The grassy park was dotted with family picnics and BBQ grills -- the holiday weekend combined with beautiful weather and only a 20-percent chance of Rikti
invasion had drawn residents from their homes like bees to pollen. There were gas grills, charcoal grills, solar grills, and even a few superpowered grills,
if one counted flame-based heroes showing off as a viable heat source.
Even with the profusion of appliances dotting the park, one grill in particular stood out. The Legendary had staked out a nice grassy knoll upon which to
congregate, and brought their grills along. Several smaller examples were scattered about, being tended by whoever cared to cook. On one, Terrence Knight and
Mag Flashlight debated the merits of straight grilling versus beer-soaking for sausages, while examples of their subject sizzled merrily away. On another,
Numero Catorce was carefully watching his asada. Nearby, Bella Fuego primed the coals for a grill that looked to be dedicated to hot dogs and hamburgers.
But the biggest grill of all was unused, gently smoking to itself as the coals caused the air above it to shimmer and dance. By itself, it was eye-catching,
painted in blue and gold and comprised of a 55-gallon drum split lengthwise and welded together. But that was hardly unusual. No, this grill was even
stranger.
Clamped to the back of the grill was a set of thick planks, set at a 90-degree angle to the bed of softly glowing coals. They were unadorned except for a
series of concentric circles charred into them, the largest being about six inches in diameter and the smallest perhaps an inch. The gathered crew blinked
curiously at it and talked amongst themselves quietly.
"I'm sorry I'm late," a voice said, and a moment later William Bishop III puffed up the slope, his ever-present bow slung over one shoulder
and a bulging sack of groceries in his arms. "There was a line at the store." He dropped the supplies on the folding table near the grill,
straightened his back, and stretched briefly, before organizing the contents of the sack into several neat piles. It appeared to have all been prepped
beforehand; there were neat cubes of meat, peeled baby onions, cleaned mushrooms, and other less identifiable bits and pieces. Bill turned to regard the
hungry crowd and blinked.
"I didn't realize there would be so many here today," he commented. "I'm going to need some help if we're all going to get to try
my recipe. Hmm." He perused the gathered heroes for a moment, then smiled. "Purrfect Archer, Pooky, would you two be so kind as to assist me?
I'll show you how it's done and you just follow my lead."
Puzzled but willing, the two edged their way forward. Some of the gathered teammates who had been to one of Bill's cookouts before grinned
conspiriatorally at each other, knowing what was coming next.
"Alright then!" Bill declared. "The coals are hot, it's time to get crackin'. Watch closely, you two, it's an easy enough trick
but you need careful timing." So saying, he whipped out his bow and a fistful of arrows, slammed a fist down on the table (causing the piles to jump a
few feet in the air), drew, and let loose.
FwipfwipfwipfwipTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD.
"And that, sir and madam, is how it's done," Bill drawled, as the arrows plunged through the ingredients and slammed home, dead-center, on each
of the planks, vibrating gently. The impromptu shish-kebabs began to sizzle invitingly. "You up for it, kids?"
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
invasion had drawn residents from their homes like bees to pollen. There were gas grills, charcoal grills, solar grills, and even a few superpowered grills,
if one counted flame-based heroes showing off as a viable heat source.
Even with the profusion of appliances dotting the park, one grill in particular stood out. The Legendary had staked out a nice grassy knoll upon which to
congregate, and brought their grills along. Several smaller examples were scattered about, being tended by whoever cared to cook. On one, Terrence Knight and
Mag Flashlight debated the merits of straight grilling versus beer-soaking for sausages, while examples of their subject sizzled merrily away. On another,
Numero Catorce was carefully watching his asada. Nearby, Bella Fuego primed the coals for a grill that looked to be dedicated to hot dogs and hamburgers.
But the biggest grill of all was unused, gently smoking to itself as the coals caused the air above it to shimmer and dance. By itself, it was eye-catching,
painted in blue and gold and comprised of a 55-gallon drum split lengthwise and welded together. But that was hardly unusual. No, this grill was even
stranger.
Clamped to the back of the grill was a set of thick planks, set at a 90-degree angle to the bed of softly glowing coals. They were unadorned except for a
series of concentric circles charred into them, the largest being about six inches in diameter and the smallest perhaps an inch. The gathered crew blinked
curiously at it and talked amongst themselves quietly.
"I'm sorry I'm late," a voice said, and a moment later William Bishop III puffed up the slope, his ever-present bow slung over one shoulder
and a bulging sack of groceries in his arms. "There was a line at the store." He dropped the supplies on the folding table near the grill,
straightened his back, and stretched briefly, before organizing the contents of the sack into several neat piles. It appeared to have all been prepped
beforehand; there were neat cubes of meat, peeled baby onions, cleaned mushrooms, and other less identifiable bits and pieces. Bill turned to regard the
hungry crowd and blinked.
"I didn't realize there would be so many here today," he commented. "I'm going to need some help if we're all going to get to try
my recipe. Hmm." He perused the gathered heroes for a moment, then smiled. "Purrfect Archer, Pooky, would you two be so kind as to assist me?
I'll show you how it's done and you just follow my lead."
Puzzled but willing, the two edged their way forward. Some of the gathered teammates who had been to one of Bill's cookouts before grinned
conspiriatorally at each other, knowing what was coming next.
"Alright then!" Bill declared. "The coals are hot, it's time to get crackin'. Watch closely, you two, it's an easy enough trick
but you need careful timing." So saying, he whipped out his bow and a fistful of arrows, slammed a fist down on the table (causing the piles to jump a
few feet in the air), drew, and let loose.
FwipfwipfwipfwipTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD.
"And that, sir and madam, is how it's done," Bill drawled, as the arrows plunged through the ingredients and slammed home, dead-center, on each
of the planks, vibrating gently. The impromptu shish-kebabs began to sizzle invitingly. "You up for it, kids?"
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs