affame_le_geant_gluing_the_wings fyn gula puppertwinkle, fluent in the romance languages, had no problem with the italian, as it presented itself to him on the back of the adhesive packet, actually preferring it to spanish, having spent considerable time with his second master in rome and parts of tuscany. she was a model for dolce and gabanna and the little dog often rode in the basket of her vespa as it scooted about the cobbled streets of milan. and so, when he crossed the bridge from one world and into the next, he brought with him this valuable ability to communicate beyond the restrictions of one language. he had heard of baeroun before, for he had somewhat of a mythical status amongst kemulyans, cirkelians, and rynomarians. he was reputed to be intelligent but remote, eyes observing everything but also enjoying a private joke and he seemed lightly perverse, or at least mischievous, behind a formal politeness. he radiated a mellow self containment. almost feline. frau werzenwozen once mentioned him, saying, "above his head hung an aura that revealed his powers like an angel's halo, the mere sight of which would inspire awe in people for this superior being, but then there were sides to his personality that conflicted in the extreme. even i would be moved by his kindness at times, but he could, just as easily be malicious and cruel. he was both a spirit of amazing loftiness and an irredeemable bear-man of the gutter. he could charge forward, the optimistic leader, even as his heart writhed in a swamp of lonliness. i saw these paradoxical qualities of his the first time i met him, and i could never understand why they weren't just as obvious to everyone else. he lives in his own special hell." as puppertwinkle determined to choose a method of opening the packet, perhaps using his swiss army knife or his tiny razor teeth, it was baeroun's delicately confusing mixture of innocence and malovolence that propelled him, with saumboo stone and frau werzenwozen comatose, into his leadership position. he chose to tear it with his canines and was immediately intrigued by the fragrance wafting from the small opening. it was like stepping off a cross country greyhound bus when you are 18, east to west, into the lush, exotic scent of night blooming jasmine, orange blossom, and salt air. when he saw the contents, it made him think of modeling clay and he wanted to stick his pawfingers into the substance and shape a little man with wings. and so, he did put it inside the packet whose opening he smartly preserved as to maintain freshness and prevent dehydration. he encased his little fingerpaws with a generous amount, like mayo on sourdough, and plopped it along the shoulder blades of saumboo, yet asleep, dreaming of missing apple trees and calling 911. some of the material fell along his back, ass, leg, and then to the floor like a tear. he managed to apply more to the wing ends themselves. his effort was a valiant one for any work he did he gave it his all, though he did fumble about, dropped one wing and got some dirt stuck in the adhesive, but eventually both wings were glued to saumboo. and he would never know what happened, just as boffden the beardless gnome requested. 021005 what's it to you? who go blather from