Where the Place? Upon the Heathrow!

[bcholmes]

And so it was, in days of past, that BC was called upon to travel to a far and foreign land. And although she had made many long journeys, this would be her first voyage to these strange borders. The way would be dangerous. She would need to change ships in the port of Heathrow; this place was known to BC as a difficult port for travellers and all who counselled her told her of jouneys ruined by the unkindnesses of the Heathrowans.

But BC was not afraid. With many journeys under her belt, she felt up to the challenge. Almost immediately, the heavens did consipire against her, for no sooner had she arrived at the port of Pearson, than the Surly Agent of Departures did sneer at her and attempted to lure BC into the trap of the Check-In Line of Great Length. BC, however, had fortuitously obtained a key defense: the ticket of business class travel. Thwarting the Surly Agent of Departures, BC was able to negotiate the realms known as "Check-In" with skill, cunning and a bit of luck.

Her victory was short-lived, however, for her transport from the port of Pearson was delayed by causes unknown. Krakkens, possibly; or brigands? Who knew? It was clear, though, that her ship could not make course for Heathrow at the appointed hour.

BC surveyed the papers given to her by the one known as Travel Agent. The papers spelled out a dire truth: the captain of the other ship at Heathrow would be there for an hour and a half after BC's intended arrival time; the captain could wait no longer.

Fully an hour late, BC's ship set sail from the port of Pearson, and made best speed toward Heathrow. Though she could not intervene directly, BC willed, to the best of her ability, that the ship's sails be filled, that time would be made up. Her concentration initially elsewhere, she failed to notice the next threat to her journey: the feared Old Man of Neverending Verbiage. As the journey wore on, BC found herself tired and drained, yet unable to sleep. The aforementioned verbiage kept sapping her strength, yet never let her retire. Finally, relief presented itself. The Old Man captured one of the ship's stewards and began to convey the Amusing Anecdote of Previous Travel. BC seized upon the moment, and feigned sleep. By the time the Old Man looked back, her ruse was in place. Taken in, the Old Man sought out other prey.

BC's fears were realized, however. The craft arrived at Heathrow port at 25 minutes after seven bells. Fully an hour late. BC knew that the captain of the other ship could wait no longer than 5 minutes after eight bells, and it took 15 minutes more to deal with the ship's moorings. BC's schedule was finely constructed, with no room for error. If she could not get the the other ship, her voyage was for nought.

The moment the gangplank was ready, BC raced down, first in line. The Harbourmaster was a true Heathrowan; he cared not about BC's schedule -- there would be other ships, he felt. Racing along, BC discovered that she needed to take a tender to a different pier. Here is where the Heathrowan's laid their first attack. For they recognized that BC came from the distant land called Canada, and put in her way the one thing her nationality would not allow her to avoid: a line-up. Trapped at the end of a queue, she could see the tender pilot trying to find place for all the passengers. There were only a few in front of BC, and yet it was a matter of heritage that held her, transfixed in line.

Fortunately, the tender pilot lost sight of his true mission, and allowed a few more passengers on board. BC took the last spot in a tender filled to overflowing.

Within minutes she was at the front gates to pier 2. Unfortunately, this brought her face-to-face with the Heathrowan guard. The guard took a good, hard look at BC and her few packages. It was then that the villainy of her previous ship became fully clear. The stewards on the previous ship gifted BC with a package. At the time, it seemed a pleasant and cordial thing for them to do, but it was there, before the Heathrowan guard, that the true underhandedness of the gift revealed itself.

The package contained the one thing that Heathrowans fear and despise: small containers of balms, creams, salves and pastes. BC knew her options were limited. The guard were already practicing their snarled lips of intransigence. BC adopted a bearing of obeisance, and spoke conciliatory words. In the end, the guards relented, but BC had lost precious minutes. But the day was not yet lost. She needed to cross the bridge to the docks, and board the ship. It was almost eight bells.

There was one final challenge, however. The Heathrowans, bureaucrats all, demanded that proper papers be presented before she could cross the bridge. Where could she get these papers? From the captain's agent. They pointed vaguely in the direction of the nearby commons. She asked several vendors, and finally found the captain's agent, disguised as an Italian merchant. But once again: she would have to negotiate the Lengthy Queue of Voyagers. She attempted to sway the agent, using her Ticket of Business Class Travel. The agent was unsympathetic. Finally, BC blurted out that she was desperate to make the ship's anchor in five minutes. Relenting, finally, the agent produced the necessary papers, and BC ran, heart pumping, legs burning to the docks.

And, true, the captain was about to lift the gangplank, but held on for moments more, allowing BC to board.

And so it was that BC was able to travel to the distant land of Luxembourg, where counsels were given and information exchanged. Her mission was successful, although the Heathrowans, bitter at being thwarted, set up obstacles to make her return journey hellish. But a successful mission speaks for itself, and there was rejoicing in the streets, for BC did travel there, and back again, and lived to tell the tale.

Comments

[deepforestowl.livejournal.com]

roflmao! OMG this was awesome! Sorry to hear that Heathrow was a nightmare. I've never had problems going through there *knock wood* Welcome back!

[iamjw.livejournal.com]

This was too funny.

The Old Man of Neverending Verbiage. I believe I've travelled with him.

Once I got held up travelling from St. Andrews to Prestwick airport by an avalanche on the train tracks. Made it to the airport just as they closed the doors on the flight. They reopened them for me (apparently having teenage girls burst into tears is something the Scots try to avoid). I got on the plane, sat down and was doing up my seatbelt as we taxied down the runway.

[trinker.livejournal.com]

Goodness.

[futabachan.livejournal.com]

Yes, but where does the old man from Scene 24 fit in to all of this?

[tiger-spot.livejournal.com]

Wonderful storytelling!