(me too)

t preens

eta: And guess what's on Cartoon Network RIGHT NOW?

(me three)

Ah, it's a lovely morning in Sang Sacre as I relax in the sunroom and read my new copy of Mad Science Illustrated. Unfortunately, the peace is shattered by Hans running into the room.

"Boss, the pancake maker we started up yesterday won't shut down."

I follow Hans into the depths of the Castle only to realize the lower levels are filling with pancakes, buttermilk, blueberry, wheat, apple cinnamon, banana, you name it.

Hans waves toward the growing mass of golden brown goodness, "We can't even get to the pancake maker to try to fix it."

"We have no choice Hans, it's time to use my new experimental pancake flinger".

"But, boss the flinger is pointed at the city." Hans exclaims.

"Activate the flinger Hans, we have no choice."

I awake suddenly. It appears to be my apartment, but the ambient temprature indicates it is in a much warmer climate.

What happened?

Yes. On my way out to my vacation, I fell asleep, and now I'm here. This is why I'm lying on top of the covers, fully dressed.

I jump up, run to the nearest window, and fling open the curtains. I appear to be in a village somewhere, possibly on an island.

Sheesh. Just ONE TIME you resign from the secret service, and look what happens...

What the heck?

I just took a pancake to the head. What kind of city is this, flinging breakfast foods at unsuspecting, innocent petty vengence demons?

Another one, dang it! The Petty Vengence Demon Procedures Manual doesn't have anything about flying flapjacks, I'm on my own with this one. But I am pretty sure it is not the result of local public policy. PVDs are welcome everywhere. After all, we don't mess with history, alter time OR speed up harvests. The worst I can inflict is hemorrhoids.

Dodging further depredations to my hairstyle - a tasteful Gibson Girl-ish bun with whispy ringlets loose at the temples and nape - I back-track along the trajectory of the warm, fluffy projectiles.

Well, whadyaknow! A castle. If this were a cheesy horror flick, a mad scientist would be in residence. Checking my handheld Dimensional Positioning Survey® device, I get the coordinates, then call the home office. Occupant's name is Gudanov.

Boy, have I got a few ideas for you, Mr. Gudanov. I could go with a pun per day on the name. Or, something more situational.

Bother! Another near-miss. This place is so not low-carb-diet friendly.

Pancakes you got, syrup you want. I ground, center, and concentrate... heh, get it? Concentrate. Maple sap will be oozing out of the posts of the bed in the master bedroom for a week.

"Hey, Phred! Got any idea why the bird is hiding under the sink?"

"It's raining pancakes again, boss."

"Wow, no kidding. It's been a couple of years since last time, hasn't it?"

"Yup. Should I get the shovels?"

"Nah. Best to wait until it finishes up before we try digging out. But hey, free breakfast!" I run into the kitchen to get a plate.

A wooden door in the back of a dimly lit shop opens up and out I pop.

"Hey, Ms. Mann, long time, no see!"

The elderly woman who is my landlady nodded agreeably at me and kept rocking and knitting, one eye cocked at the TV.

Velvet Goldmine...again. If it wasn't Goldmine, it was "DOG: The Bounty Hunter.

I shook some unidentifiable plant detrius from my hair, spilled some purple pebbles from one shoe, amd hopped over to the couch.

"Man, it feels like AGES since I've seen you, Ms. M! How's things?"

She flicked the remote at the screen, and we both contemplated a naked Christian Bale for a second.

"Child, your room's are still there, tried to keep 'em clean and not mess nothing up too bad."

"STILL there?"

Well, crap. Goddamned interdimensional portals. They are so fucking unreliable when it rains.

"How long this time?"

She continued to work at the pink and lime striped baby bunting in her lap. (Well, I assumed it was a baby bunting, except it appeared to have 8 legs. It's better to observe than to ask directly with Mrs. M.)

"Oh, 'bout two years and a bit."

"TWO YEARS!" I shrieked. The old fingers went on calmly purling. "Two years in that glorified wormhole? Oh, I am PISSED about this. And that Gudenov guy up at Castle creepy is definitely getting a very POINTED letter about customer service."

I sniffed. "Ugh. After I bathe. Do I still have any clothes left here?"

"All of them, child. I stopped wearing corsets long about, oh, 200 years ago. Here," and she rose from her chair and pulled out a cut glass decanter with an amythest knob. "It's lavender and fairy musk and the essence of cloissione. Go run youself a nice hot bath and I'll bring you up a nice cup of tea."

Some things never change in Sang Sandre.

Most everything else does, though.

schpluttt!

Hmmm. There's a blueberry pancake on my window. And I'm on the 6th floor.

schplutt

I pull open the file drawer and find the stack of Batman Returns paper plates at the bottom. My drawer full of Things Yet To Be Mailed has a little glass log cabin filled with maple syrup.

I open the window, and wait expectantly.

I lie blissfully sunk up to my eyebrows in hot, perfumed water, enjoying the breeze coming in through the open window. I close my eyes, sigh happily and slide even further under, muscles finally going loose and happy in the heat.

My head is rudely knocked back against the porcelain by a high velocity sponge. I schreech, levitate dripping out of the water and scrabble the thing off my face thinking "Alien baby! Alien baby!"

It appears to be a pancake. I sniff cautiously.

Cinnamon. Cranberries. Pecans.

Huh. I nibble and it's pretty good. So I eat half, arrange the other half into a fragrant eye mask and slide back into my interrupted bath.