[Diamond18]

Pimpiowyn was feeling hungry. Not just merely hungry, but terribly hungry. It had been an hour since first breakfast, so under normal circumstances she would have been in the mood for a little snack, perhaps a sausage with a helping of golden, fluffy scrambled eggs. But due to the events of the morning her hunger was spurred on not by appetite, but by stress. Things had seemed to take a decidedly bizarre turn ever since they passed through the turnstile. The dusty darkness was not something she was fond of, and having never been in a Subway before, it can be safely said that she didn’t have really the slightest idea of what was going on.

In the silence following Tofu’s sudden declaration, she whispered, “Vogonwë?”

“Shhh, I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Lord Halfullion’s excellent poem. It was so...inspiring...really quite excellent.”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Pimpi said, thinking that it was just as well, if Vogonwë found it excellent. “Anyway, I’m hungry.”

“Hungry...” he muttered absently, and it was obvious he was contemplating a rhyme for it.

Pimpi sighed and sat down on a bench. By the pink glow of Pettygast’s staff, she could see graffiti scrawled across it, and decided to occupy her mind by reading it. She would leave the matter about tickets and Porterogs and talking horses to the others. She found it slightly disconcerting, however, that the first line of graffiti she read, went Fish are nice, and so juicy-sweet. Her stomach rumbled. She looked at another spot and read the curious message.

Tickets grow in thickets under the thickest wickets. All one need do is pick it from the thicket, and you’ll have a ticket.

“Have you ever been here before, Vogonwë?” she asked in a moment of suspicion.

But the others were not paying any attention to her, as they were deeply engrossed in the problem of what they were going to do next.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Tofu.

“I don't know, what'cha wanna do?” replied Halfullion, his mind thrown into confusion by the sudden effusion of speech from his hitherto mute horse.

“You’re the ept one. What do you want to do?” Tofu said.

“I don’t know...what’cha wanna do?”

“Look Halfie, first I say ‘what are were going to do?’ then you say ‘I don't know, what'cha wanna do?’ then I say ‘what are we going to do’ then you say ‘what'cha wanna do’. Let's do something!” Tofu neighed.

“Ok. What'cha wanna do?” Halfullion said, feeling a bit foolish, but unable to stop himself.

“Don’t start that again!” Merisuwyniel interrupted, feeling her head spin. “We’re going to Shepherd’s Bush, but what we need is a ticket.”

“How do we get a ticket without paying for one?” Kuruharan wondered. “I really want to know.”

“Don’t we need eight tickets? Or, if we are allowed to take the horses, fourteen?” inquired Orogarn Two, who was good with numbers.

“I resent being counted among the horses,” said Chrysophylax huffily.

“Whatever,” Merisuwyniel waved her pale hands dismissively. “We need tickets, and we need to find this Porterog, and this thin red line to Shepherd’s Bush.”

She looked around at her companions and felt acutely frustrated. She was half inclined to join Pimpiowyn on the bench and forget about the whole matter, but she had more gumption than that, and was determined to move this hopeless band of laggers on.

“Does anyone have a suggestion about the ticket problem?” she asked.

“What’s a wicket?” Pimpiowyn asked.

“She said ticket,” Tofu said.

“But do tickets grow under wickets?”

They looked at the young quarterling curiously.

“Thick ones?” Pimpi ventured.

Silence.

“What I’m asking, is do tickets grow in thickets under thick wickets, like it says on the bench?” Pimpi said, pointing to the inscription beside her.

“Of course!” Earnur said. “A ticket garden! We need to find a ticket garden, and pick tickets. How amazing that I didn’t think of it before. Any master of herblore can tell you that tickets grow in dark and rocky places underground, commonly known as wickets. If we can find a ticket garden, we shall have an abundance of tickets at our fingertips.”

Inexplicably, everyone turned their eyes to Pettygast. Wizards were supposed to know things, and some inner prompting made them assume he would have something wise to say on the matter. He gazed back at them silently, and he didn’t look all that wise in the pinkish glow of his staff, so they turned away.

“Right, that’s sounds as good as anything,” Merisuwyniel sighed. “Let’s look for a ticket garden, then, and we shall be on our way to Shepherd’s Bush.”

[ January 24, 2003: Message edited by: Diamond18 ]