Oh.
Wow, yeah, that's disorienting, popping up in Dogtown, when I was aiming at Tangley Mews.
Ridiculous training conference at the Home Office, went far too long. Something tells me this one went on long enough for the temporal disparity to actually make some serious dimensional lag. Didn't learn anything, really, except that They still can't spell my name for name tags, and that They won't spring for an iPad but if I throw down the cash for it, They will reimburse for apps relevant to the work. Also, there wasn't nearly enough wine at the banquets to make me able to properly appreciate any of the after dinner speeches. Or the sight of D'Hoffryn's father dancing with a small crystal chandelier on his head. It wasn't even during the Fire Ball. The best that can be said, is at least I'm such a petty Petty Vengeance Demon that I was well out of reach of the old grabby hands.
Still, I'm back to Sang Sacre for Spring, and the scents of gentle rain merging with hyacinths and lilies is, you should excuse the expression, heavenly.
Wow, yeah, that's disorienting, popping up in Dogtown, when I was aiming at Tangley Mews.
You should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque.
I try to avoid going down rabbit holes. They don't have much use for me, and I'd rather not tick them off by cussing at the travel delays. But it's worth keeping the lines of communication open, because they are excellent inspiration when one's own imagination runs dry.
The curtains are drawn at Goblin Market. There's a small hand lettered sign in the window written in an elegant hand: "Closed due to a death in the family."
Somebody's left white lillies on the doorstep. Nestled against them are small sachets wrapped in black lace. I pick one up and give it a sniff: catnip.
(brb, crying. Thank you, Hec.)
The sun in Sang Sacre is bright, gently warming my face as I listen to the distant echoes of distress, fear, anger, the pleas for vengeance on the fickle gods that rule the weather in the Upper Midwest of the U.S. Poor blighters, not much I can do against gods, a bit of persuasion, perhaps. Really, now, isn't three snow storms in April a bit much? Your people are crying for mercy, bump the temperature up enough to make it rain, eh?
Ah, thanks, gents. I feel their relief.
OMG Natter is CLOSED!!! OMG!!!
runs
There is a rumble. Some sort of clanking. The smell of something vaguely like diesel.
Was that the tour bus again?
Whatever it was, it seems to be gone now. I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you.
