Pressing Matters -- A Pub Crawl

[Crow]

Editor's Note: These stories that appear from time to time in The Pub are just a bit of silliness that has been a tradition at The Druid’s Head and at The Foggy Duck for many years. In this story you'll see names of people you may recognize. Just because you don't see your name here doesn't mean that you can't participate. Please write yourself in if you'd like, and in that way we may get to know you. The only "rule," if there is one, is that we try to pick up the story from where the previous poster left it, and to include at least some of those elements in whatever comes next. Storytelling is a bardic pursuit, and although it’s hard to imagine Taliesin telling stories quite like these, it is entirely possible that by your participation, you could be immortalized in The Attic.

---

With her paint bucket in one hand and a brush in the other, Lorraine took a step back to better admire her handiwork. Finally, she thought, the last blue stain from Rancid’s indiscretion had been removed, and The Wayward Druid Bed & Breakfast sign had been restored to its pristine condition.

The proprietress remembered with satisfaction the sight of Rancid running down the street after she’d brained him with her broom, but why the brute’s urine had been blue still puzzled her. Well, some things were just beyond understanding, she knew, and she doubted that she’d ever learn the answer, just like she’d also never know why hundreds of blue and green footprints had soiled her pavement, porch and parlor rugs.

Lost in thought and forgetting that her hands were full, Lorraine reached up to scratch her ear and left a streak of white paint on her cheek. Startled, she took two involuntary steps backward and tripped over the curb that lined the bed of petunias she’d planted along the pavement. With a crash, Lorraine fell into the flower bed, the paint bucket spilling its contents onto her neat apron that bore the Wayward Druid logo.

Rattled, Lorraine used her apron to scrub at the streak of paint she knew must be by her right ear, and ended up with her entire face a lovely shade of eggshell white. With a sob she scrambled to her feet, looked around quickly to see if she’d been observed, thankfully saw no one, and fled into the house.

Had Lorraine looked up, however, she would have seen Crow sitting on a wire overhead and writing the whole thing down in his reporter’s notebook. His beak was still sore from his sudden encounter with Alferian, but he had eventually shaken it off and taken wing in search of a new story. Since The Foggy Duck had been empty, he’d gone to another of his favorite hotspots in the hope that something interesting might happen. A woman falling down and covering her face with paint, he knew, might amuse a few people, but he was hoping for something bigger, and he didn’t have long to wait.

Her face freshly scrubbed, Lorraine soon came storming back out the door. As she marched down the pavement and underneath the old reporter, Crow heard her muttering to herself about guests arriving soon; bed linens that needed changing; all her aprons being soiled; toilets that needed scrubbing; and about how a woman’s work is never done. Crow had heard that one before and just rolled his eyes, knowing there wasn’t a bit of truth in it.

Carrying a large laundry sack, Lorraine crossed the street and turned right. Keeping out of sight, Crow followed, stopping when he could to write a few words in his notebook before continuing to trail the angry woman.

Without a glance sideways or slowing her step even a little, Lorraine marched past The Foggy Duck and continued until she reached a ramshackle building just on the outskirts of The Foggy Downs District. Steam from a vent wafted past the sign that read,

Dryadia’s Dry Cleaning
Aprons Our Specialty … Experts in Cleaning, Starching, Embossing

Crow sighed. This wasn’t a story; no one would care. Still, with nothing better to do, he flew down from the overhead wire and perched on the front windowsill just after Lorraine walked through the door. The old reporter watched as Lorraine stomped up to the counter and dropped her bag onto it.

A handsome man walked up to the counter, and Lorraine, flustered, blurted out, “Who are you? Er, I mean, where’s Dryadia?”

“Hi, I’m Pobble,” answered the handsome man, proffering his name tag that said in red letters, HI, I’M POBBLE. “As for Dryadia, she was suddenly called back to her ranch in Texas to deal with a drought, and she hired me to look after things here.”

“Well, okay then,” said Lorraine, recovering from her initial shock, “I have 20 aprons here that need cleaning, and mind you one of them has a bit of paint on it ....”

“Yes, I see,” said Pobble. “And it appears you missed a spot there by your ear also.”

“... and starch too, they all need ... er, what did you say? Oh …” said Lorraine, coloring red and clapping one hand to the side of her face.

“But the real problem,” said Pobble, continuing smoothly, “is that I regret to tell you that I don’t know how to launder aprons.”

“I don’t understand,” said Lorraine, trying her best to scrub furtively at the remaining paint smudge. “You were hired to work in a laundry, yet you don’t know how to launder aprons? What is it you do know how to do?”

“Well actually I’m a sex therapist,” said Pobble.

“Oh really? How curious.” said Lorraine, blushing again and taking one step backward.

“Yes,” said Pobble, “I am a forum moderator at Sexuality and Spirituality.”

“You don’t say,” said Lorraine with a nervous laugh.

“Indeed, it is true,” answered Pobble, "but business is a little slow right now, and so I answered an advert in The Pagan Press, and Dryadia hired me over the telephone."

“Oh really?” said Lorraine, immediately conscious that she’d said exactly the same thing just seconds before. In an attempt to cover her nervousness, she quickly added, “But whatever would cause a person in your, ah, line of work, to answer an advert to work in a laundry?”

“Well,” said Pobble, “All the advert said was ‘temporary help needed at steaming and pressing,’ and so I thought I had some expertise in those areas, and didn’t discover my mistake until I arrived here yesterday, and by that time Dryadia had already left.”

Through the window, Crow saw that a forced smile was frozen on Lorraine’s face, and then he watched as the bed and breakfast proprietress wilted on the spot like a dying petunia and fainted straightaway onto the floor.

The old reporter dutifully scribbled it into his notebook, thinking that maybe this would turn into something after all. And looking up, he saw that someone else was running down the street toward the dry cleaning shop. Cocking his head, he wondered what would happen next …

[Lorraine]

The B&B proprietress was finally coming round from her swoon.

Pobble leaned closer: she was muttering something as if it were a matter of great urgency.

“Tea... need... tea” she whispered.
“Hmmm,” he said, in that deep dark velvety voice of his. “Tea. Was tea important... during your childhood, perhaps?”

"Need... tea... " she repeated.

"And... this tea... how do YOU feel about it?"

Highly trained though he was, it didn’t occur to him for one moment that the poor woman was in desperate need of a cuppa, not therapy.

As Lorraine slowly revived, without the aid of caffeine, unfortunately, her senses were further assailed by the clanging of the doorbell as somebody burst in, as if in an urgent hurry...

[Seeker]

"Doesn't anybody ever answer the door anymore when a person knocks?" shouted Seeker. "I remember when there use to be some courtesy shown around...!"

But Seeker stopped as soon as he started ranting because laying there on the floor was Lorraine - in quite a compromising position - with some, good-looking young man leaning ever-so-intently with his ear to her lips! MMmm...perhaps I'm the one showing no courtesy, he thought to himself.

"This is a little awkward. My dear Lorraine...my apologies for just barging in. If I had known...well, let's just keep this our little secret then."

With a slight bow and a spin of his staff, Seeker gave a sly wink and slowly backed out the door closing it behind him. He sighed "At least someone is having a good day! Too bad that kind of stuff never appears in that rag of a newspaper that Crow fellow works for." Now, let's see if I can find some darn laundry open for business up the street."

He didn't notice that as he turned and walked away, someone else entered the shop...

[Dryadia2]

"Hold your horses, there pardner." retorted Dryadia as she sauntered thru the front door of her establishment, gently patting Seeker on the shoulder. "I missed my flight, so I'll be happy to take care of your laundry needs," "and Lorraine's too, of course!"

With a huge sigh of relief, Lorraine turned around to hand Dryadia the bundle of soiled aprons. Then immediately dropped them on the floor with a loud 'plop', as her mouth hung open at the shock of seeing Dryadia with blue hair!

"I love the blue hair!" quipped Night Hawk, as she stepped thru the doorway.

"Why, thank you!" Dryadia responded. "Well, since it was stained blue (just like everything else), it just won't wash out with regular shampoo, so I've decided to 'go punk' with it for the time being." "Besides, it's good advertisment for my Dry Cleaning business." "You see, we use 'bluing' to counteract the yellowing of laundered fabrics."

"What you need is a slogan." proclaimed Green Druid, as she made her way past the crowded entrance. "Got the 'blues'? Take it to Dry's!"

"That's perfect!" exclaimed Dryadia. "Well then....everyone kindly put your laundry on the counter, so Pobble can write out your laundry tickets."

Pobble wasn't the only one 'writing' tho...

As Crow was peeking in the window taking notes of all the 'goings on', he pondered what might happen next...

[Underground River]

"Hey, GreenDruid," said Dryadia2. "Your wool coat has blue on it also! Would you like me to clean it if I can?"
"Nooooooooooooooooo!" wailed GD. "Not my white wool coat! I only wore it for ten minutes earlier today, it couldn't have gotten blue. I don't wanna be blue druid! "
GD

[pobble]

A sound approximating "What, me?" was heard emanating from the young man called pobble. Followed by "Ticket? Not really sure about anything in this job, don't really understand how I ended up here... Well I suppose I'd better try to find out something, er... Dryadia?"

Now Dryadia, who was still listening to conversation conducted at ordinary volumes, and was anyhow immersed in her considerations of GreenDruid's wool cloak, didn't hear much of that mumble, and so pobble was obliged to speak a little louder.

"Er, Dryadia" he now uttered, somewhat louder. In fact it was considerably louder, so much so that everyone in the dry cleaners turned and stared at him. Looking a little red he said, "Look, the trouble is, they didn't train me how to do dry cleaning." At which point he noticed a dark shape by the window, with what appeared to be a notebook, writing industriously. "Hang on a minute!" he said, still at slightly above-average volume, but now with the return of a more confident crowd-pleasing tone to his voice. "Who is that person at the window? Surely my dry cleaning failures can't be of such interest that it is worth taking notes about them?"

And with that, he stomped over to the window, threw it open, and grasped Crow by the collar, interrupting him in full flow. "So who do we have here?" he asked.

[Crow]

With a squawk and a showering of black feathers, Crow was pulled into the room by Pobble, who, being a kindly if misguided soul, quickly released the stranglehold he had on the old reporter’s neck.

Crow ruffled his feathers in a vain attempt to look dignified, and decided that at times like this it was best to dust off his speech. And so he said, “Perhaps none of you have heard of the First Amendment to the Constitution? It goes like this, ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition …’”

“But this isn’t the Colonies, so why are you quoting that to us?” interrupted Lorraine. “And what’s that you’ve written there about me …”

Fortunately, however, when Lorraine stepped forward in an attempt to get a closer look at Crow’s notebook, she created a gap in the tight circle that surrounded the reporter, and he was able to hop quickly through it and take wing out the door and gone.

“Who was that guy?” asked Pobble.

“It was Crow, and he’s a reporter for The Pagan Press,” wailed Lorraine. “The gods know what he’ll put in that horrible rag of his about this. What will we do now?”

“What can we do except wait for the paper to come out?” said Seeker.

“I don’t care, I can’t read it anyway,” said GreenDruid.

“You can after we scan it in for you,” said Dryadia. “And you know, whatever he writes, a little publicity might not be such a bad thing. This place isn’t exactly what you’d call a going concern.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” cried Lorraine. “It wasn’t you fainting on the floor and having this, this, this Pobble creature fawning over you. What kind of name is Pobble anyway?”

***

Meanwhile on the 47th floor of the posh OBOD Towers, Phlipp Phlopp and Damh the Bard were toweling off after a relaxing soak in the hot tub.

“Say Phlipp,” said Damh, “I’m fresh out of codpieces, can I use one of yours?”

“Certainly my friend, but it’s my last clean one,” said Phlipp, fetching the article from his locker and holding it out for his friend to take.

“Um, never mind, Phlipp,” said Damh. "I can see that’s not going to work …”

“Stephanieeeeeee!” called Phlipp out through the locker room door. “Damh and I are fresh out of clean codpieces!”

“I sent a load of soiled ones to Dryadia’s by courier yesterday,” came Stephanie’s voice from down the hall, where she and Susan Jones were making photocopies of bardic gwersi. “I can’t imagine why they’re not back yet.”

“Oh very well,” said Phlipp. “Come, Damh, we’ll just have to go commando. Put on your robe and no one will know.”

The druids donned their white robes and walked out into the main office, past the hot tub where a large salmon of wisdom was still swimming, and out into the lobby and reception area.

“Hello, what’s this?” said Phlipp, looking at the latest edition of The Pagan Press that had been inserted through the mail slot and was lying there on the expensive Persian rug.

STEAMY SEX IN THE FOGGY DOWNS!
screamed the headline in huge red letters. Underneath was a photo of Dryadia's Dry Cleaning shop.

“I’m for that,” said Damh, trying to grab the paper away from Phlipp, who was eagerly reading the details. Together, the two Druids read …

What’s Under the Suds at Dryadia’s Dry Cleaning?

BY CROW
Pagan Press Reporter

Clients at Dryadia’s Dry Cleaning on the outskirts of the Foggy Downs District are getting more than clean knickers these days after the hiring of noted sex therapist Pobble to do the “steaming and pressing.”

This reporter watched in amazement as Wayward Druid Bed & Breakfast proprietress Lorraine took part in a veritable apron-ripper of a scene at the dry-cleaning shop yesterday.

The woman, still speckled with leftover body paint from an apparent earlier encounter, was seen prostrate on the floor of the shop with the nefarious Pobble stroking her hand and whispering into her ear. Heaven knows what might have ensued had they not been interrupted by another customer, Seeker, whose entry caused them to quickly return to their feet and straighten their clothes.

Soon a group of people assembled, including the shop owner, Dryadia, and this reporter was then accosted and nearly caused physical injury by Pobble. One wonders why an innocent reporter would be so ill-treated unless they had something to hide.

With the already infamous Foggy Duck Pub in the District, the authorities will no doubt be looking into what other sort of businesses are being drawn to this shady part of town, and that investigation might also extend to The Wayward Druid Bed & Breakfast, where one wonders who is in the beds, and what is being served for breakfast.

But in the meantime, readers beware of Dryadia’s Dry Cleaning lest you get more than just a fresh crease in your trousers.

Damh looked at Phlipp. Phlipp looked at Damh. Then together they cried, “Stephanieeeeeeeee!”

[Seeker]

Meanwhile...

Seeker chuckled to himself as he took scissors to paper and cut out an article from the front page of that rag The Pagan Press.

"Well, what do you know? That Crow fellow's writing is getting better and better with each issue. And I love the headline!"

STEAMY SEX IN THE FOGGY DOWNS!

"Hmmmmm" mused Seeker. "I wonder if he would be interested in that photo I took by accident involving Lorraine and that other fellow...what's-his-name?" Shoot...I had it in my head just a minute ago. Maybe I should go through my old files and see if I can spot it. Once I see his face again, I'll remember his name!

He smiled and roared out in laughter "It's been a long time since we had a little uproar involving what's-his-name. Pity, that poor Pobble fellow is getting mixed up in this."

Hmmm...also a pity that his name was only mentioned once in the article. Well, he thought, nobody cares about the old-timers anymore....

Meanwhile, outside Dryadia’s Dry Cleaning and the Wayward Druid Bed & Breakfast, lines were forming around the block...

[Dryadia2]

In the meantime...at Dryadia's Dry Cleaning...

"Business couldn't be better!" quipped Dryadia, as she scooped up the bundles of laundry to take to the back room for cleaning.

Poor Pobble however, was not so enthusiastic. He was writing out laundry tickets as fast as he could, and the piles of soiled clothing, aprons, codpieces, and linens were growing higher behind the counter. He grumbled something about that 'nosey good-for-nothing slanderous reporter' who had nothing better to do than write about 'dirty laundry'. "Dirty laundry!" Pobble chuckled. "Now that's amusing!" "But I'm 'steaming' mad, and I'll be 'pressed' to get even!"

When the last customer had left, and all the washing machines were full and 'chugging away', Dryadia said to Pobble: "Let's head over to 'The Foggy Duck' for a few 'rounds'!" "We deserve a break!"

After entering the Pub, they could see that all of the 'regulars' were there.

"Free drinks for everyone, this round is on me!" hollered Dryadia. "Thanks to the free publicity, courtesy of The Pagan Press, business is booming!"

As Dryadia turned around, she spotted a dark figure in the rafters, hiding in the shadows.

Just then, the front door swung open, and guess who walked in? It was none other than...

[Kat Lady]

...Phlipp Phlopp, dragging a bedraggled Damh and Stephanie with him.

"Greetings! Can any of you please tell me what this is?" he said holding out his right hand.

The patrons of the Foggy Duck all looked at the proffered hand. They all looked at each other. It was Pobble who spoke, "Um, it looks like a blue codpiece, sir."

Phlipp Plopp rolled his eyes, handed the codpiece to Damh, grabbing the newspaper out of Damh's hand. "No. This!" And he pointed to the glaring headline. STEAMY SEX IN THE FOGGY DOWNS!

The Foggy Duckers looked at each other and began to shuffle their feet in embarassment. It was then that Kat Lady, looking at everyone's feet, wondered why it was that Phlipp Phlopp and Damh had blue and green feet respectively.

But before she could utter a sound, Dair Ciúin came running in shouting, "Follow me! Quickly! I had a little mishap with the element of fire!"

[Phlipp Phlopp]

COMMERCIAL MESSAGE

Greetings! I am sure the you have guessed by now that those intrepid Ducky Foggers....errrr Foggy Duckers are about to get themselves into a pickle. I must therefore, in good conscience, warn you that continuing to read may lead to bouts of confusion and befuddlement as the writers attempt to satisfy their incessant urge to pub crawl. With that said, dear reader, continue at your own risk. Oh! For the record, my codpiece is not blue.

[Underground River]

"Oh no!" screamed GD in mortal terror. "A fire! Are you ok, DC?!"
"Well," said DC looking at the floor. "I don't know..."
"OMG!" screamed GD. "Were you burned?"
"Only a little," mumbled DC.
"What?" asked GD.
"Only a little," said DC a bit louder.
"OMG!" screamed GD and fainted dead away...
GD

[Dair Ciúin]

The patrons watched as Dair Ciúin stumbled into the Foggy Duck. His robes were now a distinctive burnt colour, and an apparent trail of dark smoke was accompanying him. Was that charred poetry and writing the patrons could smell? Hmm.

Kat Lady sighed and shook her head. The Pub Crawl was getting stranger and stranger by the minute, without this blasted elf and his shenanigans to contend with. The element of fire is not something to be taken lightly, and it would seem as though the fire hazard signs attached to the gwersi had been largely overlooked.

[Merlyn]

"man, that's rancid!" merlyn spoke from a slumber and a strong breath that crowned the nearby candle in a blue glow...
"I'll have what ever Merlyn's having" Pobble spoke up as Gladys passed by the stands of old bar mugs left in a row from the long night..

Kat lady looked at Merlyn's clearing daze, "no rancid is out back in the garden, been there all night"
"I mean Dair Ciúin, and the smell of his burnt robe" Merlyn staggers to his feet...
"What's the matter Merlyn, going someplace?" Underground River lends a hand, as the night wears off and Merlyn begins to sort himself out of the Knoblin's Glob, and the one beofore that...
Looking at Dair Ciúin, Merlyn sees the odd black marks and his eyes widen like fire balls, "Cinder, he's out of his cave!"
"So that's what scaulded my robe!, teach me to use the garden for the loo.. " Dair Ciúin said with a start..

Crow shook his head, "Well Merlyn, you had best find your Dragon soon, I saw Philip Philop headed that way as the girls have had the loo occupied for the last hour..."

Merlyn hadn't taken note of the colored feet and what else might be lurking 'round the side alley of the Foggy Duck that night as he headed out the door, with staff and stagger.
Left on the bar was a green critter, who eyed Merlyn's last Knoblin's Glob and slinked up the glass....

Gladys was picking up the dead soldiers and eyed the half full glass, with a bit of surprise she fond Merlyn's last gulps a bit crunchy.............

[Crow]

Success brings its own set of problems, and Dryadia was being taught this lesson by the sudden influx of business at her dry-cleaning shop, as was Lorraine at The Wayward Druid Bed & Breakfast.

Crow was flying himself ragged traveling back and forth between the two establishments seeking material for a follow-up story to his “Steamy Sex in the Foggy Downs” exposé, which had drawn adventure-seeking customers to the District from all over town.

And so it was, after the adventures the night before at The Foggy Duck Pub, that Crow found himself sitting hidden in a hydrangea bush by the front porch of the bed and breakfast when Seeker came striding purposefully up the pavement and onto the porch. He rang the bell; a bedraggled Lorraine soon answered.

“Ah, it’s you,” said Seeker. “I should have known you’d be the madam here.”

“What … what did you call me?”

“The madam of this house is what I said.”

“Sir, I must assure you that this is a legitimate business I run here, a bed and breakfast of the highest regard.”

Seeker chuckled and said, “Yes, I have read all about it, I’ll have one of your beds, and by god I’ll have your bangers for breakfast, too!”

“Sir!” said Lorraine, coloring, “I must insist to you that this is an upstanding home that has a druidic theme!”

“I’m fine with that, ye wench!” rumbled Seeker. “In fact I think I’ll try a triad in your Beltane room!”

Crow wrote it all down, including Lorraine's little shriek, and took wing again down the street. It was time to check on things at Dryadia’s Dry Cleaning, where he soon saw that the line of customers extended out the door.

Peeking through the window, Crow saw that the frazzled, blue-haired Dryadia had found it necessary to hire more people to launder the tons of dirty laundry that were now coming over the counter.

Pobble was still greeting and taking customers' orders, but in the back room Merlyn was washing clothes; Kat Lady did the drying and folding; a sweating Dair Ciúin manned the steam iron; and Green Druid was working at the starching tub.

Just then Crow saw Merlyn grab a laundry sack that had fallen unseen into a corner. The druid reached inside and pulled out a handful of reeking, dirty codpieces. “Holy Cinder in a sidecar! Ohmygods, I touched them with me bare hand!”

“What is it Merlyn, what are you fussing about?” said Dryadia who came running up to see what was the matter. “Oh good, you’ve found the codpieces! I had a call from OBOD Tower awhile ago, saying they were missing. Do make them a priority!”

Now wearing a clothespin on his nose and rubber gloves, Merlyn dumped the soiled codpieces into his washtub, and when they were clean, he took them out and placed them on the conveyer belt, topped with a little metal sign that had the letters N/S on it, which mean “No Starch.”

But being blind, Green Druid did not see the sign, and so when she felt a load of wet clothes inching along the conveyer belt, she did not let them simply pass by on the way to Kat Lady’s drying station, but instead dumped them into her starching tub.

After a good while in the starch, Green Druid fished out the codpieces and sent them down the line. Crow watched as they were dried, packaged and sent out for delivery.

***

A few hours later at OBOD Towers, Phlipp Phlopp and Damh were again in the locker room, toweling off after a relaxing soak in the hot tub.

Susan Jones and Stephanie, who were again running the copy machine, heard this conversation through the door:

“Ah, good, fresh codpieces at last!”

“Wait Phlipp, don’t be so hasty, mine’s stiff as a board.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said don’t get dressed yet, mine’s hard as a rock.”

“My gods sir, do you forget yourself?”

“Phlipp, I’m telling you …”

“Oh my … now I see what you mean. Mine’s stiff as a rail spike too!”

Stephanie looked at Susan.

Susan looked at Stephanie.

“I think it’s time we went out for some shopping,” said Stephanie.

“Past time I’d say,” said Susan.

Crow, who was flying up the street on the way to The Pagan Press offices to file his latest report, saw the two women run screaming out of the OBOD Tower and out onto the sidewalk. He wondered what would happen next …

[Underground River]

Question: What on the gawd's green earth is a codpiece?
GD

[Crow]

cod·piece /Škäd‹pÎs/
*N. a pouch, esp. a conspicuous
and decorative one, attached to
a man's breeches or close-fitting
hose to cover the genitals, worn
in the 15th and 16th centuries.
ORIGIN: from earlier cod
‘scrotum’ (from Old English
codd ‘bag, pod’) + piece.

[Seeker]

Crow arrived at his office at The Pagan Press and promptly started to go through his stack of mail that had been sitting there for several weeks. One of the pieces caught his eye and was marked:Confidential! Do not bend! Attention: Master Crow - For Your Eyes Only!"

"Oh my...not another legal notice" he moaned. He was getting sick and tired of all the lawsuits being filed against him. Heck...he was just reporting the news...nothing else. Slander, my tailfeathers!

He slowly took a letter opener and carefully sliced open the envelope. "Better not take any chances", he thought. "I know my fans number in the legions, but there is always the exception." Making sure there was nothing fishy about the contents, he slowly lifted out what seemed to be an 8' x 11" photo of Lorraine and...and...and..."Holy Suffering Catfish!" he shouted. "It can't be...it can't be...him!"

The picture was slightly out of focus but there was no denying that familiar smile and excellent choice of wardrobe! Crow let out a soft whistle and said to himself "Well, well, well...another page one exclusive. No one is going to believe that I am looking at an actual photo of our lovely Lorraine being embraced (well, I least I think it's an embrace?) by the one and only..."

All of sudden there was a knock at his office door and in walked...

[Ruthie]

Moon Cloud.

She was carrying a large laundry sack, and wearing an apron embroidered with Dryadia's Dry Cleaning new logo:
"freshly steamed and freshly pressed, to make you look your very best!"

"Hello Crow, still up to your old tricks, I see?" she asked, peering up and over for a look at the photo he hastily stuffed back into the envelope.

"Tricks! Tricks!? I'll have you know I'm a journalistic professional, and hold myself to the absolute highest standards," he retorted.

"My canary agrees," Moon cloud quipped, "she reads your articles each morning."

The friendly pleasantries over (for this was often how the two greeted each other) the time came for the business at hand: laundry. Moon Cloud had been out of work for a week, as she was currently assigned to the desert, so she picked up a side job delivering for Dryadia.

"I've got your laundry. It'll be ten seventy-two, plus tax and tip."

Crow hadn't sent out any laundry. Mrs Crow did a very fine job at home on the laundry.

"It's not mine," he said casually, "must be some other bird."

Moon Cloud lifted the satchel, and pointed to the painted mark. It was very clearly shaped like a crow. She pointed to it with one hand, and put her other hand on her hip for emphasis. The fact that she had only two hands, and therefore dropped the laundry bag unceremoniously on the floor did not lessen the magnitude (or sheer volume) of her words:

"It says Crow. You're Crow. It's yours." And she thrust her hand, which was by now pointing at nothing anyway, out toward Crow for payment.

Anxious to be rid of her, primarily because she had interrupted an important expose, and secondarily because of the little puddle rapidly growing beneath her on the floor, Crow handed over the neat sum of $11.

Moon Cloud didn't budge from her spot. She didn't close her hand around the bills, didn't say a word, simply glared. And the puddle grew. It was aproaching the laundry bag.

Crow rapid-fire thrust numerous denominations into her hand, and when his supply of money was completely exhausted, Moon Cloud thanked him, retrieved her annoying puddle, and floated out.

"Freakin' laundry enforcers," Crow muttered to himself. He turned to get back to his new story, but the envelope with the scandalous picture was missing! His bag of fan-mail was also missing. That laundry delivery cloud must have mistaken it for dirty laundry which needed picking up.

He flew out to Dryadia's Dry Cleaners as fast as his wings could carry him.

Too late.

[Underground River]

GreenDruid felt a strange thing come along on the belt. It was an envelope, she realized. She really didn't want to throw it into the washing machine. She had been taken off starching duty because of the stiff codpieces and she prefered loading the machines anyway. She quietly slid the envelope into her pocket and then noticed a bag of mail coming toward her. She couldn't fit that in her pocket, so she sneaked it under the machine when nobody was looking.
She knew the envelope was Crow's, because she could hear him screaming about his envelopes and fanmail. The poor bird was making quite a dreadful racket outside Dryadia's Drycleaning. Quite a few people were having a good laugh at the reporter's antics, saying it served him right for all the nonsense he printed to lose his fanmail and some envelope he obviously cared about very very very much, almost as much as his pesky little notebook!
GD continued to wash laundry as Crow continued to rant and rave about his missing things.
When GD got off the laundry shift for her lunch break, she quietly retrieved the stuff, walked to Crow's office, and slid the stuff through his mail slot.
When Crow came back after lunch, his beak sore from all his yelling, he found his precious fanmail on the floor and his envelope. He excitedly tore them open and found...

GD