(HiJinx) The Funky Gibbons in "The Khorjar Castle Caper"
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arwink
Clockwork Golem
Part Four: Gates and Groundskeepers
The Van pulls up in front of the gates, lights shining through the psuedo-gothic wrought iron and illuminating a large garden beyond. Stone walls rise up on either side, the black stone patched with lichen and weeds. The engine idles quietly as everyone stares that the castle, wathing it's shadowy bulk suddenly light up as lightening flashes.
"Wow," Alex says. "Spooky."
"How do we get in?" Mary Jane asks.
Billy Ray leans over the seat and points at a heavy chain to the side of the gate.
"I'm thinkin' we ring the bell," he drawls. "'Less somone got a better plan?"
Everyone looks expectantly at Kid O.B.One.
"What?" he asks. "We ring the bell. What else would we do?"
"Jackson, go ring the bell," Alex murmers. Jackson looks dubiously at the castle, then at Alex, then back to the castle. he shakes his head vigorously, his monkey squeak approximating "uh-uh." Alex digs around in the glove box of the car.
"Would you do it for..."
He pulls out something lean, curved and yellow.
"A banana?"
Jackson is on the job in a shot, his eyes suddenly bulging with cartoon lovehearts. He scampers up the chain and struggles to loop it over his shoulder. The chain is thick, one linke easily the size of the small gibbon, and it takes a few moments of straining before it starts to move.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOgggg-aaaaaaaaahhhhhggg
The doorbell of Khorjar castle is deep enough that you feel it in your teeth, a dangerously low sound that rumbles around inside your skull. Jackson leaps three feet into the air and scampers back to the van, disappearing to become a quivering lump in the belly of Alex's jacket.
A few minute later, the groundskeeper arrives. He's unbelievably old, his stooped form withered and wrinkled beneath his butlers outfit. Long, stringy hair hangs down from his balding head, and there are deep black circles under his eyes.
"Hello," he wheezes.
"Hey man, we're the Funky Gibbons," Kid yells through the window of the van. "We're here for the festival."
"Quite," the groundsman wheezes. He rumages through his jacket for a golden key, then opens the heavy gates.
"Drive through the gardens until you reach the main house. Lord Christopher will meet you there."
"Wahoo!" Kid yells, and the Van roars into life.
"Don't hurt the gardens," the groundskeeper mutters, spitting on the Gibbon's dust."
The Van pulls up in front of the gates, lights shining through the psuedo-gothic wrought iron and illuminating a large garden beyond. Stone walls rise up on either side, the black stone patched with lichen and weeds. The engine idles quietly as everyone stares that the castle, wathing it's shadowy bulk suddenly light up as lightening flashes.
"Wow," Alex says. "Spooky."
"How do we get in?" Mary Jane asks.
Billy Ray leans over the seat and points at a heavy chain to the side of the gate.
"I'm thinkin' we ring the bell," he drawls. "'Less somone got a better plan?"
Everyone looks expectantly at Kid O.B.One.
"What?" he asks. "We ring the bell. What else would we do?"
"Jackson, go ring the bell," Alex murmers. Jackson looks dubiously at the castle, then at Alex, then back to the castle. he shakes his head vigorously, his monkey squeak approximating "uh-uh." Alex digs around in the glove box of the car.
"Would you do it for..."
He pulls out something lean, curved and yellow.
"A banana?"
Jackson is on the job in a shot, his eyes suddenly bulging with cartoon lovehearts. He scampers up the chain and struggles to loop it over his shoulder. The chain is thick, one linke easily the size of the small gibbon, and it takes a few moments of straining before it starts to move.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOgggg-aaaaaaaaahhhhhggg
The doorbell of Khorjar castle is deep enough that you feel it in your teeth, a dangerously low sound that rumbles around inside your skull. Jackson leaps three feet into the air and scampers back to the van, disappearing to become a quivering lump in the belly of Alex's jacket.
A few minute later, the groundskeeper arrives. He's unbelievably old, his stooped form withered and wrinkled beneath his butlers outfit. Long, stringy hair hangs down from his balding head, and there are deep black circles under his eyes.
"Hello," he wheezes.
"Hey man, we're the Funky Gibbons," Kid yells through the window of the van. "We're here for the festival."
"Quite," the groundsman wheezes. He rumages through his jacket for a golden key, then opens the heavy gates.
"Drive through the gardens until you reach the main house. Lord Christopher will meet you there."
"Wahoo!" Kid yells, and the Van roars into life.
"Don't hurt the gardens," the groundskeeper mutters, spitting on the Gibbon's dust."
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Welverin
First Post
arwink said:One of my favorite films/books is High Fidelity. The name is shamelessly stolen from Jack Blacks band in the film
next time i run the game, they're going to encounter Sonic Death Monkey.
And here I thought you just had a weird fascination with Kathleen Turner and BTO.
arwink
Clockwork Golem
Part Five: Young Lords and Angry Women
As the dust of the Gibbon van fills the screen, it suddenly lurches and spins in the manner of an old Batman show (complete with the horn section playing the obligatory nah-Nah-nah-nah-Nah]. The word GIBBON appears and disappears in the midst of the screen, and when it spins into the difference you can see the van pulling up in front of the palatial Khorjar Castle.
Christian Khorjar is on the steps, a young aryan with a leather jacket and retro-bellbottoms. The camera pulls in for a close-up, and there's the faintest tinge of sorrow in his features. When the camera pulls back, the van is parked three steps down and the Gibbon's pour out. Christian offers everyone the faintest hint of a smile.
"You came," he says, but he sounds slightly nervous about the proposition.
"Sure man," Kid grins, taking his place at the front of the assembled Gibbon's. "The Gibbon's never give up on a gig."
"Really? You mean you're not leaving? Great!" Christian actually breaks out in a smile. "I'm Christian, I run the festival. Glad you've decided to stick around."
"Why wouldn't we?" Alex wonders blissfully, his glazed eyes staring up at the eleven stories of stonework that make up the castle.
"No reason, no reason," Christian says quickly, perhaps too quickly. "There's just been a few people to pull out of the Music Competition."
"Really? How many people we competing with?" Mary Jane demands.
"At the moment, just you," Alexander says. "Although another band is due tomorrow morning."
"Who??"
"Howls at the moon, from memory."
"Right."
There's a stony silence as everyone considers this for a few moments. Mary Jane actually scowls deeper as she hears the name of her former band.
"Did I say something wrong?" Christian asks.
"Of course not," Billy Ray drawls. "But d'ya think you could show us to our room."
"Of course, where are my manners" Alexander says. "I'll just call Wither's for your bags. WITHERS!"
The balding, elderly gentlemen from the gate suddenly lopes onscreen. His tattered suit is badly creased, the long tails dragging in the dirt. When the camera zooms in for a close-up, you can see the faintest tinge of a yellow wash in his skin-tone and hair.
"You hollered, my lord?"
"Could you take the gibbon's bags? They'll be staying in the upstairs guest room."
"The one we gave to those Overdrive people, Milord?"
Alexander looks panicked at the question, but none of the Gibbon's seems to register. They're all staring out over the castle's expansive courtyard.
"Why not?" Alexander says. "It's not like this could get any worse."
He takes a step and catches the Gibbon's attention.
"This way folks," Christian calls. "Best room in the house, to show how thankful we are that you're staying for the festival."
Everyone disappears into the house, Wither's following along behind with a mound of luggage and drum-kits in his aging arms.
As the dust of the Gibbon van fills the screen, it suddenly lurches and spins in the manner of an old Batman show (complete with the horn section playing the obligatory nah-Nah-nah-nah-Nah]. The word GIBBON appears and disappears in the midst of the screen, and when it spins into the difference you can see the van pulling up in front of the palatial Khorjar Castle.
Christian Khorjar is on the steps, a young aryan with a leather jacket and retro-bellbottoms. The camera pulls in for a close-up, and there's the faintest tinge of sorrow in his features. When the camera pulls back, the van is parked three steps down and the Gibbon's pour out. Christian offers everyone the faintest hint of a smile.
"You came," he says, but he sounds slightly nervous about the proposition.
"Sure man," Kid grins, taking his place at the front of the assembled Gibbon's. "The Gibbon's never give up on a gig."
"Really? You mean you're not leaving? Great!" Christian actually breaks out in a smile. "I'm Christian, I run the festival. Glad you've decided to stick around."
"Why wouldn't we?" Alex wonders blissfully, his glazed eyes staring up at the eleven stories of stonework that make up the castle.
"No reason, no reason," Christian says quickly, perhaps too quickly. "There's just been a few people to pull out of the Music Competition."
"Really? How many people we competing with?" Mary Jane demands.
"At the moment, just you," Alexander says. "Although another band is due tomorrow morning."
"Who??"
"Howls at the moon, from memory."
"Right."
There's a stony silence as everyone considers this for a few moments. Mary Jane actually scowls deeper as she hears the name of her former band.
"Did I say something wrong?" Christian asks.
"Of course not," Billy Ray drawls. "But d'ya think you could show us to our room."
"Of course, where are my manners" Alexander says. "I'll just call Wither's for your bags. WITHERS!"
The balding, elderly gentlemen from the gate suddenly lopes onscreen. His tattered suit is badly creased, the long tails dragging in the dirt. When the camera zooms in for a close-up, you can see the faintest tinge of a yellow wash in his skin-tone and hair.
"You hollered, my lord?"
"Could you take the gibbon's bags? They'll be staying in the upstairs guest room."
"The one we gave to those Overdrive people, Milord?"
Alexander looks panicked at the question, but none of the Gibbon's seems to register. They're all staring out over the castle's expansive courtyard.
"Why not?" Alexander says. "It's not like this could get any worse."
He takes a step and catches the Gibbon's attention.
"This way folks," Christian calls. "Best room in the house, to show how thankful we are that you're staying for the festival."
Everyone disappears into the house, Wither's following along behind with a mound of luggage and drum-kits in his aging arms.
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