The mysterious Mr. Victor Pendragon is a rich man, rich beyond most peoples ability to know, he is also a fat man, yet surprisingly light on his feet. He wares expensive smoking jackets, brightly colour ascots, and purple silk pajama bottoms, no matter what the time of day. Of course his outfits are all tailor made, as are his amber velvet slippers, which curl up slightly at the toes. Those slippers, which he calls this ground grabbers, are elaborately embroidered with winged dragons in a emerald green satin stitch. He moves with a grace many would mistake as dainty, perhaps he is. Being a multifaceted personality, he honors all aspects of himself. Rarely does he leave his home, except to work outside in his beautiful fascination garden. Victor leads a quiet life, and of the few close friends who come to visit; none of whom think it unusal that such a large man seems to float about, his small slippered feet barely touching the many priceless Persian carpets throughout his simple home.
That is but one...Gertrude Elizabeth Pearlskin. Gertrude Elizabeth (never called Trudy, or Liz) is short, thin, and frail looking. A deceptive judge is looks. Indeed! Her long greying hair she wares stylishly piled on top of her perfectly shaped head, which she says mades her look tall...and she is always right of course. Her bright blue eyes and sharp featured face look stern, and yet her smile can melt the ice of cold heartedness. She wares no makeup and confesses, "It wouldn't do much good, because what you see is what you get... á la natural." Shape shifters know how to get what they want. Gertrude is a master shape shifter, and a honored member of the Scottish rite of the thirty-three degree. Not that any knowledge of such things can stop the passion that burned in her heart for Victor Pendragon. It's a sad thing to love someone yet pretend you don't, almost as sad as not feeling loved at all. Victor seems to be content with his life as it is, and if that mades Victor happy, it's okay with her...that is to a certain point. There are times when a full moon-shadow covers the low rolling hills above the heather covered moors of lockmab. In those times, a special magic is a foot, and the lonely crys of a spirit hound can be heard thought the fog in the wee hours of the morning.
Now Pendragon is in the habit of giving small get-to-gethers. Afternoon teas and dinner parties are his forté. Needless to say, the man can cook, and his friends are whizzes in the kitchen as well. The joys of friendship and good food are not wasted on those who entered 512 Banister Lane in the quiet village of Lockmab Scotland. The highland moors is were magic is an everyday thing, and "Shaking-a-stick" is taken very seriously. Both Shay O'Brannon and Bobby Twofeathers are also big men. Jeff Fruitnick on the other hand is tall, thin, and distingousingly bald, and he is very picky about what he eats. These four men with the addition of Gertrude Pearlskin makeup a motley cadre of friends. Indeed! Each have their strong points, each have a secret, and each have no idea of the wondrous adventure they are soon to be drawn into while sitting at the dinner table of Victor Lightfoot Pendragon, who is sometimes lovingly called Twinkletoes behind his back.
On the wall in Victor's dinning room hangs a large medieval tapestry, a courtly scene of elegant dressed Ladies, and several Borzoi dogs on the steps of an mysterious old manor. The tapestry had been a precious gift from Victors mother. The gift which always brings him a myiad of fond memories of his childhood days. Below the tapestry sits a birds-eye-cherry credenza, a Steuben crystal decanter with six cordial glasses arranged in a circle sits atop a heavy silver tray. There too sits a tall luster-blue porcelain vase over flowing with deep purple lilacs, the scent of which drifted in invisible ribbons throughout Victor's home.
"Ding Dong" the doorbell rang.
"Ah, that must be Robert, he's never fashionably late."
Pendragon in his usual attire dances through the kitchens archway, and down the hallway to the front door, leaving several copper pots and pans steaming and bubbling on his prize Vulcan stove. Two cutting boards arried with: sage, tarragon, basil, marjoram, mint and flat-leaf parsley awaited his return. Pendragon hums and waves his french knife to the sound of music as if it were a baton. He opens the door knife in hand.
"Whoa Maestro! Is this going to be a dinner party, or a Dante's nightmare?"
"You're just in time Bobby, this knife could use a keener edge.
"Both Bobby and Pengragon shared a dislike for electric knife sharpeners as a means to rune a perfectly good knife.
"What are we cooking up tonight Maestro? By the way, your fresh-cut lilacs smell wonderful."
"Let me say this my dear man, no opossum roadkill nor toad legs are on the menu tonight, now into the kitcken with you. Do chop the rest of the herbs I have prepared, and when you finish, please sharpen this knife."
Handing the knife to Bobby, both leisurely amble into the kitchen.
"Real fine like mincemeat?" Grinning Bobby washed his hands: rolled up his sleeves, sharpened the french knife, and commences dicing the herbs, stoping only for a sip of sherry from the crystal tass that Pendragon had placed on the marble countertop.
"Yes, real fine, the salad dressing you will create is pure magic. The recipe came to me in a dream. It's already worth a fortune, and you my dear boy will be the first to put it together."
Bobby's smile resembles that of a small child who has done something brilliant in front of his parents who are pleased.
Again the doorbell rang, this time it is Shay O'Bannon and Jeff Fruitnick.
"My Word Jeff, you look like Larry lizard suit. Where ever did you get that outfit?"
"Now don't be cruel Boss, or I won't let you win at chess anymore. I picked this number up at Antonio's on Hill Street. It fits, I like it, and you will get used to the bright colour."
"Victor you look charming as usual."
"Thank you Mr. O'Bannon. Is that a new bow tie your wearing?. I don't believe I ever see a rainbow bow tie before...it suits you."
Shay O'Bannon adjusted his bow tie as both he and Jeff stepped through the ivy festooned front doorway, and follow Pendragon into the kitchen.
"Nice outfit Jeff." Bobby whispers with a sheepish grin, and polishes off his sherry as if it were whiskey in a shot glass.
Ding Dong! "Ah, that will be Miss Gertrude. Please excuse me for a moment...
That is but one...Gertrude Elizabeth Pearlskin. Gertrude Elizabeth (never called Trudy, or Liz) is short, thin, and frail looking. A deceptive judge is looks. Indeed! Her long greying hair she wares stylishly piled on top of her perfectly shaped head, which she says mades her look tall...and she is always right of course. Her bright blue eyes and sharp featured face look stern, and yet her smile can melt the ice of cold heartedness. She wares no makeup and confesses, "It wouldn't do much good, because what you see is what you get... á la natural." Shape shifters know how to get what they want. Gertrude is a master shape shifter, and a honored member of the Scottish rite of the thirty-three degree. Not that any knowledge of such things can stop the passion that burned in her heart for Victor Pendragon. It's a sad thing to love someone yet pretend you don't, almost as sad as not feeling loved at all. Victor seems to be content with his life as it is, and if that mades Victor happy, it's okay with her...that is to a certain point. There are times when a full moon-shadow covers the low rolling hills above the heather covered moors of lockmab. In those times, a special magic is a foot, and the lonely crys of a spirit hound can be heard thought the fog in the wee hours of the morning.
Now Pendragon is in the habit of giving small get-to-gethers. Afternoon teas and dinner parties are his forté. Needless to say, the man can cook, and his friends are whizzes in the kitchen as well. The joys of friendship and good food are not wasted on those who entered 512 Banister Lane in the quiet village of Lockmab Scotland. The highland moors is were magic is an everyday thing, and "Shaking-a-stick" is taken very seriously. Both Shay O'Brannon and Bobby Twofeathers are also big men. Jeff Fruitnick on the other hand is tall, thin, and distingousingly bald, and he is very picky about what he eats. These four men with the addition of Gertrude Pearlskin makeup a motley cadre of friends. Indeed! Each have their strong points, each have a secret, and each have no idea of the wondrous adventure they are soon to be drawn into while sitting at the dinner table of Victor Lightfoot Pendragon, who is sometimes lovingly called Twinkletoes behind his back.
On the wall in Victor's dinning room hangs a large medieval tapestry, a courtly scene of elegant dressed Ladies, and several Borzoi dogs on the steps of an mysterious old manor. The tapestry had been a precious gift from Victors mother. The gift which always brings him a myiad of fond memories of his childhood days. Below the tapestry sits a birds-eye-cherry credenza, a Steuben crystal decanter with six cordial glasses arranged in a circle sits atop a heavy silver tray. There too sits a tall luster-blue porcelain vase over flowing with deep purple lilacs, the scent of which drifted in invisible ribbons throughout Victor's home.
"Ding Dong" the doorbell rang.
"Ah, that must be Robert, he's never fashionably late."
Pendragon in his usual attire dances through the kitchens archway, and down the hallway to the front door, leaving several copper pots and pans steaming and bubbling on his prize Vulcan stove. Two cutting boards arried with: sage, tarragon, basil, marjoram, mint and flat-leaf parsley awaited his return. Pendragon hums and waves his french knife to the sound of music as if it were a baton. He opens the door knife in hand.
"Whoa Maestro! Is this going to be a dinner party, or a Dante's nightmare?"
"You're just in time Bobby, this knife could use a keener edge.
"Both Bobby and Pengragon shared a dislike for electric knife sharpeners as a means to rune a perfectly good knife.
"What are we cooking up tonight Maestro? By the way, your fresh-cut lilacs smell wonderful."
"Let me say this my dear man, no opossum roadkill nor toad legs are on the menu tonight, now into the kitcken with you. Do chop the rest of the herbs I have prepared, and when you finish, please sharpen this knife."
Handing the knife to Bobby, both leisurely amble into the kitchen.
"Real fine like mincemeat?" Grinning Bobby washed his hands: rolled up his sleeves, sharpened the french knife, and commences dicing the herbs, stoping only for a sip of sherry from the crystal tass that Pendragon had placed on the marble countertop.
"Yes, real fine, the salad dressing you will create is pure magic. The recipe came to me in a dream. It's already worth a fortune, and you my dear boy will be the first to put it together."
Bobby's smile resembles that of a small child who has done something brilliant in front of his parents who are pleased.
Again the doorbell rang, this time it is Shay O'Bannon and Jeff Fruitnick.
"My Word Jeff, you look like Larry lizard suit. Where ever did you get that outfit?"
"Now don't be cruel Boss, or I won't let you win at chess anymore. I picked this number up at Antonio's on Hill Street. It fits, I like it, and you will get used to the bright colour."
"Victor you look charming as usual."
"Thank you Mr. O'Bannon. Is that a new bow tie your wearing?. I don't believe I ever see a rainbow bow tie before...it suits you."
Shay O'Bannon adjusted his bow tie as both he and Jeff stepped through the ivy festooned front doorway, and follow Pendragon into the kitchen.
"Nice outfit Jeff." Bobby whispers with a sheepish grin, and polishes off his sherry as if it were whiskey in a shot glass.
Ding Dong! "Ah, that will be Miss Gertrude. Please excuse me for a moment...
