Continuing the Fred Johnson Story again. Sticking with Fred Johnson's adventure as Paragon of Virtue. I'm still stunned that it's so much easier not to make up new characters every week. Here are links to the previous episodes. If you need/want to catch up, click here for the 1st installment, 2nd installment, 3rd installment, 4th installment, 5th installment.
Words for this week's 10 (nine, actually, I counted wrong) word challenge: cup of coffee, visitors, exacting, fresh, hypochondriac, musical chairs, fertilizer, orange glow, cool breezes, And for the mini: trampoline, splotchy, jail, gargantuan, praise
Standing in the orange glow of the torches that lit the gargantuan gate of Fortress of Festering Fear, Fred Johnson, newly minted Paragon of Virtue wished very much that he could have a fresh cup of coffee before meeting his death at the hands of Count Psycho. As though to remind him that he had magical talents now that he lived in the Kingdom of Sunday instead of Ohio, his dog Cane rubbed comfortingly against his leg. "Good puppy," he whispered, "I can never praise you enough for the comfort and companionship you bring to me, but maybe I can make up for it with one of Chef's Cane biscuits that he made just for you." So saying he pulled a biscuit from his pocket and closing his eyes, managed, with intense concentration, to manifest a cup of rather bad tasting coffee for himself. Manifesting things was an exacting skill and he was grateful that he had managed any kind of coffee, he wished very much that he had more skill across the magical spectrum. He was tempted to try and tiptoe off into the woods and see if he could disappear. He felt quite the hypochondriac at the moment. His heart was thumping wildly and is legs were so wobbly that when he tried to walk, he felt like he was on a trampoline. These thoughts of retreat were interrupted by disembodied voice emerging from the splotchy shadows at the edge of the path that led to the gate. "Visitors!" the voice exclaimed with what seemed merry delight. "I've been out gathering fertilizer for my roses. I love sneaking out of this jail of a fortress to watch the sun rise and once in a while catch the scent of lilacs or the ocean (so different and each so wonderful) on the cool breezes of early morning. Peter's my name, though the people call me Count Psycho." Needless to say, Fred - who had been expecting some kind of deranged, frothing-at-the-mouth demon - felt like maybe he had been transported to yet a third alternate Universe. Still, he managed to cough out the words, "Fred Johnson. Nice to meet you." "Oh... the new Paragon, are you? Come on in. Fancy a game of musical chairs.?
Although the gargantuan gate had remained steadfastly closed as Fred and Cane stood pondering before it, it opened with silent drama as the Count approached. It's so nice to have company. So, am I the dreaded monster you expected, the voice asked finally emerging from the splotchy shadows among the trees and into the splotchy light of the torches that lit the entrance to the fortress. "I'm really not the monster they say I am, you know," he rattled on affably. "If you don't want to play musical chairs, I have a trampoline and a swimming pool.... or a pool table. Do you play pool? Gloomy old fortress, isn't it? Really is like a big jail, but you have to praise the architect. It was built for defense and so far it has stood the test of time. What's in your basket? You don't talk much, do you," he continued barely taking a breath between sentences. Fred - who was still in shock that this chatty young man was the dreaded Count Psycho, was rather grateful that there was no need as yet for him to come up with a coherent response.
"I saw you magic up that cup of coffee. Not bad for a novice. I was pretty impressed. How's Spark these days?" Inside, the big fortress and out of the orange glow of torchlight, Fred was able to get a better look at his host. "I love having visitors, the young man rattled on, even if they have been sent to do me in. Come, keep me company while I put this fertilizer on the roses." "I grow roses myself. What kind of fertilizer do you use?" "Rabbit poop mixed with coffee grounds and special soil. Coming up with the formula required months and months of exacting experimentation. I originally used deer poop, but I have found that roses seem to prefer rabbit." "Your roses are truly magnificent," Fred gasped on seeing them. "I'll have to get the recipe for your fertilizer... speaking of recipes, I've brought some food from my Chef that might go nicely with the cup of coffee you offered." "Not poisoned, I hope," Psycho said. "No. Quite amazingly delicious. Chef cooking is better than magic. I was kind of a hypochondriac when I first arrived here but something about Chef's food, just makes me feel safe and healthy and happy. It's pretty amazing." "Well, then, let's go out to the veranda and feast while the cool breezes of morning last. Then we can play musical chairs. I just love musical chairs. My staff, not so much." And he was off leaving Fred more baffled with each passing minute about why he had been sent here and what he was supposed to do." He wished he could talk to Spark about this. Maybe coffee and some of Chef's goodies would clear his head. And maybe he could talk the Count out of musical chairs. He hated musical chairs and something in him whispered that things were perhaps going a bit too smoothly. Well, he would just follow the path to where it led and hope he would know what to do. He hoped Psycho's chef made good coffee...
Words for next week's 10-word challenge: thunder storm, earrings, cookies and milk, wilderness, wood carving, vitamins, precision, fortitude, pause, category
And for the mini: turtle, fragrant, bubbles, sugar, pregnant
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