New chapter alert as of 12/06, really. Enjoy.
"So, when did your dad meet up with that woman?" said Par sipping his banana smoothie.
"I don't know, he came in last night with her draped over his arm. I think he banged her head," sighed Damson. "How many does that make?" She looked around. "Where's Walker? If he doesn't show up, my dad's gonna be really mad at you."
Immediately, Walker Boh burst into the room followed by a whole troupe of cheerleaders.
"Hello, Par! Lovely Damson!" he said.
"W-Walker? What's with the cheerleaders?" gasped Par.
"They're great for the self esteem!" said Walker.
"Walker Boh! Walker Boh! If he don't know it, no one knows! Yaaaay!" chorused the cheerleaders.
"Remember when I lost my arm, how I was? Just doggone depressed?" said Walker putting his good arm around his something or others' shoulder. "Now that's all changed! I'm happy and confident!"
"Gimmie a W, gimmie an A, gimmie an L, gimmie a K, gimmie an E, gimmie an R, put 'em all together and whaddya get? WALKER! Yaaayyyyy!" chorused the cheerleaders.
"Morgan Leah!" gasped Par. The Highlander tried to hide behind his pom-poms but failed. "What're you doing?"
Morgan looked sheepishly at the rest of the troupe. "It's a living," he deadpanned.
"I pay well," said Walker with a grin. "I've got my druidic services, and if worse comes to worse I can always auction off a few bricks from Paranor!"
"Why am I having deja vú?" muttered Par.
"Possibly because the esteemed Authoress has already written about my cheerleaders in her delightfully zany story "An Interlude"," said Walker smiling dashingly.
"Um, ok...soooo that would meannnnnn...what exactly?" Par leaned forward in his seat, touched fingertip to fingertip and cocked an eyebrow.
Walker's smile froze. "Nothing, obviously," he said through his clenched teeth.
Damson rolled her eyes. "I'm bored, Par, why don't you go play something on the jukebox?"
"What's a jukebox?" said Par pursing his lips in confusion. Damson looked beseechingly at Walker who was trying to sculpt her ice cream cone into an image of himself. She snorted contemptuously and walked over to the jukebox herself, with Par watching after her as if she was going to suddenly get sucked through the wall. But, since such technology was not available at that time, there were no selections available, so she walked back to the table where Walker was teaching Par how to fold the napkins into swans.
"No no no! It's over under, over across, over, under, under, across over! Don't you get anything right? Oh hello, miss! Have you met my something-or-other Par? He's single!"
"Walker, this is Damson Rhee. You remember her." Par smiled nervously at Damson, knowing her temper.
"Ohhhh, right. Say, I think Morgan's around here somewhere, I think he was asking about you."
"WHAT?" bellowed Par, leaping up and stalking over to the bar.
"Ah, my darling, at last we are alone," sighed Walker. "Will you marry me? Do you have money? Answer the second question first." But she never answered either, for at that moment, a suspiciously hairy cheerleader sailed over the table, followed by Par doing a double backflip.
"Pardon me, lovely Damson, I feel that my druidic services may be needed!" and with a dashing smile, Walker rushed off to the corner where Par was singing Morgan into knots.
"Now now now! Is that any way to act, Par? I'm ashamed of you! Whatever possessed you to do that?"
"He's trying to steal Damson right out from under my nose!" whined Par.
"Where did you get that idea? He hasn't got the guts nor the brains!"
Morgan peered balefully from under his knee.
"Well, from you, since you said..."
"I never said any such thing!" said Walker, stroking his chin with his hand. "It's a mystery, that's what it is! And there's no better agency to solve a mystery than the Walker Boh Detective Agency!" With a flick of his wrist, the druid was suddenly outfitted in a plaid deerstalker cap and brandishing a magnifying glass.
"Shades!" gasped Morgan. "He's snapped!"
"And I want you to meet my assistants! Findo and Penny!" he gave a sign, and suddenly a man with a book and a girl with fiery red hair appeared at his side.
"They originally hired me to find some woman named Nest Freemark, but this is the more pressing matter!"
"What? Some boys beating each other up takes president over finding our DEAR er...er...sister!?" said the man waving the book around as if it were deadly in itself, cheaw right like that could happen...
"You tell 'em, girlfriend!" said the girl. Findo shot her a look that would have curdled elfstones.
"You're right, my dear friends!" cried Walker casting his magnifying glass away, striking the new barmaid on the head. "Par, ol' something-or-other, have you seen an ugly woman with nest freemark hair answering to the name of Cinnamon Cut-short Around her Face?"
"My Daddy brought home an ugly woman last night," said Damson. "She was much uglier than me."
"Of course, Damson, nobody's as pretty as you," chorused the entire bar. (She came there quite often, you see.)
"A CLUE!" bellowed Walker. "I must go to the Hadeshorn to consult with Allanon! Anyone want to come with me?"
There was silence. Waves of fear enveloped the room. Then, the door burst open, and a dark cloaked figure came in out of the rain.
"Walker Boh!" the old man cackled. "I thought I'd find you here! I heard you started a detective agency, and I want you to find out who's been sneaking onto my property and writing graffiti!"
"Aha!" cried Walker. "Business is booming! I will go with you, Cogline."
"But what about my aunt?" cried Findo.
"Sister," whispered Penny.
"Yes, that's what I said. Sister-aunt. What about your trip?"
"That can wait," said Walker, smiling hugely. "I've gotta go with Cogline, here."
Findo thought fast. "Cogline? Not THE Cogline! Not the Cogline who...who...is famous!"
The old man cackled. "That's me, pal!"
Findo smiled evilly. "Can I get your autograph for my book?"
"Why sure, sonny! Here, gimmie that pen, why in my day I...gurck, glack grrrgllkkkkllll..."
"He's dead!" cried a patron.
"I'm not dead yet!" said Cogline.
"You're fatally wounded," muttered Findo.
"I'm getting better!"
"No you're not, you're plainly dying!"
"I think I'll go for a walk," said the old man sitting up.
"Cogline, can you stand?" said Par.
"No, he obviously is ill!" snapped Findo.
"I feel happy, I feel happy..." sang Cogline. Findo smacked him on the head with his book and he fell over.
"Alas!" wailed Walker.
"Aww, too bad," smirked Findo tucking his book under his arm. It didn't matter if the old man hadn't finished his signature, it was already filling out. "Now about my mother..."
"Sister," whispered Penny.
"That's what I said. Sister-aunt-mother. That's Nest for ya, always being confusing!"
"Right," sniffled Walker. "Ah, I didn't like him anymore anyway. Now, Par, hadn't you best start packing?"
"What?" said Par.
"For the trip?"
"What trip?"
"To the Hadeshorn, silly," said Walker slapping his something-or-other on the back. "You, Coll, Morgan, Damson, Findo, Penny and myself are all going, remember? Now hurry up, we're all getting up early to beat the traffic!"
"Yay!" chorused the cheerleaders.
"Do we have to bring them along?" whined Damson. "None of them are as pretty as me."
"What are you talking about?" queried Walker. "Why, any one of them could..." Par quickly sang as loud as he could to drown out the druid, and absentmindedly sang up a rather large ferocious looking bull, who didn't look happy to be there, judging by the way it started tossing patrons about like leaves in a windstorm.
"Shades!" wheezed Morgan, who was clinging to a lantern fixture where he had been tossed. "Isn't there a such thing as a normal day around here?"
"It's Tuesday!" shouted Walker.
From his vantage point, Morgan could see the entire room: Coll in a corner, trying to tell a tale to calm the masses, Par trying to come up with a song to sing the bull away, the bull hindering this by chasing Par around and around, Walker obliviously standing in the middle of the room dusting his hat off, Damson chasing the cheerleaders around and looking almost as ferocious as the bull, and Findo and Penny sneaking out the door. Damson's path and the bull's suddenly converged, and Par was given enough time to sing it away.