Tales of the snug by Subernoj. 21 March 2018
Subernoj
21 Mar 2018 07:49
Speaking of 17d (duplicity) and the bounder who has kidnapped Fyodora ...
There were two on the stairway as backup and two in the hallway, one either side of the door, pressed flat against the wall. All were dressed in combat blacks under heavy body armour, balaclavas obscuring all but eyes, riot helmets with attached cameras and LED torches. They were equipped with weapons favoured by the CRAP SWAT* team – automatic HB pencils, ram erasers and stun dictionaries. The atmosphere was tense, with a lot riding on the success of their mission, but they were well trained (and equipped) for the situation, having been called in after the negotiating team had failed to secure the release of their target.
Agent #1 (not his real name – anonymity was vital) looked at Agent #3 who had readied the large ram eraser in front of the door (Agent #2 was on annual leave in Milton Keynes), and held up 3 fingers to count down the start of the raid. When the third finger dropped, the ram eraser smashed through the locked door sending it crashing back inside the room. Agent #1 tossed a stun dictionary into the now open room - the explosion of words designed to incapacitate and confuse any occupants of the room.
Seconds later, as the words cleared in the room, Agents # 1 and 3 rushed in yelling ‘Stay on the grid, stay on the grid – keep your hands down’ … but the room was empty save for a tightly bound and gagged Fyodora on a wooden chair, the only window on the other side of the room wide open with a tatty net curtain ruffling in the breeze.
Back up Agents #4 and #6 (Agent #5 was currently on sick leave) also burst into the room, automatic HBs drawn but quickly realised their quarry had fled (on account of the open window). They all holstered their weapons and Agent #1 quietly spoke into the mic on his lapel ‘Agent #1 to CRAP Command – target has fled, repeat, target has fled. Fyodora safe but dazed - send in computer paratechs for routine check just in case.'
Agent #1 sighed - his, and Fyodora’s nemesis, petewigens had escaped, again.
‘Next time pete, next time …’
*Crossword Rescue of Avatar Police
21 Mar 2018 07:49
Speaking of 17d (duplicity) and the bounder who has kidnapped Fyodora ...
There were two on the stairway as backup and two in the hallway, one either side of the door, pressed flat against the wall. All were dressed in combat blacks under heavy body armour, balaclavas obscuring all but eyes, riot helmets with attached cameras and LED torches. They were equipped with weapons favoured by the CRAP SWAT* team – automatic HB pencils, ram erasers and stun dictionaries. The atmosphere was tense, with a lot riding on the success of their mission, but they were well trained (and equipped) for the situation, having been called in after the negotiating team had failed to secure the release of their target.
Agent #1 (not his real name – anonymity was vital) looked at Agent #3 who had readied the large ram eraser in front of the door (Agent #2 was on annual leave in Milton Keynes), and held up 3 fingers to count down the start of the raid. When the third finger dropped, the ram eraser smashed through the locked door sending it crashing back inside the room. Agent #1 tossed a stun dictionary into the now open room - the explosion of words designed to incapacitate and confuse any occupants of the room.
Seconds later, as the words cleared in the room, Agents # 1 and 3 rushed in yelling ‘Stay on the grid, stay on the grid – keep your hands down’ … but the room was empty save for a tightly bound and gagged Fyodora on a wooden chair, the only window on the other side of the room wide open with a tatty net curtain ruffling in the breeze.
Back up Agents #4 and #6 (Agent #5 was currently on sick leave) also burst into the room, automatic HBs drawn but quickly realised their quarry had fled (on account of the open window). They all holstered their weapons and Agent #1 quietly spoke into the mic on his lapel ‘Agent #1 to CRAP Command – target has fled, repeat, target has fled. Fyodora safe but dazed - send in computer paratechs for routine check just in case.'
Agent #1 sighed - his, and Fyodora’s nemesis, petewigens had escaped, again.
‘Next time pete, next time …’
*Crossword Rescue of Avatar Police
Tales of the snug by WolfHome. 22 March 2018
The snug was awash with little old ladies. Some had photographs of their grandchildren, others looked ready to clip the nearest ear. They all looked rather lost.
Nana Wood, tapped Nottingham Nan on the shoulder, “Make sounds (but not necessarily words)? That doesn’t sound particularly healthy, does it?”. Nottingham Nan sighed, the Caff was littered with banana skins, and spoilers, even the setter was at it. “Utter nonsense!”, she snapped.
Granny Smith pointed at the screen of her iPad, “Where’s me fish puns?”, she demanded, “We always have fish puns on a Friday”.
Nottingham Nan’s patience was wearing thin. “It ain’t Friday”, she said brusquely.
“I know that, you muttonhead”, said Granny Smith, “but there’s mackerel at four down and I want…”
“There’s nookie at twelve down, an’ you ain’t getting none of that either”, Nottingham Nan replied as she strode off in high, almost palatial, dudgeon.
“Excuse me luv, have you got any garlic?”.
“Garlic? Yes, I think we’ve some out in the kitchen. Why?”.
“It keeps the vampires away”.
“But there aren’t any vampires!”.
“I know, an’ I wants to keep it that way!”, Nana van Helsing said somewhat disdainfully.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a nice steak?”, asked Nottingham Nan, “The butcher just delivered a side of beef”.
The jar, optimistically labelled ’Tips’, lay on its side on the bar. There was a note inside the jar, it read, “So it does!”.
Welsh Granny was knitting. Sometimes it seemed it was the only way to make sense of the world. “Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one”.
When she looked up, the day was over, and there was a new grid to solve. The young pigeon should have been in her etui, but there were just a few downy feathers and the first and last letters. The bird had flown!
“Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one…”
Nana Wood, tapped Nottingham Nan on the shoulder, “Make sounds (but not necessarily words)? That doesn’t sound particularly healthy, does it?”. Nottingham Nan sighed, the Caff was littered with banana skins, and spoilers, even the setter was at it. “Utter nonsense!”, she snapped.
Granny Smith pointed at the screen of her iPad, “Where’s me fish puns?”, she demanded, “We always have fish puns on a Friday”.
Nottingham Nan’s patience was wearing thin. “It ain’t Friday”, she said brusquely.
“I know that, you muttonhead”, said Granny Smith, “but there’s mackerel at four down and I want…”
“There’s nookie at twelve down, an’ you ain’t getting none of that either”, Nottingham Nan replied as she strode off in high, almost palatial, dudgeon.
“Excuse me luv, have you got any garlic?”.
“Garlic? Yes, I think we’ve some out in the kitchen. Why?”.
“It keeps the vampires away”.
“But there aren’t any vampires!”.
“I know, an’ I wants to keep it that way!”, Nana van Helsing said somewhat disdainfully.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a nice steak?”, asked Nottingham Nan, “The butcher just delivered a side of beef”.
The jar, optimistically labelled ’Tips’, lay on its side on the bar. There was a note inside the jar, it read, “So it does!”.
Welsh Granny was knitting. Sometimes it seemed it was the only way to make sense of the world. “Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one”.
When she looked up, the day was over, and there was a new grid to solve. The young pigeon should have been in her etui, but there were just a few downy feathers and the first and last letters. The bird had flown!
“Knit one, purl one, knit one, purl one…”