The Fantastic Adventures of Captian Kurtz

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Here it is:

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Prologue

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FtCcMTGxmQ

You are still carrying that letter addressed to you from a Captian Bernard T. Kurtz. It’s damp and smells medical although you cannot trace god-knows-what has been spilled on it. The commission comes from the front-desk of some posh hotel in france, you look again at the letterhead. “Les Tourelles” it says, in extravagant handwriting with a bold red border on both sides. You have suspected there were adventurers among you in this bar and you take the opportunity to look for the same sheets with the same red borders, finding many heads hidden behind papers with a patchwork managery of letterheads and borders, a ton of yellow, brown and grey ones but not a red one in sight. Considering the incredibly rushed handwriting you can conclude that this campaign of letters was sent on the run, and your wait is soon over.

But enough for Holmesian pursuits, you need a drink. At the bar you are ordered to wait at there are workers of every ethnicity, creed and custom. At the largest table in the center an irish union of some sort discuss the conspiracy of Queen Victoria selling the empire to the Italians or hiding out on Mars or some rubbish. In a dark corner a turk in a business suit examines his pocketwatch contemplating whether or not he should he should unroll his prayer mat. Out the window you can smell the debris of a dilapidated Opium den while eyesore mechanized cable cars push up groggy businessman being trailed by troops on horseback stationed here from Washington. The bearded old coot by the window waits for them to pass before shouting “Damn the Yankees” followed by an awkward silence. This is San Francisco and the epitome of it; some Irish bartender with a fedora and a false hand reaches over to you asking “What can I do you for?”

edited 13th Dec '12 7:43:45 AM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

Josef took a quick look around as he entered the bar. A seedy place, full of the accumulated detrius of society. Good. He had learned that marble halls and elegant ballrooms may wow the naive and gullible, but the true shifts in society came from places like this. It was out of such watering holes that revolutions were made.

First, however, Josef needed allies. He turned his eyes to the union. No doubt a minor outfit, but a potential bridge nevertheless. In his heavily accented English, he said, "I am a stranger to this land, and I see you also have your roots in the old country. How about a toast to our respective homelands? It's on me, of course." Nothing bridged cultural differences like alcohol, he knew.

First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.

"I suppose you do realize they aren't partaking in beer." says a soft voiced vaguely accented man jotting in a notebook. Gesturing at their hats he whispers aside "That on their heads is the latest craze in slums all across the British isles, the Hermetic hat, or the Hermes for short. It makes you delirious and rambling but god it produces most fantastic poetry. I'm stealing a few tidbits for my book."

"And the tailor named tin bad met the whaler named winbad and he ate his breakfast in bed with the roc bird." came a particularly pronounced shout out of the rabble.

"You're with that officer aren't you, the Belgian who has no idea how to stay under the radar. If you're looking for some assistance on whatever you want to do you won't find it here. They are strictly black market, That man makes a living waiting in bars and gobbling the dice if the law comes, that man ferments acorns, Overall they're refugees and I love 'em to death but you can find better of my countrymen than a gang which has the audacity to call itself a union. Workers liberation society my ass."

edited 13th Dec '12 7:47:09 AM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

"And who might you be?" Josef said, turning to face the new man. He wasn't about to take someone's word for who he should and should not talk to, especially someone who seemed to know too much as it was. Trust was for fools.

First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.

"Oh yes sorry, the quicksilver's getting to my head." said the man extending a handshake "Mr. Stockport of the New York Inquirer. Again, your friend is not a subtle man, he just crossed the city limit in full English military attire and I hear he wishes to strum up something big, which I am by the way, all for in this environment. Before you do I suggest you consider 3 things.

1: These people, and I know them well, that's my brother in law Redmond leading them, are not going to listen. They are far too engrossed in their scuffle with the Sicilians, or god knows who else to take a larger scope.

2: Getting these men into politics is the surest way to kill them. You may not realize but we are standing upon the US' largest supply of gold bullion and it's treasury. The lucky fools that lead this country pounced upon the first nugget they found and haven't let go since covering it in soldiers as far as the eye can see and any rebels are summarily dealt with.

3: Whatever you are planning, you may want to wait before the foundation of the earth shifts off it's axis. You might not have heard the rumblings but a full Bonapartist invasion of england is on it's way and infighting on the part of us civilized folk isn't helping one bit. But if you feel like now is the time for the proletariat to rise feel free, just bring up my brother in law Redmond and a dozen odd boys will practice the Oriental art of Kamikaze."

edited 13th Dec '12 6:07:41 PM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

Josef's voice dropped an octave lower. "You know too much, and presume even more," he said. "I would suggest that you tell me — now — your connection with my friend, and how you happen to know him, and how you happen to know me." He paused, shifting his stance so that Mr. Stockport could see the holster of his pistol. "I'd also like to hear about how the New York Enquirer will hear none of this, while we're at it. I fear that if something were by chance to be printed up in it, correction notices can be very costly to a journalist's career these days."

First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.

What was, to all outward appearances, an inconspicuously dressed dark haired young woman stepped into the bar. She still held the red-bordered letter in one hand, and now surveyed the room with an expression of mild interest.

The man hesitantly reached in his sachel, eyeing the gun the whole time, brought out a pocket watch, a few random papers that seemed newer and plasticine with dates far in the future, a glowing green pen looking thing that was promptly put back in, and after a sigh of apprehension a dark grey photographed version of the letter. He blurted "I happened to be in town, my sister and her daft husband hopped across the pond that's a mighty big deal and the Inquirer sent me this.The way Mr. Kurtz was acting they thought there was an ambassador in town or something. His mail was intercepted, not by me mind you and, and... Look we can be reasonable mr. Sta- Jugash... Excuse I need to make a phone call, I mean... Redmond, this nice man wants to buy you a drink."

Out came a boy, barely twenty in white clothes and black suspenders removing his hat, took a double take at his relative of sorts, and muttered "Egad, you look older. You're only a year above me, and you looked the part back home, but now look at those wrinkles... Oh, yeah and to the pockmarked fella, I don't swing that way."

edited 14th Dec '12 7:16:50 AM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

"Why now, there's no need to worry," Josef answered, while quietly maneuvering himself to block the space between Mr. Stockport and the door. "I am completely agreeable. In fact, why don't you stay a while and take advantage of some Georgian hospitality? Bartender! Drinks for the three of us, preferably something strong like vodka. They're on me."

"Now then," he continued, snatching the letter from the newspaperman. "How about a toast, and then we talk about the business of this message?"

First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.

The boy just looked aside with a confused stare. He regained his composition and started slurring, "Georgian you say. Sorry I'm a new american and I must ask, Is that west or east of texas?"

A slap from Mr. Stockport and Redmond snapped to attention. "No, we are meeting someone from a group who is important in the outcome of the situation, in the homeland. Now treat him with respect you Morlock."

"Morwhat? Wait- You mean the conspiracy is true. Those goddamn Dutch are planning something aren't they."

Out of Mind

The man who entered was dressed in dusty well-worn clothing that looked as though it was one narrow step from becoming threadbare. His hat was shapeless and battered and he wore a pair of glasses with the lenses smoked black. He carried a white cane that moved ceaselessly in front of him, as if testing the ground in advance.

He made his way to the bar and ordered a drink in a low rough voice. Fumbling in his pocket for change to pay with.

edited 14th Dec '12 12:56:07 PM by JasonC

"You are my future selves? Am I having a Mid-Life Crisis?" The War Doctor - Day of The Doctor

The bartender saw as the worn old man walked over with the grace of a gentleman and he poured a drink for the lad. The bartender, everyone seemed to be calling him that lately, had an obviously wooden hand which functioned to steady the bottle as he poured it. His face moved at strange angles and the upper right quadrant of his head didn't move at all. From the military saber at the head of the bar and the very professional gun anyone could conclude he was a veteran of some sorts and he pondered if the newcomer had when he sloppily handed him his drink.

"Here you go sir. Are you with any of these men in the place, a lot of sailors and adventurers stop by here. And I never figured out why but this is where many expeditions start out."

edited 14th Dec '12 1:02:04 PM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

The man smiled sadly. "Afraid not," His accent was that of an american, but there was a faintly musical tone to it; not quite irish. "I did once, but then events robbed me of my sight. I'm just here for old-times sake." He brought out a handful of coins from the pocket and felt them with the other, eventually putting some on the bartop. "I hope that is enough."

"You are my future selves? Am I having a Mid-Life Crisis?" The War Doctor - Day of The Doctor

"Oh yes, old times sake." said the barkeep examining the ancient looking coins. "We live in a strange world where the nostalgia of us old waxing fellows runs the way we live. The young will have their time but we have to die first and things are too advanced for that to happen anytime soon. That never would have happened with my father and he wouldn't have had it that way. The world is run by insecure old men and the prize goes to the bitter coot who outlasts the others. Or at least that's what I think working around these rotten bastards. What in particular are you trying to relive?"

edited 14th Dec '12 1:55:57 PM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

"You speak truly my friend." The man said. "The undeserving and the corrupt play their games with the lives of the likes of us. That's the way it was, the way it is and probably the way it will always be. All we can do is hope to survive as best we can, or find a way to play your own game."

"As to which part I'm trying to relive? Happier times. When we were without care, the future was untarnished and the possibilities were endless." He raised the glass. "To the past."

edited 14th Dec '12 2:12:06 PM by JasonC

"You are my future selves? Am I having a Mid-Life Crisis?" The War Doctor - Day of The Doctor

"Aye to that," said the bartender wiping the sweat out of a now obviously prosthetic piece of his face "to the past."

---

"The future is in balance," said Mr. Stockport, heightening his voice, for a moment using what would have been recognized as a modern accent if that was possible. "The future is in balance and we are squabbling like children."

"Now now now," exclaimed Redmond inebriatedly pausing on each syllable, "This is official business and I, Redmond Lyndon Jr. am required to represent my family. The most honorable house of Lyndon which had been accosted by the impostor Queen of England. We used to be an honorable arms manufacturer. My grandfather made the Lyndon ball you know."

"It's the Laydon ball, and Grandpa Barry told you the lies he did because he was bitter at not getting his knighting and at losing his leg in that duel. Now if the adults may talk..."

"You will not disrespect my Grandpa Barry!"

edited 14th Dec '12 3:15:04 PM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

Josef tuned out the babbling of Redmond and Mr. Stockport, as he perused the copy of the letter and found it to be the same as his own. He had no idea where this idiot had gotten it, but he seemed too dim-witted to do much damage. When this Mr. Kurtz arrived, he could no doubt clear things up.

Looking around the room, he saw a young woman standing apart — with the tell-tale red-bordered envelope in her hand. He motioned to the bartender. "A glass of wine for that lady, and tell her to pull up a chair. A pretty devyushka like her should not be left alone."

First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.

The bartender confided to Edmund, "Things are heating up, it's practically going to be a western brawl like back in the olden days. Considering this the flames of a fight will either be soothed or fanned when I turn on the radio, let's experiment shall we." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uLbPGTHw4s

He heard a deeply accented request from a table near the entrance and he best fulfill it, "Yes, sir."

---

Meanwhile Mr. Stockport noticed the pressure on him had vanished. The man who he had a fearful knowledge of turned his attention elsewhere and he thankfully, satchel swinging behind him, metallic pen looking thing in front of him with outstretched arm, ran by a seeming friend in a brown trench coat and gave him a hug as if he was a sailor meeting dry land.

"Jesus, let's get out of this timeline. Here's your damn screwdriver." could be vaguely heard as the two walked past the foggy street into a phone booth with a flash of light accompanying.

edited 15th Dec '12 8:12:43 AM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

The lady took the proferred glass of wine, taking a seat next to Josef and smiling graciously.

"Dànké mein herr. In this most foreign of lands I am unaccustomed to such kindness from a stranger... but I suspect we may share a common cause, yes?"

She flourished the letter as she spoke, her Austrian accent mild but noticeable.

Though the bar is packed witha throng of people, the next visitor to the bar has no trouble negotiating the crowd, as even the bulkier, meaner-looking workers shy away from his titanic silhouette. The monstrous size of the visitor naturally drew the eyes of those nearby- he stood a little over 8 feet, and was broad-shouldered and massive. The man was covered head-to-toe in cloth, wearing an enormous, thick winter coat with the collar turned up, thick gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down to redundantly obscure his face, itself covered with a crude cloth mask, a rough hessian sack of some description with eye-holes cut in it.

The towering newcomer stood, feet spaced wide apart, judging for a moment the atmosphere of the bar and glancing around to see if anyone or anything caught his eye. He scanned the (slightly crumpled) letter in his hand, then took another look around the room. Somewhat awkwardly, he slowly advanced towards the bar itself.

Men in such places were often slaves to drink (a fact of life that the enormous newcomer had never quite understood) and he had no doubt that some in his party would have spoken to the barman. He took very measured, very careful steps, not wanting to bumped into a drunkard and cause a row.

He walked up to the barman and the man with the cane, and made a motion to clear his throat, but then stopped, unsure of whether he should speak to them. Crumpled letter in hand, the goliath stood a short way from them, clearly ill-at-ease in the crowded environment.

"One thing, though- apparently the eldest goat is the bastard child of Muhammad Ali and the Hulk." ~ Exelixi, on The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

As a walking bag of rags came into his bar, the Barkeep was obviously shocked but composed himself. His first word to the poor man would be the verdict of the entire bar and he had to be constructive to avoid violence.

"Well, you're a worn fella aren't you. Been in the war I assume. In my day we just lost hands but we didn't go up against chinese pirates wielding goddamn elements of nature. You must be shocked, have a tonic on me." The best compliments he could conjure up ran out, and he served him his entire mug of tonic when he obviously should have given a shot (not that it mattered) and went back to nervously fiddling with the radio.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plYbEW5VlG4

He turned it up even higher just hoping it wouldn't trigger this poor, poor veteran. Victim of the modern age.

edited 15th Dec '12 7:49:11 AM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

"It may be," Josef said, turning to the woman. "For me, this was a chance to escape the prison of seminary — pah! — and go out into the world. What led you to take up this journey?"

First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.

The "veteran" reached out gingerly with one hand to take the mug, not wanting to appear ungrateful, and gave a jerky, awkward nod of thanks to the barkeeper.

He thanked himself internally for the choice to remain silent. Had he approached the barman diretly he could easily have intimidated him, whereas now he had the barman's pity. He knew that the pity he had elicited was purely due to the bartender's assumptions, and that his true history would only evoke disgust. The bar man, with his false hand, was no doubt projecting his own war-time experience onto his newest patron, but it would not do to prove him wrong. To this end, he decided to play along.

Slowly, with a slight trembling in his hand, he raised the glass to his face, inched up the hessian mask, and sipped up a trickle of the bitter tonic, before quickly adjusting the sack to cover his mouth again. He spoked with an exaggerated quietness, affecting nervousness. Nonetheless his voice was deep, growling.

"Thank... thank you, sir."

His eyes flicked to the man in the worn suit, but unable to read his reaction as of yet, he turned back to the barman.

"You... you wouldn't have happened to see, well, anyone carrying an envelope with a, a red border? Would you? I'm here to meet someone."

"One thing, though- apparently the eldest goat is the bastard child of Muhammad Ali and the Hulk." ~ Exelixi, on The Three Billy Goats Gruff.

"Oh, yes." the barkeeper said as he searched his recollections, "there's a gaggle of 'em over there." He pointed at the area which was the location of a shouting match not too long ago.

"There were a few people, two of them got into a heated frenzy over the contents before one of them ran away, while two letter holders are now reflecting over wine. I don't know what's going on but you should either be grateful or horrified to be in whatever business these letters pertains to. Best of luck, and god bless."

edited 15th Dec '12 10:20:51 AM by sonofkong

Out of Mind

"Seminary? What a coincidence, I too had some... difficulties with the clergy in my country. I cannot return, so travelling the rest of the world seemed as good a path as any."