"Good work? You're going to turn him into another bloody Murdoch!"

[See this icon? This icon is George exactly. Sat at his table. Head in his hand. Not looking terribly amused.]

Well. If I ever wear a dress again, it will be quite too soon.

[If you are keeping track, that's twice in one month now.]

[There's a woman in George's room. She's stocky, and her dark hair is gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck. From the front it looks short and boyish, and her face looks freshly scrubbed. She's dressed in a white high-necked Victorian blouse, a tie, a navy blue jacket, and a floor length navy blue walking skirt. And she's George, of course. Short for Georgina, although she's most comfortable being addressed as Miss Crabtree.

Some of you may be wondering why Miss Crabtree isn't suffering any of the wardrobe malfunctions that seem to be going around. Some of you clearly aren't aware just how seriously Mr. Crabtree takes undercover work. Now you know.]

Here is what I have gathered thus far: several people appear to be missing clothing, and I've spoken to one who seems to be missing memories. Is anyone aware of anything else having gone missing? And if so, a detailed description would be most helpful.

[Please, don't everyone rush to describe your penises.]

Furthermore: after Captain von Uberwald mistakenly called me a constable, I looked in my own wardrobe and found it nearly all replaced by a constable's uniform. Could it be that, somehow, saying things during this flood makes them become reality?

[George presses her lips together tightly.]

I don't know that I ought to say anything else lest...well, you know!

[George is in his room, but out of his uniform. There's a very small pin in the lapel of his grey suit. It probably looks like the outline of a star, or a diamond. It isn't either.]

I thought I might ask, since we've gained so many new faces, if anyone else on board has ever rolled their trouser leg?

[And apparently that confusing query is not all George has for you this evening.]

Also, I do keep thinking about those ninjas we had. It's a shame they were so, well, unfriendly, and that they had to be disappeared so suddenly. We might have learned so much from them, and their ways.

[George gazes dreamily off, perhaps imagining a world where people and ninjas live together in pajamas and harmony.]

On the other hand, I suppose it is for the best that they didn't stick around. There were simply far too many of them. Our hallways would have been crowded with them. They might have taken to busking.

[George's accent wafts over the network all by itself, which is fairly unusual.]

Er. Did everyone happen to awaken in...unusual circumstances, then?

["Unusual circumstances" is Victorian for "somebody else's bed & trousers".]

[George is eating an orange. And so can you!

He's also thirty-one again. Yes, George is thirty-one. I know.]

I don't think anyone was poorly done by that, were they? It is a bit strange to recall that I couldn't have even pictured myself as a police officer at that age, as now I can't picture myself as being anything else. Besides a detective, obviously. And a writer.

[George chews thoughtfully.]

Although...I don't believe any of the lads back home always yearned to join the constabulary. Not at our station, anyway. I am pleased it's something modern children seem to dream of.

...I also think you all might appreciate indoor plumbing just a bit more than you do. It really is fantastic.

[George looks very sorry to have to admit this, but:]

I thought that was a rather lovely trip, but I still don't understand what Kwanzaa is.

[Queen Victoria sits primly in George's room.

No, she doesn't look amused.

But wait: how does Queen Victoria know how to operate a video communicator?

...

Bitch, please.]

And what is the purpose of our being here today?

[George may be dead, but his accent lives on.]

...What is a C-47?

[George is dressed casually for George. No uniform, and no jacket. His shirt-sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is untidy. He has Howie's motorcycle, and several books about motorcycles out on the floor around him, where he is sitting.]

Is it just me, or has everyone been a bit quiet today? Is there something going on that I'm unaware of?

I suspect it must be something very good, as I would have heard of something awful, where as I certainly can't blame people for being distracted away from their devices, if, say, the Admiral has given everyone a puppy.

[George looks pleased. And then very thoughtful.]

...

But then of course, I would wonder: where is my puppy?

[George sounds pained. Very, very pained.]

I've tried the door to the CES from this side. I'm afraid it's not gone well.