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[04 Jul 2003|03:59pm] |
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worried/tired/sore/on edge |
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Wheezing, hacking, coughing, addled muttering... |
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Delbert has apparently has Alderian Whooping Flu. It seems he was up and about last week, and now it's relapsed. If it would have any effect, I'd throttle that robot for not telling me sooner. Honestly, the one time he decides to shut up... ahem.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) drdoppler looks positively skeletal. Moved him upstairs a few days ago, and had to actually carry him over my shoulder. Shall spare you the details of Alderian Flu symptoms, but suffice it to say the term "slimy" is fairly accurate.
He woke up, briefly, to sneeze over me and say 'B.E.N! You look awfully like Kitty... and you've redecorated the basement to look like the bedroom...'. Apparently, I have the most wonderful eyes (as he declared before grinning like a loon, and passing out). Not sure whether to be flattered or not, since he apparently thought I was b_e_n.
The doctor - sorry, Terrence Q. Rumsworthy M.D III (human fellow, ego comparable to a hot air balloon, libido of an escaped convict) - diagnosed him as being in the second phase, which generally follows a prolonged state of delirium. Any further, and he'd need to be hospitalized (bloody flapping USELESS antiquated robot...).
Before he left, the 'good' doctor offered me a private check-up. I felt obligated to offer him a reality check-up in return, but the exchange of words that followed is perhaps best left to the imagination.
Have set up camp in the armchair in the bedroom, though spinal damage from curling up there to sleep is likely to become permanent. Rumsworthy will be back in a week, with immunisations and a stronger course of medication for Delbert. Until then, I shall maintain my kitchen vigil, or perhaps simply remove B.E.N's legs to keep him from getting in there. It's certainly tempting.
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[25 Jun 2003|09:34pm] |
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Bloody whale song. |
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All I have to say is: at last. Two months of tolerating the foolish cretins at that shipyard, and my ship is finally finished. I won't say how expensive the entire affair was, but the owner of said shipyard was much too gleeful for my liking as the money changed hands. Honestly, I had to make some rather untoward threats about an iron bibcock and its future destination to get anything out of those filthy imbeciles.
This morning I was unfortunate enough to in the correct place to run into b_e_n. He hasn't been around much at all lately, but I expect it's because getting around the house was so difficult when one is lacking all of one's eyes. Needless to say he was overjoyed with his new ones, with which he apparently saw me in a "whole new light, Mom". I had been hoping his leaky memory would have dealt with that particular habit of his. No such luck.
He was making soup. When I asked him why he was pouring ludicrious amounts of petroleum based liquids into a bowl, he "broke down" from my "interrogation" (really, ONE question is hardly an interrogation) and told me that Delbert didn't want anything solid to eat. I was quick to point out he didn't want anything flammable, either.
It seems that drdoppler has been somewhat under the weather for weeks. The first thing that sprung to mind when I heard was that the dreadful, tortured wailing from the lower level of the house was actually him - but I'm reliably informed by jimpleiades and one of Delbert's many audio-encyclopedias that it's actually whale song. Clearly the Dopplers don't do things by halves, if one has a headache then all in the general vicinity must as well.
Although, why Delbert didn't come upstairs and tell anyone (or even send that robot up), is beyond me - but I thought it best to keep B.E.N from feeding him anything else. It was quite informative really, I didn't realise how difficult it is to dispose of petrol soup until yesterday.
I mixed up a quick bowl of Alponian beef soup instead (under the guise of teaching that calamitous machine how to make it). b_e_n took it down, only now I have to keep constant guard over the kitchen to intercept any food making its way to Delbert. I suspect that B.E.N's choice of menu is exactly the reason why drdoppler's been ill for such a prolonged length of time. The basement can't be helping things along either. I'll have to get him upstairs, but there are things to be taken care of beforehand.
One week of normality is all I ask. ONE.
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[01 Jun 2003|10:53pm] |
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Ignoring the cries of "Momma!" |
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There are several conclusions to b_e_n making oil based toffee in the oven. None of them positive. Any dignity I had left (after the desecration of my FLAG) has long since trickled away. How he managed to cover himself in that goop I shall never truly know, but clattering down the stairs holding a tray of it certainly seemed to help.
That robot saw fit to throw his arms around me whilst covered in what the Montressor Board of Health and Safety has classed as a form of cement. NEEDLESS to say, we were stuck together for bloody hours. If I hear one more story about how Captain Flint never HUGGED B.E.N, I shall be forced to turn him into a KETTLE.
Honestly, if b_e_n had lungs, they would have exploded by now. I don't believe he stopped talking once during the entire night - which was spent with him 'getting comfy' on top of ME.
As if the entire predicament wasn't enough, we managed to end up outside. Where sarahhawkins had swept those blasted feathers. I'm sure you require no further embellishment on that situation.
After a half-hour sob story about how jimpleiades had only ever hugged him ONCE (new house rule: Hawkins must hug B.E.N. once a day. I won't suffer a headache like that again), the 'conversation' - however onesided - degraded into B.E.N's life with Captain Flint. Who, by the way, was also not the hugging sort.
I do believe, though, that perhaps the lowest point of the evening (the ONE evening on Montressor in which it FAILED to rain, might I add) was when I was apparently appointed the role of B.E.N's surrogate mother. And no, he may NOT call me "Mom", under any circumstances.
Of course, the moment that was beyond compare was when we were discovered by drdoppler (apparently checking on Delilah, what with the lack of b_e_n being rather ominous).
Three hours of scrubbing later, Hawkins managed to separate us.
<(e_e)>
To do
1. Send Hawkins with B.E.N for new eyes, proper treatment for his limbs and a brain renovation (For B.E.N, this time).
2. Have my entire outfit dry-cleaned.
3. Have Hawkins mop the basement stairs, as they are covered in toffee-tar.
4. What was discussed with irisamelia. Perhaps.
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[31 May 2003|11:15pm] |
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Alarmingly, silence. |
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Have been busy all week. Can't turn my back on those shipyards for two minutes without some ludicrous mishap draining yet MORE funds.
How many witless, gutless, pathetic halfwits does it take to ruin a week's work? Well, only the one, but I'll guarantee it takes twelve TWICE as long as the original work time to undo the bloody damage. "Testing the cannon", indeed.
Chaos is lacking at the moment. Several days since anything exploded in the kitchen; Surprising, really, how one could miss the stench of carbonised foodstuffs. Or tripping over piles of books someone moved in the middle of the night, for reasons unknown. Er, not that I'm encouraging b_e_n to return to his 'culinary adventures' in the slightest.
Met B.E.N the other day, actually. In the kitchen, oddly enough - Not cooking, skiddling in the sink with something or other.
Hadn't seen nut nor bolt of him since he shacked up in the basement with... a cello, and I must confess to being somewhat tipsy at the time.
He did, however, regurgitate an... interesting conversation between he and irisamelia, as well as partial instructions on how to delete information (from his own database, apparently), and about three minutes of garbled cello music. Thinking about taking him to some sort of specialist. Can't keep him this way, although I do believe I'm beginning to see how this situation was started.
Must dash, though. Several invoices for damages, redamages, repairs and replacements to look over. Wonder if there's any cooking sherry...
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[25 May 2003|09:27pm] |
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Faint cello music from downstairs. |
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| . . . |
[15 May 2003|05:53pm] |
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B.E.N spouting some nonsense about jealousy. |
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Found my flag. I won't dignify cyborgjohnnie by describing HOW I found it, but suffice it to say that loathsome, contemptible, DEGENERATE vagrant has reached rock bottom - and has begun to dig.
It seems that DRY CLEANING on Montressor is indeed a rarity, however Delbert has a special account opened with a place on Cresentia - specifically for Delilah (and other repulsive snailbeast) related stains. Should have my flag back - as it was before this entire escapade in a fortnight's time. Honestly, my grandfather is probably rolling over in his grave. That flag has been in my family for generations, and I would wager my own life that it hasn't needed ANY treatment.
That flag saw the worst of the great Kattindog conflict, survived capture by enemy officers AND was worn by my grandfather for his knighting ceremony at the END of it all. It survived the First Siege of the Pelucid system, the Fray of the Nebulian Cluster, the Sortie of Penzance Prime, the Assault of Terra Infirma and not to mention a brief stint HUNTING unsightly, foulmouthed lowlives who considered themselves to be privateers. Perhaps it might experience that again - at least once more.
The icing on the cake of course, was discovering that b_e_n had decided to try his mechanical hand at chariot racing. Delilah and he were missing for Lord knows how long. This of course resulted in his APPREHENSION by roboconstables in Benbow. Luckily for him, Delbert had dealt with it and paid the bail before I was informed. Otherwise we could have had a week's worth of blissful peace with that mechanical idiot behind bars, punishing those who deserve it with his presence.
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| Bloody taxes. |
[16 Apr 2003|05:26pm] |
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Delbert's yowling |
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Been on the communicator for half the day with Interstellar Academy professors. Had to convince them that Hawkins' academic record was no reflection on the lad himself, and wrangled an application form on owed favours and outlandish promises (Note to self: To be picked up, as soon as possible).
Wasted the best part of yesterday afternoon galavanting around after Morph, or finding drdoppler's receipts in the bizarrest of places. Really, he was driving me utterly batty trying to get his taxes done (when he sat and watched me doing mine a week ago!). If I see a canid-shaped blur skidding across the room and yowling about how he's lost this, that or the next form one more time, I shall ruin another perfectly good armchair.
Am running out of errands to give b_e_n, as no one will dare eat any of his cooking anymore. He used the entire store of food to make what resembles Gorbomite clay. Had to pour it out in the garden - Delbert's lawn is beginning to look remarkably bald. Must check what that clanking fool added to the recipe for Yellato Soup, and find some way to delete the knowledge of it from his memory banks. Arsenic, indeed.
TO DO -
- Buy grass seeds, and hope that poison has washed away in a few days.
- Somehow worm my way out of of half the promises I made this morning.
- Pick up application form (Going in ten minutes)
- Check the Legacy, fingers crossed it is no longer blue.
- Bring back food (store out of reach of B.E.N).
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| Repairs underway... |
[13 Apr 2003|03:37am] |
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Sweet silence. |
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Repairs underway, at long last. Have been supervising workmen all day. Note to workmen: buy clothes that fit. My eyes are raw.
Since when to solar sails come in green? Have returned shipment and expressed rage at unwitting delivery boy.
Had to convince the painter that 'Legacy' is spelled with a 'C'. Actually won money from him based on this argument, now worried about the legal position of the agency who sent these cretins.
Bizarre two-headed saleswoman tried to sell me a pressure-suit on the docks. Told her to look out for dashing Canids with sideburns, as I know one starting a collection.
Currently sitting twiddling my claws, pondering why the house is so quiet. Must assume b_e_n has done himself damage. Perhaps I ought to investigate...
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| Bloody cabinboy! |
[07 Apr 2003|12:09pm] |
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B.E.N. and Morph REPEATING B.E.N. My brain, slowly melting. |
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Upon further inspection, the Legacy needs to be entirely rewired atop all other repairs. Might actually be more lucrative to throw entire ship in the bin, and begin again from scratch as it looks as though Morph has been chewing on the electrics, or worse. Must have a word with Hawkins about that, he was the last one tinkering with the ship (apparently). Still, it has been in worse condition. Once.
Also cannot find my flag. Suspect Silver has eaten it, to spite me. That necrosed crate of defective tripe is probably half way across the galaxy in MY longboat with half of MY supplies... AND my blasted flag (or what remains of it). Note to self: apologise to Delbert for ruining this chair, trim claws, replenish iodine supply. Buy new FLAG.
Tripped over three piles of books in consecutive order this morning before reaching a light switch. Am disgusted to find bookshelves full of items mainly of the non-book variety. Seemingly Delbert rearranges things in his sleep to keep the disorder. Hints not working, am actually considering hiding and ransoming books one page at a time in return for floor space. Will go utterly mad if I have to hop around an obstacle course to get to the bathroom but once more, however hilarious Mr. Hawkins believes it is.
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| Captain's Log |
[05 Apr 2003|01:29am] |
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 busy |
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Incessantly annoying honking sound |
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Mission failed (miserably so). Would enjoy castrating John Silver; Length and name change to follow. (Note to self: Underside of ship singed. Ask Hawkins to scrape it before he remembers he's not the cabin-boy).
Mutiny ruined day, and perfectly good longboat. Other boat missing entirely. Exploding star ruined favourite solar sails (black hole also claimed most loose objects on deck). Lost Mr. Arrow. Three doors rendered useless by capering about the ship. Hole in varnished, oak floor. Entire mast snapped like a twig. Doppler ruined perfectly good globe (pattern emerging). Thought it couldn't get worse. Planet exploded. Took bloody treasure with it, burned my hull (Hawkins got lucky, not incinerated after all).
Lost almost everything. Acquired Delbert - drdoppler - was pondering whether I was short-changed. Slept late by accident, decided I was not.
TO DO:
- Statements to be given to Robo-Constables, press to be dealt with.
- Pointless check up with (real) Doctor. Will tell him exactly what is not wrong with me.
- Shopping. Sails, rigging, globe, doors and longboats to replace.
- Shopping (again). Bookshelves by the dozen, cannot move for encyclopaedias.
- Application forms to be picked up for Hawkins.
- Cage for Morph and/or B.E.N. (soundproof) - to be discussed with Delbert.
Must dash, sounds like Delbert is abusing a seal outside. Means Delilah is ready to go.
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