‘Ladies & Gentlemen, assembled dignitaries, photographers from ‘You Got Papped’: please be upstanding for the newly crowned King & Queen of this great City-State of Brighton & Hove: Their Royal Highnesses King Rich Mitch IV & Queen Sarah Bird I‘ called the Royal Announcer from the balcony, as His Majesty’s Sagbutts & Cornetts struck up a celebratory blast from nearby.

King Rich & Queen Sarah emerged onto the balcony waving and smiling, surrounded by their friends & courtiers. ‘The King!’ proclaimed the Announcer.

King Richard stepped forward. ‘Good people of Brighton & Hove‘ he began, across a sea of waving flags ‘As I stand here today with my beautiful Queen – your beautiful Queen – my fervent desire is that we celebrate this happy union together, as a united people.’ A great cheer arose from the joyous throng.

‘It is the intention of my Queen and I to invite you all great banquet, a celebration of all we stand for. My Queen, from the great house of BANG. Myself, from the noble stock of FlashBrighton. And all of you, loyal followers of both houses. Our union shall once again be marked in the only way possible: with a free evening of only the finest Animation, from this Sceptred Isle and beyond. A Big Screen Bonanza for 2009. I shall personally select my favourite works of animation for your enjoyment.‘

The King stepped back and made way for the Announcer. ‘Ladies & Gentlemen: The Queen!’ The intensity of the flag waving increased.

Waving to the jubilant crowd, Queen Sarah began her address. ‘My devoted people, it is one’s honour to serve thee, a duty we wholeheartedly embrace. Like my King – your King – one wishes that you should be united with us in this hour of celebration. Along with the King’s handpicked animations, one of the finest animators from our great Land will be joining one on the night to discuss & showcase some of his or her work. We shall not spoil the surprise by revealing the name of this individual beforehand but rest assured, t’will be a mighty talent to match ours, my dear, dear subjects. Not only that, but the evening shall resound to the sounds of merrimaking and gaiety. We shall lay on a banquet of Bell’s Whisky and Wife Beater and that, although the Royal Mint is a bit brassic at the mo’, so `best bring a few quid, eh?‘

A salvo of bugles proclaimed the return of the Royal Announcer, who unfurled and read from a mighty scroll.

‘People of Brighton & Hove: you are cordially invited to attend the seasonal celebrations of BANG & FlashBrighton this Christmas time. The Venue for this auspicious occasion is to be the only truly befitting an event of this magnitude: the Function Room of The King & Queen Coaching Inn, on the Old Steine, Brighton. The Time & Date will be 7pm, on the evening of Tuesday 15th December. Tickets are free but limited to 90 places, so please book early to avoid disappointment. King Richard & Queen Sarah humbly thank you for your warm reception, and most earnestly request your presence at their December the 15th celebration.’

The Announcer recoiled the scroll and, waving, the Royal party departed from the balcony, as the crowd continued cheering and waving their flags.

Richard Lord-Poirot stepped into the Edwardian sitting room, to discover that all the frameworks had arrived, as per his instructions. Together they represented the finest Flash Application Frameworks the world currently had to offer. Louis PureMVC paced about agitatedly. Miss Stephanie Mate was lounging on the chaise lounge, being served a gin & tonic by Robotlegs the butler. Fergus Cairngorm and Dr. Isabella Swiz sat stony faced on the couch, whilst the Reverend Parsley sat alone in an elegantly carved wooden chair, delicately sipping from a china teacup.

‘Lord-Poirot, at last!’ exclaimed Louis PureMVC, his broad midwest accent reverberating off the walls. ‘What the hell are we doing here, dammit?’

‘Indeed Mr. PureMVC, why are we here?’ Lord-Poirot tapped his temple. ‘Because of zee little grey cells, no?’ He smiled stiffly and stepped over to the fireplace, from where he could see the whole room more clearly.

Looking at each of the frameworks in turn, he said ‘Zee project zat we are focusing on requires only one of you, but which of you  will be best suited to dee job? It is zee task of Lord-Poirot to investigate and reveal zee answer to zeez curious question.’ He looked down and began circling the room, hands behind his back.

‘For a long time now, Lord-Poirot has been looking at zee core architecture behind each of you. Your ‘good’ and ‘bad’ features, no? I have been studying closely how you handle zee events, and zee dependencies. Zee different philosophies zat drive each of you on, and I will explain to you why good Flash or Flex developers should study you closely, as closely as Lord-Poirot has.’

He paused behind Stephanie Mate, and twirled his pencil moustache. Brooding under heavy eyebrows, Fergus Cairngorm asked in his thick Highland brogue ‘Let’s trash the murder mystery weekend. What are you suggesting Lord-Poirot?’

‘Just zeez Mr. Cairngorm: as you are all so interested in architecture, frameworks, and design patterns, I suggest you meet me again at Zee Werks in Hove at 7pm on Tuesday zee first of December to discuss zeez further. Zair I will show you what I know about you all.’

Smiling primly Lord-Poirot said ‘Ladies, Gentlemen: until next Tuesday’ and, bowing slightly, turned, and left them to their amusements.

———————————–

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It was a cold night in Preston Park, but nothing would dampen the spirits of the multitude that had travelled to be there. Anticipation was high as the cry of ‘LEE DE LISLE, LEE DE LISLE’ ran through the crowd. Backstage Vice President-elect Joe Summers nudged her running mate in the back, whispering ‘Come on Seb, get out there and give them what they want.’ Straighting his tie in the mirror, Sebastian smiled back at Joe’s reflection, turned, and advanced onto the platform.

As the President-elect emerged into the spotlights, the noise level around the park rose until it felt like the very sky was about to crack. In a gesture of well rehearsed humility, Sebastian rode the wave, smiling, waving left and right, for a full five minutes. Only when the volume began to drop, did he approach the mike to address the adoring throng.

‘My fellow FlashBrightonians, I am truly humbled by your warm reception, and the backing you have given this group. This is your victory.’ The park exploded once more. Palms down, chin up, Sebastian feigned a plea for silence. A hush slowly descended.

‘We have already achieved much. These past five years we have shown the greatest speakers, presented the most fascinating topics, and hosted the finest Big Screen Bonanzas. We achieved this together, and we take the greatest pride in that achievement. But our work is not done. Tonight marks a key turning point. For the first time in history weeks of underinvestment have left our calendar empty, and we stand on the brink of the greatest crisis in Big Screen Bonanza history. If we are to remain strong we cannot allow these to divisions to proliferate. My friends, the road ahead is hard. I can do much, but no one man can triumph alone. Therefore I stand before you tonight to humbly request your help in this great task.’

‘Next Tuesday evening, at 7PM, I call upon you to attend our FlashBrighton Planning Meeting at The Werks in Hove, to help fill the gaps in the schedule and discuss the Big Screen Bonanza planned for December. Can we do it? I think you know the answer. Thank you, God bless you, and God bless the United Group of FlashBrighton.’

Seb stood away from the microphone and waved. The crowd erupted in celebration, as Jenny Lee-Delisle and Joe Summers emerged waving on the platform behind him.

His uniform immaculately pressed, Paulo Fierro entered the debriefing room, holding his officer’s cap tightly across his chest. The room was large, oak lined, and mostly empty except for an line of military portraits, a US flag draped in the corner, and a imposing wooden desk, behind which sat his commanding officer, General Jack Ryan. He saluted the General crisply. ‘Sir!’

Ryan looked up distractedly. ‘At ease Fierro’ he said, putting down his fountain pen and leaning backwards. ‘Tell me what you’ve got.’

Fierro took a few steps forward. ‘Sir, at first we thought the device was Russian but it seemed to be Norwegian made. “Bysykkel”: a bicycle app. Not commercial Sir, looks like government issue. Users sign up and are then sent a “Bysykkelkortet” through the post, a kind of card that we still haven’t figured out the purpose of. We reversed engineered the device and ran some tests in Flash & Perl, which resulted in an iPhone app we launched on the Norwegian iPhone store. The CIA boys had a team promoting the crap out of it on social networks, to smoke them out. It seems to have worked sir, it was blasted out of the sky by “Clear Channel” just recently.‘

‘Clear Channel?’ Ryan raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

‘Yes Sir. Clear Channel may have helped with the initial development. They are a Norwegian advertising agency but we figure that’s just a front. Our men in Oslo haven’t been able to penetrate them yet. `Suspect they’re tring to bring about a military coup. We’re working on that. Sir.’

General Ryan stood up and walked around the desk. ‘Fierro, I want to see everything you’ve got so far: the Flash & Perl tests, the iPhone app, plus everything you have on Bysykkel and Clear Channel. Debriefing nineteen hundred hours, at The Werks in Hove, Tuesday November 17th. Understood?’

Fierro saluted. ‘Sir, yes Sir!’ He turned neatly and marched out, closing the doors quietly behind him.

The hobbit Tim Baggins stared into the deep, dark wood, and curled his toes nervously. Dusty cobwebs hung from the twisted boughs and not a single shaft of sunlight penetrated into the gloom. The air hung thick and motionless like treacle. ‘We’re not going in there… are we?’ He turned and looked up at the dwarf king Owen, son of Thráin. The Wizard Domdolf interrupted them.

‘Tim, we have come to recover the Dwarves’ sacred letters, stolen from their witch Zepherine’s spell book by the evil witch Ylwa who lives on the far side of the forest’ he said, leaning on his staff and furrowing his brow. ‘It is ten days march through and there is no other route.’

‘You are our guide, hobbit, you must lead the way.’ boomed Owen and crossed his arms across his breastplate. ‘We must spend the next 10 days undercover making a mighty Flash game. With your woolly-footed design skills, my developmental battle-axe and Domdolf’s digital powers we can create a really good game in just 10 days, thus defeating the evil Ywla and returning the prestige to the Dwarves that Middle Earth owes us.’

Tim feared that Owen was about to start moaning about the bloody Elves again, so quickly cut in. ‘Are there, you know… goblins in the wood?’’

‘Forgetful hobbit!’ bellowed Domdolf. ‘Seven great goblins live in the wood. Ywla conjured them with her sorcery, creating them from the very letters in Zepherine’s book. We must create a series of word puzzles that will transform the goblins back into letters.‘

Tim turned back and peered into the gloom, scratching his head of curly hair like Brian May. Could they really write a really good Flash adventure game in just 10 days? What lay hidden in the forest? He swallowed hard, knowing he had to be as resolute as Owen and Domdolf.

‘Crikey! Well, OK, let’s give it a bash then, eh?’ he wheezed. ‘If we make it through OK, what say we meet down the hobbit hole at The Werks on Tues 10th November at 7pm for a jolly good chat about it, over tea and cakes?’

He straightened his knife in his leather belt and stepped tentively into the wood, swiftly followed by the other two.