Day One - 52nd Century
I can only hope this makes it through, as these may be my last words to the 21st century, or any other century.
The device we used to take us to the 53rd appears to have run out of power. We've landed in the 52nd, approximately the time just after the Morlocks have reacquired the habit of personal grooming. Our plan to reach the 53rd and use Jack's electronic thumb to summon a ride to a more hospitable planet has been hi-jacked by some rather crude individuals dressed in animal skins and waving pointed sticks around. At least no one has yet yelled, "Release the tigers!" While I am rather fond of Monty Python, I've become overly sensitized to it by Hart's repetition of "wink wink nudge nudge" whenever he and Martha venture out of their crate. (He's added on to it to make her a proper home. Of course, he's not architect himself, so the additional space consists of a packing crate which arrived protecting the World's Largest Dildo (patent pending).
No. Hart didn't order it. Captain Jack did. Who knows what he's done with it. I'm only glad it didn't make the journey with us... at least, I don't think it made the journey with us.
In any case, that hardly matters now. We've crashed down here; the time-travel device is powerless. Sadly, the one word the native inhabitants understand is "butler" and Jack naturally hollered quite loudly for his when he discovered our precipitous landing had ruined his macaroni sculpture of Buckingham Palace. Equally sad is the fact the natives seem to think that "butler" means a rather delicious stew. Ianto and I are due to be cooked and served tomorrow for the pleasure of all. I would have remained safely at large, capable of securing Ianto's freedom save for the fact that when they began carrying off Ianto, Jack gestured emphatically in my direction, yelling rather loudly, "He's a butler too! You can't make a two butler stew, so you'll have to let them both go." Imagine my shock when the natives actually decided they could make a two butler stew. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
I'm sure that Jack would have shot this problem in the face, but he seems to have forgotten bullets. He muttered something about not having room for ammo after packing ::mumble mumble::. I remain suspicious. The bullets in his gun were nearly immediately upon arrival when Hart pointed at the bushes and screamed, "FAERIES!"
Now, I'm sure Her Majesty has a rescue plan in mind. She lifted her skirts and sprinted like Atalanta out of the village, hurdling the flimsy barrier with ease while carrying an injured Gwen to safety. (Either the vitamins Martha has been giving her are working marvelously, or the rift energy has given her super powers. It's a toss-up.)
Hart and Martha remain at large. I think they feel Hart is a madman and mustn't be killed or his death will curse the village. I can't really say they're wrong, at least about the madman part. Martha is arguing vehemently for our release, so I'm sure that we've her support.
Jack is currently attempting to find the natives stores of stew ingredients. His plan seems to be eating as much of them as possible so that they either can't make the stew, or at the very least are reduced to using only one butler. I'm sure he'll argue vehemently on Ianto's behalf. I wouldn't mind, as I'm sure Ianto would then find a way to rescue me (77-10-9, my friend.) However, I suspect the natives will merely pluck more weeds in order to make their stew, thus Jack's plan is doomed to failure. His only option may be to cry copiously over his butler stew. And remember us for a thousand years.
Well. I suppose the only thing to do now is get some sleep.
Harold Putnam
Butler to the Queen
The device we used to take us to the 53rd appears to have run out of power. We've landed in the 52nd, approximately the time just after the Morlocks have reacquired the habit of personal grooming. Our plan to reach the 53rd and use Jack's electronic thumb to summon a ride to a more hospitable planet has been hi-jacked by some rather crude individuals dressed in animal skins and waving pointed sticks around. At least no one has yet yelled, "Release the tigers!" While I am rather fond of Monty Python, I've become overly sensitized to it by Hart's repetition of "wink wink nudge nudge" whenever he and Martha venture out of their crate. (He's added on to it to make her a proper home. Of course, he's not architect himself, so the additional space consists of a packing crate which arrived protecting the World's Largest Dildo (patent pending).
No. Hart didn't order it. Captain Jack did. Who knows what he's done with it. I'm only glad it didn't make the journey with us... at least, I don't think it made the journey with us.
In any case, that hardly matters now. We've crashed down here; the time-travel device is powerless. Sadly, the one word the native inhabitants understand is "butler" and Jack naturally hollered quite loudly for his when he discovered our precipitous landing had ruined his macaroni sculpture of Buckingham Palace. Equally sad is the fact the natives seem to think that "butler" means a rather delicious stew. Ianto and I are due to be cooked and served tomorrow for the pleasure of all. I would have remained safely at large, capable of securing Ianto's freedom save for the fact that when they began carrying off Ianto, Jack gestured emphatically in my direction, yelling rather loudly, "He's a butler too! You can't make a two butler stew, so you'll have to let them both go." Imagine my shock when the natives actually decided they could make a two butler stew. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
I'm sure that Jack would have shot this problem in the face, but he seems to have forgotten bullets. He muttered something about not having room for ammo after packing ::mumble mumble::. I remain suspicious. The bullets in his gun were nearly immediately upon arrival when Hart pointed at the bushes and screamed, "FAERIES!"
Now, I'm sure Her Majesty has a rescue plan in mind. She lifted her skirts and sprinted like Atalanta out of the village, hurdling the flimsy barrier with ease while carrying an injured Gwen to safety. (Either the vitamins Martha has been giving her are working marvelously, or the rift energy has given her super powers. It's a toss-up.)
Hart and Martha remain at large. I think they feel Hart is a madman and mustn't be killed or his death will curse the village. I can't really say they're wrong, at least about the madman part. Martha is arguing vehemently for our release, so I'm sure that we've her support.
Jack is currently attempting to find the natives stores of stew ingredients. His plan seems to be eating as much of them as possible so that they either can't make the stew, or at the very least are reduced to using only one butler. I'm sure he'll argue vehemently on Ianto's behalf. I wouldn't mind, as I'm sure Ianto would then find a way to rescue me (77-10-9, my friend.) However, I suspect the natives will merely pluck more weeds in order to make their stew, thus Jack's plan is doomed to failure. His only option may be to cry copiously over his butler stew. And remember us for a thousand years.
Well. I suppose the only thing to do now is get some sleep.
Harold Putnam
Butler to the Queen