Legend of Tory Adore 7: The Next Line: The Pot Slickens: BAM
Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?
"What?" he demanded, sick of all the verbiage I've been spewing like someone spewing something.
"Sweetling," Tory signaled with her flags, "It's time for a resolution. We've been at it like frogs for too many years. We're both more than a hundred years old. We won't be old forever, you know."
"True," Con gritted, sucking down some grits and sand. "What d'you have in mind, Tor?"
"Matching heists," she answered, at long last. "By that I mean, heists that" I interrupted, "match."
"Interesting, but opaque," sang Pips. "I have no idea what that signifies. But still, I'm intrigued. What kind of heists are you foisting on the moist toast, Tory Adore, love of my wife?"
Tory ignored the barb. It caught on her sleeve anyway. "The First Ladling Bank of Topeka. The vault underground. In the bank. 'S basement." she began, with headlong reluctance. "We assemble teams. We bust in there and steal the Barbarossa Emptiken, the famed jewel nobody knows of. First team wins all the glory. Second team gets a lovely vase."
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Tory drew a line in the sand that covered the table. What a filthy restaurant. Don't go.
"It's like …Legend of Tory Adore 6: A Line Drawn in the Sand
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