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Dave's watch taps his wrist, and his phone emits a soft chirp. With an apologetic glance at the group, he pulls out the phone and taps the screen a few times, looks puzzled, peers around the room for a face expected and not seen, and then reads further.
When he looks up, his usual wiseass expression has vanished.
"CODE RED!!!" bellowed Greg as he read the message that Dave brought up, "while we're whining about our lack of Wapsi, another of us has suffered loss!!! I hereby dissolve this meeting- second?"
"Seconded," muttered Dave.
"Agree'd- I doubt there should be need for vote," added Al.
Confused, Glytch turned to Greg- "What's going on?"
"Dink- she needs us- right now in fact- Al, collect your goodies. You too, Dave. I'll close up here."
Stunned, the crowd started the process of disembarking from the place. Al folded his chair, gathered his 'Biccies' and ambled out to his rig. Gyrrakavian started his gate one more time before he gathered his bag to heft it through and then climb in himself. Glytch's face paled as he read the message. His mood was rather subdued as he left.
Akasha read the message as well-- with downcast eyes, she left half a 'biccy' on the table as she went to her motorcycle.
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
