May I Have More Plot, Please, Sir?

May I have more Plot, please, sir?

“…penny for my thoughts!” drawled Brain, scoffing, “I don’t know whether to tell you what I think of how little you value my thoughts or ask what good any amount of money would do me on Faraway.”

Robbie just glared at him while Chad and Amelia shared a bored smirk. Then she softened.

“You drifted off…”

“I was just thinking about a book I’m reading – one of those old mystery books from the nineteen-twenties or thirties that Chad lends me – a carefully constructed plot that accumulates clues and weaves them into a theory that points to the one and only possible culprit: the butler.”

He went on with more wind in his sails after that. He’d gotten them to laugh.

“I thought, if someone tried to put everything that happened to us in the last month or so – during that trouble with the pirates over Pacifica – tried to fashion it into some kind of story, it couldn’t possibly seem like a carefully crafted plot. More like an episodic series of harrowing events – to borrow Lemony Snicket’s phraseology. I’m not sure what the plot was, other than: pirates obviously had it out for us.”

“It’s a kind of McGuffin!” offered Amelia, “A McGuffin once removed. Some unknown objective the bad guys have, and we’re just caught in their path. In their way. That’s all. And then, we have to survive the oncoming semi-truck full of bad guys that’s taken a bead on us, however we can. That’s the story. Just like the trouble with the golden caterpillar! The plot is unknown, flowing all around us. We’re just stuck in the middle! Clueless, minding our own business, yet in dire peril! Still, mark me, I say we’re going to find out exactly what that plot really is!”

“But, in the meantime, the good thing is, we’re fun people to be with!” Chad interjected, and Amelia chuckled, swiping her fingertips across the back of his hand.

“One of my brothers once noted that ‘plot’ sounded like something orphans ate – you know, like, orphans during the early industrial revolution, in London? Oliver Twist-like?”

He assumed the high pitched voice of an English choir boy. And the accent. Straight from the Oliver Twist movie musical.

“Please, sir!? May I have some more, sir?”

Then he switched to the less cultured accent and deeper voice of that “sir” behind that nineteenth century food counter.

“What? More plot?!” Incredulous. It sounded like Wauh!? Moh plo-uh?!

“Yes, suh. Please suh!”

Chad grimaced sternly, with his plot-dispensing character’s obvious reluctance to part with any more of the precious, porridgy plot, physically wavering with indecision before giving in, with a final, violent head wag, swinging his invisible ladle like a catapult aimed at the orphan’s imaginary plate. He vocalized the porridgy lump plopping loudly onto the orphan’s plate with a British accent all its own.

“Plot!”

Brain giggled at the sound effect and Chad went on, thanking him for the feedback with a sideways glance and a shy, wry smile.

“Some people find more joy simply living in the world the author built, in the company of his characters, than in the cleverness or elegance of the plot’s puzzle. And, like I say, we’re fun to be with!”

They all smiled. Robbie nodded.

“I know. Aunt Lily says she’s found herself happiest when she’s in David Weber’s honorverse. No matter the story. Of course, Honor Harrington’s dad is a bionics guy, as I recall, like Aunt Lily. That’s the main protagonist of the series, by the way – Honor Harrington. I think. Mmh! And I think they wear tight black uniforms like the Blackbirds do too…”

With that, she pointed at Brain for some reason and he nodded.

“It is – Honor Harrington, the protagonist. I can’t wait to read those books. I’ve been itching to, for the longest time. But, my dad – he’s a fan of the books too – he says some of them have words I’m not ready for. I assume he means curse words – expletives – and not words he thinks are too big for me.”

They all laughed at that!

“Anyway,” Chad interjected again, “I’d read our book!”