It was probably fated anyway; He's one of the century originals for the Tindal genecode.It was probably fated anyway; He's one of the century originals for the Tindal genecode. "Three kegs?" I asked. "Take a look," Kurt said. I looked down at the three. One was lettered in Greek, and said "Michael's Homebrew." Oh, no. That's stuff's GOOD. The second said "Kitt," in Uncia. Great, the neutron bomb of Pendor Ale. And finally, the third had a small handwritten letter that said, "Sorry, but I can't make it. Piot thought you might like this, though; it came from the vineyards eight years ago. Kitty Moran." "That's sweet of her, sending over some original Backwater stuff," I said. "But that other stuff... Are you sure it's safe to have that stuff loose in that room?" I asked, gesturing widely out the door. "Sounds like a good time," Kurt said. "Besides, Kris won't be drinking any either." That clicked. "Kris' pregnant?" "Yeah," Kurt said, blushing slightly. "YOU?" I asked. He nodded. "You introduced us." "That was fifty years ago!" "Sometimes things take a while," he said, shrugging. "I gotta hear this story from her." "She'll be here. In fact, she's probably up at the aquaria right now, if you're interested," Kurt said, pointing a finger up. "Later," I said. I bid them good day and departed. Parties, especially parties at my house, tend to be raucous affairs full of loud music, noisy guests, the occasional drunken argument, the occasional broken heart. It's one of the main reasons why I don't drink in large groups anymore; when that many people get together and get inebriated, somebody has to stay calm and sober. |