He had been staring at it for what seemed like hours when it finally dawned on him to try a different tact. He closed one eye, tried to focus up a bit, really gave it a good one eyed try, he thought, and then tried the other eye.
No luck.
Two eyes. Left eye. Right eye. It didn't really seem to make a difference. He couldn't tell what the hell he was looking at. He handed the binoculars over to Clem.
"Immma canmt teeeelll whatdaa huck eet iss", he uttered and then clapped his hand quickly over his mouth.
Clemence Beaufort-Rushinger gave him a stern look and quickly snatched the binocs out of his other hand. He brought them up to his eyes with a practiced surety that can only come with either military training or the upbringing of a stern nanny. "You really ought to watch what you eat around here, Blint. You know they've been bombarding us all night with it and I can tell from your speech that you've gobbled something you oughtn't to've."
IIfff onlyy I cooood thank a leeel beet fesssster Iddd jus... thought Blint Bangor. He didn't remember eating anything out of the ordinary but the evidence was quickly mounting that he didn't have his full capabilities about him. He couldn't see. He couldn't talk. And even his thoughts felt like they were strained through a cheesecloth that was already caked with something viler and slightly more viscous than cheese.
"Well, not to worry Blint. It's just another tourist here to take a look. Nothing that requires YOUR attention", snapped Clem as he began yanking on a pulley. Blint squinted at the flags and saw a splash of red rising through his vision to the beat of Clem's efforts.
"Thaaas naht spoosed t'be reeh eees ett??", said Blint with a shock of panic in his already generously swollen eyes. Clem just clicked his tongue at him and continued his task. Blint knew that red was the wrong color. And more than that he knew the consequences of flying the red erroneously. The chain reaction would begin with the hobbsman noting the color in his log. "Strange to see red on a day like today", he might think. With an effortless slash of his red pencil. But that log would end up on the train to Corpus Christi next week and across the gulf to Havana by the end of the month. From there it would take only a few days to reach the eyes of the headmaster, just as the cogs turn in a cuckoo. There would be no way to stop it.
No luck.
Two eyes. Left eye. Right eye. It didn't really seem to make a difference. He couldn't tell what the hell he was looking at. He handed the binoculars over to Clem.
"Immma canmt teeeelll whatdaa huck eet iss", he uttered and then clapped his hand quickly over his mouth.
Clemence Beaufort-Rushinger gave him a stern look and quickly snatched the binocs out of his other hand. He brought them up to his eyes with a practiced surety that can only come with either military training or the upbringing of a stern nanny. "You really ought to watch what you eat around here, Blint. You know they've been bombarding us all night with it and I can tell from your speech that you've gobbled something you oughtn't to've."
IIfff onlyy I cooood thank a leeel beet fesssster Iddd jus... thought Blint Bangor. He didn't remember eating anything out of the ordinary but the evidence was quickly mounting that he didn't have his full capabilities about him. He couldn't see. He couldn't talk. And even his thoughts felt like they were strained through a cheesecloth that was already caked with something viler and slightly more viscous than cheese.
"Well, not to worry Blint. It's just another tourist here to take a look. Nothing that requires YOUR attention", snapped Clem as he began yanking on a pulley. Blint squinted at the flags and saw a splash of red rising through his vision to the beat of Clem's efforts.
"Thaaas naht spoosed t'be reeh eees ett??", said Blint with a shock of panic in his already generously swollen eyes. Clem just clicked his tongue at him and continued his task. Blint knew that red was the wrong color. And more than that he knew the consequences of flying the red erroneously. The chain reaction would begin with the hobbsman noting the color in his log. "Strange to see red on a day like today", he might think. With an effortless slash of his red pencil. But that log would end up on the train to Corpus Christi next week and across the gulf to Havana by the end of the month. From there it would take only a few days to reach the eyes of the headmaster, just as the cogs turn in a cuckoo. There would be no way to stop it.
Love it.
Also good imagery here, "even his thoughts felt like they were strained through a cheesecloth that was already caked with something viler and slightly more viscous than cheese."