“Argh! Honestly, Father Nightroad, please pay attention!” Esther entreated Abel, who had busied himself with measuring out his thirteenth spoon of sugar for his tea.
“Sister Esther!” Abel protested with a pout that could have heated the cold brew up within moments, and that definitely touched a soft spot in Esther’s heart.
“Aw, Father,” she said, sighing, yet smiling. “That’s salt.”
“What?” Abel Nightroad started, spilling the cold tea over by accident, and all over him.
“Argh!” he screamed as he felt the ice-cold brew touch him. “Geddit off me, geddit off me!” he screamed, running around. “Sister! Please turn off the air-conditioners! I’m freezing over here!”
“Father, you’re so clumsy!” Esther said disapprovingly as she switched off the air-conditioner in the airship.
“That’s so much better.” Abel said after a while; when the effect of the absence of air-conditioning became perspicuous.
“Really Father, sometimes I just don’t get why they even ask you to come with us anyway.” Esther muttered under her breath.
“I heard that, Sister! I have a really good ear, you know!”
“Well, you won’t for too long if you don’t clean up the mess you made in this brand new airship! What would Sister Kate say?”
“Sister Kate’s too busy with the Iron Maiden. This is Lady Caterina’s.”
“That’s worse, isn’t it? What would Lady Caterina say?”
“Oh, she never says anything.” Abel said, picking up a mop that was conveniently hidden behind the main computer system of the ship, and beginning to clear up the spilled brew. “Once I was delivering a letter to the post office and I sneezed and accidentally smudged the address, and instead of reaching the Queen of Albion, the letter reached some African carpet seller.”
“Then what happened?” Esther asked absently. She wasn’t even paying attention to Abel, but had busied herself with endeavoring to perfect the impossible-to-perfect ancient art of knitting. She had attempted it several times earlier in her childhood—back when people instilled false hope in her, and she herself believed she could knit sweaters—and the result would often resemble a cross between a pantyhose and freshly shed snake-skin. Of course, there was often a nun who would find use for such a monstrosity, especially in colder weather, but that’s a different story altogether.
“And we found the guy sitting on the Pope’s chair, waiting to be served.” Abel continued. “And Lady Caterina didn’t even do anything to me.”
“Then to whom did she do something?” Esther said, having abandoned the art of knitting and proceeding to do something she could do. She was meanwhile busy in front of the computer, presumably navigating the ship in the absence of Abel’s technical expertise.
“Ah, well, she declared war against those African kingdoms and the Suez Canal became the Suez Sea.”
“Oh my, would you look at that!” Esther exclaimed, having spotted something on the screen of the computer.
“What?” Abel said, dropping his mop and rushing up to where Esther was.
“I downloaded Scorpion Solitaire 3000!” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know!” Esther shrieked in ecstasy. “Isn’t it great?”
“Uh, sure, Ester. Sure...”
“I mean I can now finally, finally tell that snobby Sister Whatshername that I am in fact an expert in using the Internet!”
“You mean the Eternity Network, Esther. The Vatican’s paying me a thousand Dinars a week for telling people to call it the Easter Network.”
“You mean Ethernet?”
“No, that’s ancient, Esther! I mean Easter-net!”
“That’s... lame.”
“Why?” Abel asked, offended.
“I was expecting... something else.”
“Pizza?”
“No!” Esther said, throwing her unfinished knitting at Abel. A suspicious metallic dong was heard when the woolen object landed on Abel’s head, and he said, “Ouch.”
“I was expecting... a different name for the... Network.”
“Oh! You mean—Esthernet? That’s really sweet, Esther. Fine, I’ll call it the Esthernet from today.”
“No!” Esther said. “I wanted to call it the—Fishnet.”
“Why so?”
“BECAUSE IT’S SO FISHY!”
“What do you mean?”
“When I click on Easternet Explorer it takes me to Mozzarella Firefly!”
“That’s not good.”
“Of course not!” Esther snapped. “Because it should have taken me to the Vatican Profiles Page-1!”
“But that’s my profile page.”
“Exactly!”
“Sister Esther!” Abel protested with a pout that could have heated the cold brew up within moments, and that definitely touched a soft spot in Esther’s heart.
“Aw, Father,” she said, sighing, yet smiling. “That’s salt.”
“What?” Abel Nightroad started, spilling the cold tea over by accident, and all over him.
“Argh!” he screamed as he felt the ice-cold brew touch him. “Geddit off me, geddit off me!” he screamed, running around. “Sister! Please turn off the air-conditioners! I’m freezing over here!”
“Father, you’re so clumsy!” Esther said disapprovingly as she switched off the air-conditioner in the airship.
“That’s so much better.” Abel said after a while; when the effect of the absence of air-conditioning became perspicuous.
“Really Father, sometimes I just don’t get why they even ask you to come with us anyway.” Esther muttered under her breath.
“I heard that, Sister! I have a really good ear, you know!”
“Well, you won’t for too long if you don’t clean up the mess you made in this brand new airship! What would Sister Kate say?”
“Sister Kate’s too busy with the Iron Maiden. This is Lady Caterina’s.”
“That’s worse, isn’t it? What would Lady Caterina say?”
“Oh, she never says anything.” Abel said, picking up a mop that was conveniently hidden behind the main computer system of the ship, and beginning to clear up the spilled brew. “Once I was delivering a letter to the post office and I sneezed and accidentally smudged the address, and instead of reaching the Queen of Albion, the letter reached some African carpet seller.”
“Then what happened?” Esther asked absently. She wasn’t even paying attention to Abel, but had busied herself with endeavoring to perfect the impossible-to-perfect ancient art of knitting. She had attempted it several times earlier in her childhood—back when people instilled false hope in her, and she herself believed she could knit sweaters—and the result would often resemble a cross between a pantyhose and freshly shed snake-skin. Of course, there was often a nun who would find use for such a monstrosity, especially in colder weather, but that’s a different story altogether.
“And we found the guy sitting on the Pope’s chair, waiting to be served.” Abel continued. “And Lady Caterina didn’t even do anything to me.”
“Then to whom did she do something?” Esther said, having abandoned the art of knitting and proceeding to do something she could do. She was meanwhile busy in front of the computer, presumably navigating the ship in the absence of Abel’s technical expertise.
“Ah, well, she declared war against those African kingdoms and the Suez Canal became the Suez Sea.”
“Oh my, would you look at that!” Esther exclaimed, having spotted something on the screen of the computer.
“What?” Abel said, dropping his mop and rushing up to where Esther was.
“I downloaded Scorpion Solitaire 3000!” she said.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know!” Esther shrieked in ecstasy. “Isn’t it great?”
“Uh, sure, Ester. Sure...”
“I mean I can now finally, finally tell that snobby Sister Whatshername that I am in fact an expert in using the Internet!”
“You mean the Eternity Network, Esther. The Vatican’s paying me a thousand Dinars a week for telling people to call it the Easter Network.”
“You mean Ethernet?”
“No, that’s ancient, Esther! I mean Easter-net!”
“That’s... lame.”
“Why?” Abel asked, offended.
“I was expecting... something else.”
“Pizza?”
“No!” Esther said, throwing her unfinished knitting at Abel. A suspicious metallic dong was heard when the woolen object landed on Abel’s head, and he said, “Ouch.”
“I was expecting... a different name for the... Network.”
“Oh! You mean—Esthernet? That’s really sweet, Esther. Fine, I’ll call it the Esthernet from today.”
“No!” Esther said. “I wanted to call it the—Fishnet.”
“Why so?”
“BECAUSE IT’S SO FISHY!”
“What do you mean?”
“When I click on Easternet Explorer it takes me to Mozzarella Firefly!”
“That’s not good.”
“Of course not!” Esther snapped. “Because it should have taken me to the Vatican Profiles Page-1!”
“But that’s my profile page.”
“Exactly!”
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