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Shovel Switch (in the Bingo Hall Coach-House)
Paste-pot calliaphone returns, and gets to work again, shifting all the newly made furnishings into the caravan, along with an assortment of hand-held tools. sunday-afternoon-DIY noises ensue.
Paste-pot calliaphone emerges from the caravan at intevals, hunts around the coach-house and loft, and returns with offcuts, extra screws and nails, bits of sheet metal, sandpaper, varnishes and paints and brushes. . .
The coach-house atmosphere acquires a distinctly painty quality.
Paint-pot calliaphone tumbles out of the caravan. she has also acquired a distinctly painty quality, and is possibly zigzagging a little on the fumes.
Paint-pot calliaphone departs for a bit of fresh-air.
. . .some time later. . .
Jon Bishop lightly pads into the coach house. He quickly grabs at his nose. “Ugh. . .the hell is she doing in here?”
Jon Bishop steps in deeper. Scanning around. Shock absorbers? What? He catches sight of the cart. Of course! She puts everything in that. He makes his way over.
Jon Bishop attempts to climb into the back of the cart, but he immediately finds that a large collection of stuff makes this quite the feat.
Jon Bishop begins digging through, and is immediately assaulted by a towel. “Oh, shit!” He fumbles backwards before tossing it off. “Okay..stupid..”Jon dives into a pile of junk to continue his search.
Jon Bishop pops his head out of the pile, taking in a deep breath. Upon looking downward, he finds he is now wearing a bikini top. “How did. . .” He grabs at the buckles. “Agh..I'll figure it out later.”
Jon Bishop holds out a skorpion. “A gun?! Didn't know she had it in her.” His eyes drift to a collection of chocolate bars. He swipes one. “Huh. Works for me!”
Jon Bishop finally catches sight of a familiar piece of metal. “I knew you were here! I could feel it!” He triumphantly pulls his valiant shovel free from the collection.
Jon Bishop climbs out of the cart, tumbling over the edge. “Complete agaa-uagh!” He works his way off of the ground. Nobody saw, so, he didn't do anyhting.
Jon Bishop takes a few steps toward the exit, then pauses. The bikini top is still on. He struggles. “How the. . .hell..does this come off?”
Jon Bishop whips another shovel from his back and tosses that into the cart. That one is less important to him.
Jon Bishop uses his real shovel to try to pull the bikini loose. “Argh. . .it's made of titanium or something. . .”
Jon Bishop lumbers out. “Ahh shit. . .how do I explain this one to Merlin..”
. . .and later still. . .
Paint-pot calliaphone returns, and stops just inside the door. Something looks . . . different . . . to how she left it. She frowns, trying to figure out what.
Paint-pot calliaphone advances on her cart. The frown turns to a look of confusion. Did she leave it in that state? It's kinda hard to tell, but she doesn't think so. And . . . oh no. Bishop's shovel! Is gone!
Paint-pot calliaphone tries not to panic. It was only an old shovel, he can't be that attached to it, surely he won't mind. And anyway, look, there's this other shovel he can have inste- waitaminute.
Paint-pot calliaphone blinks at the shiny new shovel. Now where in the island did that come from? She scratches her head. Thieves that take shovels . . . she might not like, but she can understand.
Paint-pot calliaphone has more trouble figuring out thieves that leave shovels. And as for the chances of being visited by both in one day? Improbable island or no, that's weird.
Paint-pot calliaphone decides to sleep on it. Things always make more sense after a nap. Well, sometimes. Well, okay, often they don't make much sense anyway, but she's tired.
Paint-pot calliaphone flops onto the threadbare sofa, and is soon fast asleep, lulled by the paint-fumes still hanging in the atmosphere.
Paint-pot calliaphone steps out for some breakfast. She's gone some little while, and when she returns, she's brushing off signs of a struggle or two. But she seems cheerful enough.
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