Legend of Tory Adore 8: Dentures, Assemble!


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?

And now it was time for a reckoning. "Check, please," intoned Tory.

After settling with old Furn, it was time to talk some more, like before only more recently.

"So what do you think?" asked Tory, holding her breath...quite a challenge, if you haven't tried it.

"I say we do it," Connie answered, with a mouth full of sweat. "May the better team kick the other's ass, but with respect."

"Sure thing," said Tory, wiping the sweat out of his mouth with an old sweater. That is what it was for. "So who'll you pick for your team, kiddo?" She never let Pips forget that she was older than him by seven seconds. He yodeled in mock grief before replying.

"I'll call up Wum Firly, for starters," he mused, stripping skin off his fingers as he stroked his sandpapery chin. "Wum will be in touch with the gang. 'Course, Wum himself is a total putz."

"I was gonna say," said Tory.

"Then I'll recruit my brother Orange. He's a crack shot, and he also can shoot other things."

"I figured as much," Tory said. "You never change."

But no.

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"What?" he demanded, sick of all the verbiage I've been spewing like someone spewing something.


Legend of Tory Adore 7: The Next Line: The Pot Slickens: BAM
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