transference, I placed a force-field beneath my skin. It's one-thirty second of an inch below the surface, and though I've been through and around several nuclear explosions, all I've lost is that one-thirty second of an inch of skin. My tan fades, that's about it.”
I also lose my hair on every part of my body. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to remedy that problem. “For the record, I can stop, direct, or even reverse a nuclear blast. I can detect radiation for miles, and it won't harm me. At Cal Tech, I let those guys run all sorts of nuclear tests on me. When they ran out of ways to try to destroy me, I became bored and left.” As Ruth opens her mouth to launch into more questions, I tell her, “Whoa, quiet. Eat your pudding.” Yuck.
Ruth holds her hand up with a green sparkle in her eyes and a suppressed smirk. “Do you mind if I bring it out?”
“What?” I stare back stupidly.
“Well, I should've realized you would know what we're having for dessert, but may I ask a question?” She heads for the kitchen door, trying to hold back a laugh. “In your country, do they eat the snack the cook leaves out for the dogs?” Doubling over with laughter, she disappears through the swinging door.
What!?
I study the bowl of pudding, which she hasn't touched.
Dog food?
The bowls were sitting there; I figured it was dessert, so I ate almost half just to be polite. I can hear Ruth in the kitchen, loudly laughing away.
Dog food.
Ruth stumbles back out carrying two bowls, tears in her eyes. Her sides are still shaking from suppressed laughter. “I usually eat alone and feed Romeo and Juliet in the dining room,” she explains. “They enjoy their food, but not as much as you did.” With a impish look, she adds, “At least you won't have to worry about worms, Merlin. The bowls were laced with dog-wormer.” Laying her head on her arms, she laughs so damn hard the whole table is shaking. And it's a big table.
I sit there with a big T-bone steak, green beans, potatoes and gravy, and dog wormer, like a hot rock in my stomach.
Ruth's trying to talk through her laughter and I can barely understand her as she pushes the real pudding towards me. “Want some pudding–Rover?”
Grabbing the brandy bottle and my glass, I stomp into the library. I haven't blushed in a long while, but I can sure feel the heat now. Her laughter is echoing from the dining room. I'm glad no one else was here. Two things I've never been good at emotionally handling, receiving a present, or being the butt of a joke.
Faulty upbringing, I guess.
To drown out the laughter, and there's plenty of it, I browse over the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books.
What an impressive library.
Looking over the books, I notice several older tomes in leather bindings that seem to be valuable. I keep my search to the less expensive section of the library. Many of the books I've read, some I've never heard of. And here's a group by good old Dr. Tober, case studies from the Institute. I pull out several books about the old legends from long ago and faraway England, where a knight in shining armor would've cut off Ruth's head for laughing at him like that.
One of her dogs is sleeping under the desk. As I seat myself, it rolls up on its feet, nuzzles my leg, then heads off to the dining room. “Go eat my pudding, buddy, and believe me, you owe me one.”
I open the first volume. I saw many titles about the same topic on the shelves; King Arthur and Camelot, Merlin, and of course Excalibur, King Arthur's sword. These are some of my all-time favorite stories, besides Steven King and a few other ethereal writers. When I changed from my real name to Arthur Merlin, a book similar to this one is how I chose my nom de plume.
I could've used one of King's stories, but who wants to be called Cujo?
I think about that.
Damn. If I'd used that name, Ruth would probably have had a heart attack over the dog food fiasco. Gee. Lucky me.
I glance up, studying the titles again.
I also lose my hair on every part of my body. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to remedy that problem. “For the record, I can stop, direct, or even reverse a nuclear blast. I can detect radiation for miles, and it won't harm me. At Cal Tech, I let those guys run all sorts of nuclear tests on me. When they ran out of ways to try to destroy me, I became bored and left.” As Ruth opens her mouth to launch into more questions, I tell her, “Whoa, quiet. Eat your pudding.” Yuck.
Ruth holds her hand up with a green sparkle in her eyes and a suppressed smirk. “Do you mind if I bring it out?”
“What?” I stare back stupidly.
“Well, I should've realized you would know what we're having for dessert, but may I ask a question?” She heads for the kitchen door, trying to hold back a laugh. “In your country, do they eat the snack the cook leaves out for the dogs?” Doubling over with laughter, she disappears through the swinging door.
What!?
I study the bowl of pudding, which she hasn't touched.
Dog food?
The bowls were sitting there; I figured it was dessert, so I ate almost half just to be polite. I can hear Ruth in the kitchen, loudly laughing away.
Dog food.
Ruth stumbles back out carrying two bowls, tears in her eyes. Her sides are still shaking from suppressed laughter. “I usually eat alone and feed Romeo and Juliet in the dining room,” she explains. “They enjoy their food, but not as much as you did.” With a impish look, she adds, “At least you won't have to worry about worms, Merlin. The bowls were laced with dog-wormer.” Laying her head on her arms, she laughs so damn hard the whole table is shaking. And it's a big table.
I sit there with a big T-bone steak, green beans, potatoes and gravy, and dog wormer, like a hot rock in my stomach.
Ruth's trying to talk through her laughter and I can barely understand her as she pushes the real pudding towards me. “Want some pudding–Rover?”
Grabbing the brandy bottle and my glass, I stomp into the library. I haven't blushed in a long while, but I can sure feel the heat now. Her laughter is echoing from the dining room. I'm glad no one else was here. Two things I've never been good at emotionally handling, receiving a present, or being the butt of a joke.
Faulty upbringing, I guess.
To drown out the laughter, and there's plenty of it, I browse over the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books.
What an impressive library.
Looking over the books, I notice several older tomes in leather bindings that seem to be valuable. I keep my search to the less expensive section of the library. Many of the books I've read, some I've never heard of. And here's a group by good old Dr. Tober, case studies from the Institute. I pull out several books about the old legends from long ago and faraway England, where a knight in shining armor would've cut off Ruth's head for laughing at him like that.
One of her dogs is sleeping under the desk. As I seat myself, it rolls up on its feet, nuzzles my leg, then heads off to the dining room. “Go eat my pudding, buddy, and believe me, you owe me one.”
I open the first volume. I saw many titles about the same topic on the shelves; King Arthur and Camelot, Merlin, and of course Excalibur, King Arthur's sword. These are some of my all-time favorite stories, besides Steven King and a few other ethereal writers. When I changed from my real name to Arthur Merlin, a book similar to this one is how I chose my nom de plume.
I could've used one of King's stories, but who wants to be called Cujo?
I think about that.
Damn. If I'd used that name, Ruth would probably have had a heart attack over the dog food fiasco. Gee. Lucky me.
I glance up, studying the titles again.
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