Scaling the Pigeonholes
In the Bingo Hall Administration Offices
calliaphone finds the office empty. She shoves her hands into her pockets and is about to leave, when she spies something in her pigeon-hole. Huhh. She looks up. It is such an awfully long way.
calliaphone considers matters. Then looks round for inspiration. Aha! Shedding her pack with a clinkclank, she trots over to the lost property box, and starts tugging it towards the pigeon holes.
calliaphone uses the Administrator's chair to get onto the edge of the lost property box, and stands there for a moment, balancing with her arms out.
calliaphone 's balance is surprisingly good (when you consider what she's like on solid ground). But physics has other ideas. The lost property box tilts, under her meagre weight, and starts to overbalance.
calliaphone says, “eep”, and flings herself into the air, just as the lost property box tips over completely. She grabs hold of the second row of pigeon holes, and dangles there briefly, by her fingertips.
calliaphone watches a colour-tag escape from her pocket, as she scrambles to get her feet onto the first row of pigeon-holes. oh well, at least it wasn't a cigarette. priorities, priorities.
calliaphone clings, lemur-like, to the pigeon-holes. And then, carefully, she reaches up with one hand for the row above. Getting hold of it, she tugs herself up and begins the ascent.
calliaphone pauses, half way to the top. her arms and legs are shaking from the effort, and she's starting to get light-headed. the air is so very thin up here.
calliaphone adjusts her grip, to take a quick cigarette break. that should sort her out.
calliaphone puffs gently till her head is clearer. Then she stubs out her ciggie, on a bookmaker's bill in Bernard's pigeon-hole. And resumes her climb.
calliaphone makes it to the top at last, and flops onto the summit, wheezing and trembling. She glances down, and immediately her eyes and head start to swim. Bad idea, very bad.
calliaphone shuts her eyes, and reaches into her pigeon-hole. Aha. She pulls out a handful of mail and sorts through it. Dropping anything with too many words in. Not watching it flutter floor-wards.
calliaphone pockets a note from the bank, muttering to Cordy, “that Dave, he's a diamond, i'm telling you.” and then she rips open the last envelope.
calliaphone frowns, lips moving as she reads the message. Her eyebrows go up, and a dazzling grin breaks over her face. “OhboyohboyohboyHELLYEAH!” she starts to bounce, then remembers - probly best not, now
calliaphone stows the message in her pocket for safe-keeping, then turns to consider the trip back down to base-camp. Hrmmm.
calliaphone considers this problem for some time. Without reaching any helpful conclusions.
calliaphone decides she should maybe rest up a bit before attempting the descent. Curling up on top of the pigeon-holes, and hugging Cordy for warmth, she drifts off into uneasy sleep.
calliaphone wakes with a fright, her right arm hanging over the precipice. She scuttles back from the edge with an eep, before she's even remembered where she is. Slowly, she sits up.
calliaphone blinks, pieces together some memories, and groans. Why oh why couldn't she . . . have done something, anything else, today? Even fighting the drive would've made more sense than . . . this.
calliaphone pulls herself together, lights a cigarette, and puffs till she's calmed down. Then she carefully counts out her remaining cigs, and divides them into rations. Assuming it'll be a long stay.
calliaphone hugs Cordy and rubs at her arms. It's very chilly up here - must be new air conditioning or something. Nearly as bad as getting stuck in the fridge. Not that she'd ever do that. Course not.
calliaphone whistles some of her favourite tunes, to keep her spirits up. She doesn't whistle The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze however. She feels it would tempt her to recklessness.
calliaphone decides to get on with some correspondence, while she's up here. Gotta keep occupied, or else she'll just smoke all her cigarettes at once, and then lose her sense of time and self and humanity.
calliaphone digs out a fruit-scented felt pen from her pocket, and a wad of post-its. After much uhmming and ahhing and chewing of pens and sniffing of ink, she starts to write.
calliaphone finishes writing with more of a blot than a flourish. Then she wakes up Joni, who is napping on her ear, and gives him the post-it.
calliaphone 's canary gives a chrp of alarm when he realises the predicament she's got them into. But after a bit of persuasion he agrees to carry the message down to the Outgoing Mail box on Whipslaw's desk
calliaphone 's canary returns to his usual perch, and settles down to scold Callia more fully for her foolhardy ways. She rolls her eyes and mimics a beak opening and closing with her hand.
calliaphone says “Stow it Joni, or i'll be tempted to use you for rizlas.” The canary gives her a look but appears to take the threat seriously. He stows it.
calliaphone lights another cigarette, a full eight hours before she was due to smoke it. her stomach rumbles, and she finds her mind filling with thoughts of chocomilk, marshmallows and gummy bears.
calliaphone resolutely whistles Hello Dolly and tries to chivvy Cordy into joining in. But her fingers are clumsy on the keys, and he still isn't giving any help.
calliaphone siiiighs, and wonders what the rest of the clan is having for tea. Are they missing her? Will they send out search parties? With lunchboxes? She fixates on the lunchbox theme, and driffts.
Rawr wanders in carrying a ladder and looking around like he's been lost for the last several hours. He also appears to be wearing pajamas. What on earth?
Rawr looks around and about tentatively, wondering if he really should be in here.
Rawr realizes that he smells something vaguely familiar. Pigeons! Lots of them!
calliaphone hears something from far below, and stirs herself. Peeeering over the edge she sees . . . someone! Immediately, she raises the alarm, cupping her hands to her mouth. “HALP!”
Rawr looks up for the first time and is mightily impressed with what he beholds!
Rawr is extraordinarily surprised by the sudden shout for HALP! He looks up after regaining his own composure and spots a smallish lump of ra. . . err, person?
Rawr calls out; “Hello?” and then makes an impressively logical assumption; “Callia?”
calliaphone waves frantically, hoping she's been spotted. “HALP HALP CALL THE FIRE BRIGADE IT'S AN EMERGEN-uhh yuss it's me Callia.” she spies the ladder, and also does some hasty logic. “Rawr?”
Rawr nods, still not completely sure he's supposed to be where he is, but rather satisfied that he seems to understand what the ladder was for now. “Oh.” he sates as comprehension dawns.
Rawr begins to set up the rickety wooden A-frame ladder and manages to add; “Yep, s'me. You had both of us really curious about why you needed a ladder. . . err, well, me actually.”
Rawr finishes setting up the ladder and steps on the bottom rung experimentally. It makes a none-so-reassuring creak and Rawr shrugs. “Piper, y'see. She's deathly afraid of birds.”
Rawr scootscootscoots the ladder over towards a good spot beside a mysterious pile of boxes. “The pigeon gave her quite a fright.”
calliaphone watches proceedings with frank relief in her eyes. And starvation. Relief and starvation. She says, “Pigeon? Y'mean, there was an actual pigeon? I thought that was just Bernard's imagination.”
Rawr shrugs as he attempts to line up the ladder with the oddly-clad lass. “Well, it could be. Wouldn't surprise me if it were both and neither, honestly.”
calliaphone eyes the distance from her current perch, to the top of the ladder. It looks like it might just be possible, if she lowers herself, like . . . so. . .
Rawr of course, still has yet to realize he wandered out of the cottage in his pajama pants and not a lot else, save a rather large ladder.
calliaphone dangles, feet kicking in the direction of the ladder.
Rawr erms and decides to risk scaling the ladder. He does so. The ladder complains mightily as it takes his weight.
Rawr reaches the top of the ladder, pointedly ignoring the swaying, rocking legs and the not-so-insubstantial distance between himself and the ground.
Rawr reaches for the dangling Calliaphone, still not completely convinced that this is a terribly good idea.
calliaphone flails, barefooted. Her fingers slipping on the smooth wood of the pigeon hole.
Rawr sighs. Somewhere in the back of his head is a little unknown sensory organ telling him that in the near future he will feel pain.
calliaphone says, “ohfuck” as her fingers slip right off the wood. She drops.
Rawr closes his eyes and leaps for the falling woman, somehow managing to wrap his arms around her as she falls.
Rawr is suddenly struck, as they are falling, by the very real truth of the matter. That action did neither of them any good, whatsoever.
calliaphone is grabbed mid-fall. she manages an eep of surprise. and then another of alarm, as she realises she is continuing to fall. With company.
Rawr cannot help but take note of another fact, shortly before impact; falling with company is only very marginally better than falling wi- he's abruptly cut off by the edge of a desk.
Rawr 's mouth opens and the sound; “Nyah?” emerges. He's not certain that he meant to do this.
calliaphone wraps her arms around Cordy just before she is thrown clear of Rawr's arms and into the pile of spilled lost property on the floor. She rolls to a halt, winded but unharmed.
calliaphone sits up, a little dazed and unclear exactly where she is. She blinks round and sees . . . “Rawr! Ohmigodareyouok?”
Rawr blinks several times, willing the five spinning rooms above him to resolve into one. It works. Mostly. At least with two he can more or less understand what he's seeing.
Rawr looks over to Calliaphone and nods, blearily. It's difficult to tell if he understood what the question was. However, he seems to be picking himself up and getting to his feet rather well.
Rawr is, apparently, no stranger to head trauma.
calliaphone watches Rawr, wide-eyed, anxious, and apparently unaware that she has acquired a flat-cap on her head, somewhere between falling and now.
Rawr blinks another dozen-or-so times and finally seems to have recovered. At least as much as he ever does. “Well.” he says experimentally. It appears to have worked! He smiles.
calliaphone says, “uhh, should we get you some ice?” she also has some experience of the head-trauma business. she gets up, and offers him a shoulder to lean on.
Rawr turns back towards one of the Calliaphones. “Would you like to come along and take a look at the project?” he thinks he asks. What emerges might be more or less equivalent.
Rawr happily accepts the shoulder. “Ice would be nice, thanks.” he might as well say.
calliaphone smiles back, uncertainly. “. . .well. . .yes.” she concludes. and then, “thank you. for the ladder. and the landing. and, i'd love to look at the project. ice first though.”
Rawr glances back at the ladder, which appears to be laughing at him. Rawr glowers at it and decides to leave the thing here for whoever might need to get into trouble next. “Shall we?” he asks.
calliaphone says, “come through to reception” and steers Rawr thataways. He can sit down while she gets the ice.
Rawr is steered thataways.
In the Dormitory Wing Corridor
calliaphone passes through towards reception, steering a slightly-unsteady-Rawr, and wearing a familiar-looking flat-cap on her head.
Rawr is steered thataways through the dormitory wing. He appears to be walking a tad unsteadily, supported by a Calliaphone. He waves at, and has a nice conversation with a table lamp in passing.
In Reception
calliaphone appears in reception, with a Rawr leaning on her shoulder. She steers him towards a sofa. No, not that sofa. He's in no condition to deal with Frinton-on-Sea right now. “wait there” she says.
Rawr wanders wobbilyly into the reception area, escorted and mostly supported by a Calliaphone. He's upset that he didn't have a chance to finish his conversation with the fine fellow in the dormitories.
calliaphone vanishes, kitchenwards. she won't be long.
Rawr smiles at the nice sofa and introduces himself.
Jokerbot g_rock drips cake across the floor
Rawr blinks. He smells cake!
Rawr 's mind wanders. Perhaps cake smells him? Oh dear.
calliaphone dashes back into reception, carrying a bag of frozen parsnips. She offers this to Rawr. “couldn't find any actual ice” she says, by way of explanation. and then, “hullo G!”
Rawr happily accepts the parsnips.
Rawr , looks at the couch with some confusion as he places the parsnips upon his head. “I could have sworn there . . . never mind.”
Rawr looks back up to Calliaphone. “Have a map handy?” he asks.
calliaphone looks anxiously at Rawr. “errm . . . should i be taking you to a hospital tent? or home? where is home, exactly? and do you know what day it is, or who is prime minister … of somewhere?”
calliaphone blinks. “a map? i . . . yes, yes i do.” she's not tried that as a remedy for concussion before, but she's open to new ideas.
Rawr pokes a point east of Pleasantville. “That'll be home. The project's there too.” apparently Rawr's wits are beginning to return. Again, no stranger to head trauma.
calliaphone nods, rotating the map several times in her hands. “okay then.” she goes to heft her pack, only to find she's lost it. ah well, all it contained was empty beer-bottles anyway.
Rawr nods and walks, somewhat less wobbly, towards the exit. “This way, then.”
calliaphone thinks longingly of chocomilk and the tea she surely missed while she was stuck atop the pigeon holes. but first priority - get Rawr safely home. She follows him, as helpfully as she can.