The exercise:
Write about: the gift.
Finished putting together a raised bed in our backyard this evening. Just need to get some more soil and it'll be ready for vegetable seeds and seedlings.
Was meant to be a Mother's Day gift for Kat but didn't quite make the deadline. So instead it is a Day After Mother's Day gift.
2 comments:
That sounds like a nice and thoughtful gift! And like you're restarting the farm again, although you think (for now) that it's just the one vegetable patch... ;-)
The gift
Row kappa looked like a single row from even a short distance away, but as Genius stepped within it's nominal bounds it spread out and extended and suddenly turned into practically an entire room of bookshelves all by itself. He looked around, letting himself admire the spellcraft here for a moment: the shelf opened up a pocket dimension into which all the other shelves were carefully laid out, and he was fairly certain that it would close up neatly in the event of fire or natural disaster, protecting its contents. Then he checked his own wards to make sure that none of them were showing signs of incompatibility with the pocket dimension, and reassured by that, started hunting for the P section and the Notebooks of the Committee of the Phoenix.
The layout was as sensible as he'd thought at first glance and finding the right section took him about as long as it needed to walk along the shelves to first P, then Ph, and then to where a brightly coloured sign showed a phoenix.
"Ostentatious," murmured Genius, but quietly he admired the way that it suggested there was nothing to hide here. And there probably wasn't; all the secret stuff would be redacted and stored somewhere else. The books on the shelves were as methodically ordered as the shelves themselves and Genius started to wonder a little about the person who'd laid all this out: he got an impression of someone with very rigid ways of thinking and a frightening level of precision. The notion of a spider also impressed on his mind, and that was a touch more worrying still. Then he reached a gap in the shelf, which, sure enough, was where the notebook he was after should have stood. Instead there was a metal plate, a little like a bookend, with a ticket attached to it.
"Bartolomeo Squat, office 15C," said Genius, committing the ticket to memory. This was a placeholder to indicate who had borrowed the item in question. That should be easy to find.
He waved goodbye to Lucy as he left and returned to the reception desk to ask there where he might find office 15C and Bartolomeo Squat. The receptionist, still looking to him like a worm-horror from the before-times, growled a little about those offices being in the restricted section and then called a number on a phone.
"Mr. Squat wants to know what this is about," she said, holding the phone to an ear that, in Genius's enhanced vision, appeared to be a raw hole in the side of her slightly-slimy head.
"I'd like him to gift me a Notebook he's borrowed from the Benthic library," said Genius. "A Committee Notebook."
The receptionist talked some more on the phone, and then indicated that Genius should go back through the doors. "The Victory meeting room is free," she said. "Mr. Squat will meet you there."
Greg - it is just the one vegetable patch.
Well, and some pots with herbs in them.
Anyway. We have limited room and even more limited interest in doing more than what we've set ourselves up for.
Ah, of course it's out. How typical. But now I'm curious to meet this Mr. Squat!
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