The Part where Brandon gets a Tour

Now, despite the fact that Tiffy was an excellent a seamstress, it took a while to add a couple inches of material to Brandon’s ‘robes,’ which in this case included a loose fitting, v-necked, ankle length, cream coloured tunic, a deep red woolen vest that came to mid thigh and was buttoned tightly with small golden buttons on the left breast, and a fantastic navy-blue cloak that was tied on diagonally across his chest with a braided golden rope so that it fell over one shoulder, across his back and all the way to the ground at its longest point.  The outfit came complete with a simple, dignified golden band for his forehead and surprisingly comfortable leather boots. 

The length of this description gives you an idea of the amount of time Brandon took examining the clothes before Tiffy snatched them away again to work on.

Alistair had gone out to see to some errand, leaving Roary on guard, or well, napping, by the doorway, and Brandon found himself with nothing to do.  This was rather a pleasant surprise, as he had always assumed that when you were in a different world that it would always be action packed.  So he decided to use this time to think and try to figure out what was actually going on.  He always thought best with a pen in his hand, but, of course, no pen could be found in the room, only a large feather in ink on a desk in the corner.  So he sat down with the feather in his hand to think.

He sat there thinking for quite a while, but here is the gist of his ponderings:

‘This must be some sort of elaborate trick being played on me.  But they are all so real—especially that girl.  And how are they making the talking dog so convincing?  I’d say it was a dream, but I never dream in colour.  Tiffy, that’s her name.  She seems really sweet.’

You get the idea—clearly the feather wasn’t very helpful.  At last Tiffy’s sewing project was completed and Alistair returned to fit the outfit on him. 

“Getting used to your apartments, again, sir?”

“Mmm, they’re nice,” he replied absentmindedly.  He had thought that Tiffy would put his robes on, but she had skipped away as soon as she had brought them in.

“Everything is in order.” Alistair was turning out to be a rather chatty advisor.  “Once Tiffy has returned with your morning meal, and of course, you have eaten, I will give you a grand tour of the place, ending in the Big Hall where everyone will be waiting to meet you.”


There was more waiting time… and breakfast seemed to take forever, especially because Tiffy was not there, and Roary had woken up and sat across from Brandon staring at him.  Finally Brandon broke the silence angrily.

“Would you cut that out?”

“What?” asked the dog innocently.

“Staring at me!”

“Oh, sorry.  It’s just that you eat like a pig.”

Brandon’s jaw dropped, but before he could retaliate the dog went on, his loud, slowly droning voice giving no pause for Brandon to interact.  “Now don’t get all angry at me for insulting pigs.  I know how much you and Pink-snout hate derogatory pig comments and how ‘unkind and inappropriate’ they are and ‘how would I like it if everyone made derogatory dog comments behind my back?’ which they do, but never mind that of course.  But you can’t deny that pigs have a certain way of eating that, while it is most natural, and even attractive in a pig, is most disgusting in a human, and watch that—grape.”

The grape Brandon had been trying to pick up flipped out of his fingers and rolled across the floor.  Roary got up tiredly and went to fetch it.

“I’m tired of doing all the dirty work.  Some days I can’t believe I bother to eat the stuff people drop.  Why can’t I just be content with my own food?  But habits are habits,” the grape disappeared into his large mouth, “and somebody has to clean up after you folk.”

After a little while, Brandon just ignored the big dog and finished his breakfast.  He was not getting off to a very good start with the animal—it had insulted him twice and counting.

The tour of the palace was much more pleasant than Brandon had anticipated.  Turned out there was just his large apartment and the big hall he had stumbled out into when he arrived only lead to the main entrance in this building.  There were separate little buildings for all the staff and a nice big, fully staffed kitchen.  Aside from living quarters there was a big, very impressive stone hall. The layout of the grounds was simple and straightforward—just the way Brandon liked things.  No wandering through maze-like castles.  Everything was where it aught to be and easy to get to.

Just before the entered the Big Hall and they end of their tour, Brandon interrupted Alistair to ask, “Who designed this place, anyways?”

“Why, you did, of course.  It is your palace,” Alaistair responded to the surprised look on Brandon’s face.  “What did you think?”

“Um, I hadn’t thought of anything, really,” Brandon responded, clearly still not over his surprise.

The Big Hall was spectacular and practical, just as it should be.  It was three stories high and had a throne at the end they entered from, and beside the throne a large conference table with comfortable looking chairs around it.  The only thing that Brandon couldn’t think of a reason for was the large open balcony right by the conference table.  Why would he have had that built?  It would only let the rain—

His thoughts were cut abruptly short by the arrival of a huge dragon on the balcony.  Brandon knew what dragons were, of course, from stories and drawings, but, well, nothing had prepared him for the enormous, majestic, terrifying creature that settled itself on the balcony.  It’s shiny, deep purple scales glimmered as it shifted excitedly and as it bent towards Brandon to get a better look, it’s huge, sharp, white teeth bore down on him in a most terrifying…

And this is the point where I must sadly announce that Brandon fainted.

The End

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