An Absolute Waste of Time VI
~A plot development has been sighted!~
Meanwhile, Footrestte was grumpy. But then, thought Warnold, this was quite normal and just meant that the natural order was in force and proceeding as usual. It didn't take a Jaheira, or even an Anomen, to figure that one out.
A prismatic spray interrupted his reverie. Warnold sighed. He really ought to have a talk with her about the less genteel aspects of her language some day... He looked at her face, which was harmonising quite nicely with her robe. Perhaps not today.
Currently her diatribe was directed at the scroll that was crumpled up in her hands. The stars on the surface reflected her husband's face rather well, right down to his guilty expression, and the sheer proliferation of Warnolds made for quite a satisfying audience.
"Do you know what I went through to get this?" she said.
He hung his head. "No, dearest, but..."
"Hell and highwater!"
He looked up. "But you've been to Hell before, Footrestte-"
"And it doesn't get any better the second time around. But Highwater made Hell seem blissful in comparison."
"So how were Mum and Popsie?"
Footrestte fixed him with an icy glare. He hung his head again, this time to hide his grin.
"
Anyway," she said, "There are plenty of scrolls for you to write your poetry on. Why did you have to choose this one? I can barely read what's going on, and I wrote the spell!"
He shuffled over to her, his expression now suitably downcast. "Sorry dear... I just get carried away, you know? Besides, this poem was about you."
She snorted a little. "As you always say." The mention of Forabell and Geronimald Bootkins had deflated her somewhat. Warnold took his chance for a change in topic.
"Just what is this spell you've been working on anyway?"
His timing was perfect. A tiny light began to dance in her eyes and the expanse of her grin would have put Reginald to shame.
"Why don't you watch it and see?" The grin melted into a frown as she looked down at the scroll. "I suppose this is as good as it'll ever get. Did you really have to use indelible ink, Warnold?"
He was insulted. "That's a work of art, my Footrestte, and don't you forget it!"
"I have my doubts." She glanced up at the house and shrugged. "Let's hope that Arnold holds out the happy family until Reginald gets here." She padded to the fountain and poked a finger into the water. Finnigan, awake and with eyes firmly downcast, swam up, kissed the finger once, then continued his solemn laps around the fountain. Thus empowered, Footrestte began the spell.
~
At that moment, Reginald was pocketing bottles of an oily substance. Robbery was a satisfying art, he thought as he uncapped a bottle and took a taste, particularly when the rewards were so sweet. Kelsey's Oil was a slick substance on the Shadow market and would do wonders to grease the ladder to success
1.
Funny, he thought, it just tastes like sugar water. Don't see why it's so-
His thoughts drifted off as he made the fatal mistake of looking into the mirror. He moved toward it, his heart pounding, and smiled at himself...
~
Arnold stepped forward, slipped on a puddle and slid into Imoen's knee.
Kelsey looked at him in horror. "Be careful, Arnold! You might have hurt Imoen!" He turned to Imoen, "Are you all right, my love, my pinky winky temptress, my imply dimply Imoen?"
"Right as rain, my Kelsey cupcake!"
Kelsey's brow furrowed. "What's a cupcake, Imoen?"
Imoen looked baffled. "I don't know... it just came out, Kelsey Welsey, you hunky spunky!"
Arnold was prevented from going into convulsions by a tug on his hair. Kimona blinked at him, her eyes soft with sympathy. Arnold reached up and grasped the tiny hand. "Hello, little one," he said. She smiled.
Jaheira threw the oblivious parents an aggravated look, silently wished for an entangle prayer that could be localised to the tongue, and helped Arnold to his feet. "I see that Kimona is pleased to meet you," she said, "Perhaps it is a blessing that you have come. Now what of your message to-" She frowned. Arnold began to panic as he noted that she was staring over his hair, out the window.
Footrestte had chosen her distraction well. Jaheira turned to watch him as he raced around the room, the bird trilling merrily in his wake, and in her amusement, promptly forgot the three characters she had seen on the Coltrane's front lawn.
~
"
Ashtor, gresank, thydane, cadu...
What is, is not, is made askew
Grant me now my boon, my dear
Your lovely singing and lovelier rear- (Oh crud)
Put what is right and wrong misplaced
My wish is just to smooch your face(Warnold, this is YOUR fault!)
Put what is right and wrong misplaced
Make my wish, my heart, en-ANOMEN GET THE CAT AWAY FROM FINNIGAN!!"
Anomen snapped awake to see the tiny, fluffy ginger itten about to close its jaws upon the bug-eyed fish. He shot out a hand to grab it, missed, and fell spectacularly into the bowl of the fountain. The ensuing tidal wave swept Mr Bootkins off the edge of the fountain and into a bush, where his fur became entangled. Finnigan, being magical, finned his way back to the bowl and refused to partake in any further discussion, besides the odd petulant bubble.
Footrestte was aghast. "Sir Anomen- you must watch over Finnigan with more care!"
The knight splashed upright and stood, glaring down at her. His beard sloshed a little as he spoke. "A knight of the Order of the Radiant Heart should not be babysitting fish, Lady Footrestte!"
She stamped her foot into the puddled mess of the scroll. "I promised you my aid in return for your help!"
"And I am aiding you, Lady Footrestte," he said shortly, "Though I do not see why my duty must demean me in so grevious a way. Could not your husband care for the amphibian?"
Warnold piped up. "Sir Anomen, amphibians aren't fish and fish aren't amphibians. Besides, I'm no good with that fish. He can't abide me... not ever since the Vintage Teapot and Bullet +1 Incident."
Anomen puffed up, a stout figure in the fountain. "Then perhaps I should read the scroll and Lady Footrestte can look after the fish! He is her familiar after all!"
Footrestte's eyebrow twitched. "I'd like to see you try completing the spell, Sir Anomen." She folded her arms. "First of all, you are not a mage-"
"I should think that I could handle spouting off a few words written on a scroll, even if they are of magical origin."
Footrestte was unimpressed. "Second, you wouldn't be able to distinguish between the spell and Warnold's poetry. The heavens know that I couldn't." The glare she gave Warnold made him thankful, yet again, that they did not live in a literal world. "Last of all, even if you were a mage and could tell the difference between his words and mine, you would be inappropriately dressed for spellcasting."
Anomen glowered and started to steam a little. "I trust this is not another slur upon the Delryn shield colour, lady Footrestte?"
She sighed (an 8 out of 10 from Sir Keldorn, had he seen it) "I mean your armour, Sir knight."
"I will remove my armour, then, Lady Footrestte!" He shouted. He stepped out of the fountain and undid the straps, tipping the balance of the bowl as he did so. Water poured out of his armour as he threw the sections of metal away. "Next we will address your other objections." He moved toward her.
Warnold began to nudge Footrestte away from the knight. "Watch out, dear, I believe our Sir Anomen's going a little potty..."
Anomen chose to ignore this. "Give me the-"
"HAVE YOU SEEN MY HUSBAND?!"
Anomen stopped in terror, looked up at Lady Tiana Delyrn as she entered the gate, looked down at his half-naked form and turned pale (as well as undead- an unfortunate reflex action when confronted with a terrifying situation.) "Helm- nay, Footrestte, help me!" he cried.
~
A small explosion shocked Reginald out of his romantic fantasy involving himself running toward himself on a beach. As this required no actual running, it was a particularly good fantasy to have.
A second later, Boll's head popped into view in the window, upside down. "'Ullo," he said, "You all right there?"
Reginald peeled himself away from the mirror. "Aye, good Boll," he said, "But I felt Faerun move..."
Boll clicked his beak. "No, Reginald, it was just the closet. Seems Mr Coltrane kept his old skeleton in there. His first skull trap, you know?" The gargoyle sniffed. "That, and alot of shoes."
Reginald darted toward the blackened closet, where a skull sat smoking sadly at him from its perch atop a jaunty looking boot. Boot. Foot. Footrestte.
He cursed and scooped up the skull and boot. One belonged to Kelsey, he reasoned as he dashed towards the window, the other must belong to Imoen. "Boll!" he shouted, "I need a lift to ground level- can you manage it?"
Boll blinked in surprise. "Guess I can... this cement's a little loose, and if you lend me some of that oil..." He winked as the halfling scrambled onto his back. "Not to worry, a secret between friends, eh? Just don't forget about Rockset and that... er... slate issue."
They both heard the "HA!" as they left the roof.
~
The blast was loud enough to shock Arnold out of his panicked laps around the bathroom. He collapsed in a panting heap as Jaheira ran past him, toward the Coltrane bedroom. He grabbed her leg and hung on desperately. As he bounced along the carpeted floor, he realised that he wouldn't cut it as an anchor, although his hair was cushioning the blows. Behind him, he was aware that the Coltrane three were keeping up and above him, the bird looked at him reproachfully as it clung on.
Jaheira slammed open the bedroom door in time to see a gargoyle swoop past the window. "Damn!" she swore as she noted who was on its back.
It was nothing compared to the curse she used when she saw who they were headed towards. In her favour, though, was the argument that the word she used was quite natural.
~
Footrestte's eyes widened as she heard the curse echo towards her. They widened further as they took in Jaheira's shaking fist and Arnold waving beside her. "Ah, the Jae's up," she thought, "They'll be down here in a moment, but I still have time to cast-"
"Footrestte!" Anomen was desperately trying to pull on his armour.
From somewhere behind her she could hear Tiana's footsteps. She looked at the trembling Anomen, then down at the puddle of ruined scroll at her feet. She made a decision.
The invisibility spell was almost complete when a boot landed on her head, closely followed by a grinning skull (courtesy of midair lessons from Reginald). She fell like a brick.
"Footrestte!" Warnold cried and ran to pick her up.
"Complete the spell," she said to him through gritted teeth.
"But Footrestte!"
"I'm all right, Warnold.. I'll just have a headache in the morning." She sat up, then lay down again. "In fact, I think I'll have one right now." She squinted at him. "The spell, Warnold. Please."
"Yes, yes- Footrestte." He fumbled together the sopping parchment and ignored the sight of Anomen accelerating around the fountain, closely followed by a broom-wielding Tiana. He read as Jaheira disappeared from the window. Reginald shouted an apology to Footrestte from the sky above. Warnold continued reading.
The fourth last word of the spell was spoken as Tiana caught up to Anomen enough to give him a solid club on the head with the broom.
The third last word was spoken as Jaheira, Arnold and the Coltranes burst out the front door and onto the lawn.
The second last word was accompanied by Bolle's graceful landing atop the statues gracing the fountain.
Warnold cleared his throat somewhat bashfully and completed the spell.
"NO!" shouted Jaheira.
And then there was silence.
And more silence.
And more.
They looked at each other.
Then the silence was broken as a voice trembled onto the edge of hearing. It was a beautiful voice, rich and deep as velvet. It rose in volume and threaded its way through each person's ears and directly into their hearts.
Kelsey and Imoen saw each other. Jaheira saw Khalid standing in knee-deep grass. Arnold saw knee-deep grass. Anomen envisioned Moira, smiling at him. Tiana was lost in personal bliss at the sight of an orderly table full of food. Kimona gurgled at the picture of her parents. Reginald saw himself on a beach (the secret to Kelsey's Oil's success was its longevity). Boll sighed as Rockset nuzzled against him. Footrestte, through the pain, felt Warnold's hand on her forehead.
And now they could hear the words that the voice was singing. Only Warnold had heard the song before. He'd heard the opera often enough.
The Magic Boot.
A cracking sound woke them all from their inner visions and they all looked up simultaneously as the statues of Kelsey and Imoen broke apart.
And Gwenda Fuzzyfoot, the famed half-orc contralto of Waterdeep, stepped out.
1A perfectly logical strategy for reaching the uppermost rung of a hierarchy, provided that those at the top absorb the oil as they slide their way down to the bottom of the ladder.