Oh, I say,” said the figure with a scarf that had been fixed by what looked like wire at an angle around his neck making it seem as if he was caught permanently in a force-10 gale. He wore a battered flying cap sporting scratched goggles and a handlebar moustache that, having been stuck on with tape, looked slightly out of place on an eleven-year old face, “jolly pleased to meet you, young chappie, don’t you know?!”
The other figure sheepishly got to his feet brushing imaginary specs of dust from his baggy uniform. Ginger hair poked out from under his jauntily cocked flying cap and his eyes sparkled with unreserved mischief. He straightened his tie then hastily tucked a Mark-4 Raindrum catapult back into his trouser pockets.
“How do you do, young fella,” he said holding out his hand but snatching it away just as Ado responded, “got you there, hu-wha, hu-wha.”
Scarf-figure went on, “The name’s Smyth-Wylesthorpe-Blickensop, Algernon Smyth-Wylesthorpe-Blickensop or ‘Goggles’ to my friends.” Indicating his companion, he said, “This disreputable chappie is known as Mickey.”
His buddy presented a lop-sided salute and said, “Rolloking-Cocklesmote, Percival Rolloking-Cocklesmote. Snatch number 34589, err 4 or maybe 7, never can remember, but Mickey to my friends.”
“Been playing around inside Fefe for ages,” said Goggles causing Ado to look at Fefe who, in turn, looked innocently startled at the revelation.
“Yes,” chimed in Mickey, “we are chaps who live for today and never think about the future. I don’t know about Goggles, but I like to think of myself as a tumbleweed, you know, that plant thingy that wafts about in the wind, never knowing where it will land up. I mean, who do you think it was that made you turn that poo-filled potty upside down on your head, eh Fefe? What a lark!”
Fefe grasped his feet and rolled around in glee, tears of joy leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Of course, he remembered these two; they were the ones who seemed to say, “Go ahead, do it!” with no consideration for corollaries. They were mischievous, funny, destructive and, in his eyes at least, completely harmless. The fact that listening to them had often led him to be banned from watching TV or going out to play with his friends didn’t ever seem to be important and was soon forgotten. Yes, these two were a bundle of laughs who acted without thinking of the outcome of the effect on others, and he loved them.
“Rather,” exclaimed Goggles, “whoever thought of considering a plan? Consequences be damned!! Risk?,” he added, “never consider it.”
“Time to fly into the big, blue yonder, what!” shouted Mickey then, playfully pulling Goggle’s flying cap over his eyes he ran laughing into the ectophloic wall closely pursued by his companion who shouted, “Chocks away, by Jove!” winked at Ado, gave a cryptic sign to Fefe who, to the surprise of Glamorgonia, responded with one of his own, and disappeared.
By now, Fefe was having great fun and was laughing at the receding jokes that seemed to bounce off the walls in eye-blinking reverberation. And although she tried to hide it, even Glamorgonia smiled a shapely smile.
“Hmm,” said Glamorgonia, watching Ado watching Fefe with renewed respect, “I think it is important that you meet the other side to those two,” and she reached out a shapely finger to touch the wall again.
Before long, the resultant ripple was filled with a solid pair of eyes but, instead of coming immediately out of the wall, a dainty flat blue slipper-clad foot poked out and gingerly tapped the earth before, apparently once it was assured that the ground would not give way with applied weight, it was planted solidly in preparation for taking the strain of the combined assemblage that issued forth, confident of its place in the world.
Clarisdale stepped forth from the crobble-cloud, brushed down her beautiful voluminous velvety-charcoal dress, smoothed her golden locks until they gleamed in the radioactive green glow suffusing the distant interior of the eye-cloud, then smiled a sweet smile at Fefe. The gaze she swept over Ado was more reserved and the purse that rippled across her lips ruffled her nose as if trying to reduce the effects of an offensive pong that was assailing her senses.
Clarisdale’s generous proportions settled comfortably in perfect balance on her beautifully plimsoled feet and, once she was sure that her dress was perfectly disposed, her hair was lustrously piled and her hands were nestled comfortably in the deep pile of material that strained across her abdomen, she said in cheerful, optimistic and carefully modulated tones, “Well, hello you two. My name is Clarisdale and I am our sense of caution and thoughtfulness. I am charged with ensuring that careful consideration is applied, and that the significance of each moment and every action is appreciated.”
Clarisdale glanced at Glamorgonia, a frisson of common cause passing between them. She smiled a careful smile and continued, her eyes questioning a circumstance the answer of which she was already aware, “Glamorgonia informs me that you have already met with Goggles and Micky and I am very pleased to observe that you have survived the encounter ‘to live to play another day,’ as they might contrive.”
Moving slowly from her position of secure stability, Clarisdale advanced towards the boys who were sitting cross-legged watching her, Fefe’s teddy lying forgotten across Ado’s legs and both of them sucking their thumbs. She stopped before them and, opening her ample arms, she intoned, “I am here to make sure that those two scallywags do not cause untold mayhem, that they are suitably contained and that you attain maturity as one complete organism and that as few bits of our physiognomy as possible are missing at the end of your journey.”
“Now,” she continued under Glamorgonia’s approving gaze, “whilst I know that for youngsters like us, and,” she paused as her eyes swooped almost accusingly across the sitting forms before her, “boys in particular, this can be difficult, I am hoping that we will have a productive relationship and that, under my guidance, we will, err, endure to adulthood.”
“Well said, Clarisdale,” observed Glamorgonia, and Clarisdale seemed to glow under her gaze as she bobbed her knees that sent a vibration scudding across her beautifully layered dress and smiled at the two boys before stepping gingerly, and with great care, back into the ocular-manifestation.
Steps were not contemplated by the next personage that manifested from the ocu-mist. She marked her movements with studied fluidity and her long, understated yet extremely expensive silk dress, that didn’t look out of place even on a prepubescent young lady, whispered with supreme intention…