Chip’n the Dale

Jon had the distinct feeling that he had lost most of his life to enchantment and otherworldliness.

His participation in the real world had been but a toe-dip compared to the spirit-world, and then later in the Faerie community of Sherwood Place.

His reluctance towards ordinary life was followed with some meaningful interludes with both spirit and fae - all the while his worldly life seemed to drift or die from him, breathless and wan.

And this was why the calling now to find Zithia persisted so strongly - even after all of this time - yes, he should confront Nathan and accuse him as was fit. Tindle was a disruptor who twice over had brought nothing but ill tides to Jon and soured his love for the world.

The coastal province had been renamed Chip’n the Dale by its Mayor and Chief proprietor: Nathanius Tindle.

Jon was dazed with the industry of the fryers - watching a stout woman who was wider than she was tall, bark orders to her ruddy offspring, and cursing the Celts who were replenishing the vats - silver scales on silver scales - the older boys trimming and scouring, slicing and filleting, then battering and frying.

Vapours of continental oil sweated their way from the cookery.

“Nathan’s not here” came the curt and hurried answer from his surly wife.

“If you please, where may I find him?” Jon asked, sampling a chip from the floor. One of the little ones had dropped it as they stumbled past.

“Don’t know, don’t care” came the curt reply.

“Fair enough dear woman” and as he turned to go, one of the depositing fishermen clipped his shoulder and motioned that they should meet outside.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series