{After getting bored with being Oz’s additional weight, Shad goes and buys some of Milo’s Brownies. He comes back and the two get stoned and lay under a tree.}
{He’s humming a tune, and alternating between taking and putting pies into the ovens.} D’aw shit… {He looks at his apron; absolutely caked in batter, fruit stains and— } Fuck, it’s in my beard.
{He smiled broadly; his moustache quirks.} Haha! S’bout damn time you can fer a visit. {He points at her with parental intent.} That ain’t a good way to keep gettin’ free brownies, lil’ miss.
{As he wipes his hands with a towel, he chuckles.} Well, best have a seat. {He trots past Zeus, giving him a peck along the way, and flips his ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’.} Plus s’bout time fer afternoon gin!
Tsk, and to think you’s was a lightweight once… {He disappears for a moment. When he returns with three shot glasses. And a bottle of aged bourbon. After setting it down he dramatically bows and says—} Yer majesty…
{Snickering, with his ears wiggling around in amusement.} Naw, not really. But you’s a gassy thang. {He leans in to whisper in Axel’s ear.} Don’t never feed that man cabbage…
{He hollers from the kitchen.} Nope! {And then comes out balancing three plates. Each with a single, thick, gooey-filling-having slice of pie. One is apple, another strawberry and rhubarb and the third is peach. He neatly sets them on the table.}
20:57
{Speaking in Sylvan.} *Behold the bets pies in creation.*(edited)
{With a smirk, he comments—} Yeah, not to you. But honcho here has heard some purdy cardinal things in Sylvan. {—and then he takes another shit of bourbon.}
It’s settled, then! {Takes next drink.} I’m gonna talk with the king about gettin’ permission to make a big ass basement for the bakery. {He strokes his beard in thought.} So we can fit four— maybe six, booths in it. A large foyer fer those what like big crowds when getting’ down… Hmm what else?
Naw I’m just fuckin’ with you’s. {Another shot is downed.} It’s a nice idea, though. {He wiggles his brows at Zeus.} Seein’ you all covered in leather’d be one Hells of a sight.
Unless you want the image of two horses railin’ each other burned into your retinas… Then I’d say so. {He ruffles the hair on her head.} Was nice havin’ you’s, short stack.
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