A Visit to the Chateaus
The smell of bacon wafted from open windows and tinged the air around Fabian?s cabin with the delectable aroma, muddling the assortment of other delicious scents permeating about. Fabian thought Sundays were good days because Sundays meant a little bit of relaxation, which was certainly a welcomed change from his normally busy life. Business wasn't exactly booming, but the Plaza gave him plenty to do and filled up the hours of his day while nights were spent putting together the details of a security team he was trying (hoping) to assemble. This is why Sundays were so important - it gave him a chance to step away...and cook.
The Chateaus were busily under construction. Fiora's monumental idea to make this a living complex of RhyDin-ite proportions having been under way for a couple of weeks now. When the busy little realtor arrived on site at the Great Lodge the helpful staff was delighted to see her. Even more delighted when she expressed her desire to visit Fabian. His lodge was sunk deep back within the forest and was one of the few that had a "road" to it, though the jeep that was required to get there made one question just how "roadlike" the path really was.
An excited hobbit nearly danced herself right out of her skin as she chattered at a speed that the realtor could appreciate, "Should we let Mastersalerno know that y'ere here madamrealtorshantalaine? We can radio him, or we can call him on the cellphones or we can employ the mirror." She quivered as she awaited the answer, her disappointment evident as Fiora explained, "I think I'd like to surprise him actually. Do ye think ye could use one of those methods to let me know if any guests arrive though? I'm expectin' potential clients to start droppin' by." The level of giddy glee was nearly apocalyptic and as Fiora set off in a jeep, the preparations were underway to greet the newcomers.
"Everybody's working for the weekend." He wasn't exactly singing it as much as he mouthing the words and humming. It's not that he didn't like to sing, just that with all the construction going on around the Chateaus it was hard to actually focus on anything that resembled pitch. The quick jab of the jackhammer, the heavy grind of steel machinery, it was everywhere, though he had to admit that being tucked back within the forest like he was certainly helped alleviate the volume. He couldn't imagine being housed beside or around the main part of the work area, the headaches it must have spawned. A flip of a pan had hotcakes flying end over end, the landing smoothly back inside to rest once more upon the stove. A step to the side brought him to the fridge, and from it he grabbed a beer. Twisting the lid free, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swig. Sure, it was still early, but again...this is what Sundays were meant for.
The painful grind of a clutch, the stalled roar of an engine, the flooded
whine and agonized sound of an accelerator revving and the crunch and crash of several objects that met their fate beneath strong wheels....the approach of Fiora was...covert.. She bounced around in the seat of the jeep as it roared up and over the path. Whipping back and forth she alternately killed and restarted the engine with shocking frequency. It hadn't taken long for the hobbit who had agreed to come with her to
turn several shades of hideous green before it had suddenly remembered somewhere it needed to be. Gamely Fiora had grinned and waved as the hobbit had elected to walk back to the lodge. Restarting the engine and letting slowly off the clutch while slamming the accelerator to the floorboard.
The new sound, thunderous as it was, caught his attention and turned his dark eyes toward the closed door. With a smirk he went back to cooking. He'd already instructed a few of the Halflings as to how one properly operates a manual transmission, but it seemed that more lessons were needed. The spatula whipped and sliced through the egg yolks and milk, scrambling them into beautiful golden clouds that were then scooped onto a plate, taking up a half. The bacon followed next, six wondrous pieces of hickory-smoked heaven piled high. A second plate was used for the hotcakes, stacking them in a simple column, and then placed on the table behind him so he could administer the additives - namely, syrup. Another sip of his beer was claimed, and an appreciative sigh followed.
ROAR! She gunned the engine to clear the incline and nearly squealed as she realized that just over the lip of it there was a sharp turn between two sturdy oaks and an impressive rocky wall of a hillside. Yanking the wheel to the side she sprayed debris up from the back tires as she scraped the passenger side all along the rocks SCREEEEEECH. Fishtailing the back end as she fought to keep the Jeep on the path. Through it all she held onto a tight grin of manic proportions. Cerulean eyes wide and brimming with excitement. His lodge came into view and she let loose with a "WHOOOOOOP!" that dwindled into a question for her ears alone, "Do ye smell that? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." She braked...well she meant too, but that was actually the accelerator and the jeep shot past his drive and right into the ditch, the muddy slosh deadening the impact as she came to a halt at an angle, one back tire up off the ground.
The sound of the impact was easily recognizable, stealing his attention and sending a streak of sticky syrup slashing across the table. The bottle was dropped and prowling steps quickly took him to the door, Glok smoothly slid from the waistband at the small of his back. He paused and took a look out the window, seeing the tilted vehicle's backend protruding from the ditch. A quick survey found no visual evidence of artillery damage or magical destruction, but that wasn't enough to alleviate his suspicion. He drew the door open and stepped out onto the porch, gun raised and aimed at the wrecked jeep. "Come out of there and let me see your hands!" He instructed with an undeniable tone of authority, practiced to perfection.
(Page 1)
The smell of bacon wafted from open windows and tinged the air around Fabian?s cabin with the delectable aroma, muddling the assortment of other delicious scents permeating about. Fabian thought Sundays were good days because Sundays meant a little bit of relaxation, which was certainly a welcomed change from his normally busy life. Business wasn't exactly booming, but the Plaza gave him plenty to do and filled up the hours of his day while nights were spent putting together the details of a security team he was trying (hoping) to assemble. This is why Sundays were so important - it gave him a chance to step away...and cook.
The Chateaus were busily under construction. Fiora's monumental idea to make this a living complex of RhyDin-ite proportions having been under way for a couple of weeks now. When the busy little realtor arrived on site at the Great Lodge the helpful staff was delighted to see her. Even more delighted when she expressed her desire to visit Fabian. His lodge was sunk deep back within the forest and was one of the few that had a "road" to it, though the jeep that was required to get there made one question just how "roadlike" the path really was.
An excited hobbit nearly danced herself right out of her skin as she chattered at a speed that the realtor could appreciate, "Should we let Mastersalerno know that y'ere here madamrealtorshantalaine? We can radio him, or we can call him on the cellphones or we can employ the mirror." She quivered as she awaited the answer, her disappointment evident as Fiora explained, "I think I'd like to surprise him actually. Do ye think ye could use one of those methods to let me know if any guests arrive though? I'm expectin' potential clients to start droppin' by." The level of giddy glee was nearly apocalyptic and as Fiora set off in a jeep, the preparations were underway to greet the newcomers.
"Everybody's working for the weekend." He wasn't exactly singing it as much as he mouthing the words and humming. It's not that he didn't like to sing, just that with all the construction going on around the Chateaus it was hard to actually focus on anything that resembled pitch. The quick jab of the jackhammer, the heavy grind of steel machinery, it was everywhere, though he had to admit that being tucked back within the forest like he was certainly helped alleviate the volume. He couldn't imagine being housed beside or around the main part of the work area, the headaches it must have spawned. A flip of a pan had hotcakes flying end over end, the landing smoothly back inside to rest once more upon the stove. A step to the side brought him to the fridge, and from it he grabbed a beer. Twisting the lid free, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swig. Sure, it was still early, but again...this is what Sundays were meant for.
The painful grind of a clutch, the stalled roar of an engine, the flooded
whine and agonized sound of an accelerator revving and the crunch and crash of several objects that met their fate beneath strong wheels....the approach of Fiora was...covert.. She bounced around in the seat of the jeep as it roared up and over the path. Whipping back and forth she alternately killed and restarted the engine with shocking frequency. It hadn't taken long for the hobbit who had agreed to come with her to
turn several shades of hideous green before it had suddenly remembered somewhere it needed to be. Gamely Fiora had grinned and waved as the hobbit had elected to walk back to the lodge. Restarting the engine and letting slowly off the clutch while slamming the accelerator to the floorboard.
The new sound, thunderous as it was, caught his attention and turned his dark eyes toward the closed door. With a smirk he went back to cooking. He'd already instructed a few of the Halflings as to how one properly operates a manual transmission, but it seemed that more lessons were needed. The spatula whipped and sliced through the egg yolks and milk, scrambling them into beautiful golden clouds that were then scooped onto a plate, taking up a half. The bacon followed next, six wondrous pieces of hickory-smoked heaven piled high. A second plate was used for the hotcakes, stacking them in a simple column, and then placed on the table behind him so he could administer the additives - namely, syrup. Another sip of his beer was claimed, and an appreciative sigh followed.
ROAR! She gunned the engine to clear the incline and nearly squealed as she realized that just over the lip of it there was a sharp turn between two sturdy oaks and an impressive rocky wall of a hillside. Yanking the wheel to the side she sprayed debris up from the back tires as she scraped the passenger side all along the rocks SCREEEEEECH. Fishtailing the back end as she fought to keep the Jeep on the path. Through it all she held onto a tight grin of manic proportions. Cerulean eyes wide and brimming with excitement. His lodge came into view and she let loose with a "WHOOOOOOP!" that dwindled into a question for her ears alone, "Do ye smell that? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." She braked...well she meant too, but that was actually the accelerator and the jeep shot past his drive and right into the ditch, the muddy slosh deadening the impact as she came to a halt at an angle, one back tire up off the ground.
The sound of the impact was easily recognizable, stealing his attention and sending a streak of sticky syrup slashing across the table. The bottle was dropped and prowling steps quickly took him to the door, Glok smoothly slid from the waistband at the small of his back. He paused and took a look out the window, seeing the tilted vehicle's backend protruding from the ditch. A quick survey found no visual evidence of artillery damage or magical destruction, but that wasn't enough to alleviate his suspicion. He drew the door open and stepped out onto the porch, gun raised and aimed at the wrecked jeep. "Come out of there and let me see your hands!" He instructed with an undeniable tone of authority, practiced to perfection.
(Page 1)