Wapsi Square Forum

Dave wrote:"Hideous" was just what I was aiming for. Even without the okra, that's a nasty beverage.

ShneekeyTheLost wrote:You, sir, are a knave and a scoundrel. Or you simply haven't encountered true Dr. Pepper, brewed at the plant in Dublin, TX with pure cane sugar instead of corn syrup

Dave wrote:The key to "nasty" was my use of the word "diet". There are some beverages which can be made with a no-cal sweetener and still taste just fine. Dr Pepper is (in my opinion) not one of them. The samples of Diet Dr Pepper I had were distinctly bitter... not a good match to the rest of the flavoring. It really tasted "off".

Maybe if it were made with Stevia instead...

ShneekeyTheLost wrote:Ahh, in that case, all is forgiven. Diet ANYTHING is bad. Maybe use Splenda instead, it might work out right.

FreeFlier wrote:Try generic diet chocolate soda . . . a friend's wife got some by mistake because it was in with the regular root beer . . . the explosion (when someone unknowingly tasted it) was impressive.

We expended the other five cans as targets.

DinkyInky wrote:Where the hate are you finding it? I haven't seen it in two decades. The Chocolate Cherry diet was awesome with a half jigger of Bushmills Black Bush Irish Whiskey, a splash of Creme de Cacao, and a splash of Maraschino liqueur. I used to crank out those in the bar back home to all these twiggy types wanting a "light drink". Yeah, I know...I was a stinker. But still, it was a really tasty combination.

Remember, this was diet generic chocolate soda . . . the root beer was half the price of the cheapest of the name brands, and wasn't too bad . . . cheap is a good thing for college students/gamers.

The diet chocolate soda, OTOH, was horrible. Especially when it ambushes you by pretending to be root beer . . . Come to think of it, it might have been house brand, rather than generic (not that there's much difference).

And this was in the late 1980s.

--FreeFlier

FreeFlier wrote:The diet chocolate soda, OTOH, was horrible. Especially when it ambushes you by pretending to be root beer . . .

An old "Sylvia" comic strip, years ago, had a quip of the following general sort:

Do you have any idea how dangerous carob brownies are? People have bitten down on them, thinking that they're chocolate, and then died of disgust before they could spit them out.

Well, it's not anywhere near the weddings length, and it is a year in the life of some not-quite-so-ordinary people.

***********************************

Daisy was very nervous at leaving work unfinished to go 'horsing around'. It just didn't feel right.

"Just let me check that list one more time. I think I forgot to..."

"Come on luv, in you get. The longer you stall, the longer he has to change his mind."

Sterling knew he would not, but if that's what it took to get her into the car, she'd play the card and beg Al's pardon later. She was driving to prevent her from turning around and going back into the fray, which was the opposite of getting her mind off it for a few hours.
Cinnamon was also helping, getting Katherine to help forcibly push Daisy into the car.

"Momma, the guys are not moving at all because we're still here. She promised she would not break the speed limit, let alone the sound barrier, not that we're even doing that with you outside the car, so LET'S GO!"

"Ming Dynasty Vases Al." Sterling said with a wink once Daisy was safely ensconced between Katherine and Cinnamon in the back, starting up the Grand Am, letting her purr for only a minute before heading out, lest Daisy changed her mind.

Blowing a kiss to his love, he turned to rally the troops.

"All RIGHT YOU LOT! FRONT AND CENTER! MAIN HALL - NOW! We are going to make things HAPPEN!" Al bellowed as he headed for the door, stunning small animals in the trees as he did.

***********************************

The drive was smooth, calm, and uneventful. Sterling cast a few extra spells to ensure it, especially after she thought she saw a "Were-cat" roaming the grounds carrying a king sleeper sofa. She really needed to quit watching those 'Son of Svengoolie' marathons.

Two stops for very expensive, very tasty French Liqueur and Champagne, plus seven crystal glasses, and then to the hotel, using the 'sneaky gate' to bypass a certain oily front desk clerk who always seemed on duty, and the back elevator to the next floor, stopping only to collect an ice bucket and ice, then around to the keyed elevator.

Into the room with the now chilling Champagne, the ladies were greeted at the door by the giggling Monica and Jet, doing the 'Snoopy Dance'.

"Calling Annie now," said Daisy, to a round of cheers. "Grr...I got the voice mail. Group message?"

"WE'RE HAVING A SPA DAY ANNIE! COME JOIN US!" was everyone's exuberant reply, followed by Daisy saying, "Call me back."

***********************************

"LifeSpa and Salon at The Grand, This is Sabine. How may I help you?"

"This is Sterling Damhnait, I'm a guest in the Penthouse suite. I am bringing...five...possibly six guests, awaiting confirmation on the sixth, with me for an ultimate spa day. Minx mani/pedi's with paraffin treatments, yes, both, Relax & Recovery massages, probably spa wraps and hair treatments, maybe makeup too, I know I need a trim, but I'm not sure what they all require, so blind schedule them in, and I'll include a fair gratuity for anyone who ends up not working on them."

"Very good. I'll just schedule the sixth, that way they're reserved. We're nearly booked solid..."

"Perfect. I'll call you when we're on our way down. Thank you."

"Any news regarding our number six...Annie was it, Daisy?" Sterling said, noting several megawatt grins aimed at her.

"Still waiting for a callback."

"Okay.

Now, I personally would not recommend anyone getting a heated body treatment to drink alcohol, but I brought a bottle of bubbly and some Chambord to spike it with in case...or we can have it after."

A round of cheers went up at that.

Sterling wasn't drinking. She bought a bottle of soda water earlier, spiking it with bitters, and had raw cranberry juice in the mini fridge to mimic what they were drinking. She'd promised to be responsible, reliable transport, so damnit, she'd be sober...though they didn't have to know it. It was enough that Buck and Al knew, and Al would tell Annie's other half as well, if she came. She had a sober up quick remedy already compounded and decanted into a bottle in the fridge just in case Monica forgot and overdid it. Bases covered, she began her speech.

"Here's the robes to wrap up in. Private elevator means no spies...not that I'd let anyone see anything anyway..." Cracking her knuckles, she grinned maliciously.

"The name of the game is no worries, no stress.

A spa day is where you get spoiled rotten from head to toe and do absolutely nothing but relax.
You are not allowed to think about work, deadlines, what the men are doing, none of it.
If you want to try the treatments, ask about them, if they interest you, try it. You don't know if you don't ask.
They also have a hair salon and do makeup...all just to make you look drop-dead gorgeous.

Any questions?"

With a practiced flick of his arm, Glytch shook his sturdy steel watch down his wrist, and with the same movement, pulled the sleeve of his hoodie back to allow him to look at the watch unobstructed. Noting it was getting close to the testing time for Jet's clothes, Glytch stoppered the test tubes and put the rack of non-Newtonian fluids back in their place in one of his cabinets and put away the impact testing plate and the electromagnetic-driven rod puncher before removing his protective gear and placing them in a drawer under a poster that said "Goggle up, science is about to happen!"
His office and lab restored to the state it was in when he entered that morning, Glytch pulled out his phone and casually VORPed home for a shower and a change of clothes.
He had spent the morning wrestling with a problem on how to reduce the overwhelming effects of exposure to the Insanity Gem on Legion. A couple hours before lunch, he went to his garage and tinkered with his Pontiac for a while. When he got bored with that, he decided to investigate the application of shear-thickening fluids to body armor, and had a few ideas on some new formulas, with the short interruption of the nosy Camilla. During that, he got a little too focused and forgot to shower and change before heading to his office. He figured he probably shouldn't show up looking like a country bumpkin who had spent the day wrestling with an old tractor. Thus the shower.

Once he was clean, Glytch decided he might as well take the opportunity to sharpen up a bit. He had plenty of time, and it never hurts to look good on camera. He wasn't sure if he would be filmed, but it's always best to be prepared.

After a real shave (not just a quick and easy one with an electric shaver, but an actual razor and cream) and a spritz of Bvlgari Black, Glytch set about picking out an outfit. He chose a tight red undershirt and a slim matte black dress shirt with red trim. The left side of the shirt was covered with a filigree of glossy black embroidery, done in the natural fractal patterns of a bolt of lightning. As always, the shirt was hooded. However, after his experience at the Battle of Pillsbury, Glytch had recently started modifying his hoods where he could to include sections of semi-transparent fabric, giving Glytch peripheral vision. If it wasn't for all of the elven armor he had been wearing, several of the hits Glytch had taken due to his lack of good peripheral vision would have been fatal. Now, he could see well enough through the fabric to detect threats.
Glytch's lower half was covered with black jeans and black basketball shoes with red laces. A chain across his torso held Safyr's dark dagger in the small of his back, ready for his left hand, and his belt held Eme's significantly brighter dagger at his right hip. Over top of everything went the black overcoat with the red-dyed alpaca liner, hiding the elven Kevlar within.
Finally, Glytch packed up his laptop and some other odds and ends, slung the Bag of Tricks over his shoulder and headed to his Pontiac. He knew the designer was a fan of Pontiacs herself, and he didn't want to disappoint. Pulling out his phone once again, Glytch typed in the necessary commands and vanished from the garage, re-appearing in the Twin Cities in a parking garage not far from Al's new shop. A few more taps on the car's touchscreen set the computer to plot a course to the shop. With a flick, the Heads Up Display projected against the windshield of the car lit up and marked Glytch's path with a broad red tint. Glytch feathered the accelerator and smoothly pulled out of the parking space.

GlytchMeister wrote:When he got bored with that, he decided to investigate the application of (non-Newtonian) shear-thickening fluids to body armor, ...

And the laundry ticket reads... "Two shirts, extra starch."

“ALL RIGHT YOU LOT, LISTEN UP!”

The conversation in the room among the assembled victims, er assemblage dropped to zero – mostly because all of them were now deaf on the side facing Al.

“Now that I have your attention” he went on, at a conversational bellow “we are going to be changing the way my dear dam was doing things. I love her dearly, but delegation has never been her strong point.”

There was a minor chuckle from this, as Daisy had tried to be everywhere at every time – and no one dared make a move without the dam’s approval.

“First and foremost, I am appointing Designated Decision Makers – known as “MINI-MEs”. IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM YOU CANNOT FIGURE OUT, GO TO THE NEAREST MINI-ME. However, if you take something into your own hands and make it happen, I will NOT be angry with you if it turns out wrong. Things can always be changed around, and doing things that make sense at the time can always be forgiven if needed.”

“EDWARD!”

“Yes, sir?”

“DON’T call me…oh, what the bloody hell ever. You are Mini Me #1. You know these places better than I do, and are intimate with every inch of Old Alexander. YOU are in charge of the move back into the tower. Take whatever staff you need but no more – I will need the odds and sods of that for New Alexander.”

"I want this done TODAY. I am tired of how long this wretched project has gone on and I want it DONE. I do not expect it to be perfectly shipshape and Bristol fashion but I want to see the back of this job."

“ROSALITA!”

“Yes, Señor Al?”

“You, my dear, are Mini-Me #2. Grab what help you want and the chambermaids, and get the kitchen and the utility spaces at New Alexander how you want it. You are going to live in it, so set it up as you like. Be aware we are still going to have the party HERE, so don’t strip the kitchen here too deeply. If there are things that will need to be both places we haven’t ordered yet, take notes and we’ll do that here and now. If you can manage it I would love to have dinner at New Alexander tonight."

"We will try, Señor Al. I will make no promises but we will try."

“Glytch is on his way in – I sense a disturbance in the Universe. When he gets here he’s YOURS.” Rosalita grinned – she liked the young man and knew he’d be of great help. “If you need to lift anything bigger than a breadbox, let Glytch do it. If you need to lift anything bigger than Glytch, get Prroul – or John.”

“The rest of you are moving the family things into New Alexander. The distance isn’t that far, and we have moving devices and hand trucks. I will be directing that, as I know New Alexander as well as the builders do. I also have the notes as to whose room is whose. Right now, let’s get everything out of here, and over there…we can unpack later.”

“No furniture is going over – that’s been delivered already and placed. I’ll need volunteers to get the furniture in place as things move in – I have the diagrams here….YOU, and YOU. You just volunteered.”

"Same rules as here – if it’s heavy lifting – two of you team up – barring that call in the reserves – John or Prroul. We have folks here that can do this stuff - NO ONE, repeat NO ONE is to do anything silly in the guise of saving a minute. You get hurt, I take you out back and shoot you.”

“Any questions?”

There was a dead silence in the room, partially from Al’s bellowing causing localized deafness, part from the decisive orders.

“OK, then – let’s be about it.”

Where will you train me?" John asked as he carefully placed a nail against the drywall.
"In the mountains now called the Khangai, north of the Gobi which I believe you are now familiar with, lies a mountain once called 'Dragon's Roost' by a people who no longer live there. I have a residence in a cave system that tunnels through it." Prroul was following behind John, straightening the pictures. The salamander simply could not tell if something was plumb or even.
John rolled his eyes and thunked the nail in place with a single tap of his hammer. "I just came from that desert. Please tell me the caves aren't sandy. Please."
Prroul narrowed his eyes as me moved to the next picture. "The caves? No, especially not inside. A bit chilly, with plenty of snow on the peaks year-round, but not sandy."
John breathed a sigh of relief as he fished another nail out of the box. "Good. I'm a little tired of sand. I don't think I'd want to go to a beach or another desert for several months. Maybe a year."
Prroul's expression never changes, his whiskers never even twitch, as he contemplates training scenarios in which sand would be prominent. "I will take your preferences into consideration." Perhaps a zen garden. Yes, a zen garden would be most restful... circles of sand around rocks. Yet, the meditation potential there is substantial, and several lessons about the consequences of your actions echoing out and causing unintended results could be drawn.
Just as John opened his mouth to tell Prroul not to get any ideas about sand, Rowdy stuck his head into the room, distracting them both. "Uh, hey, Monica, Jet, and some other girl wanted you guys to come down and help them out with something at Building 2. Buck and I are gonna go grab some lunch, we'll be back in a while. Prroul, we'll bring back a good-sized cow for you. John?"
"I'll have a double bacon cheeseburger." John replied curtly, turning back to the nail he was just about to pound in.
Rowdy nodded silently and left.
It was a few seconds before John realized he had forgotten something. He rushed to the hall and called after Rowdy. "Please! Sorry, I forgot that bit."
Rowdy looked over his shoulder and smiled. "I'll get you some fries and a shake, too, then."
John felt Prroul's presence, a slow draining of the dark energy in the area as he drew near.
"You have the vices of your virtues. You are a young warrior, swift and decisive. However, the other side of that coin is issuing orders without respect for courtesy. Be mindful, the most dangerous enemy is a slighted friend."
John sighed and leaned up against the doorframe, resting his head on the wood with a slight *thunk.* "I know... I know. I just spent a whole lot of time with a couple guys who didn't really focus much on manners."
"The first step to improving one's self is seeing what needs to be improved. The next is, of course, working to correct it. As Ueshiba says: The essence of the Way of the Warrior is to cleanse yourself of maliciousness."
Al's booming voice echoed through the house, calling everyone to him.
John groaned.
Prroul briefly grinned with a few too many teeth before going on. "It is a journey that will take some time. For now, it would not do to have them waiting on us. Just be mindful of your tone. People will already be intimidated by your size, even without your other abilities to be wary of. Couple that with rudeness, and it can often foster hatred. It is... a lesson I learned the hard way. Now come, let us go see what else needs doing."

GlytchMeister wrote: . . . Prroul briefly grinned with a few too many teeth before going on. "It is a journey that will take some time. For now, it would not do to have them waiting on us. Just be mindful of your tone. People will already be intimidated by your size, even without your other abilities to be wary of. Couple that with rudeness, and it can often foster hatred. It is... a lesson I learned the hard way. Now come, let us go see what else needs doing."

Yessss . . . especially when dealing with someone with a so-called Napoleon Complex.

--FreeFlier

FreeFlier wrote:

GlytchMeister wrote: . . . Prroul briefly grinned with a few too many teeth before going on. "It is a journey that will take some time. For now, it would not do to have them waiting on us. Just be mindful of your tone. People will already be intimidated by your size, even without your other abilities to be wary of. Couple that with rudeness, and it can often foster hatred. It is... a lesson I learned the hard way. Now come, let us go see what else needs doing."

Yessss . . . especially when dealing with someone with a so-called Napoleon Complex.

--FreeFlier

Oh, man, I really wanna do that now. John would probably just pick up the feisty little bugger, tell him to "leave me the f__k alone," and then set him in a tree or something.

FreeFlier wrote:

GlytchMeister wrote: . . . Prroul briefly grinned with a few too many teeth before going on. "It is a journey that will take some time. For now, it would not do to have them waiting on us. Just be mindful of your tone. People will already be intimidated by your size, even without your other abilities to be wary of. Couple that with rudeness, and it can often foster hatred. It is... a lesson I learned the hard way. Now come, let us go see what else needs doing."

Yessss . . . especially when dealing with someone with a so-called Napoleon Complex.

--FreeFlier

How, neither is anything like Mad Miles...they're both giants in the playground...

No battle plan survives contact with the enemy – but surprisingly this was one of the exceptions that proves the rule.

The three groups of willing hands – Team Edward, Team Rosalita and Team Geezer – spread out to their tasks. Edward walked his team through the storage rooms near the rebuilt tower, dropping folks off in ones and twos to piles of materials with instructions as to their disposition – interspersed with dire warnings of the consequences for damage to the newly rebuilt rooms.

With those instructions, they began to rehang pictures, move and place furniture, rugs and the classical Federal furniture that suited the design of the rooms so well. There were small mishaps, but by and large the rooms began to look again like they had before the collapse.

Team Rosalita, augmented by a recently arrived Glytch, started in on the kitchen and the utility spaces of the new house.

The kitchen was to all intents and purposes complete – the appliances were in place, the utilities functional, cabinets and lighting installed – but none of the myriad small objects that a proper kitchen needs to function were there.

Countertop appliances needed to be unboxed, placed and connected – then tested. Place settings in formal and casual, glasses, serving pieces, all the dishware of various types needed to be unboxed, washed and stored in its new home. So did the cooking utensils – bowls, platters, stacks of cutting sheets, items as massive as a vertical roaster to those as tiny as measuring spoons – all needed to be cleaned and stored.
The cooking tools weren’t forgotten either. With the assistance of John and Prroul a new pot rack was hung over the central island, and cookware suitable for a Cordon Bleu chef was washed and hung before Rosalita’s delighted eyes and to her strict design.

Along with the hard goods came the soft furnishings – towels, aprons, kitchen uniform pieces for protection, linens for the tables, napkins, server runners and all the rest. All of this needed to be stored per Rosalita’s meticulous plan, started when the kitchen was nothing but blue lines on paper.

Team Geezer, under Al’s tutelage, was on top of their game as well. The items that would be shifting from one house to the other was not a huge quantity of things, but these were the most important.

Giving out locations and correlating them to the rooms in the old house, the boxes were brought over, placed in the rooms marked for them, and carefully unpacked, the possessions sliding into places in the comfortable furniture awaiting it. When each room was prepared, it was then carefully arranged to plan, and the beds made up one by one for the occupant’s comfort.

Al took his and Daisy’s room personally – not that he didn’t trust anyone else, he just preferred no one else be mucking about with his clothes.

“Damnit…knew I forgot something…”

“PRROUL!”

A few moments later the large, furry gentleman padded into the room, his feet making nearly no noise on the polished floor and rugs.

“Yes, Sergeant –Major?” Prroul enjoyed addressing the old gentleman by his rank – it was a common bond they had, and Al seemed to welcome someone remembering his history.

“Prroul, mate – need you to do me a favor. Could you nip over to the old house into my room and get my weapons case?”

“Are you planning on keeping it here? I thought you had built a gunroom downstairs for them?”

“Yes, there’s a gunroom in the design – it won’t be ready for a few months, though – it’s down in the sub-basement with a fire suppression system for obvious reasons. Till then, the case can live where it’s always lived – at the foot of my bed.”

“Certainly – I will return with it shortly.” With that Prroul padded noiselessly from the room and over to Old Alexander House.

Entering his host’s room Prroul could feel something…decidedly Elvish present. The closer he approached the case, the stronger the feeling – till he was certain that the case was its epicenter.

Whatever was in the case was quite aware of him, as well – and wanted him elsewhere.

Gingerly hoisting its hundred and ten kilograms in his arms, he padded back across to New Alexander and back to Al and Daisy’s room, to set the case precisely at the foot of the bed.

Standing, Prroul said, “Al, I feel I need to ask you a question – I sincerely apologize for the intrusion. Is there by chance anything of an…elvish… nature in that case?”

Al, startled, asked “Did you open the case?”

“I did not – and I had no need to. For one with my training, the feeling of power that the contents have is quite strong. I knew it was there when I entered the room.”

Al hesitated – he didn’t enjoy this as a topic of conversation despite the time since it happened. “You are aware that Emerauld and I had a very…tempestuous…initial meeting – entirely my fault?”

Prroul had heard this story from the other side – in almost the exact same words. However, he was not going to expose a confidence by saying so, so he answered “I am aware, but I have no idea of the details. If you wish to tell me, please feel free to continue.”

Al sighed, tempted to drop it, but continued. “I knew nothing of the paranormal world at that time – still don’t really. Because of my age and the dulling of my skills, I asked Emerauld to modify my rifle to fit me better – so that I would be less likely to harm others because of my own infirmity.”

“I didn’t know of Eme’s history – and her issues with the berserker. My having been – what she called a Velg’larn – which is –“

“A mankiller – yes – I know the term.”

“I had been a soldier – this made me a horrid creature to her. However, as I asked for the boon to defend my family – the ones you see here and more – she granted it.”

“However, this hurt her horribly – to work on my rifle. I found out later that it was because she desired it – the power in it. By all rights she should have spared herself the pain – but she did not – and with her skills and prayers she built me a rifle – the likes of which I had never seen and never will see another.”

“Her returning it to me was – traumatic for both of us. She endeavoured to impress me with its danger – but she went too far and revealed my berserker. I nearly took my own life because of it.”
“Her gods punished her for it - cruelly. From there it was a series of blunders and missteps – all my own – to get to the friendship she and I share now. It is only by her grace that we have managed to forge the bond we have.”

Prroul nodded…the story was the same, varying only in the language the story was told in. Elf and man – both regretted their meeting as they did.

“Nearly a year ago now, I was bleeding to death lying on cold concrete, my dam down beside me on the same floor. My stepsons and stepdaughter drove off the attackers, and Emerauld saved both of our lives – to let me enjoy the peace I have now.”

“I am sorry – I do wander.” Al stooped, taking the key from his pocket, and unlocked the locker, extracting the .303.

“This is Chryso – that is Drow Elf for -“

“Rose – I know.”

Al held it out, but Prroul did not take it. “It is best I do not handle her – she knows her master, and due to my nature, I would sap her power.” Chryso was QUITE unhappy that he was present.

Al held her, respectfully, and Prroul examined the rifle in detail.

“Amazing. A beautiful weapon – and one that you respect greatly – it is evident. Thank you for showing her to me.”

With that, Al put Chryso back in her spot in the case, and again locked the lid.

“Many thanks, Master Prroul, for allowing me to tell the story again. It is one I will never forget, but reminding me what has brought me here is never a bad thing.”

“Now, we have things to be about.”

With that, Prroul returned to the fray, and Al knelt, hand on the lid of the case for a minute. Straightening, he wiped his eyes, and returned to his unpacking.

{Credit to Al for a lot of help building the Grand Hall}
...
{Like... Lots of help. We had a pretty long conversation getting that room figured out.}

Glytch politely waited at the gate to Building 2. He could have very easily overridden the security, but that seemed in bad taste. After a moment, a female voice spoke though the little box on the pole. "Al went home, Mr... Uh... Glytch?"
"Just Glytch. I'm far too much of a scoundrel to be a mister. Any idea what's up?"
"I think his wife was more-or-less kidnapped for a spa day. He went home to take care of things."
Glytch smiled. Good. She needed that. "Right. Thanks! Uh, what's your name again? I'll mention you to Al and try to get him to bring a box of doughnuts when he comes back."
"Oh! Well, thank you! I'm Ari. Have a good day!"
"Yep, you too." Glytch rolled up his window and backed out of the drive. "Computer, navigate to Castle Alexander."
Glytch's car responded in a cool, impassive female voice. "Calculating... Turn left."
"Display on HUD."

When Glytch pulled up to the security gate for Castle Alexander and announced his presence, Edward told Glytch to report to Rosalita through the speaker.
"Um. Ok. Why?" Glytch quirked an eyebrow. He knew Edward could see him.
"I am merely relaying the orders of Mr. Richer, master Glytch. You'll find her at the new manor."
"Fine, fine. I'm on my way. Thanks, Ed." The gate opened, and Glytch smoothly drove toward New Castle Alexander.

As it came into view, he immediately, instinctively began to analyze the architecture and the engineering, as well as the tactical elements... He spotted a few sniper roosts, and was certain there were several more. It was a beautiful house; Glytch could tell Al had gone out of his way to ensure it was worthy of bearing the Alexander name. It was also massive. It was definitely larger than the old manor. However, as far as Glytch could tell from the outside, it seemed to have about the same number of rooms. They were all just a lot bigger.
The new mansion was of the federal style on the outside like its predecessor, and the two occupied the landscape in harmony with it and each other.

Glytch parked his car in the wide circular drive, leaving plenty of room for other vehicles to pass, and made his way to the front door, which was currently propped open with a few phone books to let the multitude of people moving items in pass unobstructed. As he passed through, Glytch noted an arched overhang with a well-hidden false ceiling... No doubt a modern take on the old medieval concept of murder holes. On display, hanging from the top of the arch was an exquisite art-deco copper chandelier, with fluted tulip-shaped covers for the lightbulbs.
A few steps more led Glytch into the main body of the grand hall, flanked by sweeping, shallow staircases on either side, open passageways, and, at the third floor, a balcony that ringed all the way around the room, reminiscent of the Grand Hall of the Library, and the white ceiling was a classic gothic ribbed vault. The floor was natural, irregular black flagstone, covered here and there with southwestern rugs. At the far end stood a high arch, flanked by two smaller arches. The base of each arch contained ornate French doors. The triple arches were, of course, a take on the standard Roman city wall entrance.
Each wooden column was carved in deep bas relief, appearing covered in leafy vines, making them seem lighter and less massive and solid. The Grand Hall formed a kind of enclosed breezeway between the two halves of the house. At the moment, lighting was provided mainly by the large windows. Squinting, Glytch could see recessed lights evenly spaced through the webbing between the ribs. A few were spotlights, probably made to define groups within the comfortable leather furniture.
At the center of the Grand Hall was a larger group of furniture, arranged in a broken circle for talking, surrounding a gas firepit in the form of a bowl of smooth black pebbles. The placement helped make the massive room seem much less cavernous and intimidating. Along the walls and on the edge of the balcony, lights were mounted with torcheries. Hanging from the center boss of the ribbed ceiling was a much, much larger version of the chandelier Glytch had seen walking in. Its copper presence nicely broke up the whiteness of the ceiling and made the room look much warmer, and it drew attention to the main conversation grouping directly below.

It was beautiful, yes... But Glytch could tell it was a fortress, too. The balcony, with its multitude of retreat paths and ornate wooden columns (probably steel covered in wood), was perfect for centaurtillary. The passageways bore subtle signs of hidden bulkheads, which could be used to seal them off at a moment's notice. Everything was hidden well enough that anyone who wasn't trying to see that aspect of the building wouldn't notice. Let's hope those features never have to be put to the test. Glytch thought grimly. As he continued to gawk, he began to pick out the design features that made this house all the more habitable for centaurs. Every passageway was wide enough for two Clydesdales, and every doorway could comfortably fit a one-ton centuar with room enough for two humans on the side. The stairs were extremely shallow... It would take Glytch two steps to cross the flat of one stair. Much easier for hoofed people made for plains to navigate.

Finally, a maid carrying a box of flatware struggled by, and Glytch pulled himself out of his reverie to help her carry it, getting directions to the kitchen in the process.
He almost went back into "tourist mode" when he entered the kitchen, but Rosalita saved him.
"Oh! Señor Glytch! It is so good to see you again!" Rosalita scurried over to Glytch and took the box of flatware from him, handing it off to another maid before turning back to Glytch.
"Buenos días, Señora. It's good to see you too." Glytch bussed her cheek, knowing the gesture would be familiar to her.
Rosalita smiled wide before looking at Glytch's clothes. "Oh, dear. You are dressed far too finely to do the kind of work we need help with."
Glytch sighed. He had begun to suspect this would happen. "That's no problem. I can get different clothes pretty quickly. What am I going to be doing?"
"Señor Al said you are to move anything bigger than a breadbox and smaller than you for us."
"And if it's bigger than me?"
"Get Prroul or John." She rolled the "rr" in Prroul's name. Glytch nodded silently, noting Prroul was considered an equal to John in terms of strength. "Where's the bathroom? I should probably change before I get to work."
She gave Glytch directions, looking a little confused. "But, where are your other clothes?"
Glytch tapped the side of his nose and winked before heading to the bathroom.

Getting different clothes was hardly an issue. Glytch merely VORP'd to his little house, picked out a utilitarian outfit of a dark grey hooded long-sleeved tee, carpenter's pants, and black work boots, changed, and hung up the sharper outfit where he could get at it quickly.

With a simple VORP back to the bathroom, Glytch was ready to work.

Enjoyable, as always. Two questions, Glytch:

GlytchMeister wrote:The balcony, with its multitude of retreat paths and ornate wooden columns (probably steel covered in wood), was perfect for centuartillary.

That word does not exist. Is it a typo, or did you mean to make a porte-manteau of centaur and artillery? (I.e. artillery being carried by centaurs, like the maxi-14s, if I recall the name right...) If so, wouldn't it be centaurtillery, instead?

GlytchMeister wrote:Glytch bussed her cheek, knowing the gesture would be familiar to her.

He sent her cheeks on a bus???

Seeing as Rosalita is of latino persuasion, I'm guessing she would be used to getting her cheeks kissed, rather than bussed, when being greeted by someone? That one, I'm guessing is definitely a typo...

lake_wrangler wrote: . . .

GlytchMeister wrote:Glytch bussed her cheek, knowing the gesture would be familiar to her.

He sent her cheeks on a bus???

Seeing as Rosalita is of latino persuasion, I'm guessing she would be used to getting her cheeks kissed, rather than bussed, when being greeted by someone? That one, I'm guessing is definitely a typo...

Oxford Dictionary wrote:buss: archaic or North American informal
Definitions of buss in English:
noun: A kiss.
verb: to kiss.

As noted, slightly archaic, but I'd say it's in character.

--FreeFlier

1) yeah, ok, it's centaurtillery. I'll change that.

2) This vocabulary lesson has been brought to you by GlytchMeister. To buss someone's cheek is to, so far as I know, give them a quick affectionate peck on the cheek. It is a method friendly, familiar greeting more commonly encountered in European and Latin cultures.

GlytchMeister wrote:1) yeah, ok, it's centaurtillery. I'll change that.

2) This vocabulary lesson has been brought to you by GlytchMeister. To buss someone's cheek is to, so far as I know, give them a quick affectionate peck on the cheek. It is a method friendly, familiar greeting more commonly encountered in European and Latin cultures.

Quite correct in its usage,and actually has hit fanon before. The term was used at the 12/25 wedding of Rosalynd and Allan, when the judge's wife and daughters bussed Rosalynd. Al had to settle for a handshake from the judge, along with a "Sign this" and a predated marriage license.

ajr

And to think, I read three different dictionary entries, and none of them had that meaning among the listings. I'm disappointed.

"Annie love- yer phone's making funny noises," the old Sgt. commented to his wife as she stepped from the shower, "I think there's a message for you."
Toweling off as she stepped to the phone, she picked it up and typed in a few commands- then held it to her ear. Greg's hearing had dramatically improved since the three drops of elixir in his coffee- he caught the cacophonous chorus even from across the room. Smiling, he turned to her and awaited her reaction.
"HONEY!!! A SPA DAY!!! A GIRLY SPA DAY!!! CANICANICANICANI?"
"Have I ever told you 'no'?- Dearheart, our schedule is open, my commitments are few- call them back and tell them you're off to the library. I'm going with you, I'll see what Al is up to... we haven't connived on anything in a coon's age."
Squealing with delight, Annie scampered off to the bedroom leaving the towel at Greg's feet- he watched her naked 200+ pounds with a pride and admiration that he found so natural for this woman. Stepping into the hallway bathroom, he checked his face in the mirror- shave really doesn't need a touch-up, not to worry. He picked up Annie's phone, pulled the number and called back. Daisy Alexander- Richer picked up the line.
"Annie?" she asked, having read the number.
"Naw, this is the old man- she's getting suited up, we'll head for the library and someone can meet us there, perhaps?"
"OH! Yes, I'll have one of us 'poit' to the main entrance, we'll meet you there... are you coming as well?"
"Yea, I figured I'd harass 'his nibs' whilst you Ladies are getting all 'fluffed'. .What silliness is he doing these days?"
"OH! OH! You'll LOVE it! OH! Yes! You'll LOVE it absolutely! I'll let you find out... be a surprise that way... yes... put on some sturdy Carharts and boots, you'll need them. SEE YOU THERE!" and she disconnected.
"That silly filly is up to something..." Greg muttered as he put down the phone.

Dang. RL has been annoying. Taking away time from the important things, like catching up on Wapsi Fan Fiction. Maybe this weekend will allow a Wapsi binge...

AAaaaand avatar change to amuse the Glytchman!

Sumbody cleans up good...

Arriving at the main entrance (after a snowy trek to the outhouse), Annie and Greg were greeted by Monica- who was wearing a large bath towel and a bigger smile.
"YOU (pointing to Greg) need to get to the estate ASAP! Al's got a real 'guy thing' going on and you don't want to miss it! HURRY!"
Greg and Annie exchanged kisses and with a 'poit' both women disappeared. Greg ambled towards the portal he knew led to Estate Alexander- Richer... with a slight hesitancy. Something smelled of fish, but he figured whatever it was, he was likely to survive... might as well go along with it.
Stepping through the door and onto the Estate grounds, he immediately found himself in the middle of what reminded him of a lemming march- boxes and stuff were being portaged from the one grand house to the other. He should have known- he'd been sucker-punched. Now, the question was, could he sneak back through the door...
"AH! Most Excellent!" Edward called from the old house, "Sgt. Howard, I believe Master Al might have a specific mission for you in the new house- I shall call him and inform him of your timely arrival!"
If he didn't like Daisy so much... and she weren't married to Al... Greg would personally rend her into glue....