Got some classic fun and games for y'all. This one was mostly just me exercising a couple of accents— I've got to elevate my game for this coming contest, you know. I'm excited. . . how good was that preview? So yeah. let me know if I made any super egregious errors. Or, you know, minor ones, too, if you're up for it.
Hoping the format sticks.
Skipper deftly maneuvered his way down the hall, dodging bits of feast flying through the air and screaming dibbuns scattering wildly beneath his feet. He made his way to a grizzled officer of the Long Patrol sitting beside a younger hare. Barring the odd candied chestnut glancing off his broad shoulders, he arrived relatively unscathed.
"Well if it ain't me ol' mate, Cap'n Clarence E. 'ighwater." Skipper enthusiastically clapped him on the back.
"Skipper, me bucko!" The hare in question grabbed Skipper's outstretched paw and pumped it up and down in delight. "I thought I recognized that fine rudder. Bloomin' beautiful rudder, dontcha know? Although I must say that it isn't Captain anymore, old chap. I'm a blinkin' colonel now, wot."
"Well ain't that somethin'? Colonel indeed."
"It bally well is something, wot." The colonel gestured to the young haremaid beside him, busy forcing as much food down her throat as she could. "Skip, meet my niece, Matilda. She's visiting from some cousins up north to get some jolly old tips from a genuine Long Patrol officah."
Skipper smiled at the maid and extended a paw. "Pleased ta meet ya, Matilda."
The young hare merely grunted in response, barely disparaging Skipper so much as a glancing, indirect look of annoyance.
Clarence sighed. "Bloody sorry about her bloomin' manners and all that. She doesn't have a flippin' lick of anything of that sort. A real rough around the bally old edges type, but aren't they all up there? Flippin' savages, if you ask me, wot." He shook his fondly as she scarfed down a steaming trifle, chuckling, "Old gel could eatcha outta bloomin' house and home, though, dontcha know?"
Skipper guffawed heartily. "Aye, this ole lass 's a feeder, that's for shore. But it'll take more'n what we got 'ere ta feed 'er, I reckon."
The younger hare spoke for the first time that night. "Laddie, ah'd watch who ye call 'lass'. Ah willnae stahp ta think aboot tossin' ye doon the table."
Clarence shot Skipper an apologetic glance, though peals of laughter assaulted the lungs of both. "I say, old gel, steady on. You better bally well watch who you call 'laddie', now. This here buckaroo you just threatened to flippin' flip over the bally table is the blinkin' Skipper of Mossflower Wood, dontcha know?"
"Ach," she shrugged dismissively. "Ah've nae heard o' him."
"Ne'er, not even once?" The colonel looked vaguely surprised.
"Ah wouldnae ferget if ah had." The young maid gave a disdainful sniff.
"Well, I'm abso-bally-lutely flabber-flippin'-gasted. Wot in the flippin' blazes are they teaching you up there? He's bloody well famous."
"Wot for?" Matilda eyed the otter disbelievingly.
"Why, this old waterdog is a champion eater of the shrimp 'n hotroot variety. I've seen the blighter chug more bowls of the stuff in one bloomin' sitting than I've bally well eaten in my entire bloomin' life. He uses more spice than he does flippin' broth in his soup and I've still never seen the savage shed a tear."
Skipper leaned back in his chair with a grin, paws resting languidly on the back of his head. "Aye, I've sure put away a coupla bowls o' 'otroot in me time. Never lost no competition, neither. I may be a tad rusty at it, though— I ain't done nothin' like that in a long while."
"Ach, ah bet it ain't tae hard ta beat ya," she dismissed.
"Ain't 'ard ta beat me?" Skipper's brow raised. "You shore about that?"
"Soonds like somethin' mah grandmam wouldnae fail ta do."
"No? Well, lass, what say you I go 'n get me special stean o' 'omemade 'otroot, 'otter than anythin' you've ever been tastin', an' you and me put a li'l wager on it?"
"Ah'm nae opposed."
"Ho ho." Clarence chortled with delight. "Well didn't this bloody well just get bally interesting, wot? A good ol' fashioned gloves off, fists square, up-an'-at-'em duel. A real Eulalia fest, wot wot."
Skip chuckled at his old friend's exuberance. "Aye, it's lookin' to be that way, ain't it? All right, 'ere's the deal. See that grimy puffball o'er thataways?" He gestured to a young otter dibbun covered in tidbits of the feast.
"Well, that's me pup. An' if there's one thing that rascal don't like ta do, it's 'ave himself a nice bath. I ain't never seen 'im wash wi'out so much as cryin' bloody murder. Whiche'er one o' us drinks the least bowls has ta take o'er washin' duty of that there li'l shrimp from the sisters for the next week."
"Ach, just ken it won't be mah job ta wash the bairn after tonight." The haremaid confidently glared at the otter, steely-eyed.
Clarence gave Skipper a wry glance. "I'd watch yourself, Skip. Mah niece has got a bloomin' stomach bigger'n the bally old fire mountain itself."
"Oh, I ain't worried."