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Gentlemen of the Society, it is my pleasure to report to you though my deepest regret to have to do so about outcomes that are anything but optimal; which in this case you shall see is lamentably the case due to Unforseen Circumstances.

As per the request of Dr. Entropibyxor, our humble Expedition set out to cross Greater Angeles and achieve the Culver City summit yesterday at 5pm PST, which is to say 1AM in Greenwich Mean Time. The ultimate end of our Expedition was to affect the acquisition or seizure of divers exotic liquors that Dr. Entropiybxor (or may I address him familiarly as Duktigstubbe?) required for certain Unnamed Uses. Prior intelligence on the locale - a report acquired from the AetherNetwerks and confirmed by use of Dr. Bell's bi-directional synchronous audio-transciever - indicated that the Exotic Liquors could be acquired at some sort of Trading House owned by a gentleman named Offenkundigerschicksalalkohol. Timing was of the essence, as the Trading House, brigadoon-like, disappears at 6pm PST, which is to say, 2AM Greenwich Mean Time.

The Expedition set out with high expectations of not only affecting the Ultimate Aim, but perhaps also procuring some of the divers exotic liquors for the use of local members of the Royal Society. Our immediate experience was, however, contraindicatory of eventual success, as the burdensome amount of vehicular traffic on the major arteries of Trans-Angeles Intercourse impeded timely progress to an excessive degree. Residing in the far-flung Wester Territories, one becomes accustomed to these sorts of extravagant inconveniences, but this particular journey was shortly noted to be Sisyphean; progress from one organizational quadrilateral (a.k.a. "block") was no sooner achieved than stymied by the dreaded phenomenon of "gridlock" wherein the passage of one vehicle through the intersections halts midst-transition, thus blocking any further intercourse in any direction.

Motion was made by a member of the Expedition to attempt the journey at a later, more felicitous date - however a brief comparison of the hour of Commerce for Mr. Offenkundigerschicksalalkohol to those available to the Expedition's financial backer revealed the excessive long time that would pass before another sortie could be made. The motion was therefore denied, and the Expedition pressed forward.

Due to a topographical oddity of Greater Angeles, progress soon derailed entirely. To whit; while there exist many broad avenues of cross-metropolitan intercourse, few if any of them are indicated by adequate signage. As an example, in this case the sign to EXIT the cross-metropolitan avenue of intercourse was simply non-existent, and despite being exhorted by those waypoints provided by the AetherNetwerks, the egress was missed and the Expedition ended up in Deepest Darkest Culver City.

Deepest Darkest Culver City is in itself a topographical oddity - while most of Greater Angeles is set-out in a sensible grid like all of the urban centers of the New World, this particular corner is not so; indeed, it descends into a snarl of by-ways and avenues that abruptly change direction, character, name, and destination with little to no signage or other indicators. The result on all but the most canny of locals is to become hopelessly disoriented in short order - making both travel to one's destination - as well as egress from Culver City - prohibitively difficult. At this point - though it pains me to report at all on the emotional makeup of the Expedition at all - there was some degree of both frustration and woe, as the allotted hour for travel had nearly elapsed, and the First Trans-Angeles Exotic Liquor Retrieving Expedition had likewise been unsuccessful. Some degree of ire for the tesseract of non-euclidian cartography in Culver City was also expressed, as well as disdain for the residents, and skepticism as to the legitimacy of the familal relations of those City Founders that set out the Gordian Snarl of avenues.

It is with regret, then, Gentlemen of the Society, that I report that our objective was never reached. Indeed, the Expedition became altogether lost - just as it has every time it has entered Culver City - and only found its way back to Society's seaside headquarters after great struggle and more than one glance at Mr. Thomas' Portable Field Re-Orientation Encyclopaedia and Cartographical Compendium.

In future Expeditions to this, or other destinations located in this benighted corner of Greater Angeles, we make the following recommendations; first that the Expedition set out with an allotted time significantly greater than sense, reason, tradition or humanity would indicate is sufficient for a trip so short in actual miles; second that having done so, the Expedition be prepared for the bitterness of defeat yet again by bringing along items of Comfort and Succor, as well as perhaps a native guide and perhaps a comfort woman or two (or perhaps some being who fulfills both roles) and third - that the Expedition travel not by horseless carriage, but instead to use the Society's Cross-Continental Airship and Travelling Natural Philosophical Salon, as so recently liberated from the fell clutches of Baron Von Zeppelinburger.

As always, I am your humble and obedient servant;
David V. Krieger
Royal Expedtionary Society of Gentleman Adventurers

Comments

( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
elanya
Jun. 8th, 2007 09:40 pm (UTC)
Ahh, from the defeat of the expedition to the triumph of the pen! Well done sir.
manywaters
Jun. 8th, 2007 10:10 pm (UTC)
As always, I enjoy your writing tremendously. Especially as a former communicant of the 1 AM Church of Asphaltia of Culver City under High Bishop thetoken.
silvertongue1
Jun. 8th, 2007 10:25 pm (UTC)
Written like a true Son of Ether Adventurer (says the girl who plays too much Mage)!
~Amanda
blanchemains
Jun. 9th, 2007 12:19 am (UTC)
Perhaps the next expedition should be planned for a time that does not correspond with the Great Migration?
aghrivaine
Jun. 9th, 2007 12:21 am (UTC)
Impossible, due to their operating hours.
dalriada42
Jun. 11th, 2007 07:15 am (UTC)
Okay, I want to know how long it took you to write that! This is professional curiosity, you understand - because the completion of a promising bit of prose for me is invariably accompanied by the mental question 'where did the time go?' (which is similar to 'why is the rum gone?' in that it is not only entirely rhetorical but occasionally begins to form a theme) and I find myself wondering whether others experience this phenomenon as well...
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )

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