Pamela turned to her partner as they walked through the outskirts of the Ainthadnothin’toeat district, glaring at passersby every once in a while to uphold official appearances.
“Green Garey, might I ask you a question?”
“Yaaarg! What may it be, Skipper?” replied Garey, petting the swarthy street parrot dragon that had been sitting atop his shoulder since he lured it over with a cracker.
“Skipper?”
“Partner. Me old partner was called Skipper.” It looked like his eye was watering, but it could have just been straining to see through the billowing dust.
Pamela stopped Garey from waltzing forward.
“Can I level with you?”
“Avast ye?”
“Yes, yes, avast ye, thank you Green Garey. Thank you for that. Look, this is an important question I have for you. Stop touching the bird, please.”
“Yaarg! Alright then.”
“Green Garey you’re still petting the bird.”
“What? AYE’m sorry, AYE’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“Okay. Thank you. Now Green Garey, since we’ve started twerking together, this question is something that has been dominating every every facet of my mind. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“As in ‘yes’?”
“Aye aye, capt—partner.”
“Okay. This question, Green Garey, has to do with trust. I’m sure you know a lot about the importance of trust, with all your life experience.”
“Aye aye. AYE know much about trust. And if ye don’t have trust, then what do ye have? A bunch of scallamanders who’ll feed ye and hug ye and make questionable decisions with ye and then they’ll turn around and have ye walk the skank like some sort of a—”
“Yes yes I know Green Garey I know how you feel about skanks. I am very aware. Now, on to me question—er, on to my question,” Pamela squelched as she realized Green Garey’s odd accent had begun to flavor her tongue, “I need you to be honest with me, Green Garey.”
“Aye aye! AYE will.”
“Green Garey,” Pamela swallowed the twenty lumps in her throat, “Green Garey, do you…think I’m a hood artist?”
“Yaaarg! Whathownow?”
Pamela thrust her notepad of nudity in his face. She had strategically omitted her sketches of his own naked person.
“I want you to look at these drawings in my notepad and give me your honest opinion.”
Green Garey puzzled over the portraits, squinting fervently.
Pamela turned to her partner as they walked through the outskirts of the Ainthadnothin’toeat district, glaring at passersby every once in a while to uphold official appearances.
“Green Garey, might I ask you a question?”
“Yaaarg! What may it be, Skipper?” replied Garey, petting the swarthy street parrot dragon that had been sitting atop his shoulder since he lured it over with a cracker.
“Skipper?”
“Partner. Me old partner was called Skipper.” It looked like his eye was watering, but it could have just been straining to see through the billowing dust.
Pamela stopped Garey from waltzing forward.
“Can I level with you?”
“Avast ye?”
“Yes, yes, avast ye, thank you Green Garey. Thank you for that. Look, this is an important question I have for you. Stop touching the bird, please.”
“Yaarg! Alright then.”
“Green Garey you’re still petting the bird.”
“What? AYE’m sorry, AYE’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“Okay. Thank you. Now Green Garey, since we’ve started twerking together, this question is something that has been dominating every every facet of my mind. Understood?”
“Aye.”
“As in ‘yes’?”
“Aye aye, capt—partner.”
“Okay. This question, Green Garey, has to do with trust. I’m sure you know a lot about the importance of trust, with all your life experience.”
“Aye aye. AYE know much about trust. And if ye don’t have trust, then what do ye have? A bunch of scallamanders who’ll feed ye and hug ye and make questionable decisions with ye and then they’ll turn around and have ye walk the skank like some sort of a—”
“Yes yes I know Green Garey I know how you feel about skanks. I am very aware. Now, on to me question—er, on to my question,” Pamela squelched as she realized Green Garey’s odd accent had begun to flavor her tongue, “I need you to be honest with me, Green Garey.”
“Aye aye! AYE will.”
“Green Garey,” Pamela swallowed the twenty lumps in her throat, “Green Garey, do you…think I’m a hood artist?”
“Yaaarg! Whathownow?”
Pamela thrust her notepad of nudity in his face. She had strategically omitted her sketches of his own naked person.
“I want you to look at these drawings in my notepad and give me your honest opinion.”
Green Garey puzzled over the portraits, squinting fervently.
