The deal calls for 1 sovereign per room cleared, and 5 "rooms" specifically remain. There's the kitchen (where some of the automated cutlery could be a problem), the bedroom (where the White Knight fears a barrel-monkey infestation), the play room (where the toys sometimes get out of hand), the conservatory (with very scary scarecrows), and the bathroom (with any luck, free of any issues).
It's up to the travelers to decide which they'd like to visit first, or whether or not they want to potentially ruin a perfectly good day with more violence at all.
But first, the White Knight is in a celebratory mood, as he has just received a clockwork pigeon back from the White Court in the City of Charity that his petition has been granted: In return for the heroic rescue of the White Knight, Integra Wingate has been awarded honorary Chessman status (for ... supervising?), and is now considered a Pawn.
As part of the honor, a much larger clockwork pigeon has arrived, delivering the articles of office: a white cloak and hood, and a large illustrated book about the basics of warfare, Looking-Glass style (which doubles as a primer on the game of chess).
Looking over the roughly sketched map of the White Knight's Manor, Achilles ponders. "Once Harrison is awake, he and his monkey wrench should prove a decided advantage for the kitchen," he suggests. "In the meantime, maybe we should tackle another room. Which seems simplest?"
"I'd almost expect the bathroom to be the easiest, but with our luck, the only reason there haven't been any reports of dangers from there is because whatever minion the White Knight sent there got sucked up into the plumbing," the card reporter continues. "The play room sounds the simplest... or the bedroom, if you don't mind dispatching monkeys. Do you think we could leave Integra with the White Knight while we're sorting his house out for him?"
"Monkeys in a bathroom.. that could give them a lot of.. ammunition.." the Gryphon notes.
The White Knight volunteers, "Oh, certainly! I won't move from this spot! Integra should be perfectly safe."
"Assuming it's monkeys in there. What with the talk of the kitchen's automated cutlery running amok, and toys being a little too rambunctious in the playroom... Have you been 'improving' the toilets as well?" queries Achilles of the White Knight.
"Of course!" the White Knight says. "Why, it is I who introduced the wonders of automatic chamber pots to the Looking-Glass Lands. Not that the Chessmen were in special need of it, that is."
"That sounds like a crappy job," Harrison mutters from where he sleeps.
Integra looks scandalized at Harrison's ungentlemanly language!
"The poor rabbit can't help it, he was raised in a barn," teases Achilles.
"I just installed a gnu-matic auto-plunger," the White Knight declares proudly, "re-purposing one of my failed projects that was originally intended on commission for the Monarchy of Hearts. It seems that there was a mix-up, a transposition in the original request, but we eventually got that all sorted out."
The card hears 'gnu-matic' and interprets it as 'pneumatic auto-plunger'. "Hmm... Let's mark that as another one for the amazing Monkey Wrench of Immensity."
Scrabbling monkey-feet can be heard somewhere beyond the walls. Those simian scoundrels must be up to monkey business!
After many, many minutes of working the new cooking utensils, summoning the Knight's pantry and creating a truly amazing cloud of colorful odors, Griffin and Integra begin cleaning up the mess. "Okay, carrot cakes, some chicken soup and.. uh.. herbal biscuit.." the lionbird announces. "Should be handy."
"If you carrot all, you will have taste-tested them first," Harrison mutters.
"Marvelous! Are we having a spot of something to eat first before we set out then?" asks Achilles, reaching out for one of the carrot cakes.
GM Note: Fresh Adventure Cards were drawn for this session.
Integra proudly proclaims, "I helped! I made treacle tarts." Her "creations" look rather messy, but it seems she found some wax paper to hold them together, at least.
"It would be useful to get all of the monkeys in one place," Griffin notes, and turns to the White Knight to ask, "Is there a banana storeroom? I don't think I could make enough banana-cream-pies to lure them all here.."
Achilles switches his grasping target from Griffin's newly made foods to one of those-- they do look rather appetizing. "Thank you, dear, they look magnificent."
"Ah yes," the White Knight says. "The supplies are in the basement. I don't normally go there. I just leave it for my trusty Steed."
"And.. what is the nature of the device which inserts the monkeys into the barrels?" Griffin also inquires.
GM Note: Treacle (whether in a tart or not) grants +2 to Vigor checks for 24 hours. Multiple treacle does not stack the effect -- only the duration.
"Oh, I don't put them in barrels," the White Knight says. "They come that way! It was my idea to put everything else in barrels, too, so as to standardize the process. I can't say as the crows have been too fond of it, though. The best I as able to manage was just to send up a barrel of corn or bird feed, and then see how many crows happened to follow along."
Harrison pushes his hat up a slight bit from where he has been resting. "Thank you, I will have one as well," He notes as he sits up, then leans over, to take of of the messy tarts.
Integra happily serves the tarts all around.
"Oh, no, no, thank you dear," the White Knight says, looking a bit abashed as the tarts come around to him. "I'm afraid treacle doesn't agree with me. Or, that is, my beard, in any case." Yes, it DOES look like that could cause quite a mess if one isn't careful.
Watching Achilles eat must be a disconcerting effect: somewhere along the way, the three-dimensional treacle tart and its wax-paper container becomes a flat cardboard cutout version of itself grasped in his hand, and when he takes a bite out of it, it's rather like watching an animated illustration. He licks the crumbs off his fingers. "I feel fortified and ready to face the day!"
Griffin also tries one of the tarts. Tarts are tarts, after all. "So the monkeys arrive in barrels. And like bananas and wrenches.. hmmm."
"And business!" the White Knight notes. "They simply can't get enough of it."
"They like using the wrenches on delicate machinery, at least," Achilles opines. He notices the rabbit stirring. "Aha! Harrison's up. Fancy doing a little fine-tuning of some highly advanced culinary machinery?" he asks.
"In other words, breaking stuff in the kitchen? Sure, why not?" the rabbit answers after stretching and yawning. My does he have some large teeth.
"The kitchen it is, then!" the White Knight says, hopping up and looking quite eager to get this show on the road. Or this room on track. Or whatever metaphor or reality seems most appropriate. He reaches into the cabinet and yanks a few levers and turns some knobs. Mechanical hands pop through panels and the floor shakes. The parlor, it seems, is becoming something else entirely in short order.
"Well, then! Off we..." Achilles pauses, then peers at the controls. "If I were to press the 'Kitchen' button, that would transform this room into the kitchen, rather than allowing us to go to the kitchen, wouldn't it?"
"It's all a matter of perspective!" the White Knight declares.
"I wonder if the stove runs on gas," Griffin notes. "The notion of gas lines being involved in all this as well is a bit worrying."
The reporter moves over to the other side of Griffin's niece, clearly worried about her safety should the room shift in some particularly undesirable fashion. Like, say, cutlery flinging itself through the air. He readies his umbrella as a shield.
"Oh my!" the White Knight says, upon sitting back in his chair. "I quite forgot. The dining room is an entirely different location, so...." A panel opens underneath his chair, as it drops into the darkness. "Hullo! Look out belowwwwww!"
"Wark?" Griffin squawks at the sudden disappearance.
The mechanical hands pluck out the randomly-placed furnishings piled up against the walls, as the room's dimensions seem to be shifting a bit. The potted plants jammed into the corners wobble uncertainly.
Ace, warily watching his side of the room, looks around to see the White Knight no longer there. "Oh dear. It seems he's been called away to dinner!" he surmises.
There's an alarming ratcheting noise underneath the couches, as panels underneath them appear to be sliding away. Perhaps there are no couches in the kitchen?
"The white knight is so crazy even his plants are potted," Harrison quips.
"Ack, jump up, Integra!" Griffin caws as it looks like the couches are going to drop next.
Integra follows her uncle's warning, and leaps off of the couch. Fortunately, she has put away the wax-wrapped treacle tarts, or this would be such a mess. In the process, Integra bowls right into Achilles, knocking him clear of the dropping couch as well.
"Oof!" The card spins around a few times before getting control of himself well enough to set the little girl down on a clear space.
Griffin leaps forward, across the table to grab Harrison, who (having just woken up) was still in a lounging pose and in no position to move quickly enough.
"Wah!" goes Harrison.
The walls make a rolling motion as they slide inward, flipping over in a highly improbable way to reveal cabinets full of dishware and crockery and other fragile things that simply should have been shattered something terrible from the treatment. In the process, however, the remaining two potted plants are knocked over, and explode unsurprisingly (if nonsensically), destroying a couple of cabinets in the process.
"I say, this is a rather cramped little kitchen!" complains Achilles as he takes a step back from the inward-swinging walls and cabinets. "The White Knight mustn't have much in the way of helpstaff around here. I wonder who he has cooking for--" He pauses. "Well, perhaps that's why he's going to so much trouble to make himself an automatic sort of kitchen."
"Perhaps the Horse does the cooking?" Griffin suggests.
Achilles points out, "The Horse is a little attached to his carriage. Never goes anywhere without it. At least that I've seen."
As things change around, something resembling an overly complex stove ends up rising from the floor right beneath Griffin. A prep table arises in the center, and racks of hanging pots and pans and such descend from the ceiling. Pantry-stock cabinets arise along the south wall, and Integra is almost swallowed up by one of the cabinets as it's shuffling about and finding its place.
"Well, the answer is simple," Harrison notes from where he dangles from Griffinclaw, "The food cooks itself. The poor eggs have to beat themselves, day after day. Terrible, really. But such is the fate or a poor yolk, to be beaten and devoured."
The stove has an over-abundance of levers. In fact, just about everything does. There are chutes and pipes coming out of the walls, glass cylinders filled with slicing blades and spatula-looking items, and various other items that one had best not put one's extremities into, lest it be blended or pureed.
"Hjckrrh!" Griffin squawks as he finds himself sudden in the hot seat, so to speak, and hops down - letting March back to his feet as well.
"On order from the same place where the White Knight gets his barrel of monkeys?" wonders Achilles as he surveys the kitchen. "Well, Griffin, you're the cook-- where do you suggest we start?"
"That was very undignified, you know," Harrison complains at Griffin while smoothing out his clothing and making sure everything is still with him.
"Well.. sniff around for the smell of burnt monkey to start, I would imagine," the Gryphon notes, and tentatively looks into the oven.
It also appears that there has been quite a bit of business going on around here, of the monkey sort, if the banana peels are any indication. (Either that, or the White Knight was especially busy with banana pudding or bananas foster or some-such.) Amidst a tangle of levers on the stove, there is a gauge that shows a variety of settings. At one range of the scale, it says "Childproof." Another says "Standard." Another "Advanced." Another "Gourmet." And then at the far range of the scale, "Experimental," and then "Inexplicably Hazardous." There appears to have been a restraint built onto the scale, to prevent the lever from being moved over to Inexplicably Hazardous without first unlocking the controls, but it looks as if a wrench has been taken to it, and the dial has been moved all the way over to the extreme, then broken off.
No monkeys in the oven, though. Banana peels, yes. Monkeys, no. They may throw caution to the wind, but apparently crawling into ovens or blenders and turning themselves into foodstuffs isn't something they do on a regular basis, or the problem might sort itself out shortly.
"Well, the monkeys have clearly been here," says Achilles as he looks around, poking his umbrella's tip at a banana peel. His gaze shifts upward to the machinery and he shifts to a more defensive stance, moving Integra back behind him, toward Griffin and the prep table in the middle, so she's protected on two sides. "I say, that dial looks Inexplicably Hazardous."
Suddenly, the two pantry-cabinets pop open. Inside, it looks as if there isn't really so much storage of food as there are several input-chutes, where one might receive measured amounts of assorted ingredients. Each pantry contains a monkey, and judging from the sorry state (and the lack of some sort of containing cage), it looks as if they weren't supposed to be in there. One looks rather plump, with what looks like a banana-mash mess in his fur, mostly concentrated around his face, as it looks like he has been caught in the act of lapping up globs of banana-puree that exude from one of the ingredient-tubes. The other looks a bit gaunt, nibbling on a banana peel. He must not have smacked the correct levers in the cabinet.
Hungry Barrel Monkey's eyes widen upon seeing all the people -- or could it be all those levers and dials? A mad look comes to his eyes. He leaps out of the pantry, screaming, and rushes over to the central counter area. He begins turning dials, pulling levers, and generally going berserk.
Fat Barrel Monkey just lets out a loud burp, and seems quite content to stay where he is, and watch the mayhem.
"Good lord, that can't be good," yelps Achilles, but the starving monkey has managed to avoid his immediate reach.
One of the drawers pops open, marked "Experimental Cutlery -- DO NOT OPEN." Out of it flies what appears at first like a beautiful butterfly, with colors of magenta and violet and cobalt blue. It's a rather large one, and as it flutters around Integra and Achilles, it soon becomes evident that this is no ordinary butterfly. It's a piece of cutlery. It is a ... butterfly knife!
"Sorry, Monkey, I think I'll put a wrench in your shenanigans," March says as he hefts the large wrench they collected earlier and makes for one heck of a swing at the dial-turning bugger! "I know this isn't cricket, but then neither are you!"
The reporter opens his umbrella as a shield, trying to draw its attention! "Mr. Butterfly Knife!" he calls. "What's your position on Parliament's discussion of a prohibition against concealed weaponry?!"
The hungry monkey is no match for the wrench, when wielded by a very mad hare. It is out of the action.
The butterfly knife appears to be severely disturbed by the reporter's line of questioning. It shivers as it flutters in place. It doesn't say anything, but if it could, why, surely it would be lamenting, "No, they can't ban me! How positively DULL of them!" Or something like that, probably with a lame pun involved.
"Keep your head down, Integra," Griffin urges as he tries to fix the dial setting on the bizarre stove back down to the more comforting 'Childproof' option.
Immediately, all of the slicey-dicey, very dangerous-looking implements begin to shutter up and lock themselves away. Oh, and how some of them looked positively ANXIOUS to show all of their fully-automated features to everyone in the room!
The reporter makes more pointed jabs at the butterfly knife with his umbrella, keeping it on the defensive both literally and interrogatively as only an investigating reporter can. "Where were you the night of November the Fifth!? Who was that rather rounded spoon that you were seen with last night? Are you now, or have you ever been employed in the attempt to perform assault on a person with deadly weaponry?!"
Integra looks as if she'd very much like to get away from the butterfly knife, as much as it would leave her exposed. Still, Achilles's cover seems to give her the opening she needs. Without a moment's hesitation ... she runs away and tries to hide between Uncle Paisley and Mr. Johnson.
Not only do all the slicey-dicey contraptions shut themselves away, but it seems that the automated processed-banana dispenser (surely that can't be its dedicated purpose?) shuts down as well. Perhaps the processor that was turning the bananas into mush came to a stop, thus ending the goop parade. The Fat Barrel Monkey is distinctly dis-gruntled about this (grunt!) and turns his baleful eyes upon those interlopers in the kitchen. "Ook OOK!" he says, quite deep and ominously (despite his small size).
"Are you going to take that from a mere MONKEY?" yells Achilles as he catches sight of this. "You can RISE above his humble station!"
"I have defeated the Dial of Doom," Griffin squawks. "My confidence soars in the face of ape-athy."
"Why, with just your own talons, you could peel him like an orange-utang!" suggests Achilles.
The card adds after a bit of thought, "Not recommended viewing for children beneath the age of fifteen."
Rather than actually use his talons directly on the monkey, Griffin raises his rifle. "Cover your ears, Integra," he says, before firing at the plump simian across the room.
Integra slaps her hands over her ears just in time.
The shot bores right into the monkey, even as it is in the middle of widening its eyes and baring its teeth and making it quite evident that as soon as it pops out of this pantry, it's going to have some gryphon-snacks, followed by some hare, and then maybe clean its teeth with a folded card. But it won't have that chance. There is a tremendous explosion of banana-goop (and monkey bits) that obliterates the pantry in the process.
"Blargh, bloody-banana-foster!" quips Harrison as he ducks just in time to avoid the spray of gooey glorp flying through the air!
Integra screams like a little girl!
Inspired by Griffin's example, Achilles dives behind the prep table, then attacks the butterfly knife from a different angle! As he winds up a lunge, he yells, "You call yourself a butterfly knife? Then answer me one simple question... what have you done with the butter!"
The Butterfly Knife is completely taken off guard by this scurilous implication!
The semi-mechanical/semi-magical animated knife tailspins down and then firmly embeds itself in the cutting board (which, according to its dial-settings, is fully capable of cutting boards, by the way). Its handle halves snap together, folding up its wings as it collapses in on itself. Sproing! Something pops loose and clatters away. The knife appears to be dormant.
Suddenly, the kitchen is very, very quiet. No monkeys. No killer cutlery. No wall-mounted blending and pureeing devices anxiously awaiting the chance to slice up anyone within reach.
"Well then, Dining Room?" Griffin says. "The Knight should still be there in his chair. I do hope he has a mechanical organ grinder that he simply forgot to mention."
Mounted on one of the walls, a voice comes through a trumpet-like device near the cabinet. "Well done! Well done indeed! By my observations, I would call the kitchen well and thoroughly cleaned!" It appears to be the White Knight, judging by the voice, so he must not have fallen to his doom after all -- or, at least, not a very immediate doom.
Achilles glances around the kitchen. "If he has an organ grinder, it's probably in here," he quips.
The mechanical arms around the sink begin grabbing everything within reach that is covered in monkey-banana goo, giving them a good scrubbing. Mechanical hands helpfully grab up loose items in need of a good cleaning, putting them in the sink for the sudsy treatment.
"Aye. We should move on. Before the possessed spaghetti decides to noodle us to death," Harrison agrees.
"I'd suggest we clean up a few other rooms first," the card suggests, keeping out of reach of the mechanical hands. "Playroom with toys, monkeys in the bedroom, a scary conservatory, or perhaps the bathroom... With its problems that I cannot describe in a family friendly publication?"
"Oh yes!" the White Knight says over the trumpet-phone. "Feel free to help yourself to any cookware you might find useful. I think I might be replacing the lot of it."
Glorp Monkey-banana goop drips from some of the cookware hanging from the ceiling. Perhaps this could factor in the White Knight's decision to get new cookware.
"I suggest bathroom next. It isn't likely very large and should clear with relative ease," Harrison points out. "Plus if we stay much longer we'll probably all need it."
The reporter eyes the butterfly knife, but decides to stick with his trusty umbrella. "We can meet the White Knight in the dining room when we get a few more rooms cleared," he suggests. "We can meet him there... Or rather, we can punch the 'dining room' button and his chair will be brought here." He nods at Harrison's suggestion. "Let's hope it's just a simple mechanical problem with his pneumatic auto-plunger that our Griffin can address."
Before changing the room out, Griffin takes his chances, and checks out the remaining pantry cabinet (quickly deciding against further investigation because there has been a MONKEY in there for a long time), but then had better luck checking out the herb cabinet (ignoring the activity on the prep table, as it seems the monkey has been replaced with some freshly-chopped mystery meat while he wasn't looking).
In the herb cabinet, Griffin finds a wealth of spices that could be invaluable for giving a little extra kick to his cooking recipes -- even the sweets, if done correctly. He also finds some very slippery bananas that have been stashed away.
GM Note: Griffin has found a store of 6 units worth of Magic Ingredients. Magic Ingredients are NOT Magic Foodstuffs, and do not use up "slots." Rather, each unit you expend grants you a +1 to your Cooking roll. The exact nature of the herbs and spices is left vague; you have whatever is useful for your recipe.
GM Note: You also find a bunch of Slippery Bananas. Each one is a Magic Foodstuff, working as the stun effect, but with a pre-determined casting roll of 8, and defended against by Agility rather than Vigor at -2. Used by eating the banana and tossing the peel, which makes a whole Medium Burst Template area very slippery (as victims are inexplicably drawn to slip on that ONE banana peel).
GM Note: Addendum -- 4x Slippery Bananas.
GM Note: Subdued Butterfly Knife -- dagger, throwable 6/12/24, damage Str+d4, +1 to Throwing to hit, automatically returns to thrower (unless you do something crazy like throw it into a lava monster or a sticky tar-beast) -- Malfunction on 1 on Throwing or Fighting -- Butterfly Knife becomes persnickety again and begins attacking on its own, randomly until subdued.
Tucking the herbs and spices into their cooking supplies, Griffin eyes the bananas. "Hold on to these, Integra," he says, passing her two of his servings of treacle along with one of the Slippery Bananas. "These bananas can be very useful," he tells the others, taking two for himself. "Someone grab this last one. You eat the banana and then throw the peel. Couldn't be simpler," he notes, maybe forgetting that he has a beak now.
The card takes a banana, leaving a small jar of treacle in its place. "Could be handy in a tight spot," he concludes. "And bananas are scientifically known to be quite nutritious as well!"
Harrison pockets the, er, knife ... for now. He also swaps some treacle for a banana, because, well ... banana. It's fun to say.
Integra, not wanting to let anything go to waste, takes the leftover banana, and all of the left-behind treacle. (More tarts for later!)
"So, off to the bathroom then?" asks Achilles as he studies the controls in the cabinet.
"I hope it's clean," Griffin says.
"Aha! This panel of switchs should switch the adjacent room instead of this one," Achilles determines. He sounds a little uncertain about this however, as he reaches out and prepares to jab the switch marked 'Lavatory' in the second panel.
The Cutting Board, meanwhile, starts turning the mystery meat bits into little hors d'ouevres, wrapped in a fine pastry with some chopped scallions, ready to be baked in the oven.
yoink! Achilles, in the interest of scientific investigation, flips the lever.
"Mm, mystery meat muffins," the paper reporter says as he notices the Cutting Board's antics, grievously misidentifying the type of pastry in process. Well, that's why he's not the cook.
The southern doors slam shut, and behind them a lot of shuffling and grinding and hammering and plumbing (?) can be heard.
"We are about to embark on a bowl battle of the utmost proportions. Pots will be broken, pipes wrenches, and linens fouled. But, it is all in the name of ... well, something," March mutters.
Ace adjusts his bowler hat. "In the name of winning a sovereign! For the Queen!" he pronounces to Harrison.
"Munkey Muffins," Griffin notes to Ace. "Primate Puff Pastries."
"Ape-itizers," the catbird concludes.
Achilles considers. "That does sound rather delicious. I think I'll try one once they've been baked properly. Wouldn't want to eat them raw, you know. No telling what sorts of pests those monkeys were carrying about."
At last, the southern doors open up again. The hall looks largely unchanged ... except that there are now a couple of signs hanging just outside the main door. One reads "Gentlepawns." The other reads "Queens."
"I forget that you served in Africa for awhile.." the Gryphon mutters.
Achilles, perhaps placing too much trust in the kitchen now being "child-proof", sets off to investigate the newfound doors, the one marked 'Gentlepawns'.
March eyes the room marked 'Queens'. "There are some things men were not meant to know," he concludes, following behind Achilles.
Integra blinks, considering the doors and their writing. "Oh! This must be the little ladies' room for Wonderland people," she guesses. "Unless it's only for Queens ... which would seem rather cruel."
"It's probably best if.. ah.. do you need to visit the Little Queen's room, Integra?" Griffin asks his niece.
As Achilles approaches the Gentlepawn's room, something nags at the back of his mind -- something about the acoustics, perhaps, or the nature of the machinery, or, as he pushes the door open just a little, the way the flickering lighting casts shadows. He gets the impression that perhaps there's ... something ... around the corner.
The card raises a hand to Harrison, motioning him to come closer. "Might be an ambush," he whispers. "Get ready to cover me, I'm going in."
"Not just now," Integra whispers to her uncle.
The Gryphon watches the other two men, and eyes the ready-to-bake trays of food. Would monkeys be interested in it, he wonders? (He's pretty sure the crows would like it, but they're not the issue at the moment).
The reporter fishes out a shaving mirror from his travel bag and uses that to try and get a better view of the interior. If it's a deadfall, rushing in would be the worst thing to do... But if there's an ambush, they might notice his actions. It's a gamble either way!
Struck by inspiration, Achilles fishes out the shaving mirror from his kit, and holds it just around the corner, with the door cracked open just so. As he rotates it, he gets a glimpse of the intimidating-looking "automatic-chamber-pot" (a nightmarish version of a water closet with a few too many bits of machinery, inspiring horrific thoughts about just HOW automatic it might be), a fairly innocuous-looking (if overly-plumbed) sink, a hungry-looking wastebasket (that must shred the contents and dispose of them on its own), and a perfectly normal-looking mirror flanked by flickering gas-lights to illuminate the vanity. At the far end, however, is an enormous and overly-mechanized bathtub -- but what is especially strange is that it looks like it has been merged with some sort of wildebeest.
"..." Achilles appears at a loss for words. He shows Harrison.
Or, that is, it looks as if a large mechanical gnu has been worked into the machinery. A large mechanical gnu that bears a frightful resemblance to a machine of destruction, by that Gatling fellow long ago. It must be ... a Gatling Gnu.
March moves in closer behind the card. "Does it ever worry you that your back up is a bunny?" he has to ask.
"Any monkeys doing business in there?" Griffin calls out from the kitchen.
"Also, if I find I need to go later, I'll just use a bush outside," he concludes after seeing the horrors that lie in wait in the bathroom.
He being March.
"Not as long as it's you, I've always had immense faith in you, rabbit or not," Achilles whispers back. He makes hand signals to Griffin. "I'll distract the beast, you deal with the wastebasket. Griffin, cover us in case something else jumps out to attack us."
"Deal with how exactly?" March asks.
"Same way you dealt with the monkey!" Achilles kicks the door open and charges in, besetting the lavatory lurkers.
After reloading, Griffin moves closer to the door, rifle at the ready.
"Taking out the trash then!" Harrison says as he charges in after Achilles. The huge wrench is raised, ready to cause chaos, havok and destruction. "Cry 'bloop' and release the piping of war," he cries.
Bullets of extra-hard scrubbing SOAP shoot at the Card as he charges bravely into the lavatory, exploding with bits of lavender freshness against the walls in his wake, but the Gatling Gnu is too caught off guard to properly train its spinning cannons of soapy doom upon him!
"You shall molest gentlepawns with your girly fragrances and unhealthily frequent baths nevermore!" yells Achilles as he lays into the Gatling Gnu with his umbrella, using it to shield him from its blasts, then ducking beneath its line of fire to try and sever the lines that supply it with... Steam, electricity, gas, whatever makes it go!
In a flurry of soap, bubbles, hot steam, and metal shrapnel, the Gatling Gnu is no match for the infuriated Card! A furious but brief battle ensues, and finally it's clear that there's nothing much Gnu to be found here.
However, thanks to a side-effect of the soapy violence, Achilles now smells zestfully clean.
"Argh! I smell like a lady's calling card," protests Achilles as he struggles out of the mess.
The wastebasket gnaws menacingly, but it dares not attempt to dis-Card Achilles.
In fact, it seems like the wastebasket really has no mobility whatsoever. It is most likely of no threat to anyone, save for anyone who should stuff an extremity into it. Probably the "discard" lever should be switched back to "off," however, to stop that incessant and pointless gnawing sound.
"Don't forget to wash your hands, Ace," Griffin calls, and looks to the door of the Queens' room.
Seeing as he has nothing that requires immediate bludgeoning ... he just kicks the wastebasket's off lever with his foot.
He being MARCH
Click. It's much quieter in here now. It being the lavatory.
Achilles wipes soap from his eyes. "I think... I need a clean-up from that clean-up," he says to the others, trying to dry himself with a towel if one is handy. "Griffin, March, perhaps you should investigate the other room in case it has undergone similar... 'improvement'?"
"Your improved smell almost makes up for your scary face," March tells Ace as he hefts the wrench back to his shoulder.
"Hmmm, I wonder if it's ever even been used," Griffin notes, and tries to nudge open the door with his rifle and bayonet, in case an angry towel-rack is lurking.
Achilles grumbles about uppity rabbits, even if he did just confide that there's no one he'd rather have covering his back scant seconds ago.
The door to the Little Queens' room creaks open. There's a squeak and a scurrying sound. A rat, perhaps? That didn't seem to happen when the door to the Gentlepawns' room was opened....
"I hope there isn't a leak in the rat pipe," Griffin notes, and pushes the door open further before risking his head.
Click-click-click. DING! Something sounds inside the bathroom. Then there is a plop and a sound of something like a marble rolling on a track. Dropping. Clattering. Something's going on behind the walls, it seems.
The bird's feathers poof out a bit. "Something is happening. But.. I honestly have no idea if it is normal for ladies' room to do this or not."
"The what pipe?" asks Achilles from the gentlepawns' room as he scrubs his hair with a fluffy white towel.
Suddenly, a little mechanical card-cut-out hand pops out of a panel on the door and swings down to point at the sign that clearly says "Queens," accompanied by a ring-ding-ring-ding that sounds rather like a bicycle bell.
"Oh, I get it. There is a rat in there that is scared of men. So if a man opens the door, it panic,s hits a ball and that ball makes the sign pop out," Harrison reasons. "So, we just need to put Griffin in a dress."
"Ah.. I think it uses a recognition rat to check for gender," Griffin says. "Which means it must be all working properly and there is no need to investigate it further.. right?"
The reporter says from the other bathroom, "Send Integra in, have her test it and see if everything is working fine."
"Ohno. You're not getting out of a dress that easily," Harrison quips. "We want to see you under a bit of duress..."
"Well, if it's safe," Integra says, "I want to see if there are any nice doilies and hand-soaps in there."
"Oh! Hmm," March says as he eyes the sign. "Queens. Integra," he says to the other two. "Alice ..."
Achilles, more dry and less stained by soap than before, finally manages to reach the entrance of the bathroom. "What, you think Queen Alice is in there?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Our Integra's not a Queen yet."
"I.. don't feel all though confident of sending a child into a dangerous bathroom by herself," Griffin notes. "Maybe she could just peek inside?"
Integra, who has worked her way up just behind Uncle Paisley, and who is standing on her tippy-toes, seems to be on the verge of doing just that if only the big bird-lion creature were a little out of the way.
March rubs his long face. "You lead take them to water..." he mutters. "No, if we wish for Integra to become a queen, perhaps using a room for a Queen might start the process."
You can lead them to water...
Achilles points out, "The White Knight's been alert to whether we've successfully cleaned up each room as we go, so if he hasn't spoken up yet, there must be something left to deal with in there." He looks over at Harrison, then ohs! "I see! It might be just where Integra needs to start."
Griffin reluctantly steps aside for the girl.
Integra rushes back to the kitchen (which is now largely free of monkey-banana-goop, as the mechanical-hands have been busily at work cleaning), and says, "Oh! My box from the Queen is still here!" She opens it up and pulls out the white hooded cloak and dress. It doesn't really look large enough to disguise anyone of Griffin's size, or Achilles. If anyone, it would only probably fit the small Hare.
March's ear twitches.
"Err, how do you tell a girl pawn from a boy pawn?" Griffin wonders as he sees the hood and cloak.
Integra looks at the dress, then to the hare. Suddenly she breaks into a wide grin. "Oooooo! I have an IDEA!"
The card leans over to whisper to Harrison, "Should we push Griffin in there? Or..." He feels the atmosphere suddenly grow colder.
"Why do I suspect I won't like this idea?" March asks.
"Look! Mr. Bunny is almost my size!" Integra announces. "And I already have a dress. Maybe Mr. Bunny could go with me, and hear if there are any dangerous things in there?"
"Yes, I knew I wouldn't like it," Harrison mutters as he rubs his forehead.
"Well.. March is the most fetching of us.." Griffin mumbles.
"But you'd look so CUTE!" Integra insists. "And I have ribbons!"
The reporter considers. "It might work," he admits. "Would it help if I solemnly swore not to write about it for the Times, Harrison?"
"It might help," March says. "Maybe. Griffin also has to promise to not say a word."
Achilles adds, "No commemmorative confections either."
"Ooo! If I gave you a parasol, you might look just like Miss Rabbit!" Integra insists. To anyone else's eyes ... no, no he really wouldn't.
"I will close my eyes if you like," the bird says.
"Unless you hear shredding or chewing or girlish squeals and cries for help," appends Achilles. "In which case you are to open your eyes so that you can shoot straight and not hit Harrison or Integra."
Integra seems to have taken this as approval for her idea, as she promptly starts trying to help the Hare get "dressed up," humming cheerfully to herself as she does so.
March's left ear twitches again. He extends his right hand to Integra. "Fine. I'll do it," he relents. "I'll save some dignity by changing next to the giant Gnu of doom. Maybe it'll cancel out some of the damage to my stance as an upstanding man."
"Hoo-ray!" Integra declares, as she starts pulling out ribbons. "What do you think would look better? Pink or lavender?"
"Seeing as how either one will do horrors to my standing at the card club ... I'll just let you pick," March tells the child. Granted, half-wearing a dress isn't doing wonders for that either. Nor is learing the 'joys' of how dight dresses are cinched sometimes. At some point he ends up looking longingly at his coat and hat.
"For his golden-brown complexion? Hmmm, I would suggest the pink," Achilles suggests distractedly.
"Not helping, Ace," Griffin notes.
The card protests to Griffin, "What? Haven't you noticed Harrison always prefers to look his best?"
Pink it is! After a bit of work, Integra has March all dressed up, and he'd best be careful, because it isn't too much to imagine that she might find other excuses to dress him up in strange outfits in the future. He might be able to pass for a lady bunny, perhaps, to the right eyes, but it's a wonder how anyone tells what's what in this land, considering all the bizarre things that might very well be living, intelligent creatures here.
"The moment we're done, I'm taking this off," March insists. "I'm not a dress-up doll..."
"Aww!" Integra protests, but quietly.
Achilles reassures March, "You make a very good one though."
"I feel silly and 'pretty'," March comments rather dryly. That one left ear of his, the one with the pink bow, twitches.
"Just keep your wits about you, man," Griffin says, eyes closed.
March almost sticks his ears in, but seeing as how he's quite attached to them, he borrows Achilles mirror and uses that to see around the door first. Granted, it also means he sees himself ... and cringes.
Achilles whispers to Griffin, "What do you think? Is pink his color or should Integra have gone with lavender?"
As Harrison explores the room with the mirror, he finds that it is pretty much a mirror image of the other bathroom, but much more ... girly. Or, at least, it looks like what a man might put in a bathroom if he thinks it's meant to be girly. There are lots of flowers and there's lots of perfume, lots of lace and doilies, and such, to a ridiculous extreme. Even the matching Gatling Gnu in the bathtub has ribbons tied in its ... barrels?
"I'm not looking," Griffin replies.
"There is another Gnu gun thing in there," Harrison whispers to the others in a horror-filled voice. "And it is so ... so ... flowery! Pink everywhere. And doilies."
Fortunately, the vaguely gnu-shaped mechanical monstrosity appears not to have noticed the Hare peeking in ... and the afraid-of-men rat detection device appears not to have been triggered.
"Oh!" Integra whispers, sounding pleased, innocent to the true horror of it all.
"Anything out of the ordinary?" Griffin asks, again displaying that he doesn't know if gnus are normal in such situations.
March smacks his be-bowed head. "Of course," he says, turning and heading back to the other bathroom. He's still wearing the dress, of course. "We can just examine the other Gnu and find its off lever," he explains.
"B-b-but ... GENTLEPAWNS!" Integra squeaks, as she sees the Hare heading over to the "mens'" room (or equivalent).
"Integra .. I'm not a real girl," March points out, sighing. "But ... Griffin, Ace, will one of you chech the machine please?"
Achilles defers to Griffin, as being more mechanically inclined than he.
"I'll look," Griffin says, heading into the men's room for the first time. "Egad, what happened to this.. uh.. thing?" he notes over the damaged gnu.
The card regales Griffin with a battle story about how he charged in heroically, while it fired soap bullets at him all the while, and for a while, its defense of foamy lather seemed impenetrable, until he managed to figure out the right timing in its attack pattern to duck right under its lavender fragrance sweep to take out its intake pipes.
March shifts about this way and that and adjusting the bizarre outfit he's wearing. "It's a good thing no one else can see me right now," he says, "I would never live this down."
"I'm sure any woman would swoon over hearing of your besting of a soap dispenser," Griffin comments as he picks through the machine's remains for something like an on-off control.
Griffin, after some probing -- alas, without the proper tools to do any further disassembling -- finds a hook-up where it looks like there's an inlet for the steam that motivates this thing -- though, quite frankly, a lot of this defies any normal understanding of mechanics, with quite a few "black box" mechanisms that one might fear, if one were to pry them open, would just explode in showers of gears and far too many parts to actually fit back together again. In any case, at least on the greater level it seems to follow some basic adherence to mechanical laws in enough places to grant a general gist of how to make it stop working.
"Soap is no joke when it's aiming for your eyes at over twenty miles an hour!" exclaims Achilles. He pauses at March's statement. Did Griffin promise not to take any pictures either?
It looks as if one were to attack at this point where the steam pressure feeds in, and cause a leak, there's a safety valve that shuts off, so as not to fill the room with scalding steam that would sear anyone unlucky enough to be in the tub at the time (and yet lucky enough not to be riddled with soap pellets by the gatling gnu -- but that's another story entirely). By focusing on that point and ignoring the heavy structure of the Gatling Gnu entirely, it should be a fairly simple matter to bring it to a quick halt.
"I think the steam lines feeds in through the one of the rear legs," Griffin calls. "Damage it and the whole things should automatically shut down."
Achilles adds, looking over Griffin's shoulder, "Good luck, Harrison. Remember, if you bite it, we'll have to go in after you and then we'll have to deal with what happens if a gentlepawn dares invade the hallowed space of queens."
"And whatever you do, don't ruin Integra's new dress," the Gryphon adds. "She'll need that!"
March does something he never thought he would ever have to do in his current life. He has to hike up the hem of his dress and tie it off, then readies the wrench. "For those of us about to be clensed in the Queens's room, we ... well ... if I die. Please, please please do not inscribe this on my tombstone," he asks the others. The 'doe' then tiptoes to the door, and tries to sneak in to make an all-out attack on the gnu's leg! It's a good thing the dress didnt' have high-heels. Can you imagine those feet in heels?
Achilles gets in position at the door, ready to charge in and back Harrison up if the battle looks to be going the worse for him.
The gatling gnu is caught totally off guard, its pink ribbons around its barrels only slightly fluttering from the breeze of the privy door being thrown open.
The wrench swings with all the force a bunny can muster! It's impressive and the clang that echoes will be the stuff of legends. So will the rather smug-look on March's face, for that matter! It's a real pity it's a moment that can never be spoken of again, because right now March, in dress and bow, is making for a rather pretty image of doe wielding one heck of a wrench! Why, in some shops in the red lamp district of a rabbit town .... they might even sell woodcuts of such an adventuresome doe! And this is something March realizes when he sees himself in the mirror. The hare deflates; and his ears go lop. And ... as a final insult to his manliness, a final hiss of steam from the Gnu blows one of his ears over the bridge of his twitching nose. "I hate all of you," he mutters.
Integra skips in. "Ooooooo!" She rushes around, enjoying all the lacy things and excessive pink and frilliness.
Achilles cheers! "That's one for the Queen," he says enthusiastically.
From the kitchen, it sounds like the White Knight's voice over the trumpet-tube. The words can't be made out clearly from here, but it sounds congratulatory. There's no telling how he can detect that the area has been cleared. Maybe it involves easily-frightened rats.
"Can I take the dress off now?" March whimpers.
"Not in the Queens' Room!" Integra protests. She checks the medicine cabinet.
Achilles grins. "What? But you look so natural in it!" He steps aside so March can go to the Gentlepawns' Room to change.
"For goodness' sake, yes," Griffin notes. "And be quick before Achilles begs me to take a photograph."
"That leaves the conservatory, the bedroom, and the playroom," the reporter says, clearing his throat-- he can't really swear the thought never occurred to him after all. "Take your pick, scarecrows, monkeys, or toys."
"Monkeys," Griffin suggests. "They cause more trouble the longer they're left to themselves."
A helpful mechanical hand deposits two "gold" sovereigns (which actually look suspiciously like white checker pieces) on an end-table, no doubt as a reward for clearing the kitchen and bathroom(s).
Once he's sure that Integra is safe in the bathroom, March heads out very quickly and removes the dress in a flurry of ferocious frills! Pity he forgot that one pink bow still on his left ear. Hopefully one of his friends will point it out in time,
The reporter secures the sovereigns before they get whisked away to be used in fine cuisine! That would be rich dining for sure.
"Smelling salts!" Integra reports from the Queens' room. She comes back out with her prize. "The White Knight won't mind if we borrow these, will he?"
"They may come in handy to revive one of us lunks if we happen to bite off more than we can chew," agrees Achilles. He checks to see how the ape-tizers are coming along.
"Hmmm," Griffin ponders, now that he can look at March again. "There's still something a bit off," he notes.
Mmmm-mmm! The hors d'oeuvres have been auto-baked by the kitchen.
"If we can clear another two rooms, that'll be a sovereign apiece," Achilles says as he samples one of the monkey munchies. Nom! "On anyone else, I'd say that pink ribbon was a bit daring, but you make the look work, Harrison. Are you going to keep it?"
March feels his ear, then yanks the ribbon off! "No. Never. Nein," the hare mutters.
"Really Ace, do you have do that in front of Integra?" Griffin asks, and tries to stick his pointed tongue out of the side of his beak.
"Do what?" wonders the card. "Bedroom's our next stop then! Let's see..." He investigates whether it can also be brought in as a separate room, or if this room needs to be switched.
"I cannot believe you ate that," March says.
The reporter looks over at March. "What? It tastes delicious! Just the right amount of seasoning." Looking back at the panel, he determines that yes, there does appear to be a lever for the bedroom. "Let's see... Should I switch this room, or that room?"
"Ooh! I could open up a side room," Achilles murmurs as he notices a whole section of levers and pull-chains dedicated to wall manipulation and 'household organization'.
Hearing no disagreement, the reporter yoinks a lever, then spins some dials and pulls a chain in an attempt to open up the right side of the room onto the master (or monkey?) bedroom.
"Prepare to distract monkeys with.. monkey puffs," Griffin advises.
The doors slam shut, and machines start grinding behind the walls ... and then the walls begin moving. Fortunately, they are moving outward, rather than closing in. In the distance, many eeks and ooks and shrieks and splats can be heard.
"If I get hit with anything stinky..." March remarks.
The reporter almost seems like a mad maestro as he manipulates the controls! "Ah-ha! This is better than anything at the World Expo! Truly revolutionary. There are just a few bugs... Or monkeys, I should say... in the works," he expostulates. "Once you master the controls, you can do anything with your own home!"
"Somehow I doubt having the rooms separate would take up so much space.." Griffin notes.
Achilles explains, "The genius of this is that any room can be any other room! You never need walk more than one door to get to where you wish to be... You could even transform your own immediate surroundings without having to take a step! With care, you could organize an entire room so it combines all the furniture you're likely to need in one spot. Truly, modular homes are sure to be the wave of the future!"
"I have them in London," Griffin claims. "They are called 'studio lofts' I believe."
"I think the ape-cookie he ate is getting to his brain," March remarks dryly.
The walls rattle and shake. At last, the wall sections to the east separate enough to reveal ... another door!
"Oh look, a miracle of science! A door," March quips.
"You just aren't ready to appreciate the future," grumps Achilles. However, his furniture fugue has run to its conclusion, so now it's time to see the fruits of his labor. He goes to listen at the door. This time they know to expect a barrel full of monkey... All that's left to see is just how big a barrel this was.
Down a short hallway, the door opens of its own accord, revealing what presumably must be the White Knight's master bedroom ... but, oh! What a sorry sight it is! The stench reaches Achilles first.
It is anything but white right now. Checkered would be too kind a word for it. In the middle of the room is a huge barrel, opened, and all around the room is filth, banana peels, more filth, torn fabric, wreckage, and filth. And monkey-stink.
"Thank you for not transforming this room to that," Griffin notes to Ace.
"I think I would prefer going back to wearing a dress, than go in there," March comments once he sees, and smell,s it.
Integra holds her nose, her eyes watering, once the aroma reaches the main part of the kitchen. A nose-shaped device makes a sniffing noise, and suddenly little mechanical fans drop with with mechanical pinwheels in a vain attempt to blow the foul odors out of the kitchen.
Achilles looks a bit taken aback and hurriedly tries to shut the door again. "I think..." He looks over at the others. "Griffin! Can you salvage those gnus we found? Turn them into weapons of mass cleanliness?"
Meanwhile, as if this wasn't enough to worry about, the gap in the east wall appears to have been matched by a gap in the WEST wall. Another room appears to have been revealed over there. Judging from the sounds of music boxes and such, it might well be some sort of toy room.
With a chorus of eeks and ooks, monkeys explode out of the barrel. Contrary to popular assumption, this does NOT look like much fun!
In the other room, the music plays out. The tune sounds familiar. "Round and round the cobbler's bench..."
"Great. Where are we going to find a weasel when we need one?" March laments.