This is the record of an unscheduled meeting, between the Grand Regent of Filiafax, Charles Gütierre, and the British Numidium, outside of the linear timestream.
Charles appears suddenly in an expanse of infinite darkness.
“Uhh. Where am I?” he calls out.
A strange white rectangle appears in the “air” that can only be described as an [EMPTY BLOOMING SPEECH BALLOON]. Charles thinks he can hear something from it.
“Excuse me? What was that?”
Another [EMPTY BLOOMING SPEECH BALLOON] appears.
Charles turns around and sees a little table, set with tea for two, illuminated by a shaft of light that doesn’t appear to be coming from any visible source.
“Wait. Why is there a tea table here, in the middle of black nothing?” he attempts to ask.
A hulking automaton, looking slightly bronze in the light and wearing a top hat and bowtie about 15 sizes too small, steps into the light.
It says, “I SAY.”
Charles asks tentatively, “You can speak?”
“QUITE RIGHT, OLD CHAP,” it responds, unmoving.
Charles sits down at the tea table slowly.
“Who are you?” he asks.
Another [EMPTY BLOOMING SPEECH BALLOON] appears, slicing off a few of Charles’ stray hairs.
Charles begins to sweat nervously.
“So am I supposed to only ask yes/no questions?” he asks, trying to sink lower and lower in the chair.
It says, “THAT’S THE GIST OF IT.”
“I see…” Charles says, mostly to himself.
Charles looks back up at the automaton, scrutinizing it, but he almost seems to be not properly looking at it, like he can’t see it at all.
“I keep thinking I see something on the other side of this table, whoever you are. But the next second, I’m sure it was just my imagination,” he says, perplexed.
“…”
“It’s like… It’s like you got erased somehow, someway,” Charles continues, “Were you erased?”
It answers, “BY JOVE, YOU’VE GOT IT.”
“Oh my, we haven’t touched this tea yet, have we?” Charles asks, starting to pour himself a cup, “Do you want any? …Actually, can you even drink tea?”
It responds, “INDEED, I CAN AND DO.”
The automaton appears to shrink slightly before pouring itself a cup as well.
Charles looks into the cup. The tea is an odd bronze-red color.
“Are you sure this is tea?” Charles asks, wary of the strange tint.
“QUITE SURE, MY BOY,” it responds, lifting the comically small cup to its seemingly metallic lips.
Charles sits in silence for a few minutes, totally confused by these events.
“Is this a dream?” Charles asks finally, breaking the silence.
It answers, “POSSIBLY, OLD CHAP.”
The record ends here.
