h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

*The Pooka enters the hall of that high festival and addressing nobody in particular politely apologises for being late.*

Greetings, all ye.
As I lack to recognise the ladies and gentlemen here gathered, let me introduce myself. I am Fergus MacPhellimey, a narrative caracter from a novel of the last century.

*Spotting what can only be described as a wet person, the Pooka seems very interested for an unexplicited reason*

Another consequence of this unknown reason:
The Pooka approaches Inspecteur Clouseau and:
-Excuse me sir? Are you naturally mad or is it the consequence of a curse cast on you by an ill-intentioned magical creature?

I am nether mad nor cursed, but I have a black belt in karate. My hands are laythal weapons.

*Flourishes his hands karate fashion, sending a glove into the onion dip.*

Oh! I understand, you are French...
I am awfully sorry. If I upset you, please accept my apologises.

*was about to shake hands with the Inspector, but now steps back a bit to avoid the peculiar leger de main*

MacPhellimey, MacPhellimey... I have heard that name in the world of letters. Are you too a writer, sir?

*looks around at the vivid mummery* Is this not an extraordinary gathering?

*Notices the thumbs up and gives a wary return thumb while trying to hide the nuts behind an olive.
Having so done the Squirrel scampers over to the food table, ascends the leg commando stylee and narrowly avoids being hit by a flying glove*
Eeek!

Inspector, I'm assuming that the flying glove is merely an error and not and invitation to a duel?

I have fought to protect a Lady's reputation on many an occasion, it is the chivalrous thing for a champion to do.

*spots the squirrel secreting nuts and admires his/hers/its ability to shin up a table leg*

The writing condition is alas not one I have achieved, my dear sir. I content myself with being a character in a novel. This position, however, does not prevent me from attempts to creations of a literary kind.

*Retrieves his glove and casually gestures with it, sending onion dip onto his hat*

Doouel? Mais non, monsieur! I do not intend to fight eeny of the guests. I moost practice responsibilité, for surely I would kill someone. It would be impolite of me.

*Eats an olive, coughs, and looking puzzled removes an acorn from his mouth*

They are quite an acquired taste those acorns are they not. I'd recommend a little dash of nettle juice, that normally tempers the flavour nicely.

Yes.

*Places the acorn on the tray of a passing bot*

The Pooka ponders the quality of the harmony between the tin-whistling gentleman and the string quartet, and his face shows the expression resulting thereof.

Nature of expression:
Moderate appraisal.

Subsequent address to the Irish Gentleman:
Hello, you seem to be an Irish gentleman! Anyway, you're obviously clad in green.

*Madame Zora returns with her pockets obviously bulging. She makes her way past the buffet and when she passes the Operatic Squirrel she winks and tosses an acorn in its direction*

*Leaps athleticaly for the acorn, cloak billowing behind and catching on its tail. It grabs the acorn with a squeek of joy and lands on the table, narrowly avoiding the punch. Unfortunately in doing so the squirrely spins round and broadsides a glass with its tail which flies outwards (the glass, that is), spraying its contents in the general direction of the other guests at the table.*
Oh my!

/Having let out a tinkling trill of laughter at Squirrel's misundertanding, Kitty follows him to the buffet...

Where she waits for someone to offer to assist her delicate soul in piling her plate high/

Gentlemen? /Winning smile/

/Vash rushes to the table to assist Kitty, tripping on his own garment he bashes his head into the floor only to pop up and slip around Kitty holding a plate for her to fill/
I'll help you hear Ma'am!

I am glad to see the Age of Chivalry is not entirely dead. If you need any help in training at the tourney lists, Vash, I will be happy to help.

/Flutters eyelashes at Vash/

/Brightly/ Why, thank you, sir.

I'll have some of that, if you please /Indicates/ And this, and maybe the tiniest smidgeon of that.

Hmm.
It already appears to be November 7th where I live...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY the three of you!

Novembre 7?

*Looks at watch*

It appears my wutch has stoopped.