A/N: It's silly. Very silly. You've been warned. Inspired by the travel series An Idiot Abroad and Mr. Renaissance Elf and his talk of Italy ;)

The Pleasure Machine

"We're busy next week, aren't we?" Captain Haddock asked around his pipe. He scowled at the invitation in his hands, waiting for Tintin to jog his memory and save them both from a fate worse than death.

"Hm." Tintin was thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I don't believe so."

There was a brief, unintelligible mumbling before Haddock said, "I'm sure we had plans."

"No plans, Captain. Things are rather quiet at the mo-"

"Nothing? Are you certain? There must be something. You must be due a check up with the dentist?"

"No," Tintin laughed lightly, suddenly curious about the letter in Haddock's hand. Whatever it was, it had obviously unnerved the Captain.

"Snowy, then," Haddock persisted. "He's been acting a little skittish lately; it could be fleas, or worms…"

At the mention of his name, Snowy looked up from his sleeping place in the armchair. "Worms? I'm insulted," he woofed.

"…Maybe you should book him in with the vet," Haddock continued. "This Friday, for instance?"

"Snowy is in perfect health. Captain, what's going on?" Tintin peered over his shoulder at the invitation and suddenly everything became clear. "Dear Captain Hardock and friends, you are invited to attend my Masquerade costume party on the second of February - why, that's next Friday - at my apartment in Venice, Italy. With love and kisses, Bianca Castafiore!"

"We're doomed."

"Of course, the famous carnival season in Venice falls on this month. Oh, come on, Captain," Tintin grinned. "Venice!"

Professor Calculus appeared behind them in the doorway. "Did someone say Venice?"

Haddock wearily dragged a hand over his face. "Oh no. Please don't get him started."

"That's right, Professor," Tintin confirmed, then glanced back at Haddock and the offending letter. "May I?"

Haddock gladly released the invitation to Tintin and returned to puffing on his pipe.

With rising enthusiasm, Calculus scanned the invite. "Oh! A masquerade party. This is splendid, Captain. Not only are we invited to experience the romance capital of the world, but we shall meet the lovely Signora again. It has been far too long since we were graced with her presence. Why I - "

"I'm not going," Haddock told him flatly.

Calculus smiled. "Indeed, indeed. I cannot wait either."

Haddock glared at him. "That's selective hearing right there. I said, I'm not going, Cuthbert. And don't pretend you can't hear me."

"Quite right. The costumes!" Calculus declared, raising a single digit decidedly.

"He's doing this on purpose, I swear!" Haddock stood up, hands on his waist. He took the pipe from between his teeth only to voice one final protest. "I'm staying here. You two can do whatever you like, but you won't catch me prancing around Venice like some fancy-dress nincompoop."

One week later,

Venice, Italy

The sun was setting over Venice as Haddock gripped his seat in the swaying gondola. Tintin peered across the Grand Canal at their surroundings, smiling contentedly beside the Captain while the older man clung on for all his worth. Oh, he wasn't afraid of water; after all, he had decades of seafaring experience under his belt, and the Venice Canal posed little threat to their lives. But this queer little tub - this gondola - was far from seaworthy. In fact, it was a disgrace. And if the rickety thing decided to capsize, Haddock was determined that he would be sending the dry cleaning bill to the lanky Italian fellow who was carelessly steering them towards Castafiore's apartment. Costume rentals were expensive enough without adding cleaning costs on top.

Haddock grimaced, wondering if he was really awake or if this was all some horrible nightmare. His costume itched, his party mask was making his face sweaty, and to top it all off he looked like a fool. Literally. A harlequin; the comical servant... jester... joker. Whatever you wanted to call it, there was no escaping the fact that he looked ridiculous. Pompoms and patchwork diamonds; the only costume left in his size.

Thundering typhoons.

The bells on his hat jingled with every move he made. Turning to the young reporter, he muttered, "What are we doing here, Tintin? This is San Theodoros all over again... only worse. Much worse."

Recalling the trip to south America, Tintin smiled, his eyes veiled beneath the white mask that covered the upper portion of his face. "The Jolly Follies?"

Haddock nodded and jingled again. "I'm glad you remember. I'd hate to be the only one haunted by that experience. Blistering barnacles, I thought that was bad, but this takes the cake!" He peered down at himself, then looked back at Tintin who was holding a lute and dressed in a renaissance sapphire silk doublet and cape. The velvet and brocade ballooning breeches stopped halfway down the boy's thighs, offset by white tights.

Snowy sat up beside Tintin and panted. He hadn't escaped the humiliation either; forced to wear a black highwayman cape and a little tricorn hat. "I've never felt so exploited," Snowy whined.

"Look at the pair of you," Haddock said, shaking his head. "Blast it, look at me! And look at him!"

Haddock waved his hand in Calculus's direction. The professor was barely recognisable in an 18th century powdered wig, mask, and elaborate green and gold embroidered frock coat. Sitting against the cushions in the little boat, humming and enjoying the scenery, Calculus crossed his skinny, stocking-clad legs. The man was all buckled shoes and Georgian breeches.

"He's loving this," Haddock muttered. "Did you ever see a man more at home in a lace jabot? What's he supposed to be, anyway?"

Picking up the tail end of the conversation, Calculus leaned forward and clasped his gloved hands upon his knee. "Isn't it obvious, Captain? I'm Casanova."

"Casanova?!" Haddock repeated with amusement.

"The great Italian adventurer and author, yes," Calculus answered.

Haddock rubbed his beard, silently debating whether or not to mention Casanova's penchant for womanising. Possibly for the best, however, he didn't get the chance.

"Look," Tintin interjected, pointing at the passing architecture. "Isn't it wonderful? The church of Santa Maria."

Evening had drifted in and lights blinked on around the water city, dancing across the canal like stars. Haddock secretly admired the beautiful buildings and statues, despite his reluctance to be there. "It's a sight, I'll give you that, but imagine living here in all this water."

"I thought you of all people would appreciate the water," Calculus remarked.

"I spent over twenty years in the merchant navy, Cuthbert. Twenty years of sea spray. Twenty years of getting wet… dunked, doused, drenched… Why do you think I retired to the countryside?"

"You love the water, Captain, admit it. And for all it's wetness, this is the most romantic city in the world," Calculus insisted.

"Aye, if you're a dolphin…" Haddock readjusted his mask to see properly through the small eye holes. "What happens when you want to nip out to post a letter; put on your snorkel and flippers? And how does the milkman deliver around here?"

The gondolier turned the boat down a narrow side street, taking them deeper into the maze of Venetian houses.

"Bianca Castafiore's apartment must be down here," Tintin said, peering around.

"It's not too late to go back to the hotel," Haddock suggested hopefully.

"Captain, we're here now. And you never know, if you relax you might begin to enjoy yourself."

"Relax? How can I relax? If I had a nice glass of whisky in my hand it would help, but I'm deprived even of that pleasure thanks to Professor Cure-all over there."

The gondola was guided to a stop at the foot of a stone passageway and Calculus rose to his feet. He picked up his cane, wielding the prop with affected elegance as he disembarked.

"Grazie." Tintin smiled and paid the gondolier.

"Where were you keeping those coins? I didn't see any pockets on that costume," Haddock pointed out in bewilderment.

"Don't ask," Tintin replied with a self conscious smile before he and Snowy followed the professor. The activity made the boat pitch afresh and Haddock grabbed the sides of the gondola in alarm, waiting for the rocking to settle down.

Calculus and Tintin stared down the passageway at the steps leading to a tall apartment building.

"Ah, this must be it," Calculus said excitedly, failing to spare a backward glance for the Captain. "Now remember, gentleman, these are Signora Castafiore's friends. We should greet them with manners and grace."

Haddock mumbled to himself as he stumbled over something in the boat. He'd just managed to get one leg up onto the street when the gondola began to drift. The gap between boat and land widened and his legs stretched apart. If there was ever a moment for grace to present itself this was not it.

"Well, I always aim to be polite, Professor," Tintin replied, oblivious to the Captain who was still in the boat, attempting to get ashore.

"Oh, I know you do, my dear boy," Calculus answered as he and the young reporter started towards the steps. "I was thinking of the Captain. A little dignity is all I'm suggesting."

"Blistering barnacles," Haddock cursed and shot a look at the gondolier. His mask was slipping again and he readjusted it, tipping his head back to get a better look at the pilot of the boat. "Would you keep this rickety raft anchored, you Venetian blind, you!"

The gondolier lifted his shoulders and offered a vacant expression. "Non capisco, Signore."

With a deep exhale, Haddock flung himself over the expanding breach of murky waters and landed fortuitously upon the paved walkway. Knees creaking, he stood up and recovered his poise only to be rewarded with laughter from the gondola.

"Very funny, Signor," the Italian called as he pushed the boat off.

"I'll give you funny," Haddock retorted after him as he sailed away. Bells rang as he shook his fist, venting his offence. "Rotten excuse for a sailor! Freshwater fish brain!"

"Captain?" Tintin and the professor were standing at the foot of the steps, bodies half turned, staring at him. Haddock didn't need to see Tintin's face beneath the mask to know he was mortified. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

Snowy trotted over and wagged his tail. "A little dignity, Captain," the dog barked.

"My dear friends!" Bianca Castafiore's shrill welcome sounded around the crowded room. "How lovely to see you again. I am so happy you are here."

Tintin smiled, making a brief assessment of the masquerade themed party. "And we're happy to be here. Thank you for inviting us."

"Oh, you are welcome, most welcome. What splendid costumes. Please come, caro mio. Enjoy the party. We will be playing games soon. Captain Drydock, you look lost. I think you are looking for a glass of champagne, yes?" Castafiore gave him a knowing grin.

"Actually, I'm abstaining from alcohol, Madam."

Bianca drew a shocked breath. "But I know how you enjoy a little drink."

"I do, I do. But it's a sacrifice in the name of science, isn't it, Cuthbert?" Haddock gruffly asked the little scientist and nudged him forward. "I'm sure Cuthbert would be delighted to tell you all about it."

Bianca turned her attention to the professor and her eyes lit up. "Professor Calculus? Is that you beneath that mask?"

"Good evening, Signora," Calculus declared, swiftly capturing her gloved hand. He planted a chaste kiss atop it. "This is a pleasure. And may I say you look radiant? Simply beautiful."

Bianca accepted Calculus's proffered arm. "Oh, Professor, you are too kind. And I think I can tell who you have come as."

As the pair wandered away amongst the guests, Tintin cheerfully turned to Haddock. "I'll get us some tonic water, Captain."

"Wonderful."

An hour later…

"Captain Paddock, the Professor has told me all about the science experiment."

"Has he, indeed?" Haddock said over the chatter and the pianist's playing. He shifted on the small sofa, trying to get as comfortable as one can when wedged between an ample-bosomed Milanese nightingale and a feathered stranger dressed in a red, long-beaked mask. Caught like a rat in a trap, it was a feat not to spill the food from the plate on his lap.

"A cure for alchoholism in a pill," she went on, "how clever."

Calculus piped up from Castafiore's other side. "As I told the lovely Signora, it has been a test of endurance…"

Abstaining from my beloved whisky? You can say that again, Haddock thought.

"…for Tintin and myself," Calculus concluded.

Haddock peered at him and frowned. "What have you had to endure, by thunder?"

"Come now, Captain. You cannot deny that you have been an absolute nightmare to live with these past few months. An utter grump, to put it plainly."

"Grump?" Haddock grumbled and shook his head. He turned back to the plate on his lap and set to work opening up an oyster shell with the shucking knife. "You're mistaken, Cuthbert. Hnnf… I say, these oysters are a devil… Grumpy? I've never been more buoyed up in all my life. Urrmf… Blistering barnacles. How on Earth…?"

"Did you know Casanova ate dozens of oysters at a time?" Castafiore announced between sips of wine.

"I did not know that!" Calculus answered with surprise.

Castafiore laughed coquettishly and patted Haddock's knee. "They are considered a powerful aphrodisiac." She made the announcement in an exaggerated whisper, as if sharing some confidential secret between the two men.

"Oh my," Calculus uttered, blushing beneath his mask. "Has that theory been scientifically proven?"

"That, I do not know," Castafiore laughed again. "But we have lots of oysters here, professor. Perhaps you can test the theory for yourself."

Haddock was losing his appetite. "You can have mine, Cuthbert, if I ever get the thundering thing open. Ah, here you go."

Finally, the shell cracked free and Haddock cut the mollusc loose, but his triumph was stopped short by his clumsy neighbour. The stranger beside him - who was laughing while enjoying a good joke - threw a hand in the air, jolting Haddock's arm and sending the oyster flying out of its shell. The slippery mollusc landed in the most horrendous of places; down the front of Castafiore's Georgian ball gown.

Her reaction was immediate; a gasp and a shriek, followed by uncontrollable laughter. Haddock stared at the oyster disappearing between her cleavage, his eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Captain Bedrock," Castafiore said with mock sternness, for she was clearly enjoying herself far too much to be genuinely offended. "You are supposed to eat the oyster from the shell, not from me, you naughty man."

Mortified, Haddock looked around for a napkin.

"Signora, your gloves, you'll soil them," said Calculus. Bianca was about to fish the oyster out when the professor stopped her. "Allow me?"

Castafiore made no protest when he began poking around inside her décolletage. On the contrary, she appeared to find the whole escapade greatly entertaining. At last, the oyster was retrieved and handed back to the reluctant Captain.

Snowy looked up from the floor to accept an unexpected treat from the Captain. "Yum! Thanks," he yapped.

"This reminds me," said Castafiore, "I have arranged some party games for this evening. Would you like to play?"

Games might pass the time quicker, Haddock reasoned. As long as it wasn't bobbing for oysters. "Aye, that sounds all right. What did you have in mind, Cluedo? Whist?"

"No, no," Castafiore clasped her hands in delight. "Much better. An Italian game invented by Casanova himself. The Pleasure Machine. Have you heard of it?"

Haddock's blood chilled at the words. "What's wrong with just having a game of Charades?"

Calculus didn't appear put off. "A pleasure machine. It sounds intriguing, Signora."

"It is not a real machine," Castafiore explained. "We will take you into the little tent at the back of the room and blindfold you, then the fun begins. Your senses will be stimulated and you must guess what you are tasting and touching."

"That's marvellous," Cuthbert declared. "I love guessing games."

Tintin, who had been mingling with a group of German musicians, finally returned to his friends, tonic water in hand. Snowy rose and thrashed his tail.

"How is your evening going, Captain?" Tintin asked, leaning down from behind the sofa and speaking in the captain's ear.

"Oh, Tintin," Haddock whispered harshly and levered himself to his feet. He discarded his plate on the table and lifted off his mask. "Thank heavens you're here, boy. Is it time to go yet? Castafiore's threatening to blindfold me and stimulate my senses with her pleasure machine nonsense. I'm ready to call it a night."

Tintin smiled and blinked in confusion. "Whatever do you mean?"

"She wants to play a game. The Pleasure Machine, she calls it."

"Oh," Tintin's smile faded. "It sounds rather… improper."

"I'm not sure it's entirely legal," Haddock joked, but he was far from amused. "This is exactly why I didn't want to come."

Tintin chewed his lip fretfully, unsure exactly what the Pleasure Machine game entailed, but fairly certain it conflicted with his Catholic values. And if the Captain was worried, well… He lifted his own mask and offered Haddock a look of apology. "You're right, Captain. I'm sorry. If I'd known it would be like this…"

"Lead the way, Signora, I cannot wait." Calculus was following Castafiore to the tent at the far end of the room; a small marquee comprised of red velvet drapes.

"Oh no…" Haddock murmured.

Castafiore paused and looked back. "Captain Harrock, are you coming? Oh, and Tintin too! Come, or you'll miss all the excitement."

Haddock clutched Tintin by the doublet. "Tintin. Let's get out of here," he pleaded.

"What about the professor? Shouldn't we…"

"It's the most romantic city in the world, he said. Well, this'll teach him. Come on, Tintin. Casanova can take care of himself."

"But, Captain…"

Haddock was already tugging his friend towards the front door, Snowy at their heels. "I'm doing you a favour, lad. Trust me. The sooner we're away from Castafiore and her pleasure machine the better."

The evening was pleasantly cool outside the apartment as they made their escape, fresh air mingling with the pungent smell of the canal. Rushing down the steps, Haddock drew Tintin to a halt when they reached the end of the pavement. A disconcerting thought occurred to him as they stared out at the watery abyss.

"How in the blue blistering barnacles are we getting back to the hotel?"