He sat on the edge of the pedistal, staring at the ceiling and taking some stock in his life. Here we go: fact, he was covered, head to toe, in some kinda oily... gook. Fact, he was kinda woozy and disorientated from the whole adventure through whatever kinda hoodoo they'd gotten their fingers into back home
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Most days, it was a fairly standard walk, but today things were slightly different. Most days, when Fraser passed the popcorn room, he smelled salt and the grease and terribly chemical fake butter, and beneath that the faint burnt smell of popped corn, and beneath that the scent of slightly damp stone, and that was usually it.
Today, he smelled hair gel. Well, he still smelled the salt and the butter and the popcorn and the like, but underneath all of that there was hair gel, aftershave, and a whiff of car interior that could only have come from a 1967 GTO, ( ... )
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He settled on a comfortable in-between. "What the hell is goin' on around here?" He sized up Fraser thoughtfully. "And why aren't you covered in this stuff?"
Maybe Canadians really did have some kind of anti-mess shield.
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That taken care of, Fraser looked back up at Ray and grinned all over again. Ray! Ray was here! And... oh, Ray was asking him questions. "Ah, well, I've been here for quite some time, actually. Plus, I appeared down in the Sorting Room and not here, and there's not a great deal of salt or hydrogenated soybean oil down there."
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".... hydrogenated?" At least with the wolf not sniffing his leg he could regain some dignity, right? He gave Fraser a bit of a look. "And here is... where? How come you got here early?"
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