Jet
Uncultured
"FIRE!"
"FIRE AT THE FIELDS!!!"
"SAVE THE FIELDS, THE FLOWERS ARE BURNING!!!!"
Yell streaming townsfolk from outside, the smell of burning matter wafting from the farms and to the boardwalk where the Bar sits, filling with apprehension.
"Darmy!" exclaims Desh, teeth gritting in the glow of distant flickers filtering through the tired glass panes at the Thatch's aft.
"The fields! They've been set ablaze" continues the cook, running to one of the windows. Leaning into a table the giant man narrows his eyes, watching as his neighbors head to the tragic scene.
"Don't wait for my approval you oaf! Help if you want, or stay. The fields aren't my concern anymore" sighs the bar maid, dropping like a bag of rocks onto a stool, another bottle of rum in her grasp.
"Blacksmith!" exclaims DK, looking to Minna with a tense jaw, bead of sweat running from brow to chin.
"Your payment must wait..."
"Those fields are everything to the people here!" concludes Desh, arm jutting out and to the side dramatically as he turns and runs from the Thatch.
"MORON!" screams the mixer from the still open door. Spinning to run backwards, the cook readies himself for an emotional goodbye, perhaps a "be careful" or a "make sure you find who did this" something to part ways admirably in case something befell the cook. Darmy wasn't much for emotion but even she cou - -
"MAKE SURE THOSE DEADBEATS PAY THE BILL!!!" carries the voice like a nail to board, cutting through the sky (causing a super Sparrow to fall into the sea). Smiling at the audacity of his boss, the cook spins again only to be yelled at by another, a store owner from down the way, a craftsman of furnaces, ovens and radiators who'd yelled out the chef's name just after Darmy's order.
"Help us please! We need to bring the third pump to the field! The first is at the shore already!" continues the man as a second pump is set beside him by another shopkeep who painted and detailed for a living. Plugging the long distance seawater hose into the second pump the painter flashes a smile and a thumbs up "Pump two, READY TO GO!" he says. Meanwhile two demolition workers haul the third and final pump to the forming group, their pace molasses-like, the pump's weight too considerable for the pair of muscular men.
"Anything I can do" mumbles DK with a grunt, taking the largest of the three pumps from the demolishers, and lifting it to his left shoulder he exhales a jet of steam, acclimating to the pump's heft.
"This is (clears throat) nothing for me!" the Chef exclaims, walking steadily (on shaky legs) towards the field with a group of townsfolk at his rear, their moral support noted and the heavy seawater hose they carried the last part of the puzzle.
Interaction with Xcelgamer
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