Fearing my imminent skewering by the King for my inability to Discover his lost crown, I have constructed a sausage rope-ladder to escape out of my bed-quarters window! I will shimmy away from all of my problems!
Hilda: Fliggins are you here? What are you doing?
PF: I am shimmying away from all of my problems! Good-bye, sweet Hilda! May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Hilda: Get back in here, you ridiculous pastry! These sausages won’t support your girth, you’ll fall!
PF: So be it! A fitting end for someone so irresponsible! Ow! You are going to tear my moustache off of my face!
Hilda: Stop… Struggling…
PF: Ow ow ow… *huff huff huff* You may keep those hairs you are still holding.
Hilda: No thank you. What were you doing?
PF: Oh, Hilda! I cannot Discover your King’s crown! My airship is in shambles and under the guard of those meany Sausage Cadets! And I am feeling like a sub-par Discoverist. Why, I could not Discover the plaid on my slacks…
Hilda: Let’s leave this pity-party, okay? I talked to the Ketchup and Mustard Ambassadors from Foodlandia: they will fix your dirigible’s basket, but it will take some time.
PF: I do not have time! Hilda, the King! He is going to hate me! He is going to make the Cadets poke at my bottom again! My bottom!
Hilda: Fliggins, the Crown doesn’t want to be found – he’s free and happy and far, far away from here. He sends postcards sometimes – see.
PF: I see. What does this mean?
Hilda: It means you can’t find the Crown, it means the King will always be cranky and he’ll soon forget that you even existed, to be honest.
PF: Oh. So I do not need to escape from this place in terror?
Hilda: No.
PF: Oh.
Hilda: You still need Gingerfizz fuel, yes? Why don’t you visit our annual Beans and Franks Festival with our neighbors in the Bean Village. They might have some Gingerfizz.
PF: Beans?
Hilda: Yes! The Beans are our closest allies. You could wander about the BFF while we fix your ship. You’ll probably make all kinds of great Discoveries.
PF: Now you are talking my language!
Hilda: Get some sleep, Fliggins. No more running away, okay?
PF: I promise. Thank you for this bounty of kindness. I owe you so much.
Hilda: Good night, Loopy Larry.
PF: !
