Without any further setbacks, our party made it securely atop the Ledge encircling the Entrance. A faded red sign painted: Gutterson's Grappool~Hooks Galore* over a pair of Double-doors, lacked luster in almost every way imaginable.
However, the Timber Doorway itself was inset with two barred windows - & a MajestiCarving had been set into it below them. Flower shoots frolicked around a quail & a Razorback hog, nestling daintily across the crack between touching doors. Those features quietly bolstered some hype! I noticed the chain-bolt, dangling unlatched, - standard for appointment times. The Boar groaned & squealed like a real one, as I parted the opening for our crew.
We entered a neWorld.
Dazzling lights bombarded my dilated pupils (amidst transferring from the gloom and humidity) as if pierced by the beam of a high-powered flashlight --:: then my skin inhaled & stiffened to attention as it collided with the arctic blast of the air-conditioning. Now that's what I call mixing pleasure and pain.
Shading turquoiSEyes with one hand, I squinted down at muddy boots while waiting to Adjust -- there I was lulled by the itch to titter at the reception. 'Welcome to the Nut House' was printed on the door mat, a Greeting swirling in assorted acorns & leaves around a crouching squirrel.
We wiped our feet all over the rodent perch 'til our vision finally normalized... and began pulling off our messy clodhoppers off to pad around in socks. Momentarily we observed the Prowleys assisting Buck remove his mauled foot armor. Then Sig and I descended a few steps together into a depression that contained all the extravagance. Both of us exchanged relieved gazes of familiAwe. His eyes puffed big as biscuits, while I ran a round tongue across my lips. Yep, no matter how many times I dropped in, it was always the Grandest of spectacles.
Furniture camped out all over the Penthouse. Incandescent colors exploded off the tedious background of polished wood and carpet. Scads of couches and decorative tables & even a trampoline twinkled amidst certain fuzzy landscape. Framed pictures and posters inter spaced along walls in a harmony of decor, like Stars* and pl(@)Nets* perfectly nestled among a backdrop (which might be interpreted as the King-size television screen plastered to the ceiling, [sticking out like a charred Brownie] dwarfing all other items.
Siggy gave my shoulder a slime of fatigued pats. "I'm gon' go wrap myself in 'at hammock ovore thar for suMinutes." Its netting was tawny bronze.
"gooDon't tie yourself in a knot," I agreed. "And hey, say a prayer for our families just in case anything's listening."
"How nice of a thawd," He mentioned, and trailed off down into the center Scoop of luxury furnishings. He was an atheist, and so didn't always playfully tug at concepts about philosophy. *Whereas I lent some credence to connection with Structure, ancestors, and possibly rebirth cycles.
"PYRAM! Good to see the company," a familiar rumbling baritone boomed to my attention with unusual urgency. Every time it came as a surprise to hear that honey-filled husk; the good surprise of a long-time Pal. Only this time amiss, was its apprehensive edge... I split to my left, staying on the purple tiles that hedged in the swirling blue/orange carpet cascades softening the center Pit.
Beckoning from behind the mini-bar countertop, awaited a far-traversed man. Short, silver hair formed a horseshoe atop his head. He was put together like a bowling pin: narrow head, with muscular swell of youth clinging to his torso, inelegantly out of transition. Since I'd been here last, Gutterson had added a juicy chocolate finish to the counter. I probably wouldn't have detected this latest edition if it not for the sweet illumination of five cordial lamps dangling above it.
Upon one of the elevated, peachy stools, Dal Capone sat across from the elderly Malibu. Boy was drowning in liquor. I guessed that, since no one else was around when the coward flew in, that he'd swiped & guzzled the murky brown contents of that half-empty bottle greedily in lonesome trepidations. There wasn't an actual glass on the counter. Others were trying to soothe their nerves by dissolving into cushy sofas or bean bags. CaPhony was tilting the bottle again for what appeared to be more than merely a second round.
"Slaaww down there, sonny," Gutts advised Dallas, dragging it away by the neck -- to the Tyrant's protest. He airlifted it from further abuse, & then pulled out a different glass from a shelf beneath the counter, offering me a drink instead. He didn't care so much about minors and legalities; no enforcement agency was going to bother him about something that didn't even exist on the maps. It was highly unusual for someone of non-drinking age to visit besides myself -- never mind that he didn't get much company out here in the seclusion. Appointments were predetermined, and drinks typically on the house for returning customers.
"I don't drink that sour," I panntedd. "You know that."
"From what your lad here disclosed," Malibu replied gravely, returning the cup and bottle to their respective homes. "Now's as good a time as ever to start."
He only had a small stash of visible beverages on hand, in about twenty cubbie holes behind him.
On second thought, … Nah, stay focused. Concentrate. I didn't need to be dehydrated, we needed to unearth the armory lode; Of which i had never actually been invited to see the Strongest tools; (firepower being the Biggest source of attraction for me.) Other mentions sloshed about the Pirates, I anticipated to be atrociously exaggerated.
"Shout out to Buck, that Mop-haired sucker," CaC@Phony whined and pluggeDown one laSHot. I suppose even his type could be tender—in a deliroiuSort of way.
Gut's wide smoky eyes settled back onto me. Stocky brows slanted on the slopes of his forehead, mouth firmly knit. His thin, snowy goatee seemed as if it was a second, larger mouth -- Open in silent fear. Never had his age been directly divulged, but it seemed he had to be sneaking up on 70. That was otherwise based upon what history I knew about his Service in Wars.
"I'm prepped to support Beyond the degree initially planned buddy," he began. "Cause y'all look stunned beyond all reason. I realize PTSD is kinda settiin' in. Now, before we can get to business, I gotta know what happened on your way over, so maybe we can get the jitterin' skittles outta yer systems." He stopped and examined me further.
I probably didn't look too great. I glanced around at my companions. Same as the others. Trent & Siggy were sitting back there in the Depression of the room, staring around mindlessly or rubbing their face. The Prowleys and wounded chatterbox arrived up behind me, surely to inquire what kind of remedies the snowy man might possess.
Right on cue, Bu began scanning the approaching bang-for-it$ Buck Outfit. "Huh, this must be pretty grim."
I blurted. "You don't even know the half of it, Dude!"
"What on earth could be so traumatizing?" he demanded, sounding rather rhetorical.
Rovo answered. "This guy was attacked by some unidentified creature right before we arrived."
"My sneaker weren't," Buck gurgled, drowsily smirking. "No less than lefto'er burrito stank."
Gut dithered into a curse: "Overcooked dinners... what are we talking exactly? Shapes, features?"
"God only knows what it was man," Rovo clarified. "It's amphibious and not real big, but wicked speedy."
Dead space followed. I lingered on the fresh memories.
"I have a history with monsters." Gutt's voice came slow and somber. "It didn't track you to the Shack, did it?" Although I was horrified in many ways by this new prospect of this "History with Monsters" there was no time to explore all that that entailed.
"We don't know," Pheo and I futilely affirmed. At the echo, my train of thought dislodged and I peeked sidelong at her, while she didn't hesitate to continue: "But it got a chunk of this kid," she stated of the sobered individual against her collar.
"I see," The words dripped off Malibu's lips, suspended in the air on little nooses. "I'll need to fetch some ointments and gear."
"Don't you have ANY Grenades or Ka-Boomies?" The Tyrant seethed from his seat. "We seem to be at WAR!"
"Warrr," the former soldier repeated. "But we're fighting what we don't understand."
Swell, ya hammered Boozehound! Just use that concept to dredge up memories from the jungle Gulfs to hang him up inside.
"You ready to whip out the PowerPlay, right??" I politely asked, trying to take stock of everything at once. My eyes buckled back into their seats, surging into Gutt's as he revolved back around. "Because we've got one ABnormous advantage?" I prodded.
"Suriee I've got Time-worn & NeWave gadgets," he confirmed. "But we're all fairly safe here I imagine. So one thing at a time now, which is your friend's foot first. NEVER rush into things, son. Formulate. We are deliberate creatures. Don't let anything take that away from you. We can dial up a course of action in a minute."
I clapped. "Good, I'm ready to fire up some fat engines!"
Gutt flexed a flagging bicep: "Aye mateys, we're in the same boat." Then he turned his attention quickly to the Prowley unit, and ordered: "Bring the boy into the room under the Balcony ramp over there," ~and ushered them aside. The trio shuffled in after the war nurse, as he cooed, "We'll get ya comfortable son; your wounds don't appear too serious, so don't stress. I'll clean out the area for now, & you just rest in here with some painkillers til I can get my hands on a Treatment that'll knock your socks back ON."
That had to be some buttery talk. I was pretty sure there was a chance of infection from the sludgewater; however I was quite relieved that all was calm for the time being. Except suddenly as I was left to tread my own thoughts, I became conscious of bodily signals I was receiving.