Is sour the mood of the Bard after being sprayed by Skunk, or the way he smells? Inquiring minds demand answers!
Sour Gray immediately added up how long it felt like they'd been in the Safe Passage for, and got ten minutes. He rechecked it, allowing for underestimation and got twelve. "Dammit Matt, I told you to be careful," he muttered, careful not to raise his voice so that anyone or anything outside the room could hear him. "There must have been something left here to decohere the Passage if someone followed along it." He frowned, his eyes scanning the room, wondering where to start the forensic investigation, and then he made himself close his eyes and take a deep breath. "Find the King," he said, softly but firmly. "Matt can look after himself."
"We should find the King," said Lord Derby. "Samual can look after himself, but I rather think the King will try and use him if he's gone back to the Temple." "Or kill him," said Tomasz.
Gray opened the door on the left. He had a permanent sense of North and he knew he was facing mostly South and that the King's apartments allowed him a good view of the West End. Left was the most likely direction for those apartments to be in. There was a slight resistance when he pulled on the door, as though it had been tied in place from the other side using cotton threads, but he pulled a little harder and, as though the threads had snapped, the door popped open. Beyond was a sitting room: a couch with dragon-feet, an oval table in front of it set with a silver teapot and glass cups, two armchairs opposing each other across the table and two Kings, one human and one Yellow, sitting in the chairs. "Ah," said the King that Gray acknowledged, looking over at him. "Come in and take a seat. Their gamboge majesty indicated that you would be coming. We're just waiting now for Derby. Apparently he's not dead." Gray entered, letting the door swing shut behind him. There was a sour smell in the room, slightly acrid and almost smoky. "So tell me," said the King to the King in Yellow. "How's the weather in Carcosa?" Gray felt icy fingers caress his shoulders and goosepimples rose on his back and arms. The smell intensified and he thought of lemons rotting in bright sunlight and yellow tulips spitting out acidified water over stunned insects. The King, sitting in his chair, shivered just slightly and Gray realised that he was just as affected. "Demon ichor makes for thin rain." The words were hummed and fuzzed like a rubber-band box trying to make human sounds in a storm of sawdust. "The narwhal's horn longs to be returned. Dignity and Grace were offset and half a payment made." "Only half," said the King, and Gray wondered how much of King in Yellow's cryptic speech he could actually follow. "And the narwhal's horn." Gray sat down to conceal his unease. The narwhal's horn was an artefact in the Tower of London, possibly part of the Crown Jewels, and a mystery still to be unravelled.
2 comments:
Is sour the mood of the Bard after being sprayed by Skunk, or the way he smells? Inquiring minds demand answers!
Sour
Gray immediately added up how long it felt like they'd been in the Safe Passage for, and got ten minutes. He rechecked it, allowing for underestimation and got twelve.
"Dammit Matt, I told you to be careful," he muttered, careful not to raise his voice so that anyone or anything outside the room could hear him. "There must have been something left here to decohere the Passage if someone followed along it." He frowned, his eyes scanning the room, wondering where to start the forensic investigation, and then he made himself close his eyes and take a deep breath.
"Find the King," he said, softly but firmly. "Matt can look after himself."
"We should find the King," said Lord Derby. "Samual can look after himself, but I rather think the King will try and use him if he's gone back to the Temple."
"Or kill him," said Tomasz.
Gray opened the door on the left. He had a permanent sense of North and he knew he was facing mostly South and that the King's apartments allowed him a good view of the West End. Left was the most likely direction for those apartments to be in. There was a slight resistance when he pulled on the door, as though it had been tied in place from the other side using cotton threads, but he pulled a little harder and, as though the threads had snapped, the door popped open.
Beyond was a sitting room: a couch with dragon-feet, an oval table in front of it set with a silver teapot and glass cups, two armchairs opposing each other across the table and two Kings, one human and one Yellow, sitting in the chairs.
"Ah," said the King that Gray acknowledged, looking over at him. "Come in and take a seat. Their gamboge majesty indicated that you would be coming. We're just waiting now for Derby. Apparently he's not dead."
Gray entered, letting the door swing shut behind him. There was a sour smell in the room, slightly acrid and almost smoky.
"So tell me," said the King to the King in Yellow. "How's the weather in Carcosa?"
Gray felt icy fingers caress his shoulders and goosepimples rose on his back and arms. The smell intensified and he thought of lemons rotting in bright sunlight and yellow tulips spitting out acidified water over stunned insects. The King, sitting in his chair, shivered just slightly and Gray realised that he was just as affected.
"Demon ichor makes for thin rain." The words were hummed and fuzzed like a rubber-band box trying to make human sounds in a storm of sawdust. "The narwhal's horn longs to be returned. Dignity and Grace were offset and half a payment made."
"Only half," said the King, and Gray wondered how much of King in Yellow's cryptic speech he could actually follow. "And the narwhal's horn."
Gray sat down to conceal his unease. The narwhal's horn was an artefact in the Tower of London, possibly part of the Crown Jewels, and a mystery still to be unravelled.
Greg - only you can tell us that answer at this point, seems to me :)
Ah, a meeting of kings. Fantastic descriptions, as always. And all of it rather unsettling, obviously.
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