quill to parchment | kyt & ephram
The only reason Ephram had agreed to follow up on this call-in of a noise complaint was, frankly, because he felt like a walk up to Fang Grove would be a welcome way to blow the black mold pocket world out and freshen up his energy. Plus there were statues of Chinese lions that the Fang family had put up in the grove, and he liked rolling the stone balls in their open mouths; it was soothing in its odd way.
As he approached the grove, though, Ephram actually did hear something: not exactly noise, though. More like somebody grandly reciting, the cadence of their voice switching up and down in volume and tone, pausing now and again for muttering before starting anew. He didn’t bother calling out -- the person obviously knew they were in a public place -- and just stood to the side for a moment, watching the very handsome young man read out the lines he was speaking.
At what seemed to be a suitable break in the soliloquy, Ephram coughed into his fist and stepped forward to be noticed. “Hey there, feller,” he said genially. “That’s soundin’ mighty, uh, sophisticated. You an actor or somethang?” He tapped his badge, fingernail giving a slight tik on the metal. I’m Sheriff Pettaline. Ephram, if you prefer.”
@kytmansfield
