two
First Post
Sunny Perriwinkle Makes an Entrance, and quite an impression
Suddenly (for such things are always sudden), the door to the Tavern slams open loudly.
Framed by the light of the setting sun, Sunny Perriwinkle strides into view and says to nobody in particular and thus everyone within earshot:
"Hi y'all, I'm Sunny Perriwinkle!"
This important information is presented with a broad smile slightly marred, however, by crooked teeth and what looked to be a long history of indifference to the finer art of oral hygene.
His speech complete, Sunny steps into the room, rather, he attempts to step into the room. Unfortunately, the pommel of his ludicrously oversized bastard sword, which he keeps sheathed in a back scabbard, was projecting up over his head a good five inches, and struck the doorframe as he attempted to move through.
Sunny found himself jerked backward unexpecedly, and was depositied none-too-gracefully upon the threshold, rump to floor.
"Dag nabbit, that doorway must be low," Sunny said, ignoring the laughs of a few patrons.
He stood up, gave the doorway a close look, made a few measurements with his hands and fingers, and loudly proclaimed:
"Yup. Low by a good half-foot. Huh. Who cudda seen THAT one coming?"
Shaking his head, as if in disbelief regarding a mythical carpenter's shoddy workmanship, Sunny strides confidently to the bar and orders a beer. Casually, Sunny waves his fingers over the liquid and it instantly becomes nearly frozen.
"Beer's best cold, you know," he says to his closest bar mate, "particularly beer of this quality."
Then, with a wink and a smile, he scans the room, looking for something -- what exactly, not even he yet knows.
Suddenly (for such things are always sudden), the door to the Tavern slams open loudly.
Framed by the light of the setting sun, Sunny Perriwinkle strides into view and says to nobody in particular and thus everyone within earshot:
"Hi y'all, I'm Sunny Perriwinkle!"
This important information is presented with a broad smile slightly marred, however, by crooked teeth and what looked to be a long history of indifference to the finer art of oral hygene.
His speech complete, Sunny steps into the room, rather, he attempts to step into the room. Unfortunately, the pommel of his ludicrously oversized bastard sword, which he keeps sheathed in a back scabbard, was projecting up over his head a good five inches, and struck the doorframe as he attempted to move through.
Sunny found himself jerked backward unexpecedly, and was depositied none-too-gracefully upon the threshold, rump to floor.
"Dag nabbit, that doorway must be low," Sunny said, ignoring the laughs of a few patrons.
He stood up, gave the doorway a close look, made a few measurements with his hands and fingers, and loudly proclaimed:
"Yup. Low by a good half-foot. Huh. Who cudda seen THAT one coming?"
Shaking his head, as if in disbelief regarding a mythical carpenter's shoddy workmanship, Sunny strides confidently to the bar and orders a beer. Casually, Sunny waves his fingers over the liquid and it instantly becomes nearly frozen.
"Beer's best cold, you know," he says to his closest bar mate, "particularly beer of this quality."
Then, with a wink and a smile, he scans the room, looking for something -- what exactly, not even he yet knows.
