Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise, constrained by a sentence limit (high and low) of six, there are worse ways to spend the remaining time you have on earth.
Previously, in our tale…
Prompt word:
PLAN
The tall, thin man stepped forward, grasping the extended hand, “Feferil.”
Turning towards the distressed-green leather wingback chair currently the source of hospitality and succor to half of the pair of time/dimension travelers, he smiled while offering the hint of a bow, “Miz Brigid, the pleasure is entirely ours.”
Shifting focus to his fellow Proprietor, “Miz la Racontuese, I trust you don’t mind hosting our two Time Jaunters; according to a plan that I suspect was drawn up on a date not depicted in our current calendars by agency not yet identified,” interrupting him the sound of linen-on-cloth rustling, followed by a title card held with a certain mechanical sadness:
[But…but…but]
“…as much as I’d love to stay, I have certain responsibilities.”
Hearing, as much as seeing, the door to Room 215 begin to close, the Proprietor moved rapidly, “Hey, Frank I’m on my way to the staircase to the roof, care to join me?”
As the door swung shut behind the two men, the tall, thin man could be heard, “Jeez Louise, Frank, watch out for the… if we’re going to make it to the stairwell, you better stick close; I’d swear that the perpetual hallway darkness-thing has, for some reason, taken to disliking you.
I want to make sure that if la R and Reelika get it in their mind to go up to the roof, it’s safe for them; as safe as might is reasonable for any hundred and fifty year old mill roof that’s one-third Renaissance Observatory, one-third Medieval castle battlement and one-half whatever we want/need it to be.”
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