Story Teller's Tea-House

Discussion in 'Castle Town' started by Chu-Chu-byou, Aug 12, 2019.

  1. Chu-Chu-byou

    Chu-Chu-byou New Member

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    In a shadowy area of the town, with a few smoky lanterns and a little bit of mystique, there is a little building with shady curtains, and a bit of porch, and some plants. Stone, bricks, wood- it is somewhat tidy. It neither stands out fully, nor blends in fully. If you are looking for it, you might find it. And if you find it, you might go in. And if you go in, you might look around, and be noticed, and offered a seat. There are low chairs and high chairs and cushions on the floor. There is a spicy-sweet scent in the air, and the story teller might put the kettle on. The lights are a little dim, and the air is a little heavy, but the steam of the hot water should help clear your head, soon. If she was reading, she might have to put her book down. She would probably make herself comfortable. Then, if these things had happened, you might tell her a little about yourself, and then she might tell you a story. You would probably have some tea. It is, after all, a tea-house and story house. So.
    ...Will you have a seat, then?
     
  2. hatchet13

    hatchet13 The Nasty Tusken

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    In the same area of the very same town , still relatively smoky , all peace and calm is about to be smashed into a fucking distant memory and any mystique the tidy little porched building with the shady curtains once enjoyed will soon be torn asunder.
    For a visitor to these parts is unintentionaly making a beeline straight towards the Tea-House ,which just happens to be on the route he is carving through the once quiet neighborhoods .
    And woe to anyone or anything unlucky enough to stray into his path, for surely they would have more luck trying to reason with a high speed freight train fully loaded with dynamite, gasoline , hand grenades and a fucking atom bomb being driven by the ghost of a WW2 Japanese Kamikaze pilot, because at least the train has brakes .... our visitor,sadly, does not .
    You see, this interloper , this intruder is on the crest of one of the mightiest , balls-out crazy PCP binges in the history of anyone anywhere and as a result of using enough drugs in the last few hours to make everyone in New Zealand a cracked- out spastic for a couple of days - so too has it changed him.
    No longer does he resemble the Tusken Raider he woke up a couple of days ago as .
    He has become a true force of nature , an unstoppable helion reeking of sweat , blood and madness as he pounds his way ever onward .
    Amid his hostile and unmerciful roars he would make chicken and motorbike noises one moment and start laughing the next , a strange high- pitched unsettling laugh full of fiendish glee then seconds later he wails and screams as if being chased by Satan himself and perhaps he is.
    A stinking cloud of PCP smoke and the terrified and confused occupants of the dwellings that have been obliterated are all he leaves behind him , no sounds of any law or militia can be heard to bring his frenzied berzerkering to a end and who can blame them , I mean why get your face eaten off and bones turned to a fine dust by this fucking lunatic for a measly 2 copper peices an hour ?
    So he is probably 200 metres from the door of the Story Teller's Tea-House and hopefully the woman has packed her book , kettle and maybe a couple of cushions into a sack and just fucking legged it as he's nearly there .
    And I don't reckon he's up for a story