The Blogisferia Chronicles: Chapter the Seventh

Please note - all Chronicles are stand-alones, you don't have to read any previous chapters to know what's going on.

Indulge me on this one, it's long but heartfelt.

Previous Chapters:
Chapter the First
Chapter the Second
Chapter the Third
Chapter the Fourth
Chapter the Fifth
Chapter the Sixth
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The Candysoda Tavern was cool & dark, even in the middle of the day. Princess Soda was sitting at the bar, grimly chugging drink after pink frothy drink and demanding more with a small fist slammed into the scarred wood of the bar-top. She glared belligerently around her and muttered foul imprecations under her breath.

A few stools down, Tennyson ee Hemingway the philosopher, in a battered leather hat with a band made of crocodile teeth, was nibbling thoughtfully on a huge slice of pavlova. He turned to the man next to him and said "Strewth Mo, what is the Princess doing in here? I didn't think she was a drinker!"

Mo was a dapper English fellow with a small sticky person in an orange & pink striped onesie clambering about his person. He replied "I only come in on Mo-days, but I heard she's been in here constantly the past few days and has to be carried out at closing time... The odd thing is, those are Shirley Temples she's shotgunning." Having imparted this wisdom, Mo sagely sipped his pint and returned to his favorite task of observing the colorful parade of people passing by the tavern.

Suddenly, down at the end of the bar, there was a puff of smoke and a loud bang. Mjenks the alchemist sat behind the now charred and smoking bar, a maniacal grin on his face. As the smoke cleared, he turned to the curvaceous redhead at his side and murmured "Vix a te videor posse tenere manus!"

Everyone politely averted their eyes from what occurred next.

As a lucky distraction, a commotion occurred that very minute. Outside the tavern, an oddly charming three-wheeled vehicle staggered to a halt in a sputtering cloud of fumes. An elderly gentleman with an impressive beard alighted and shuffled in to sit at the bar.

"You!" shouted the Princess, looking daggers at the old man. "She is lost to us because of you, Simon! Princess Teacup is gone because of your carelessness!" Princess Soda jumped down from the bar-stool, clenching her fists and stamping a tiny foot against the dark hardwood floor.

"I know," sobbed Simon. "And she was the most profitable, er, I mean sweetest, of my myriad illegitimate daughters as well."

Upon seeing his genuine grief, Princess Soda's rage evaporated. She and Simon embraced, and toasted to their dear lost Princess Teacup with huge foamy steins of Byron Bay lemonade.

And to make up for her ill humor, the Princess ordered a giant platter of Tim Tams for everyone in the bar.

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Tennyson, mo.stoneskin, INdefatigable mjenks & Simon: please accept this fine shield as proof of your Chroniclage.
Teacup my dear, I know you've quit blogging, but please continue to drop in here whenever you want.