29 January 2010
One Score and Four, Hour Twenty: Wherein Likely Loses Time
7:00am, 29th of January, 1891.
I AWOKE in a place that was, I am fairly certain, completely different to the place I had been in mere moments ago. Furthermore, I was quite sure that I had been in a conscious state the last time I had checked, so what in the name of cockery was I doing waking up now? When had I gone to sleep?
“WHAT THE TOSS IS GOING ON?” I bellowed to the ceiling. “WHERE AM I?”
“Oh, you’re awake,” came a woman’s voice from behind me.
“Apparently so,” I replied. “But I don’t recall having gone to bed, and there’s the problem.”
“Mmm,” the voice replied, quite disinterestedly, I felt.
“Look, who are you and where the hel -” I raised myself off of the couch upon which I’d been lying, and turned to face the lady in question. “- lo, my dear!” I finished.
Oh! How my heart skipped a beat, while my proud Lord Palmerston stood solidly to attention.
The lady was a completely ravishing creature, dressed in a rather luxuriant, crimson-coloured ball-gown, which seemed to be completely at odds with the rather austere and sterile surroundings we were currently in.
“Hello,” the lady replied, pushing a curl of red hair back behind her ear, while busying herself with reading a stack of papers in her hand.
“So,” I said, getting myself unsteadily to my feet. “What is a fine creature like you doing in a hole like this?” I raised an eyebrow. “Of course, that is what the ladies usually say to me, but in this instance I’ll – ”
“What the fuck were you thinking, Likely?” snapped the lady, slamming her batch of papers onto a nearby desk. “You nearly blew the entire operation for us, you lousy SHIT!”
I stepped back, quite literally taken aback by this sudden, extremely unladylike outburst from such a distinctly ladylike form.
“I…I beg your pardon?” I stuttered.
“Boondoggles,” the woman said abruptly.
“I…I’m sorry to hear that, m’dear. Maybe you should get some talcum and – ”
“That’s my name, you idiot,” the lady sighed. “Felicity Boondoggles. I work for the Criminal Underworld Neutralisation Team.”
“Criminal Underworld Neutralisation Team? You mean CUN – ”
“No!” Felicity cried, putting up a hand to stop me. “Our official acronym is CTUN. We can’t use our actual acronym any more. When we used to have our initials in large letters on the wall outside, we were nearly charged with ‘dwelling inside an obscene publication.’ So…it had to be changed, for decency’s sake.”
“Oh. Pity. I rather liked the old name, rather rolled off the tongue…”
“Look, Likely. I’ve got no time for your small talk,” Felicity barked at me. “Let me just explain to you how you got here, what happened to the last few hours of your day, and how you almost COMPLETELY ballsed this all up…”
- Lord Likely.
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