1/13/12 10:17 am - what
Well, if nothing else, the change in scenery was pretty welcome. Not many would consider the visage of this bleak hillside welcome, but Ron Baker was decidedly not one of the many in plenty of matters. This view wasn't pretty, interesting, or comfortable. In Ron's slow and careful gaze nothing was more glorious than not looking like home. In a strange land, there was a certain amount of give to being a strange person. The natives resented and grumbled, but your failings were in your foreignness, not in your character. It was a free pass for eccentricity, and this man was not one to pass up any slack he could get. He may have been a valuable community servant, but that rarely made a man liked.
"So about when would you say they first started this activity?" Even in a job as extraordinary as this, there were standard procedures.
"Say six, maybe eight days ago at most. Sure am glad you came passin' through town, Mr. Baker. Wasn't so keen on callin' someone local for this, what with the kind of reputation it gives a man."
Ron regarded the old farmer with a little more favor. The old cuss wasn't completely simple. "What was the first thing you noticed that made you suspect an infestation?" He gestured broadly at the barn, the nearly barren hayfield, and the small family grave plot beyond them.
"Started with the horses actin' funny, like they ain't slept right. Lookin' into it, there was more feed missin' then them hosses tend to eat. Got to pokin'in the feed stores and that's when I saw the holes. Little buggers been tunnelin' in from outside."
"A textbook pile of vermin, Farmer Camish. Assuming we caught this early enough, I should have you sorted out by weekend. Let's talk budget and I'll get some traps down before nightfall."
After a little haggling and settling for a bit under his usual going rate, he joined the farmer for coffee and a biscuit before getting started. As he pulled springs and levers and his industrial salt barrel out of the wagon, he set his mind to a good week's work.
Just another paycheck to Ron Baker, Travelling Zombie Exterminator.
"So about when would you say they first started this activity?" Even in a job as extraordinary as this, there were standard procedures.
"Say six, maybe eight days ago at most. Sure am glad you came passin' through town, Mr. Baker. Wasn't so keen on callin' someone local for this, what with the kind of reputation it gives a man."
Ron regarded the old farmer with a little more favor. The old cuss wasn't completely simple. "What was the first thing you noticed that made you suspect an infestation?" He gestured broadly at the barn, the nearly barren hayfield, and the small family grave plot beyond them.
"Started with the horses actin' funny, like they ain't slept right. Lookin' into it, there was more feed missin' then them hosses tend to eat. Got to pokin'in the feed stores and that's when I saw the holes. Little buggers been tunnelin' in from outside."
"A textbook pile of vermin, Farmer Camish. Assuming we caught this early enough, I should have you sorted out by weekend. Let's talk budget and I'll get some traps down before nightfall."
After a little haggling and settling for a bit under his usual going rate, he joined the farmer for coffee and a biscuit before getting started. As he pulled springs and levers and his industrial salt barrel out of the wagon, he set his mind to a good week's work.
Just another paycheck to Ron Baker, Travelling Zombie Exterminator.
Mighty Mighty Bosstones - The Rascal King
calm
crushed
exhausted
G-STONE!
MAZINGER GO!
MAZINGER GO![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
