Airs of Whitsun

This content is only available during Whitsun! For the history of this holiday see Whitsun (historical)

ID: 141174

Even in the Neath, time moves on. This too shall pass.

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Levels

	Airs of Whitsun
1 – 4	A shriek of laughter. A quartet of urchins are struggling to raise an egg to the rooftops.
5 – 9	"—Aardvarks!" "...Do they even lay eggs?" "Well, what else could come out of these?" "I think I see your point." The Whitsun eggs have turned Londoners a bit funny.
10 – 14	A flurry of whistles. An elderly constable chases down the street after a youth hauling three eggs in a hand cart.
15 – 19	Good god! Is that girl's hair on fire? Quick! Get some wat— Ah, no. It's just the pet perched upon her shoulder. Although – the pet is on fire! Quick, get some—
20 – 24	A dowager shuffles past with an unfashionably large bustle. Could she be smuggling an egg?
25 – 29	A pack of Young Stags run past screaming. They are incoherent, yelling such things as "Two heads!" "Those teeth!" and 'Help!"
30 – 34	Two burglars hurtle from a flung open front door. It is unclear whether they flee the egg held aloft by the burly house-keeper, or the arms of one capable of menacing with such an item.
35 – 39	A debutante considers her reflection in the gleaming glass of a haberdashery. Glancing over her shoulder, her fixation is surprising. The reflection is unflattering, positively bovine.
40 – 49	A debutante feigns a swoon when several Specials stride past hauling a trove of eggs. Her companion does not catch her.
50 – 59	Several urchins have gathered in a back alley. They have hoisted an egg over a small fire. Are they trying to cook it, or hatch it?
60 – 69	A speaker near Hangman's Arch has drawn the ire of a crowd. They are using chicken's eggs to express their opinion of his thoughts on larger eggs.
70 – 79	All eggs are whisked indoors, or concealed with tarpaulin or sheets. A dark liveried carriage of the Shuttered Palace passes by.
80 – 84	A Spite restaurant is advertising 'London's largest omelettes'. Uncharacteristically wise, Londoners are not being drawn to visit.
85 – 89	An old crone shuffles past. Her hat whistles jauntily in your direction. She makes eye contact with you – and maintains a mischievously neutral expression.
92 – 100	A performance in the Singing Mandrake ends in violence. A poet asked whether the crowd wanted an encore, or whether they had had 'an oeuf'. Chairs were thrown.