Saturday Wordzzle 98

What a week! I didn't think I'd get time to take part this week and those words....! Go to Raven's Nest to get the poop on how to play this great game.

Worst words: laundry list, pantry.

The mini (risque, radish, ring tone, ravishing, ruler)

This is part of of an ongoing story. A blind seer has had a vision about a young man coming to some as yet unspecified harm from an old man living in a tower. To try to avert this fate, she has anonymously paid for him to take a holiday somewhere far away. The young man has arrived at the holiday town and has noticed an interesting tower, which he plans to investigate the next day. The seer has a nightmare which she believes is connected to the young man's fate and resolves to go after him. She finds herself in the holiday town and realises this is the very place the tower is located. She gets lost trying to locate it and hears footsteps approaching. The young, on his way to the tower sees a blind ladt trying to cross the road. The man approaches her and they talk. The seer soon discovers that this is the very man from her vision and bursts into relieved tears....

The seer speaks...

Oh my goodness! Whatever can this young man think of me, bursting out crying like that? I bet I’m as red as a radish – no, it’s ‘as red as a beetroot’, a beetroot, for goodness’ sake! I do feel really stupid now though. What on Earth am I going to tell him to explain my bizarre behaviour? My emotions have always been my ruler and one of these days it’s going to get me into serious trouble. I suppose I should tell him the truth, as far-fetched as it is. I wish I could see his face! He knows I’m telling the truth, though, how else would I know about Mr Merryman the solicitor? It’s lot to take in for him, so I suggest we go somewhere quiet for drink and a proper talk.He seems a bit hesitant, as though I’ve just suggested something risque. I assure him he’s in no danger of me ravishing him and he laughs, breaking the tension a little. Suddenly, manic laughter starts up from somewhere and he apologises, explaining that it’s the ring tone on his mobile. He excuses himself and steps away to take the call. I can wait, of course, but oh dear, now he’s having an argument with the person on the other end, getting quite heated in fact, and his voice carries in the quiet lane, almost blotting out the sound of a car appraching.

The 10-worder (treasure chest, idiom, pantry, crippled, baying wolf, wind chill, time, angel, salamander, laundry list)

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They were gathered in the Salamader room - one of the oddly-named conference rooms at OGS. Mercury was running the meeting. Othello had his laptop open on the table in front of him connected to a projector. It was currently displaying his screensaver – animated fishes swimming all over a coral reef complete with overflowing pirate treasure chest. Prada looked bored already and was doodling on her notepad. Harold could make out the words “pantry” and “laundry list” in amongst a growing number of cartoon flowers, hearts and spirals. India, on the other hand, was leaning forward, pencil poised, all alert attentivemess.

Harold himself was quite interested in the proceedings. There were no briefing sessions in the Basement, although Harold had heard humans claiming that they thought they had died and gone there after a particularly long and boring meeting up here. Teatime sat quietly on the table in front of Harold.

“OK, I think it’s safe to assume that since both sides have lost –er – people then neither side is responsible for what’s happening. Agreed?”

A murmur of assent ran round the table.

Othello tapped his keyboard and a neat bullet point appeared on the whiteboard.

“So who does that leave?” continued Mercury.

“Humans,” suggested Teatime. India tutted and shot him a look with a wind chill factor strong enough to freeze a small bird to death.

“Well, who else is there?” he continued, unperturbed.

“Aliens?” Prada didn’t even look up from her dodles. “Vampires? Dragons?”

This was greeted with a chorus of general disagreement.

“Perhaps we should shelve that point for the moment, pending more information.” said Othello as his fingers danced on the keyboard once more.

“OK,” agreed Mercury, “Let’s record such information as we do have. Mr Teatime, I believe you have the details of the Fallen that have disappeared. Would you care to share them with us?”

“Yes, of course” Teatime assumed his schoolmasterly tone, “The Basement has lost touch with five demons
thus far. The most recent was Baron Samedi. Before that there was Crippled Tom, then Akim, a.k.a Baying Wolf, Michael Everest and Susan.” 

Prada let out a giggle.

“Susan?” she said, “Seriously? There’s a demon called Susan? What is she, the spirit of extreme bossiness? ‘Cos if she is, then you’ve just described my little sister.”

“Very funny, Prada,” said Othello, “Now, on our side, we’ve lost three: Territhiel, Auriel and Illyriel, according to the information given us by the Penthouse.”

Harold started at that last name. He and Illyriel, while not exactly BFFs or whtever the human idiom was, had nevertheless been quite close before the Great War, and it was shocking to imagine that he might be
gone for good. Even though he had been banished from the Penthouse along with all the other Fallen, Harold had, in those first terrifying dark days, taken a little comfort in knowing that former friends were still there, safe and happy.

“How can an angel or a Fallen just disappear, though?” asked India. “They can’t be killed, can they?”
“That’s right,” agreed Harold, “Our vessels are pretty much indestructible.”

“But vulnerable to electricity, or our tasers wouldn’t work.” observed Othello. “In all our dealings with Fallen, we’ve never found any other practical way of restraining them – apart from Binding, and only a few of us can do that.” He looked at Harold, “in the interests of solving this mystery for both our sides, do you have any other weaknesses we should know about, that might have been exploited by whoever is behind this?”

Yeah, like I’d tell you if I had, thought Harold. “Not unless you count trad. Jazz.” He said. “I’m a real sucker for that.”

“We’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.” said Mercury drily.

It was going to be a long meeting.