Chapter 3: Chapter 2: Apple Pie is universal.

Okay, seriously, rude. 

One moment you're admiring your brand new swanky chrome shinbones, Mantis shrimp range of color vision and wondering why an alien space ship is asking you to be a wizard.

When suddenly it just drops you and the flying spaghetti tree's you flew in on, flat on your face in the middle of bum-duck nowhere.

Well, I guess that's rude to say. Bum-duck nowhere isn't exactly a town square full of people looking at you, like you're a cat dressed in a tuxedo, while singing marry had a little lam...

Yeah that trip seems to have effected my mental state a bit more then I thought, I can't help but get crazy Alice in wonderland vibes from whatever that was...

The flying spaghetti tree was a cool guy though, I hope his sister passes her finals in school....

My train of thought is pulled back to reality with proper gravity and less spaghetti by this extremely familiar smell in the air... Gotta give it to Montage, the crazy bastards work is amazing...

I can smell.... everything.

That tree, the lingering meat ball sauce. That cat-man needs to shower more. also, holy, that guy's got a cats face and ears..... and that can't be a dwarf? is that a lizard-man? IS THAT A GUNDAM, or an Autobot like Optimus Prime!?! 

And.... apple pie!

I don't see it nearby, but I know it's out there, It's out there waiting for me. A slice of heaven keeping me grounded in a swirling sea of walking crotches and sweaty armpits. Forget the Autobot, forget the lizard-man, forget dwarfs and cat-men.... That's an Apple-pie!

 

No, you don't understand. When I say Montages work is crazy. I mean it. This is crazy. I can smell them. All of them. The woman at the corner works at a bakery, that guy pulling water from the well, I pray he plans to use it for a bath! 

That kid in the back alley... Surprisingly smells like ginger and a hospital... 

Focus. Apple pie!

Apple Pie!

You are reading story Peter here, reporting an increase in Goblin activity. at novel35.com

Apple Pie!

Find the apple pie!

 

I move, as if pulled by strings, I follow that little slice of heaven. It's not here. Down the road. Passed the blacksmith. The butchers shop. I think that's a clothing store? smells like fresh pressed wool and cotton. I think I'm leaving the commercial district, these are all houses around me. 

From there it didn't take long, after passing by what looked to be more and more like your typical residential district. Houses line the streets, a few with yards and personalized gardens. And soon I was here. 

HERE!

It's here, this house. 

The place was small and out of the way, dwarfed by the house next to it.

and there, sitting on the windowcill, almost like a scene out of an old Dosney movie. A fresh Apple pie!

 

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Should I knock? Would that be rude? I don't need to honestly. Being away from the thick of all that back there's finally giving me some room to breath. and you know, not smell every random passer-by's armpit stank.

 

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