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Celuien · 09-01-2005, 07:00 PM

A-choo! A-choo! Dust had never agreed well with Celuien. Something would have to be done. And mites too. Terrible. Off she went to find a mop, bucket and dust rag. This room needed a good washing...

"Have a glass of Chæm-pängê?" queried Èstêlÿn. Celuien jumped up startled from the closet where she had been rummaging for cleaning supplies, knocking over several brooms and startling a napping mouse in the process. "Thank you," she said doubtfully. Even the slightest bit of chæm-pängê had the tendency to make Celuien tipsy. For that reason, she usually avoided intoxicating beverages. But today she would make an exception. It was a celebration, after all.

The drink was good, and the bubbles tickled her nose less than the dust. Before long, the glass was empty. Thoughts chased each other through Celuien's head. A strange noise, like that of bells on a spring morning, sounded in her ears. "What's that ringing, ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding-dillo..." A few moments later, she was singing about Tom (of course).

"Tom Bombadil is a werewolf fellow!
Sharp his claws may be and his teeth are yellow."

Fortunately for the rest of the party, Celuien's song was cut short by another fit of sneezing. Where was all of this dust coming from?

09-01-2005, 07:00 PM	#27
Celuien Riveting Ribbiter Join Date: May 2005 Location: Assigned to Mordor Posts: 1,767	A-choo! A-choo! Dust had never agreed well with Celuien. Something would have to be done. And mites too. Terrible. Off she went to find a mop, bucket and dust rag. This room needed a good washing... "Have a glass of Chæm-pängê?" queried Èstêlÿn. Celuien jumped up startled from the closet where she had been rummaging for cleaning supplies, knocking over several brooms and startling a napping mouse in the process. "Thank you," she said doubtfully. Even the slightest bit of chæm-pängê had the tendency to make Celuien tipsy. For that reason, she usually avoided intoxicating beverages. But today she would make an exception. It was a celebration, after all. The drink was good, and the bubbles tickled her nose less than the dust. Before long, the glass was empty. Thoughts chased each other through Celuien's head. A strange noise, like that of bells on a spring morning, sounded in her ears. "What's that ringing, ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding-dillo..." A few moments later, she was singing about Tom (of course). "Tom Bombadil is a werewolf fellow! Sharp his claws may be and his teeth are yellow." Fortunately for the rest of the party, Celuien's song was cut short by another fit of sneezing. Where was all of this dust coming from?