Ham Sandwich's ghost bleeds an unusual amount of grease.
We arrive with little grace into Grims By, where Viking Cod meets Eng-Land under the auspices of the Single Market. There are memories here of Viking raids on F i s h stocks, whispers in the winds of icy lands and a great deal of resentment. A cheery voice behind me alerts me to the presence behind my back of the Shadow of Brexit, the High Gate Parliementarian who tells me that the city is growing rapidly as more and more of the People move to Food Processing. Apparently with the classification of F i s h as Feed, Food Processing has grown at the cost of more Viking Cod from the Single Market. There is a chill breeze in the air.
It is cold even in the offices of the Parliementarian of Grims By, who is the Chair of the Committee on Bowels. She is pleasant and polite despite the clinging haze over her city that she attributes to Brexit, which she opposes much as she opposes the Corb and wants him Out. I must hold my tongues here lest I attempt to beneficially adjust the Corb's image without being paid to do so in his Party. There is intense discussion among the two Parliementarians, the High Gate man advising his comrade in Grims By of the Party policy of Vacillation on Brexit. With suitable Vacillation the Parliementarian may sidestep the haze that clings to her People and reacquire the Popular Mandate. Much like the mandates of the heavens or the Dread Queen, the Popular Mandate is a critical thing for a Parliementarian. And from what I am hearing, the Chair of Bowels lacks it due to her opposition to Brexit. Promises of F i s h are countered by words telling of Freedom from France by the opposing party, who are aided by the Wig's work in reinforcing the haze of Brexit in the minds of the Mass of People. The High Gate Parliementarian's confidence in Promises seems to evaporate as he listens, for Promises have already been made....but by the Wig and not by him.
The situation is dire enough that the High Gate Parliementarian turns to me, at which point I must inform him of the Spire's mandate on Contracts. I am to assist the Corb rather than he, and the bargains he proposes with the dread Book of Faces for securing the Mandate of the People are not to my taste. I do not deal in Books of Faces easily, those terrible pastel coloured leaches.
I prefer the Instant Grams, where a light weight image, suitably Euclidean, can compel the masses to Like and Worship.
However, I add to the two Parliementarians before me, I am willing to aid the Corb if he aids you. The Corb is said to be on the Fence and yet we are here in Grims By. Bring me the Corb, I say with gravitas. Bring me the Corb and we shall see.
The Shadow of Brexit nods gravely, his junior the Chair of Bowels and Parliementarian for Grims By swallowing nervously as if seeing F i s h in person and not in batter. The Shadow tells me that there is a place we may go to, a pilgrimage to the failing Red Wall where the spirit of Thatcher gnaws at the bedrock of tunnels delved too deep. A place that threatens the milk of Eng-Land.
We go to New Castle and the Shire of York, he says, a place of coal and strange hobbits. And stranger habits. A place where the Corb attempts to contain the Thatcher. Once we meet the Corb there, we may return to aid the Chair of Bowels.
Well and so, say I. We shall go there and free the Corb. We shall exorcise the Thatcher. And for that, we require a virgin sacrifice.
I must stop at Somerset, to pick it up. Once more we shall call the Iron Donkey and listen to its bray as it passes through leaves on the tracks.
AN: Feedback welcome. It may spoil the joke, but look up the position of Parliamentary Chair of the Committee on Inflammatory Bowel Disease. It is a rather immature joke, I admit.
- Location
- Melbourne, Australia
- Pronouns
- She/They
3 uses of the phrase "squamous and rugose" so far:
big cyclopean here.
Also another use of squamous with its partner absent:
not sure if this is a typo or I've stumbled on to something