The Legend of Tory Adore 1: "Encounter at Scooper's"

Old Tory Adore may not seem like much now, but let me tell you, back in the day, Tory was a woman to reckon with. When she trod the streets of Fentriss, New Jersey, brother, you could hear people scurryin' away. Her frogskin boots jingled remorselessly as she strode in a buckling way towards the saloon, Scooper's. Shriveled ol' Parsnips Furn was the barkeep back then, slidin' the shandy down the bar like a ruthless antediluvian on the Shuffleboard Deck. Once Tory parted the ancient folds of the door like a bed monster in search of toes, even the player CD unit cantered to a halt and hands of Yahtzee folded in fear.

There was only one who would stand against her: her ex lover and current rival for the title of Editor General of the Maple Rag, the local rag.

Constantine Pips, tough man of town, struck a match against his flinty chin and struck up a conversation with the other. Chin. A many-mandibled man, was Constantine.

He tipped his flagon of mocha back and wiped his arm against his warm mouth.

Time to play.