Is Firday?

So hell fjordian minions, I dig it's Friday and alls, but I alzo been writin' a big chunka' the day, and really am aboot to stop draggin' my finders (err...typo, wuz suppozed to be fingers) over this here key-bored! However, since you stopped by...I'll leave yas wid a chunka da eggspanded Pigglesworth and Gimpson tale I'm workin' on.

(P.S. It's the second part of the last P&G story I wrote - like two weeks ago...)


Moments later they passed through Clarendon Square in a cold rain, stepping over puddles, and forcing their way through a mass of umbrellas and glum-faced workers on the sidewalk, who hurried towards home or some other warm locale. Not long after they were on Seymore Street, and hurrying towards the worn doors of a dirty stone building. Of course, describing the two doors Pigglesworth and Gimpson were hurrying towards as “worn” is an understatemnent. They had, after decades of use, been polished down to the bare wood by countless passing hands. There was not a fleck of paint within four feet of the handles, and inches of wood had been brushed away into smooth dimples, where one might find their hands naturally moving towards in order to open the portal. If one had done such a thing, one would have found the oak doors had become so smooth that it felt like balsa-wood to the touch. Of course, this was when it wasn’t wet.

Above and around the two doors, was an arch of massive granite blocks. Whether the
arch was ornamental, or entirely structural was a secret unknown to those who lived in the place, or frequented it. However, bolted to the huge key-stone of the arch was a rusty iron pole that projected out more than five feet. Fastened to it with chains, was a dripping sign that swung in the breeze with random squeaks, reading “Boddington & Son Billiard Room & Public House.”
Pigglesworth moved up the three steps to the door, and pulled it open. Gimpson, mere feet behind his companion, dashed through the opening first. Seconds later they were removing their overcoats and hats, placing them on overflowing hooks and coat-trees positioned near the door. They had barely completed the task, and turned towards the bar, when a grizzled sailor stepped directly in front of them. He had short gray hair stuck on a head some six feet-four off the ground. Under that was an ugly face that had seen many ugly things, and a body that was formed from years of hard labor, and capable of a few years more. He jabbed a huge finger into Pigglesworth’s chest.

“Well, if it isn’t Lieutenant Pigglesworth! I’ve got more than a few scores to settle with you from the H.M.S. Swift, and I’ll begin the accounting right now!”

With that, he formed a powerful fist as he pulled his arm back. Before he could continue his assult, there was a solid “thunk” whereupon a confused look passed his eyes, and he fell straight down to the floor, crashing upon his rump where he sat, reaching up to feel the back of his head. Behind him was reviealed all five-foot two of young Peter Boddington, who brandished a thick bottle in his hand.
“Ere then!” He said down to the sailor, “We don’t go for louts like you assultin’ our regular customers, much less good ones like Mister Pigglesworth and Mister Gimpson. So take your hide elsewere, or I’ll give ya another drubbing!” He pasued with the bottle poised in his hand, waiting to see what the sailor would do. The sailor continued to rub his head in confusion.
“GO ON THEN!” Peter said much louder.

The sailor moved unsteadily to his feet, and turned towards the door. He had however, either a very powerful grudge, or had decided he wasn’t going to take being humiliated in public by a 17 year-old boy. He spun quickly spun around – throwing a fist in a wide hook towards Peter’s head. In a heartbeat, Peter slipped inside the punch, and with a short overhand clubbing motion, smacked the sailor promptly in the face with the bottle. He fell backwards to the floor, and didn’t move. Peter turned back to Pigglesworth and Gimpson.

“Never you mind about him. I’ll take care of it. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Oh, that reminds me…father was just over at the bar chatting with some fellow and he says – not to me at the time, I was just passing through with some mugs, but I overhears him say, “What a pity my friend Mister Gimpson isn’t here, why he’s a man of science.” If he’s still there, you should say hello, I sure he would be happy to see you.” With that, he turned around without awaiting a single word, and with surprising strength, picked the huge sailor off the floor by the scruff of his neck – and back of his jacket, and heaved him through the doors, into the street.
“Jolly good show.” Said Pigglesworth to Peter, as they moved towards the bar.
“Why I enjoy coming here,” Said Gimpson, “always feel safe.”

Mr Pigglesworth and Mr Gimpson VS The Evil-Eye!

"I say Gimpson," asked Mr. Pigglesworth, "do you place any weight to the notion of the evil eye?"

Mr Gimpson put down his newspaper, and shifted his slippered feet on the ottoman, looking at his friend. "You mean those with a power over dark forces, with which they might becurse a man who crosses their path with an unsavory look?"

"The very same."

"I don't give any weight to it whatsoever. Why do you ask Pigglesworth?"

Mr Pigglesworth walked to the fireplace, which now held only glowing embers, placed a new log upon the grate, and used a poker to summon a small tongue of flame licking over the new wood. "You remember my pocketwatch had recently stopped?"

"Of course, you complained about it last weekend." Gimpson frowned, "Since you hadn't mentioned it, I had assumed you had taken care of it."

"Well, after mentioning it, I felt I shouldn't bring it up again. However, earlier today I went to the watch repair shop, to have it seen to."

"What was the problem?" Gimpson asked.

"A gear had broken a tooth, which had become lodged in another, preventing it from moving. It took all of five minutes to fix." Pigglesworth watched the fire, which was now happily cracking, and moved to sit upon the sitting chair opposite Gimpson.

"Well that's a relief." said Gimpson.

"Yes. However, outside the watch repair shop, I was accosted by five Gypsy urchins who wanted money."

"Not an uncommon occurrence for a dweller of a metropolis."

"Of course." Said Pigglesworth. He squirmed in his chair for a moment, then rose to fix himself a drink. He looked over at Gimpson as he poured scotch from a crystal decanter, "But as I was pushing my way through the rabble, and knocking their hands away from my pockets and other valuable items, an old Gypsy hag emerged suddenly from around the building, and in my haste, I stepped on her foot!"

"I say!" Exclaimed Gimpson.

"Quite." Said Pigglesworth as he took a sip of his drink. "So the woman says, "'Ere Govn'a, shouldn'a treat my youngins as tha they was the plauge! Alls they wanna is a Shillin'." Well, I responded by begging her pardon for stepping on her foot, but stated that I wasn't about to give anyone my money, especially after being molested in such an uncouth manor."

"Then what happend!?" Gimpson asked excitedly.

Mr. Pigglesworth continued his tale. ""Uncouth!" She spit at me, which she really did, as she had no upper teeth, "I'll show ye uncouth! 'Ave a gaze 'ere at my evil-eye!" at which she gave me the most foul look I have ever seen on a human's face."

"My word old chap," said Gimpson, "has anything unfortunate befallen you since then?"

Pigglesworth Moved back to his chair, settled down more comfortably than the first time. "Well, I was nearly run over by a dogcart near Trafalgar, a load of roofing slate fell from the top of Lloyds and crashed practically at my feet, and as I went to the shed for more firewood, I discovered a nest of possums, three of which made for my ankles! Luckily I wasn't wearing loafers."

"It does seem as if you've had your share of near things today. Do you give weight to this Gypsy woman's evil-eye?"

"Against my better judgement, I would guess there may be something to it." Pigglesworth stood up, refilled his glass, and had another sip. He stood by the fire for a moment, then drew himself up and spoke in a more defiant tone. "Now Gimpson, you know I'm a rational man, I believe in science and technology, and won't be drawn into believing in curses! But I daresay I see the old hag's look each time I blink. It's unnerving."

"Pixies!" Gimpson said.
"Pixies?" Pigglesworth looked over confused.
"Pixies. Gimpson stated as if he was done speaking about it.
"Gimpson," asked Pigglesworth, "what do you mean, Pixies?"
"You remember when I used to rent rooms out of the old Holdenhurst Mannor?"

"Of course, they were quite stately...gave you quite a respectable front I might add."

"Yes. But did I ever tell you why I left those stately rooms to take up diggings with you?" Gimpson asked knowingly.
"No."
"Old Holdenhurst Mannor was haunted will all manner of spooks. There was one horrifying apparition which frequented my rooms, which appeared in spectral form with a bloody stump for a neck, and carried it's head under an arm. The head would then hurl a huge vocabulary of insults at me, and then laugh madly."

"My god Gimpson, how often did this happen!?"
"Nightly!"
"You lived there for nearly two years! How did you maintain your sanity!?"

"Pigglesworth, it is why I mentioned Pixies. Whenever I saw things which I think should shake me, I knew that they were impotent in the material plane. However, they did scare me. But that's when I remembered the Pixies, small mischievous fairy creatures which mean no good to mortal man, but really capable of only small tricks. Each time I was faced with such things, I would just think to myself, it's only Pixies playing tricks. And that's how I mastered that! You should try it for yourself."

"You're saying, this old Gypsy hag who gave me the evil-eye was nothing more than a trick played on me by three-inch fairy creatures?"

"Yes! If you're believing in Gypsy curses, you may as well believe in Pixies. And if you believe that, I'd say a Pixie trick is a lot easier to deal with than a Gypsy curse."

Pigglesworth looked at his friend, pondered for a few moments, and without thinking drained the rest of his glass. It appeared that he had made up his mind, because he smiled slightly.

"Pixies!" He laughed, "Who would have thought I'd run into Pixies in the middle of London, right outside the watch repair shop! Gimpson, you've made me much happier. I am in your debt for your take on this affair."

"Not at all, my good man, not at all. Now then, either we spend the rest of the night making some manner of Pixie trap, or we could go to the billiard hall, and see if we can overcome Pixie mischief with the logical physics of solid balls being struck with a stout cue!"

"Capital idea Gimpson. I'll fetch my cloak."



Happy Friday

***Update! Incase you haven't seen the previous adventures of Mr. Pigglesworth and Mr. Gimpson, you can find them directly below!***

Episode One

Episode Two

Episode Three

Episode Four

Episode Five