Three-Legged Improv

Tuchel the overly ambitious porter reached into the barouche to retrieve a hamper along with a chilled box of food he knew to be cursed.
"Once the clambake is set Tuchel would you grease the carriage again," prudishly exclaimed Laurence the old carriage driver and now love interest to Princess Aveline - she went through men like summer garden parties.
"It would be my pleasure sir!" Tuchel grinned at the peasant turned prince, meanwhile his mind relayed the three words that would save the Princess after the consumption of the cursed clams.

Tankard, Alley Dweller, Bitter Winter.
 
I jangled my tankard at the feet passing by; after all day there was only the coppers that I threw in there this morning. They didn't care, no one cared. Another day of slow starvation, perhaps today would be the day I died, curled up and dusted with snow. While I lay there shivering, I felt something soft drape over me and a gentle arm wrap around my huddled form.

Violin, Farmer, Dystopian
 
'1 full crate of mangetout, 5 fingers of endive root, and 16 cases of spring onion on top'
Giuseppe translated the order in his head, full size maple wood body, spruce top, ebony finger board. He made his way to his greenhouse, heart pumping faster than a waltz—only a fool wouldn't fear defying The Order. Pulling the raised herb garden to the side, he stepped down the hidden staircase to his workshop.

Time Machine, Athlete, Romance
 
The settings on the weird-looking treadmill were: crawl, stagger, slow walk, jog, trot, run, mad dash, time machine. Craig rotated his shoulder blades, rippled his chest muscles and dropped into a sprinter’s crouch. Then he started to run, picking up speed slowly but surely, with a desperate promise on his lips - “Clarice my darling, hold on - I’m coming for you, whenever you are!”


Drinking water fountain, major league baseball player, the end of the world.
 
I pushed the switch, on the off chance there was a little pressure left in the system. A trickle left the spout, then a groan from the pipes as black sludge sputtered forth, it was worth a try. I hefted my trusty oak bat, 3 time world series winner; the barbed wire caught the pad on my shoulder, I twisted it free, and walked out onto the plate,

"Right you motherfreaking zombies. You're on my turf now... Batter up!"

Stuffed animal, Dog, A "missed connection" (romance)
 
It had taken an enormous amount of straw and kapok to fill out the skin of the adult mammoth, and the cost of the internal framework needed to allow it to stand like a living elephant was frightening to contemplate, but at last the exhibit was ready to go on display and Elspeth decided to bring in her beloved Weimaraner to show her why she had been so cruelly neglected all these months.

Cruncher padded around it, sniffing at every part of the stuffed animal she could reach. Elspeth approved, and stood hugging herself with intense anticipation. To her mind Cruncher was giving the mammoth a thorough evaluation, as she had every previous piece of work Elspeth had completed, and she would then signify her approval by sitting in front of Elspeth and wagging her tail enthusiastically. This is what she was waiting for.

Instead Cruncher started whining and then pointed with her whole body at the exit. Elspeth couldn’t make head nor tail of it; what could she possibly want? She tried to attract Cruncher’s attention with some doggy chocs, but the dog wasn’t having any of it - instead she made little dashes towards the door, trying to draw poor Elspeth towards it. Finally, in apparent desperation, Cruncher locked her teeth onto the hem of Elspeth’s apron and tried to drag her to the door, but to no avail.

So Cruncher gave up, sat down in front of Elspeth and wagged her tail. Elspeth was pleased, if also somewhat confused, but Cruncher was furious. Stupid woman, she thought, the one person who could have been love of your life just walked past the door and you never even met them. Why will you never listen?


A magic quill pen, the Bard of Avon, World War II.
 
The right song can turn the tides of any war.
So why the f*ck aren't they paying me more?
Klaus dipped his quill in the magic ink pot
Adolf you fool, with this song you shall rot!

A candle, a Queen, a welcome surprise.
 
Candlelight announced the arrival of a servant to the Queen’s cell, rousing Marionette from her slumber. She rose from her bitter slab, smoothing the folds of her torn tunic, and received the tray of crude vittles gracefully. When the servant had retreated from view, she thrust her hand into the pie crust, recoiling at the texture, then groped within until she retrieved a small roll of parchment, on which was written a short message: “The King lives!”

A gun, A bureaucrat, Mistaken Identity
 
"Are you mad!" cried the Chancellor.
"I'm very sorry," snivelled the Deputy Prime Minister.
"You were issued with six bullets! No one said you had to use all of them! Do you know how much they cost now?"
"Cost?" The Deputy Prime Minister blinked, confused. "You mean, you don't mind that I shot the wrong person?"
“You mean that journalist? No, of course not.” The Chancellor scowled, rapping his knuckles on his desk.
“He looked exactly like him. From behind.”
“Shut up. Here’s what you do. Go back to the cabinet room, use the dead journalist to bite your arm, then jump out of the window.”
“But-”
The Chancellor stared at the hapless Deputy Prime Minister. “We’re in the grip of a zombie apocalypse,” he snapped. “We all need to make sacrifices.”

A dog, a train, a telepath.
 
As the train finally halted on Jimbocho station and streams of people flooded the underground platform, I felt the leash tighten. Bobby, the bloodhound I spent most of my career with, barked so fast I could hardly say when one sound ended and another started, dim light reflected in his bare fangs. The telepath was in the crowd, and all that was left was to let my friend loose.

An axe, an elve, the last day of an empire
 
"Come closer, my friend," the emperor said to the elf. The latter did so with deep worry in his heart. The crystal ball in the emperor's hands showed a massive blot of darkness engulfing edifices of marble and gold.

"The end of our empire is approaching. There is a favor I ask of you.

"Yes, sir," said the elf.

"Like all of your kind, immortality rushes through your veins."

He took a battle axe from behind him and handed it to his friend.

"You will lead the next iteration of this empire. With this axe, my authority will lie with you."

The elf whimpered, but held the axe firmly.

"Aye, sir. May your next life bear the fruits of your earthly deeds."



alternate history, clown, wedding ring
 
“We will escape alongside the circus” Amelia Earhart repeated in her mind – anxiety gripping her as she and Fred Noonan’s plane descended to the Marshall Islands. Fred jealously glanced at Amelia’s wedding ring, already planning how he would win her heart when they escaped from the public eye. The time display changed to 8:43, Amelia sent her last transmission, and both of them tensed up hoping they had evaded the watchful eyes of those who would keep them confined.

Photographer, End of the World, Time-Slowing-Device
 
The world is burning to a crisp. Humanity has long fled to the outer reaches of the galaxy, save for me. I know that only the best picture of the scorching globe will do, and I am the one to take it. I press a button on the Time Remote, causing the blinding flames to move at a slow crawl. It is now nearly still. I will get as many photographs as possible and relay them to the Federation head. It will be my greatest achievement so far. When I have completed my mission, I will die quickly; my cryosuit can only take so much pressure. It will be a beautifully quick death, the death of the last man on Earth.


superhero, guitar, riddle
 
Look here, True Believers! Stratocaster holds aloft his mighty Axe and shouts down the heavens.

"Behold ye gods, my six strings of DOOM! No man can resist its beguiling melody! No armour its powerful ultrasonic charge! It is the ultimate sonic WEAPON! Now prepare yourself, Confuzzler. Turbo distortion ACTIVATE!"

Stratocaster brings his heel down square on his magic stomp box and the air becomes alive with music. A rainbow arc springs from his headstock and trails a beam of psychedelic light towards his trickster foe!

But Confuzzler is prepared for the blast and wraps himself in a cloak of impenetrable verbiage, easily deflecting the blast.

"It's not a giraffe, though it's neck is long. It's body misshapen, lumpen and hard. Numbers six to do its cords, though pathetic they be. Tis not the instrument, but it's player. Not even the softest cheese can he shred." Confuzzler wraps his hands together and draws on the power of riddles before unleashing them towards Stratocaster, "Now feast on my rejoinder: Unmet crowds, ghosts and lovers the same, all rush forth and all of them LAME!"

Stratocaster pauses. Was that an insult? Too, late the chorus of boos strikes him like a tsunami and he flies backwards from his podium, crashing through the cathedral's stained-glass windows, only to fall onto its hard stone floor with shards of glass all around him arranged in Confuzzler;s trademark interrobang!

A know-it-all, a vial of poison, a relaxing health spa
 
The tall glass contained three hundred and thirty millilitres of filtered water, two ice cubes, a lime wedge, a cocktail stick skewering two raspberries, a paper umbrella and, uncorked at the bottom, a tiny glass vial. "It's iocaine powder in The Princess Bride, not iodine, and there were two poisoned cups."

Helena rolled her eyes, waggled the gun barrel under its fluffy monogrammed towel and said, "drink."

A body double, a priceless jewel, a spaceport
 
As we struggled in free-fall in the centre of Docking Bay 14, Petronella’s bag split open and the Betelgeuse Emerald tumbled out. The fist-size gem crackled with light and spoke in a snarky voice: “Stop squabbling, you filthy apes, this is just a decoy. The real Betelgeuse Emerald is already far beyond Human space on her way back to her own people.”

[edited down from 3 paragraphs!]

A cat, a telecoms engineer, Fairyland.
 
'What do you mean by 'meow'? ...there's no use pretending to be a cat, I know it's you Mealach ...let's live forever on an island of eternal youth ya said, you go ahead, I'll follow you over ...well, it's been week and no sign of your ugly mush ...d'ya know that makes ya fifty seven years older, huh?, and for what?, dossing about drinking with your dopey friends is what'
Interdimensional switchboard unit TE6158 flashed, bleeped, whirred and fizzeled before interrupting the call.
'Sorry, bleep, erm, splart, kerzip, uh, I've just recalculated, and I'm after crossing the lines again'.

Handsaw, Optometrist, Martian soap opera
 
"Hold still, Mr Gordon, I'm just going to cut that beam down a bit with the tenon saw so we can have a better look. How on Mars did you manage to get it stuck in your eye, anyway?"
"It's my own fault, really- you see, my co-husband walked in on me when I was fooling around with my wife's cousin's alien symbiote in the orchard dome..."

Chess set, goldsmith, thriller
 
"Seven hundred and eighty fed coin - twenty three billion in old money - on a drive embedded into this," Stafford thwacked his telescopic pointer onto the projected image of a chess piece. "A King, naturally. Solid Gold. Fitting for a monumental narcissist like Goldsmith."

"Twenty three bee buys a hell of a lot of lake city quiet pills," said Roanoke, punctuating the sentence with a finger gun to his temple.

"This ain't no challenge," said Rockwell, "You don't need all of us."

"Don't think this will be a cakewalk. Goldsmith is surrounded by the finest agents the FSB ever produced, and that coin is destined for a Lunar vault in Russian controlled territory. The war effort depends on us preventing it gets there. Rest assured, Surkov's agents will pull out the stops to ensure it arrives with Goldsmith intact."

"What do they need him for?"

"Goldsmith's own DNA is encrypted with the key. They can't just kill him, drain his blood and steal the coin, his heart needs to be beating."

"No go bye-bye then."

"Not till that coin is safely back into Canmerican hands, once again."

A Reindeer, A Jolly Plump Man, A Murder Mystery
 
Olsid Fleck was beginning to think that Inspector Snacknussen didn’t know what he was doing.
‘But Inspector, it doesn’t make sense, it’s seventy miles to the nearest road, there were seven other people in the house at the time, nobody saw him arrive, and he was shot in the back.’
Inspector Snacknussen smiled, patted his large gut, and pulled another sausage roll from his pocket, ‘ah Olsid, you’re still young, but when you get to my age these things will come to you pretty quickly, what you see before you is a clear case; the victim arrived at this place disguised as a reindeer before changing into human clothes to commit burglary, and then simply took himself by surprise with suicide’.

A hatchet, A midwife, A 70s cop drama
 

Similar threads


Back
Top