The Almost Report N'est Pas Si Mal Que Ca, N'est-ce Pas?

[Wyvern]

An out-of-tune accordian begins grinding in the background as the news cameras fall on the aged portrait of a pennite wearing a pair of fancy French slacks and carrying what appears to be a rusty pole of some sort. The sound of curtains being pulled back reveals that the pole is in fact a long baggette as sunlight washes over the dim candlelight of the quarters, brightening the dark red wallpaper and Parisian floor tiling of the chamber. The cameras move past a dusty lute and several figurines of famous French pennites before arriving at an elegantly designed metal balcony, where a small coffee table and two chairs have been arranged. The cameras focus on Wyvern, who leans back in one of the seats and spreads his wings, showing off his black and white plaid collared shirt while trying to hide his non-matching Hawaiin tourist pants. The reptilian reporter adjusts the squirrel fur scarf wrapped around one of his horns, then flicks at a sand crab still clinging to his scales from last week’s Report and hisses:

 

“Greetingsss, and welcome to the Almost Report.” Wyvern sticks his snout up in a haughty manner and spreads his scaly arms as the cameras pan to the left, revealing a generous view of the Pen Courtyards with the Tower of Elders standing in the distance like a Pen variation of the Eiffel Tower. “After the colossssal failure of last week’s Almost Dragonic Brand Wyvageldamillionair Island Luxury Resort Tickets,™ we figured it’d be a good idea to try a different ssstyle of vacation locale. And what better place to experience foreign comforts than at Arlequin’s long-abandoned Pen quarters – the closest you’ll get to France at the Pen without actually visssiting Celes Crusador’s Café. Only 300 geld for a day on thisss glorious hotel-type balcony, courtesy of Almost Dragonic Brand Wyvageldamillionair French Connection Luxury Resort Tickets.™ Almost Interns ssstill get in for free, of course.”

 

Wyvern grins and nods to the cameras, then adjusts the thin mustache taped to the front of his snout and turns as a troglyodyte dressed in a waiter’s outfit steps out onto the balcony. The troglyodyte raises the bottle of wine that he’s carrying so that the cameras can see the “Chateau du Bruteweiser Lite” label, then pops the cork/cap and pours Wyvern a goblet of the beverage. The overgrown lizard promptly ignores the goblet and grabs the bottle, downing the booze before you can say “rituals begone.” He smacks his lips and turns back in the direction of the cameras.

 

“In cassse you’re wondering why we’re breaking out this year’sss fine Chateau du Bruteweiser Lite, it’sss because we’re celebrating Kikuyu and Degorram’s recent promotionssss!” Wyvern letsss out a long cheerful hiss and takes another swig from the “wine” bottle. “Congratulationssss you two, you dessserve it for savin the Pen from that necro creep not to mention all the other things you do for us on a regular basisss. I would’ve broken out an older vintage of Bruteweiser for the occasion, but the stuff tends to lose its fizz after about 2 days in a wine bottle and doesn’t age that well, sssso…”

 

Wyvern takes another long swig from the bottle, then tilts it to make sure that it’s empty and signals to the troglyodyte waiter. A webbed hand reaches from off-screen and sets another Chateau du Bruteweiser Lite bottle on the table, which Wyvern promptly uncorks with his tail stinger.

 

“Of courssse, some thingsss do get better with age, and the Almost Report would like to pop another bottle in honor of Regel’s recent birthday. Here’sss hoping that yesterday’sss celebration was in good spirits and that yer doing great, Reg. I’ll sssend you some Chateau du Bruteweiser Lite when I get a chance, if there’sss any of it left after this Report.” Wyvern raises the bottle to Regel’s health and guzzles it for a moment, then licks his lips. “Happy belateds alssso go out to Arawn and Akallabeth, who should be getting some complimentary booze as well. Hope you all had great ones!”

 

Wyvern sets the bottle down on the table for a moment and hiccups, hissing and staring out over the Pen Courtyards. He lets out a belch of flames that soars upwards into the sky like morning fireworks, then turns and signals to the troglyodyte waiter with a semi-circular claw motion meaning “curly onion cheese doodles.” The troglyodyte nods in an annoyed manner and wanders off of the balcony as Wyvern kicks back and relaxes.

 

“In other Pen newsss, the Muse and Quill Café’s long-standing First Line Poetry Challenge has recently become active again for all you activity-oriented poetsss out there.” Wyvern taps his claws on the table top as he tries to think up some French way to start a poem, muttering a number of R-rated foreign phrases under his breath before he continues. “Bonusss points if you manage to ssssneak in an ad for Almost Dragonic Brand Wyvageldamillionair French Connection Luxury Resort Tickets™… I’ll even reduce the price of yer ticket by 50 geld if you sssqueeze it in there.”

 

Wyvern flashes a toothy grin at the cameras, only to twist his snout as the troglyodyte waiter returns carrying a box with a toxic skull and crossbones on it. The troglyodyte sets the box on the table, then bows to Wyvern and places a clothing pin on his nose before wandering back off-camera. Wyvern frowns and pokes at the box once or twice before sniffing at it, at which point he chokes and scoots his chair backwards. He sticks his tongue out and twists his snout in disgust.

 

“Ugh… I forget that the curly onion cheessse doodles around here are made using French cheessses.”

 

Wyvern scowls and moves back towards the table, quickly shoving the box to the side and swatting it off the table with one of his wings. He grumbles and fiddles with his thin mustache as his stomach rumbles a bit, then brightens up and begins practicing traditional French greetings on one of his claws to prep himself for CheerMynx’s arrival...

[Elvina]

Très agréable, l'homme 'pas tout à fait le lézard'!

 

~Elvina

[Degorram]

A bleary eyed Degorram stumbled into the chamber and glanced around slowly. An empty bottle of “Chateau du Bruteweiser Lite” hung from her fingers, dangerously close to dropping to the Parisian floor tiling. The edges of her body were wavery and uncertain and her hair kept flushing colors from teal to bubblegum pink. She hiccuped and sat down heavily, leaning her back against a nearby statue.

 

Her unfocused gaze fell upon the lute and she leaned over slowly to pick it up by the strings, plopping it into her lap. It protested with a poof of dust and a wheezing strum. Almost confused, Degorram placed her fingers on the lute's neck and gave the strings a thoughtful brush.

 

The discordant noise that assaulted her ears obviously surprised her for her head shot back and hit the knee of the statue. Struggling to un-cross her eyes she replaced her fingers on the strings and tried again. A chord erupted from its depths, surprisingly beautiful. Degorram closed her eyes and, her fingers moving by themselves, began to play a song she had heard....somewhere. "Oh Cesario...." she murmurred. "Feste, my lord," she replied in a different voice. "Feste then," she said in the first voice. "If music be the food of love, *hic* play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appe-*hic*-tite may sicken and so die..." she paused, frowned, and addressed herself. "That strain, play it *hic* again." Obediently she repeated the chords she had just played, then continued. "It had a dying fall; O, it came o'er my ear like the...*hic*....the sweet south, that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving....giving.....mmmmm...."

 

She gave another pitiful hiccup that sent flashes of lime green through her locks and she stood up, dragging the lute behind her as she stumbled away.