BS: Mudcat Orient Express

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: mousethief
Date: 03 May 01 - 02:08 PM

Father Vasiliy (Russian for "Basil") reached the door to the Luggage Car, and reached into his valise for the small censor and flask of holy water he always carried with him. The violin case was gone; and in its place was a viola case!

"Gorky Novgorod Zhdruvnik!" (*egad!) he swore. Immediately, a porter came out through the door, looking pale. "Porter," said the priest, "Take this to the Philharmonic, pozhal'sta -um- s'il vous plait" (*"if you've nothing better to do"). The porter absently grabbed the viola case and walked on up the train.

He lit the censor, applied the incense, and opened the door to the luggage compartment. "Svyatiy Bozhe! Sviatiy Kryepkiy!" (*"Holy God! Holy Mighty One!") he intoned, incense billowing like the smoke from the train's engine, "Svyatiy Bezsmertniy!" (*"Holy Immortal One!")

The car was empty. There was a large, still-drying blood stain on the floor. The door behind him closed, and he heard the bolt slide home.

"Svyatiy Kal!" (*"Sacre Merde!") he murmured. With his big fists he pounded on the door. There was no answer. The train rocked on down the tracks toward Budapest. After some time, the incense went out. Finally, the big man sat down on the car floor, his back against the forward bulkhead.

"Gospodi Pomiluy!" (*"Where's God when you need Him?") said Father Popovich.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: JenEllen
Date: 03 May 01 - 02:05 PM

Her first thought upon opening her eyes was --ou sont les papiers? The tiny man had briefly distraced the others, but the Inspector still crouched in the hall attending to the fallen woman. She thought she saw a glimmer of something in his eye--impossible, he was from Yorkshire, non? So she quickly forced a crocodile tear to roll down her cheek. The Inspector's face softened, as did the priests.
"Let me have a minute alone with him, non? Au revior?
The priest and the Inspector stepped aside as she went into the compartment. She fell across Villenueve and during her hysterical sobbing, managed to neatly rifle through the satchel beside him. The papers weren't there? How could this be?

When they took the body away, Annette got a bit more time to inspect the compartment. Nothing. The papers were gone. All that hard work right down le toilet. Her Curioso would be furioso if he knew they were gone. She quickly took a napkin from the tray the porter had left, and sketched a picture of the man who had taken the violincase. The lanky frame lept from the page as she drew. Now, how to get this to the Inspector without incriminating herself? Better yet, how to get him to understand when he didn't know his derrierre from a hole in the terre?

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: MMario
Date: 03 May 01 - 01:31 PM

please, please, please, someone have the Mauser stolen so we can have a "Mauserthief"!

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Gervase
Date: 03 May 01 - 01:09 PM

...moments later, from behind the woodwind section, came the unmistakeable crack of a Mauser...

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Caitrin
Date: 03 May 01 - 12:49 PM

Celeste grabbed the nearest object to steady herself as the train rocked with the explosion. Villeneuve was dead, and Curioso and Morzik were both on board. The only way this day could get worse would be for Hargittai to show up. If she didn't find that violin quickly, the whole thing was done for. And so was she.
She carefully made her way further up the train car, trying to look as though she was simply a young lady in search of the w.c. and ignoring the sound of gunshots.
Celeste couldn't prevent a small smile from crossing her lips as she spotted the violin case. But what was this? ANother violin case! And another, and another...blast, it was the entire Parisian Philharmonic! And here she thought Hargittai was the only way this job could be made more difficult--clearly, he was only one of many possibilities. It always came back to what Granpere Maurice used to say... "Merde arrive."
subtitle: Shit happens.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Naemanson
Date: 03 May 01 - 12:11 PM

"Hmm," Honore muttered to himself. "We got sum knda problems here. One guy been kilt, some guy been runnin' tru da train bonking me onna head wit a fiddle and now I'm chasing women 'cordian players. Wot's gonna happen next? Dere otta be a law aginit. We in dire straits!"

The porter, standing behind him said, "Sir, there is a law against violins in the straits!"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Fibula Mattock
Date: 03 May 01 - 12:02 PM

As Father Popovich swayed into the next carriage the train jolted and the violin case slipped from his grasp, landing amidst the instruments owned by the Parisian Philharmonic. With an exasperated mutter the priest reached for the case, his vodka-clouded mind focusing on the matter of the dead scientist. He didn't seem to notice that what he actually picked up was a viola.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Les from Hull
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:57 AM

The explosion rocked Morzik. For a brief moment he thought that Curioso had mistimed his leap, but then he caught sight of his misshapen figure limping off across the other side of the tracks where the mighty freight train lay in a distorted heap of metal and steam. Soon the area would be teeming with police and troops, and Morzik knew that he would have to get away fast. He raced back to the woods.

Quickly scribbling a note with the pencil he always kept behind his one remaining ear, he stuffed it into the tiny cylinder and attached it to the bird's leg. "Bolnolyka strabar, kapotna dratona, bolnolyka strabar com il as tronopa vrednar!"*, he cried as he launched the bird into the air.

*subtitle "Fly away!"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Naemanson
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:48 AM

The dwarf holstered his pistol and looked at the fragments of the accordion. He'd hated to do that, he really enjoyed the music of the squeezebox. But he knew she would have played all night and there were some things he needed to discuss with her. He saw her finger the key he had slipped into her stocking. then, with tears in her eyes she left the room.

"Ta heyall wit dat guy an' de fiddle case"* Bette thought to himself. "I got bigger fishtafry!"

He slipped out of the room following the alluring figure of the accordion player...

*"To hell with the man and the violin"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Matt_R
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:31 AM

But Zundapp the notoriously mad Frisian harpooner was still at large, in search of his prey...

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Peter T.
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:26 AM

"Well," thought Curioso, as he picked himself up following his death roll over the cut, flying fragments of train hurtling after him, "That should do it. They will have to reroute the Express our way." What was left of the freight gasped and wheezed like a dying elephant, and he had seen too many dying elephants in his life, so he did not stay to revel in his handiwork. Right now he fancied a wellearned trip to the Baths in Budapest, to await the arrival of the Express, two days away. He would deal with Morzik later.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Fibula Mattock
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:21 AM

The tannoy crackled. "We apologize, laydees and jentlemen, for ze unfortunate termeenation of ze accordian playing. Instead, I am pleezed to announce ze arrival of the string section of ze Parisian Philharmonique Orchestra." The carriage doors burst open upon this announcment and a stream of smartly-dressed musicians carrying a wide variety of stringed instrument cases entered.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Peter T.
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:18 AM

A shot flung past Curioso heading towards the Urals, and he dropped into the railway cut. Whoever it was, he was a lousy shot. Curioso sped down the line crouched low, plunged into the woods, and circled around. It reminded him of early mornings on the veldt, when Jaluba would laugh his big laugh and say -- Oh, yes, Sir, the lioness was in there last night, and she was not happy, Oh, no Sir. And every twig rustled death. Who was it? There was no love lost between the Serbian network and the Hungarian, but they had not potshotted each other for awhile. He moved tangentially towards where he had to go. He looked at his watch. There were 2 minutes. They needed this one. If they didn't derail this train then all their plans for the Express would go awry. He caught a glimpse of a familiar figure peering over the cut a hundred yards away. Morzik. Bastard. He should have known. Morzik had never forgiven him for the anchovies; not to mention the moment when Annette had humiliated Morzik by referring to shrimp and his manhood in the same sentence.

He sighed, and now heard the train in the distance. Morzik had gone back into the woods. Hell. Curioso picked up the detonator and ran along the edge of the woods, gingerly holding the wires so they would not snap or tangle. The sun shone. The train whistled and grew noisily. 20 seconds. There was another shot from the woods that slammed into the tree by his head. He decided there was only one crazy alternative. He leapt out onto the track in front of the oncoming train, and ran along the track towards the explosives. Another shot rang out, "Stop it, Curioso, stoop it, it's suicide," Morzik screamed. The train howled, and he raced ahead of it, it closed on him, was nearly over him, he passed the explosives, counted to 3, and hit the plunger.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: mousethief
Date: 03 May 01 - 11:05 AM

The fog in Father Popovich's brain started to break up after the third shot of vodka. Stolichnaya. Nothing but the best on the Orient Express. Two vodkas later the sun finally broke through and he was once again in full command of his facilities, such as they were.

He ordered a large mineral water ("Vodka always makes me thirsty," he explained once), and set about exploring this strange new violin case. He now remembered where it came from -- that sleeping man who most assuredly did not belong on the floor of his sleeper compartment. He was certain that the man would no longer be there, were he to go back and look for him. "He might even be in this car!" the priest thought with a jolt. He stopped himself even as he was about to draw the violin case out of his suitcase and inspect it.

"'Ere ees your meenairal wataire, Fahzaire," the bartender Marcel said in a friendly voice. "Peetay about the Doctaire, ees eet not?"

"The Doctor?" Father Popovich asked. "What doctor? Je ne comprends pas." (*huh?)

"Oh, so you haff not haird? Doctaire Villeneuve, ze famous Pheezaceest, was keeled on ze train. Everyboday ees talking about eet."

"Dostrovno Vladivostok!" (*Well I'll be!")

The voluminous Russian looked out over the club car. He caught snatches of conversations from several tables. Indeed, all of the conversations he could hear were in fact about the death of Dr. Villeneuve. Except one man, over in the corner, who was asleep and mumbling about boys in swimsuits, and one woman who was speaking in a country French accent about the death of her -- accordion?

"Clearly I need another vodka," thought Fr. Basil. Aloud, he said, "Yes, that is a horrible thing. Has the man been prepared for burial? Have they said the rites over him?"

"Zair ees no Catholic Priest on ze train," said the bartender. "Pairheps?"

"Where is the body?" The tall Russian stood up a little unsteadily and caasually tossed a fifty-franc bill to the barkeep. "Even if he was not a son of the Russian Church, duty demands that I see to it he is prepared for Christian burial."

"Ze boday ees een ze baggage car, Fahzair."

"Keep the change, Marcel." The priest strode off in the direction of the baggage car, lurching and bumping into walls, people, tables, etc. as he went.

"Change? 'Ee steefed me twenty francs!" mumbled Marcel, gathering the empty glasses and wiping down the bar with a damp cloth.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Fibula Mattock
Date: 03 May 01 - 10:45 AM

A shot rang out, a long wheeze sounded. The accordian lay, punctured, on the floor. Its fishnet-clad owner stood over the instrument shrieking in a manner reminiscent of her earlier playing. Several of the people in the buffet car applauded. "Enfin, je peut entendre quand tu me parles. Elle fait un bruit comme un ane qui est mal a la gorge. C'est diabolique!"*

*subtitle - I don't like accordians much

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: MMario
Date: 03 May 01 - 10:40 AM

Due to the staff shortage the Porter was working, despite lingering injuries. Although the pain might,under other circumstances, caused depression, he was truly quite happy with the current situation. The extension of his duties to cover those coworkers mysteriously missing allowed him access to passengers he would otherwise have had to devise clever ways to visit. Now he would be delivering their breakfasts.

With a wide grin on his face he carefully dusted the omelette on one plate with a measured dose of Lytta vesicatoria; then, with even more glee sprinkled the crepes americaine liberally with Amanita Muscaria. Replacing the warming covers on the meals for the lovely Annette and the despicable Carruthers he added them to the tray along with several other plates. Adding a carafe of Blue Mountain Coffee and a steaming pot of Darjeeling to the tray he prepared to further his schemes.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Les from Hull
Date: 03 May 01 - 10:11 AM

Morzik peered from his hiding place in the bushes. Yes, the fool was there alright, casually smoking his ridiculous pipe and sitting as though he hadn't a care in the world. Finally he had his chance for revenge.

He remembered that time in Stockholm, the time with the anchovies. Oh God, he could never smell anchovies without remembering Stockholm. What a fool he had been.

But now this would all change. He raised the old Mauser to his shoulder and carefully sighted. His finger gently squeezed the trigger.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Peter T.
Date: 03 May 01 - 09:34 AM

He sat by the railway track smoking his pipe, and reading his onion-skin edition of Keats' poems. It was a beautiful morning, and the sun glinted off the detonator clips, and the thin strand of wire snaking off into the clump of woods. He was anxious, for three reasons. The first was that he had forgotten to pack his edition of Keats' letters, and there was a nagging reference he wanted to check, but the chances of him finding an English library in Budapest, were slim. Second, Morzik was late, and though he was somewhat bumptious, Morzik was never late. Third, he knew that Annette Marceau was on the Express, and that he would have to finesse a warning somehow when the train reached Budapest. He heard a sound behind him, ducked down fast, and then saw that it was just a herd of wild ponies cantering across the puszhta. He relaxed again, and there came into his mind Annette's delicate subtitles, and the afternoon when they had brought new life to Pere Lachaise. He remembered another time, in the hut on the island near Stockholm, where she had turned to him and said: "Curioso, I think they are wrong. I don't think it would require that much uranium if the reaction were tweaked somehow. Niels talked about it once, but I don't think even he realizes. Look, turn over, cheri, I need some writing space. No, not that way, magnifique though you are. Let me draw it along your back." And that was when they got the idea.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Grab
Date: 03 May 01 - 08:50 AM

The train at platform 2 is the Orient Express, calling at Heaven, Hell, Hades, and all stops to Death. This train is currently running 15, one five, minutes late due to a shortage of staff.

Graham.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: GUEST,Roger the skiffler
Date: 03 May 01 - 06:48 AM

Passenger Announcement: South West Trains regret the cancellation of this service due to hysterical laughter in the cabin. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.
RtS

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Gervase
Date: 03 May 01 - 06:44 AM

Meanwhile, in the salon, a small knot of travellers was gathered around one of the overstuffed armchairs.
The elaborate brocade had been savagely hacked as if by a maniac; horsehair and kapok lay all around on the carpet and the very springs of the piece had been laid bare.
Through the excited, twittering throng pushed a tall figure with an aquiline nose and an ulster cape, followed by a shorter, stouter companion clearly struggling to keep up.
The unlikely pair stopped and stood impassively before the mutilated chair, the tall figure instantly commanding respect. The silence that followed was broken only by the stout man, still slightly breathless.
"Well Holmes," he said. "This is a rum do. Do you think you can solve it?"
The tall man smiled a thin-lipped smile as he absent-mindedly toyed with a block or rosin with his long, pale fingers.
"Solve it, Watson? My dear fellow, even a dunderhead like you can surely see that this is an open and cut chaisse."

Sorry, I'll get me coat

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 03 May 01 - 03:21 AM

Napoleon Duchamp felt the gentle nip of the Cointreau on his tongue and sighed. He had been too long without a vacation, too long chasing the felons around the dark underside of the City of Light. He was going to enjoy this trip to Istanbul. His wife Matilde was enjoying a snooze on the seat opposite his, a half-smile on her lips. He stared out into the night, watching the occasional clusters of light from the French villages flicker by. He opened his copy of the new French translation of Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises with one hand and pulled up the soft woolen blanket with the dark purple stenciling that read "Orient Express Line".

Then the door slid open and Dumblier the Porter stuck his head in, his face red, his eyes like the headlights of a Renault Dauphin. "Pardon, Mssr Duchamp, but something terrible has happened. Dr Villeneuve has been murdered." Napoleon considered the unlikely possibility that this was a practical joke being played upon him by Detective Sergeant Roche, like the time a year ago when Roche had pasted a plastic spider to the stem of his Champagne Flute on Duchamp's birthday, but he dismissed the situation as too obscure and complex for Roche's meager imagination. He placed his Cointreau gently upon the table and said "where is the victim?"

"In the baggage car", replied Dumblier.

"He was murdered in the baggage car?"

"Oh,no, Inspector. He was murdered in his cabin."

"And you moved the body, you fool!"

"The Chief Conductor thought it would disturb the other passengers."

"And am I not a passenger? He had no hesitation to disturb me!" Duchamp placed a Gauloise in the stubby holder and lit it, then glanced at his watch. "It is now twelve minutes after ten o'clock. When was the body discovered?"

"At quarter til ten, mssr."

"The dead man's belongings?"

"Still in his cabin, Inspector"

"Take me there at once. And have the Chief Conductor bring to me a complete passenger list with destinations. No one leaves this train until their innocence is established beyond un suspicion d'raison. Understand?" Duchamp placed the blanket on the knees of his still-sleeping wife and mumbled "pleasant dreams, cheri," and followed Dumblier through the doorway.

In the hallway he was taken aback to see a short, red-headed individual babbling and brandishing a harpoon. "Have him watched," said Duchamp.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Bert
Date: 03 May 01 - 12:58 AM

Meanwhile back in Poelle des oeufs Inspector Higgins has lost the man with the violin case. He rushes back to the platform to see the train disappearing down the track.
"Damn and Blast" (* Oh bother) He cries and enquires the time of the next train. "Demain" (*tomorrow) is the answer. So he looks around town for a place to spend the night.
The only place in town is "Hotel de Vielle a roue" (*Hurdy Gurdy Inn).

He has just retired to his room when there is a knock on the door and a pretty chambermaid comes in. "Can I do anything to make your stay more comfortable?" (* you want sex?) she says.
"Gor, can you ever" he replies "come in and close the door" (*Yes)

Meanwhile back on the train...

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Matt_R
Date: 03 May 01 - 12:34 AM

An unshaved slob with red hair storms about. Shorts, tennis shoes, and a long military flak jacket storms about weilding a harpoon taller than himself. "ALRIGHT," he screams, "WHERE IS HE?".

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: mousethief
Date: 02 May 01 - 11:07 PM

Father Popovich sat up quickly in his bunk; hitting his head on the low overhead, "Bouzhe moi!" (*ouch!) he cried out. "J'ai besoin d'une vodka!" (*boy is my throat dry!) he said aloud, to nobody in particular. Gingerly letting himself down from his bunk, his foot touched the floor just inches away from the head of the now-sleeping fugitive. Still half-asleep, he picked up the violin case from the floor, thinking it was his attache which contained his passport and a (too small!) roll of French bills. He eased himself into the corridor, and in the dim light realized he had picked up his violin case by mistake. He reached back in, found his valise, grabbed it, and shut the door once more. Lurching once again down the rumbling passageway, he tucked the violin case into his suitcase, and slowly made his way to the club car.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Caitrin
Date: 02 May 01 - 10:46 PM

At the back of the car, a young lady in a smart black dress sat mostly unnoticed. The rather vulgar man in the seat across from her continued to leer, but he could be easily ignored.
"Now, where is he?" Celeste thought. She was to meet Villeneuve on this train, get the formula, and leave at the next stop.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: CarolC
Date: 02 May 01 - 09:28 PM

The lighting in the cafe car was subdued. Smoke hung thickly around the heads of a dozen or so passengers.

The woman on the small stage at the far end of the car played dark and sultry strains of music on her accordion. From the corner of her eye, she could see a strange little man entering the car with an angry but furtive look on his face. He tried to adopt a casual demeanor as he made his way slowly toward her.

"Ah... mon petite cabbage", she thought (*my little friend). And she smiled as he tucked a compartment key into the top of her fishnet stocking.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Naemanson
Date: 02 May 01 - 08:30 PM

Honore Bette followed quietly, a small unseen presnce in the shadows of the car. He had seen the attack on Penny Wainscoat and noticed that the stranger had not been interested in Dame Cricklebat's Stradivarius. He had also noticed the stranger's lingering gaze on the somnolent form of Carruthers.

As he slipped down the swaying corridor he stumbled against the lithe graceful form of Annette Marceau. she spoke to him but he couldn't understand a word. Finally he drawled, "Yaw'll havta 'scuze me ma'am"* and slipped past her. Damn! The stranger had disappeared.

*"Get the hell out of my way, tall Froggie!"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 02 May 01 - 08:09 PM

Carruthers, once awakened, found it very hard to get back to sleep. He was a bit angry as well, for the dream of the Public School Boy's Swimming Team had been delightful. Oddly Paul had been on the team...Paul, balding and with his middle-aged paunch, had seemed strangely out of place in the tight Speedos and goggles. How Carruthers missed him, his delicate way with the finches, his light hand with the spice when preparing Mornay Sauce, his impassioned Juliet when he and Carruthers would read the Balcony Scene together on those damp nights in Croyden. "Oh, Paul," he murmured again, but the only sound in return was a sudden snorting in-take of breath on the part of the Dame. A spot of Sherry was what he needed.

He left the berth, closing the door silently behind him, and nearly butted heads with a tall stranger carrying a violin case as he turned a corner in the passage. The stranger hurried on silently, while Carruthers called "Well, EXCUSE me!" and under his breath "uncouth lout." Something wet was warm against his wrist, and as he entered the Club Car he examined it; a small bead of crimson blood.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Morticia
Date: 02 May 01 - 07:28 PM

Dame Cricklebat half-roused herself from her gin-sodden sleep."Carruthers," quoth she," Carruthers! What is that gharstly din?" Carruthers moved lumpily in the bottom bunk, and murmured "Oh,Paul" before returning ever more snugly into the arms of Morpheus.Dame Cricklebat harrumphed with a sound not at all unlike a vexed hippopotamus and then, her precious Stradivarius clutched to her ample bosom, drifted back into her dreams of stardom and a 22" waist.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: katlaughing
Date: 02 May 01 - 07:09 PM

"Oh, dahling, do put out the light!" said Miss Penny Wainscoat. "I am trying to sleep...what are you...oomph!"

As she fought against the strong hold against her mouth, quelling her rising scream, her fingers scrabbled behind her, reaching for her hatpin near her cosmetic case. Still the stranger sought to strangle her. Just in time, she latched onto the hatpin and sank it into his hand causing him to shout, "Oh mio dio, tu figlia di [a] pedinare!" *Oh my god, you daughter of a dog!* Grabbing the violin case, he'd set aside when he slipped into her compartment, the man dashed into the corridor, sucking on his now bleeding hand. Miss Wainscoat fixed her sleeping mask and settled under the covers.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Amos
Date: 02 May 01 - 06:49 PM

The lanky stranger in the oversized trenchcoat strode in a desperate rush through the small waiting area in the gare des oeufs de Pollet and drew himself up inside the doorway leading out into the small town.

He clutched the violincase to his chest as though trying to shrink himself into it, and peered up and down the cobblestone road that led from the station into the town. He ducked back, startled and alarmed by the sight of three uniformed gendarmes -- one thin, one sturdy, and one as overblown as an English rosbif lagging behind in the race toward the station from the plaza, guns drawn and the gleanm of the hunt in their eyes. He looked desperately around and saw no avenue of escape, no place to hide.

"S'cre bleu et mille sabords de tonerre de Brest!" (subtitle: Darn!) he muttered under his breath, and with a few long strides he crossed the waiting area and threw himself across the platform in time to catch the last car of the shiny train as it slowly drew away into the misty French night on its way to the mysteries of Istanbul. His flapping trenchcoat followed him up the steps and into the car, and the strange visitor, his strange prize tightly wrapped in his strange arms, disappeared into the ever-so-strange future of the Orient express.

Only a mournful whistle from the invisible engine drifted back to there a huge round gendarme, sweating and panting, caught up with his two colleagues, drawn sidearms useless at their sides, staring into the foggy night at the afterimages of the mighty train.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: mousethief
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:48 PM

LEJ, your translations are hilarious.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:43 PM

Bruno Kattscheidt sat on a cushioned seat in the Salon Premiere, the exclusive tavern in the Club Car of the Orient Express. He tipped his beer mug straight up to finish the dregs of his Uberbrau, when a brass doorkey tumbled from the bottom of the stein and struck his right front tooth with a sharp metallic note. Lifting his fat fist as if to quell a belch, he snagged the key and dropped it in his shirt pocket. He turned his eyes to the bartender, who gave him a sly wink, and said "that will be 9 francs" which meant that Villeneuve was in Cabin 9. Bruno used his thumb and forefinger to remove a small paste of beer-foam from his walrus-like moustaches, and flicked the detritus onto the expensive Turkish carpetting. He stood up, his stiff lederhosen creaking against the barstool.

He stopped into the washroom, where he had stashed the Luger behind the Watercloset tank. He checked that there was a round in the chamber, then went about retrieving the silencer from where he had hidden it down the front of his leather shorts. The bulge it had produced had enticed a French Waitress at Cafe Montmarte to comment "ca von votre appendage plus grande!" (* What a Dandy!) He now found it had shifted position somewhat, and he was having some difficulty disentangling it from his underhosen. It was at this point that the door opened, and Father Popovich entered, took one look at the fat German with his hands in his shorts, muttered "zoprosky anatolyanof" (*May God grant success!) and backed out.

Kattsheidt assembled the deadly weapon and stalked down the hallway toward Villeneuve's berth. He gradually be came aware of a hubbub in that direction and quickly pushed the pistol into his shirt, briefly revealing the tattoo of an eagle, the twin letters "SS", and the slogan Blut und Eire. Resuming a cheery appearance of ignorant bonhommie, he stepped to the doorway saying "vat is zis kaffe-klatch for?" It was then that two porters emerged carrying the French Scientists limp body.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Bert
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:25 PM

The train pulls to a shuddering unscheduled halt at the little station of "Poelle des oeufs" and a man with a violin case jumps off and runs into the station.

Inspector Higgins is hot on his heels yelling "OI YOU!"

**Sub-title - "Monsieur! Attendez!"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: JenEllen
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:17 PM

Isn't that the sound of a chastity belt hitting the floor, bert?...she's more of a ....

**mon dieu**

GLHAO

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: mousethief
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:17 PM

I forgot the subtitle on my earlier scene. Let's say... um...

"Mère de Dieu!"

Alex

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Bert
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:13 PM

JenEllen, you forgot the sub-title "Klonk"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: JenEllen
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:09 PM

Maybe it was in the satchel?? Non, would he be smart enough to figure that the violin would be stolen? What was a girl to do?? What girls have been doing for centuries, that's what... She peered around the corner to see the growing crowd at the door of the compartment, she took a deep breath, and she walked towards them.

"'Allo Monsieurs. What is going.." she looked into the compartment and fainted.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Naemanson
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:05 PM

Subtitles! ROFL

Bert's subtitle! ROFLMAO!!

The dwarf was not pleased. He hadn't been away from the circus more than a few months but that had been enough to convince him that the world was full of insane people. Now the idiot with the violin case had thumped him on the head while passing him.

Honore Bette had reason to be pleased with himself. He had made such good progress on his studies that the Institute had awarded him a full doctorate in Anthropology and Physiology after only 6 months of correspondence courses. Now he was treated as no more than an inconvenience in the hall. Well, he wasn't going to put up with it. He turned and followed the ill-tempered lout.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Bert
Date: 02 May 01 - 05:02 PM

The Inspector, in his haste to get to the crime scene, trips over The Porter, accidentally kicking him in the goolies. The Porter yells "YEEEAAAGHHHH!!!"

**Sub-title - "oof"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: MMario
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:54 PM

The Porter lay moaning on the floor of the passageway, arms and body curled around the towels he had been fetching to clean up the blood; legs attempting to return to a fetal position. His encounter with the man with the violin case (and especially with the swinging violin case) had left him in no condition to finish his shift.

**sub-title "oh GOD, I hurt, I hurt, I hurt"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: mousethief
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:47 PM

Father Boris Popovich, a tall, broad, effusive man with a swishy black cassock, shiny black shoes, and a bushy black beard that hung halfway down to his waist, clutched a small black leather suitcase as he lurched down the corridor, his gold pectoral cross banging against his chest like the clapper of a great Russian church bell.

He realized that going back to the Soviet Union was likely certain death for an outspoken cleric such as himself, but he hoped he could do some good among his frightened flock before he was hauled off to the Gulag. And even there he hoped he might serve his God before starvation and cold closed his eyes for the last time.

Thinking such melancholy thoughts, he hardly noticed the man with the violin case slam into him, bounce against the bulkhead with a muttered apology, and continue down the corridor the old priest had just come up.

Then he heard the scream that he couldn't ignore, and will always remember.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Bert
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:46 PM

"Oh my Gawd" muttered Inspector Higgins of Scotland Yard. "Here's me, on me way to Affens for me 'olidays and I get a call to look into the murder of some Froggy Spy"

**Subtitles - "Oh dear, This poor Frenchman has been murdered"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: MMario
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:42 PM

I love it! a text adventure with sub-titles!

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: JenEllen
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:37 PM

Annette Marceau stood in the bucking passageway of the traincar with the epitome of feline grace. She rocked gently on the balls of her feet, and appeard to be a solid form that the traincar rolled around. She had her back to Villenueve's compartment when she took her compact out of her purse. Slightly tilting the mirror, she could see over her shoulder to the compartment door, and she applied her lipstick as perfectly as if she were watching her own lips and not that door.

She saw the man peer from the door, come out with Villenueve's violin case, and run down the hallway behind her. She made no move to stop him, and she spoke only to her reflection in the tiny mirror.
"Ampereheure, il l'a...Je l'obtiendrai pour ceci!!"

**the delicate sub-titles around her feet= "Ah, he has it! I'll get him for this!!**

~A.M.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Orient Express
From: MMario
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:11 PM

"Blast!" thought the Porter to himself. "It took me three weeks to finish getting the blood stains out of the seating and carpet from the LAST time!"

He prepared himself for another of "those" trips.

Subject: Mudcat Orient Express
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 02 May 01 - 04:05 PM

(Cast of Characters needed...spies, sleuths, thugs, rich tourists, femmes fatale, Gestapo, anarchists, etc) PARIS 1938

"Boarding now the Orient Express..Departing Paris for Budapest - Bucharest - Istanbul and points between! ALL ABOARD!" The Conductor's words reverberated in the hollow tunnel that housed the sleek, silver, steaming length of the Orient Express. Paul Villeneuve folded his copy of the Paris Morning paper and lifted the two items of baggage that sat by him on the platform: One was a large leather satchel, the other a slender black violin case. He showed his paper to the conductor, who smiled and offered to assist him to the first class car. Villeneuve refused the help, and raised himself onto the steel step with a grunt.

The train was packed, and loud with the chatter of the excited departing passengers. It was with some relief that Paul found his car, but with some trepidation that he discovered it was to be a dual-berth. He locked the sliding oak door, pulling the curtain closed across the small window in it. Likewise, he covered the exterior window. Snapping open the satchel, he shuffled quickly through the papers before extracting a folded envelope. He opened this. At the top of the cover sheet were the words Preliminary Study for Production of Thermonuclear Device. Paul looked up nervously as the latch on the door turned against the lock. Quickly, he unsnapped the instrument case to reveal an ancient violin. Villeneuve refolded the envelope and stuffed it into the sound hole, and then closed and locked the case. This was his fortune. The violin itself was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, but the formula! The Russians had promised him Millions after a bidding war with the Germans, the British, and the Americans. He would take the train to Budapest, where Stalin's agents would whisk him to Moscow and his fortune. He smiled as the door slid open, more in self-satisfaction than in greeting.

The Porter rapped at Mr Villeneuve's door promptly at noon, holding the tray of Wine and Pheasant under Glass that the scientist had requested. After the third unanswered knock, the Porter called his name. Perhaps, thought the man, he is in the Club Car. I'll leave his dinner for him. The door slid open, and the porter dropped the tray to the floor, where the contents spilled into a pool of blood. Villeneuve's eyes were still shock-pried in death, his shirt front red with the blood that had spilled from the long wound in his throat. Clutched in his hands was the leather satchel, apparently his only piece of baggage.