[Thread] Where did my bakery go?
Characters: Ned (OU); OPEN to all.
Where: Near the fountain.
When: Noon, seconds after his arrival.
Summary: The Piemaker does not like surprises - particularly not ones involving teleportation.
Warnings: None.
At precisely three fourteen in the morning on November the 8th, the Piemaker was baking pies with Digby. He had turned on all the lights in the kitchen of "The Pie Hole", and their warmth spilled out into the dark, empty restaurant. Ned liked to think of his life like that - as a bright, pouring light (and the smell of baking apples and cinnamon) spilling out into the world. He ferried pies to and from the oven, shuffling along in slippers. He kept up a running conversation with the golden retriever who lolled on the tile floor.
"...right there, in public! Who does that?"
Digby whined in sympathy.
"I don't know, maybe Emerson's right. Maybe I am stuck in a rut. You don't think a little change will kill me, do you?"
And at that exact moment, as he cradled a piping hot cherry pie from the oven, the Piemaker turned on his heel, and found himself in quite another place entirely...
Ned sat down hard on the edge of the fountain, his stomach turning in nausea. He squinted against the sudden noon light, looking quite absurd in his apron and the big pink oven mitts Chuck bought him for his birthday. There were dabs of flour on his cheeks and forehead.
So he was hallucinating? That was a new one.
Where: Near the fountain.
When: Noon, seconds after his arrival.
Summary: The Piemaker does not like surprises - particularly not ones involving teleportation.
Warnings: None.
At precisely three fourteen in the morning on November the 8th, the Piemaker was baking pies with Digby. He had turned on all the lights in the kitchen of "The Pie Hole", and their warmth spilled out into the dark, empty restaurant. Ned liked to think of his life like that - as a bright, pouring light (and the smell of baking apples and cinnamon) spilling out into the world. He ferried pies to and from the oven, shuffling along in slippers. He kept up a running conversation with the golden retriever who lolled on the tile floor.
"...right there, in public! Who does that?"
Digby whined in sympathy.
"I don't know, maybe Emerson's right. Maybe I am stuck in a rut. You don't think a little change will kill me, do you?"
And at that exact moment, as he cradled a piping hot cherry pie from the oven, the Piemaker turned on his heel, and found himself in quite another place entirely...
Ned sat down hard on the edge of the fountain, his stomach turning in nausea. He squinted against the sudden noon light, looking quite absurd in his apron and the big pink oven mitts Chuck bought him for his birthday. There were dabs of flour on his cheeks and forehead.
So he was hallucinating? That was a new one.