Sythyry (sythyry) wrote,

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In the Oven [3 Thory 4261]

When Rassimel fail, one may rely on Flooooosh. "Rely", in this case, means that one may order six poptaloops, to be sliced and toasted one at a time, and to be eaten from within the oven. By this point she knows the difference between "Sythyry is hungry" and "Sythyry is coming to drown zir sorrows in sweet bean paste", and so she will leave the oven door somewhat open so I can peer out and blast her customers with my breath weapon chat with people. I had intended to chat with her, but somehow wound up coming during her late afternoon busy time.

And who should come in first but ... a Cani I don't know, and didn't talk to, and will not recognize if I see again.

And who should come in eleventh but ... Prince Nestrune Kreslink. I ducked into the oven. Explaining my mood to my rival for Strenata's attentions seemed a bit unpleasant.

Perhaps, in time he will discover that Strenata is wholly cisaffectionate.

Perhaps, in time, he will wish to spend his own afternoon in Flooooosh's oven.

In which case:

  1. He will discover that, without significant magical help, he is not particularly comfortable in a hot oven.
  2. I would prefer not to be in the oven at that point. I am cross and whiny enough without sharing an oven with Prince Nestrune Kreslink.

And who could come in after I had long since lost count of customers (about a third of an hour) but ... I didn't recognize her at first. She recognized me first of course.

Gloun:"Sythyry? Is that you in the oven?"

Me:"I am not the only Zi Ri in town!"

Gloun:"Well, that's true, but if you're Hezimikkinen, you're in disguise."

Me:[bitterly]"I'm giving up on disguises for the time being."

Gloun:"Floosh, could I have a spinach-and-beetle roll and a sweet bun with extra whipped cream? Sythyry, I had just come to call upon you at your home, but you weren't in and your ex-noble roommate had no idea where to find you. It is a stroke of luck discovering you in the bakery. Could I entice you out of the oven by an offer of pastry? Floosh is an excellent baker."

Me:"From your volume, you seem an expert sampler of such things!"

Gloun:"Slootly! A tolerable one, a tolerable one. Will you not come out?"

Me:"Actually, I am so full of poptaloops that I doubt that I shall ever fly again."

Gloun:"I see the difficulty. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow? May I invite you for tea at midafternoon, perhaps?"

I am not the ultimate Queen of Etiquette. Still, I do know this: when a countess assaults one with such an invitation, only a truly mighty excuse shall serve as one's defense. I could not think of any suitably mighty excuses.

Me:"That would be delightful, I'm thoroughly convinced!" In the same way that a gentleprime, when challenged to a duel, is often permitted the choice of weapons, a person of sufficient rank is often permitted the choice of restaurant. I was not sure if I had sufficient rank or not, but it was worth a try. "Darraden's?"

Gloun:"Slootly! I'll see you then."

And she procured a large box of scones from Floooooosh, and departed, munching on five of them.

A countess who buys her own scones is:

Unaccompanied by servants
Uncaring of appearances
Worth knowing
Not worth knowing

I should approach this teatime date with:

Slight apprehension
Utter dread
Mighty mystical weaponry
Sleethine cunning
Upper-class dignity
Lots of allies
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