wrote:
>
>Zeitgeyser stares owlisly through his thick glasses at the group on the
>porch. "Punks" is what they call themselves. (must be the local word
>for human beings)
"Humanz?" snorts Lisa's chief gargoyle Sym, "Punks don't need no
stinky humanz...'cept crunch crunch time..." He spreads his vast wings
and prepares to launch from the roof.
>The natives don't seem particularly hostile - except
>for the bandy-legged oldster in an extremely odd costume (might not
>mean anything - the native ... er local attire seems to be rather
>eclectic) staring down at him from the widows walk. He's emitting a
>hostile noise not unlike the sound of air escaping a recently
>stillettoed tire and stroking a small furry animal (probably calming it
>before a ritualistic sacrifice). This is obviously the shaman of the
>tribe.
"No disturb Sourcerer...no frighten bee mice..." he pauses momentarily
"where ketchup... oh, ketchup forbidden..." he droops momentarily, then
reaches back into the shadows. "Something hotter..."
>The rest of the "punks" on the porch make no hostile moves but
>make no gestures of welcome either. It occurs to Zeitgeyser that
>perhaps he has come at a bad time.
"Great time. Sym hungry. Gene scare off all good prey trolling for
game antes. This one no bring ante. Punkz no want..." clasping a
liter bottle of Spicy Thai Peanut Sauce, Sym glides down for the
kill...
>"Perhaps it might be better if I
>come back later." he sez. After a short silence that seems
>interminable he sighs and steps back into the dustclud he emerged from
>- retreating to his pocket universe to consider this first ambivilent
>encounter with the natives.
A giant fist seizes his shoulder and jerks him roughly back onto the
dusty road to Poly's ranch. "Ha!" roars Sym, up ending and shaking the
terrified lurker "No pool cue! No torch! No offerings!" Caustic drool
oozes down onto Zeitgeyser's forehead. "Crunchings and Munchings!"
A dusty book on sociology falls to the ground...Poof! Sym torches it
with a growl... "You watch but no learn - build no place for self, no
wards...you mine!"
Attracted by Sym's booming laughter and the prospect of blood a few
cps gather about to watch the spectacle, jeers and cheers mingling in
the midnight air, rising above the whine of the auto-flame throwers
retargeting themselves...
Great jaws of death close slowly about the squirming supplicant as he
frantically tries to come up with something...anything...
Lisa
Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for you are crunchy
and good with Thai Sauce...
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