The Moustachioed Gent in ‘Mousse and Moustachio’

In the skies above a Moustachioed time, twenty six twenty-sixth century storm clouds travelled back in time overnight to a disarmed twenty-third century with strict weather controls.  They moved together, holding hands, lead by tour administrator cloud ‘Claude’ who carried a clipboard and waterproof map.  It was a long journey and they traversed the three hundred years in question with no delays.  A rest was called and they camped down for a nap in early twenty-fourth century Crumberly Hall, a stately home that they intended to visit some time earlier.  They were just kids, organised kids but kids nonetheless.

Meanwhile in the rolling green grounds of twenty-third century Crumberly Hall…

A Moustachioed Gent strolled, parasol in gloved hand, cricket whites blinding in the sun.  Around him more Moustachioed Gents strolled in similar fashion, all carefully made swirly pencil moustaches, no more than an inch in thickness between the lot of them.  As they strolled they chatted amicably about the weather and listened to the gentle sound of porcelain which reached them from across the lake where an antiques fair was taking place on this pre-booked lovely summer’s day.

The twenty-third century operated a very careful weather structure in which certain days were designated as dry, enabling events to be held with no fears of rain.  On wet days the population of the century would clear off inside and get out of the way to allow the weather to fall in peace.  It was a system that had worked well for a few decades so far.

The Moustachioed Gent was not at Crumberly Hall to attend an antiques fair but rather partake in the annual Mousse Ball, an exciting diary date for any Moustachioed Gentleman.  After strolls in the grounds would come the dinner and then the dance, all served outside on the lawn.  ‘Roasted moose, chocolated,’ was on the menu and when everyone’s stomachs had settled, the Moustachioed Gents with pencil-thin moustaches would pair up with preposterous and leaden-footed handlebar-toting gents, and attempt to dance with them.

Soon the gents were seated and anticipation for the meal rose as they awaited its delivery.  Across the lake, porcelain was being examined in perfect antique conditions, exactly the kind of weather from the ‘good old days’ that the implemented weather structure had been designed to retrieve.

Everything was perfectly calm and peaceful.

What could go wrong except for the unplanned arrival in the twenty-third century of a group of holidaying storm clouds from the twenty-sixth century?

The travelled young clouds did not arrive from the north, south, east or west but instead just popped straight into existence and dove straight into holiday mode with the heaviest downpour they could conjure.  Being young clouds and three centuries away from home, this was quite a heavy downpour.

Moustachioed Gentlemen, both pencil-thin and handlebar-stocky, jumped up and ran for the hall, cricket whites quickly soaking as they went.  The roasted moose, chocolated was ruined.  Porcelain enquirers and collectors of porcelain trivia ran slower.  As some of them were also Moustachioed it was a doubly bad day for them.

Way up in the sky, the stormclouds continued to do their thing.  The power these kids had was impressive.  They unleashed their water down on the ground and whooped and yahooed and felt all the better for it.

Once again it was a bad and soggy day to be a Moustachioed Gent.

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