“Soap Poisoning?”
It’s New Year’s Eve! What better excuse for another joint writing prompt? Unfortunately the most famous traditional song for this particular holiday has very few lyrics that anyone would recognize, and half of those are in Scottish. So we went another way with our inspiration. Can you guess it?
Once again, Jen goes first with Kent batting cleanup.
Next week we’ll return to our usual schedule of one prompt each. Happy New Year!
- all is quiet
- world in white
- with you night and day
- nothing changes
- be with you again
- under a blood red
- crowd has gathered
- arms entwined
- newspaper says it’s true
- torn in two
Tune in next time part 453 & 454 Click Here for Earlier Installments
“Soap poisoning?” I felt queasy. “Drinking soap wouldn’t be good for you, but surely it isn’t fatal.” I hoped.
“I’m just telling you what the autopsies show,” said YoYo. “And don’t call me Shirley.”
I belched again, releasing a fusillade of bubbles. Not wanting to take a chance with something so dire, I ran to my luxurious ensuite and made myself vomit into the alabaster commode. I rinsed my mouth and returned to my bedchamber where YoYo stood, looking puzzled.
“I think my Ovaltine was tainted,” I said. “It disagreed with me.”
YoYo pressed her ear against my stomach for a few seconds. “All is quiet now, General,” she said.
“I think that’s a good sign. Assuming I survive the night, what further duties might I be expected to perform?” I was beginning to wonder if the rank of general was purely ceremonial, and if I would be tasked next with parading around the world in white shoes or something equally meaningful.
“The Royal Contrarian Mountain Police will arrive this evening in their sled pulled by mountain goats. They will work with you night and day to determine who it was who poisoned your predecessors.” She crinkled her nose and shook her head. “But don’t get your hopes up for actual justice. These investigations are all for show, and nothing changes no matter what they uncover.”
I crossed the room to my wardrobe and began a perusal of the many uniforms it held. Which one should I wear for my first meeting with the RCMP and their goats? Contrarian tradition is very particular.
YoYo cleared her throat.
“Dismissed,” I said.
“But General,” she simpered. “They won’t arrive for several hours. There’s time for me to be with you again so that you can learn to love me like the cards said.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I said over my shoulder. “Take those cards with you.” She looked crestfallen. But, much as I enjoyed YoYo physically I couldn’t afford to indulge her outlandishly romanticized ideas about us. I turned to face her. “Take those cards with you, and that’s an order.”
I stared imperiously until she complied, then turned back to the selection of military finery in my closet. Maybe I should have tried to bargain with YoYo for advice about the proper uniform for the occasion, but it was too late now. I was on my own, so I decided to wear the one with the indigo vest under a blood red tail coat. It looked both pompous and outdated, so it probably projected a great deal of authority in Contrarian culture.
There were so many epaulettes and sashes and ribbons and medals and sock garters, it took the better part of half an hour for me to dress myself. Once fully decorated, I left my quarters and attempted to retrace my steps to the courtyard. Along the way I met the yeoman yodeler who had brought me my soapy beverage. He looked quite surprised at my appearance, and I snagged him by the collar and placed him under arrest. Perhaps the RCMP would not be needed after all.
I shouted orders and a military tribunal was quickly convened. “The crowd has gathered samples of soap from every corner of this fortress,” I said. “We’ll see which matches the residue in my Ovaltine glass.”
The glass had been sent down to the fortress’s basement laboratory, along with all the soapy samples. When the analysis was complete, the results were brought to the hall of tribunal by a cadre of alchemists who entered the hall in ascending order of height — arms entwined — until the final member of the retinue had to duck to pass through the door.
“Tell us,” I declaimed, “what you have ascertained about this vile assassination attempt!”
The alchemists began to sing in four-part harmony. They started with ‘Sweet Adeline,’ as per tradition, and eventually came around to the results of their analysis: the soap was unlike any found in the fortress, and was in fact Svenborgian in origin.
“Arlo,” I muttered. “That dick.” He must be making another play for Fleur.
While the alchemists continued their concert, I had the yeoman yodeler thrown in the brig, then telegrammed my wife at home in Funkistan, warning her of the Viscount’s treachery.
Her reply was, “I won’t believe it until the newspaper says it’s true.”
I sent another message, a long rant about her blindness to Arlo’s nefariousness. The telegrapher’s wrist was aching by the time he sent the whole thing. Then, of course, per Contrarian security protocols the entire message had to be calligraphed as well, for the express purpose of being torn in two so that each piece could be burned separately to ensure it didn’t fall into enemy hands.
Reformation of Contrarian military comms procedures suddenly leapt to the forefront of my goals for how to use my influence. But, later. I had other things to tend to first.
bonus points for using them in order!!