Posted by myg
“Myg, we’re really worried about you.” Romana insisted.
I didn’t want to listen, but she was so damned earnest that it was pretty hard to blow her off.
I’d only been back from Paris 1900 (SLURL) a couple of days when they started in on me: “We had no idea where you were for days, you didn’t answer any IMs, you could have died, what’s with that whole sock monkey dancing dream, etc., etc., etc.” Same old, same old. But they had a reason to be worried.
My last disappearance was plenty spectacular and even I couldn’t deny that I’d come close to eating pavement, biting the dust as it were. Lucky for me that parachute was self-deploying because coming out of that blackout mid-fall off Le Tour Eiffel (SLURL), I had no idea I was even wearing one.
There were a lot of questions to be answered, such as, where the hell did that dress and the ice come from? God knows I haven’t got any taste or use for formal, so this was more than a little unsettling. So unsettling I almost forgot to wonder how I’d fallen off the Eiffel Tower in the first place.
I was in dire need of alcohol at that point, so wandered into the local bar looking for a hard pour of Absynthe. There I ran into some Harry Potter look-alike dude named Allotta.
He looked almost startled to see me walk into the bar – his face went all blank and then white like a zombie. He stared hard at me but I just buried my face in my drink and waited for the warm fuzzy.
Things got very weird when he he came up along side me, real close, snaked a clammy, rubbery arm around my waist and rasped alcoholic mutterings in my ear, “Where’s the dough? I thought you were going to leave it in the trunk of the car.” The dude was breathing down my damned neck like I knew something.
But I was clueless, as usual.