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Description
Cecil ran through the living quarters of the ship as fast as his stunted legs would allow.

"Twylla! Twyllaaaaaa!! Honeymelons! It's me! Are you there?"
he continued to call despite finding no purchase. he staggered around a corner and was nearly bowled by a sudden, enormous flash of light and a popping noise.

Cecil blinked and staggered as the silouettes of two people approached.

"Oh I DO beg your pardon. The little woman does love her photography. I swear, she snaps a few photos and then she thinks she can work for the newspaper. This is what happens when we give them the vote, am I right, chum?"

The male of the two spoke with a tone so self satisfied that the un-brokeness of his nose defied all reason. But Cecil, as a civilised gentleman, instead took the hand that the man had extended and shook it. "Cecil Twillsbury. I don't be believe we've met Mister...?"

"Garfield Hubert Cromwell Marmaduke Blanton the Third, Pulitzer prize winning writer and official biographer of Coolidge himself. I must thank you for living under a rock, allowing me the rare privellige of having to introduce myself. This fine thing on my arm is my wife, Alessa; she doesn't know her place but she's got it where it counts if you know what I mean."

Despite her expression, Cecil could see full well what this saucy fellow saw in the flapper next to him, but Garfield added in a growl with his tongue and an apalling claw motion so as to remove all ambiguity.

Cecil saw he was going to have to speak this twit's language.

"Ah..yeah! She's got it where it counts alright. I'm looking for my own wife truth be told. There was a great huloo over dinner and people started accusing her of being a murderer or something equally preposterous, based on circumstantial evidence that was sketchy at best. Between you and me..." Cecil puffed, giving Garfield a conspirational look "...she's not got enough between her ears to find the sharp end of a knife. Didn't exactly marry her for her brains if you take my meaning"

"High sign, friend - I do indeed!" Garfiled crowed making another motion with his hands that actually reperesented Twyllas figure very well. "We should spilit up, huh? But you go with Alessa - if me and her spend any more time together alone we'll never get anything done, am I right? Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

As Cecil watched Garfield decent back into the corridors of the ship, he rather suspected that didn't include much.

"Let's find your wife then." Alessa finally spoke startling Cecil slightly.

"Yes....lets"

Description
Cecil ran through the living quarters of the ship as fast as his stunted legs would allow.

"Twylla! Twyllaaaaaa!! Honeymelons! It's me! Are you there?"
he continued to call despite finding no purchase. he staggered around a corner and was nearly bowled by a sudden, enormous flash of light and a popping noise.

Cecil blinked and staggered as the silouettes of two people approached.

"Oh I DO beg your pardon. The little woman does love her photography. I swear, she snaps a few photos and then she thinks she can work for the newspaper. This is what happens when we give them the vote, am I right, chum?"

The male of the two spoke with a tone so self satisfied that the un-brokeness of his nose defied all reason. But Cecil, as a civilised gentleman, instead took the hand that the man had extended and shook it. "Cecil Twillsbury. I don't be believe we've met Mister...?"

"Garfield Hubert Cromwell Marmaduke Blanton the Third, Pulitzer prize winning writer and official biographer of Coolidge himself. I must thank you for living under a rock, allowing me the rare privellige of having to introduce myself. This fine thing on my arm is my wife, Alessa; she doesn't know her place but she's got it where it counts if you know what I mean."

Despite her expression, Cecil could see full well what this saucy fellow saw in the flapper next to him, but Garfield added in a growl with his tongue and an apalling claw motion so as to remove all ambiguity.

Cecil saw he was going to have to speak this twit's language.

"Ah..yeah! She's got it where it counts alright. I'm looking for my own wife truth be told. There was a great huloo over dinner and people started accusing her of being a murderer or something equally preposterous, based on circumstantial evidence that was sketchy at best. Between you and me..." Cecil puffed, giving Garfield a conspirational look "...she's not got enough between her ears to find the sharp end of a knife. Didn't exactly marry her for her brains if you take my meaning"

"High sign, friend - I do indeed!" Garfiled crowed making another motion with his hands that actually reperesented Twyllas figure very well. "We should spilit up, huh? But you go with Alessa - if me and her spend any more time together alone we'll never get anything done, am I right? Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

As Cecil watched Garfield decent back into the corridors of the ship, he rather suspected that didn't include much.

"Let's find your wife then." Alessa finally spoke startling Cecil slightly.

"Yes....lets"