text:
Radio Rec List
Playlist Navigation Bar
Adraefan: 25. Imrahil and the Guard
Imrahil found his older nephew stalking through the halls at midday. He noticed immediately that Boromir was clanging around fully armed – his sheathed broadsword, two daggers. Imrahil nearly wondered where his shield was, and if he should suddenly take to wearing his armor and chain mail indoors. With a sigh, he approached.
Arms wide, forced smile.
Boromir jerked back, clearly startled. But his own scarred face broke into a genuine smile, easing Imrahil's apprehension. They were in one of the numerous colonnaded corridors leading to the Great Hall, and servants bustled to and fro, busy cleaning, polishing, decorating for tomorrow's festivities.
As Boromir approached, Imrahil's mind blazed wild with plans and strategies. Be tactful. Be direct. Today we give bad news. Imrahil was a politician. He knew how to feign emotion, how to feign neutrality. Yet his nephew troubled him more and more – the scars, the red-rimmed eyes, the sudden screams – so that he found it increasingly difficult to maneuver around him. No longer could he be completely candid, for certain phrases yoked strange responses from Boromir. No longer could be entirely controlled, either, for he found his usual tricks – a raised eyebrow, a mild shrug – usually provoked unexpected, and undesired, reactions. Remember that time in the Hall…
And and and?
How then to proceed? Quick thinking.
Imrahil opted to temper his worry, to wear his most mild, appealing mask. Part of him ached at having to resort to such tactics when dealing with blood-kin, but Boromir had changed. Had changed enough to warrant this, Imrahil assured himself. And so he approached, pulled Boromir into a rough, somewhat artificial hug, and laughed. When he pulled back, Boromir was chuckling slightly – just a rumbling half-grin.
"Ah, I see you are in good spirits today, nephew!" Imrahil exclaimed cheerfully. "No doubt for tomorrow."
Boromir shrugged loosely, lowered his eyes. "Aye, 'tis the day we have been waiting for…"
"Well." And here Imrahil employed an arching of an eyebrow and a sideways look. It garnered the desired response, for Boromir flushed slightly, understanding. His grin widened.
"Have no worries, uncle, I have long since lost any such ambitions."
Imrahil nodded, touched Boromir's forearm, indicating they should walk. "That is good to hear."
Boromir looked at him quizzically, but said nothing.
"Now, nephew, e'en though you reek of the drink – "
Boromir grinned. "'Twas last night. I remember naught of it."
Imrahil smiled.
" – nonetheless, I would discuss with you some matters. Preferably away from these walls with ears. Shall we to The Tree and Tower?"
It was the usual tavern for nobles and Citadel dwellers. Sitting snugly in the arch leading away from the sixth circle and down into the fifth circle, many deals had been made and borders delineated in that very tavern. It was only a short walk from the courtyard – and it derived its name from the supposed view from the top floor, slightly hindered by the taller buildings surrounding it, of the White Tree and the Tower of Ecthelion.
It was quiet, calming. Exactly the type of environment Imrahil needed.
Boromir shrugged, nodded his assent, and soon they were walking away from the corridor, passing fluttering banners and servants oiling ancient suits of armor, passing tapestries being dusted and floors being cleaned, banners and flags and all turning black and silver, they passed all this, from corridor to corridor, until they reached the slim door leading directly into the sixth circle.
Outside, dazzling sun. A steep set of stairs led from the balconies down onto the street.
The street. They walked over the cobblestones, avoiding the passing wains and nodding to the various passersby. My lord. My prince. Good day, my lord. The Houses of Healing came into view. A sense of electricity – of excitement – burned clear through the sunny day. It was an air of revelry, a heady celebration. Being outside, out of that stuffy Citadel, one was suddenly flooded with all senses – everything – sight, sound, smell, touch, taste – everything indicating that tomorrow was a day a millennium in the making.
As they walked, Boromir cleared his throat.
"How then in Belfalas?" he asked.
Imrahil shrugged with a sigh. "The War has left none unscathed. I will leave for Dol Amroth the coming fortnight."
Boromir grunted. He was squinting in the afternoon glare. Imrahil opted to continue, and so he spoke idly of the varying skirmishes throughout the fief. The fields laid to waste, the rising prices in the village markets. The spreading sickness in some of the port towns. Yet he fluttered over the darker details, never quite elucidating the entire story, for he saw Boromir tense and scowl.
Once that topic was exhausted, they fell into silence. Imrahil took this time to study his nephew's slight limp, the way his arm sometimes curled around his stomach when he thought none looked, the dim eyes staring vacantly ahead. And, for a moment, a brief moment, just a split second, Imrahil felt a wave of grief wash over him. Yet he shook it off, immediately conscious of his expression. Neutral, old boy, neutral.
Not ten minutes later and the arch leading to the fifth circle came into view. The Tree and Tower stood tall and clean, a notable difference from the lower circle pubs. Outside, several wooden tables and chairs had been set up, and a group of Citadel Guardsmen were seated, leaning back, drinking from their tall mugs. When they saw Boromir and Imrahil arrive, the entire group clattered up, bowing.
"My lord."
"My prince."
"Good day, my lord."
Boromir smiled as he passed. "Beregond. Enjoying yourself, I see? No duties tonight?"
One of the Guardsmen, a tall, dark-haired sort, flushed slightly. He bowed his head.
"Nay, my lord. And you will find many more princes and lords inside," he grinned slightly. "It seems few have any duties to attend to this evening."
Boromir and Imrahil chuckled, nodded, weaved their way around the tables and inside. Inside. Smoke blurring, soft laughter, muttered conversations. The tavern of polite society, the tavern of the political, where all were quiet, calculating. Imrahil spotted several familiar faces, and he nodded in their direction, receiving the same blank nods in return. Together with Boromir, they took the spiral staircase up to the second floor, where hopefully they could find some privacy.
Indeed, few tables were occupied on the second floor. The sound of wood scuffing wood. Glasses clunking against a table. Deep baritones murmuring. Yes, this was just what Imrahil sought. And so he led Boromir up another short flight of stairs, to the third level, where the roof slanted and two great windows overlooked the street on one side and the Citadel on the other, and only two tables could fit in the small attic-like space. It was empty here, for there had always been a taciturn agreement that the third level was reserved for private discussions, which only certain ears could hear. And whoever held the highest rank decided whether the third floor was available or not.
Knowing this, Boromir gave Imrahil a somewhat quizzical look as they took a seat in the booth by the southern window. Yet Imrahil merely smiled, unbuttoned his doublet, crossed his legs. Boromir seemed to want to say something, but in that moment the barmaid, a plump, elderly woman hustled up the stairs noisily.
"Up here today, my lords?" she asked as she clambered up, flushed and breathing hard.
Imrahil smiled. "So we are, good Nindë."
She bustled in, curtsied lightly to the two of them. Still breathless. "And what shall my lords have this evening?"
Imrahil looked at Boromir, who waved vaguely, indicating to order for him. "Well… 'tis a chaos in the Citadel, I doubt we will be missed for the evening meal. If it please my lord," Boromir grinned crookedly; Imrahil continued, "we shall have something to eat. But later. For now, just a bottle of Dorwinion."
"Aye, my lords," the elderly woman bowed her head.
Once she was gone, they sat in silence for several moments. Boromir stared out the window, watching the traffic in the street below, giving Imrahil a few moments to study him. And so Imrahil stared at the prick marks by the brow and temple. The uneven beard. The slicing scar against the side of his mouth, pulling the smile up further. What weapon would make such a mark? In truth, Imrahil did not want to consider it.
Eventually, Boromir noticed the attention, and he smiled. Uneven. The scar pulling up one side.
"You've chosen the top floor, uncle. Should I be worried?"
Imrahil opened his mouth to reply, but in that moment, Nindë returned carrying a dark, nearly black bottle of wine and two glasses. She set the glasses down before the two Men, and then placed the bottle on the table. After retrieving a bottle-opener, she set to work jabbing the screw in the cork, twisting down.
"'Tis a strong vintage, my lords," she huffed. "3015."
"Splendid," Imrahil said.
She uncorked the bottle with a pop, and, as was custom, poured the Man of higher status a drop. The deep red wine slipped into Boromir's glass, just a sliver of it, and he drank. When he nodded his approval, she filled both glasses. And then, quickly and politely, she bowed her head and left.
After the creaking of the stairs disappeared, Imrahil raised his glass.
"To peace."
Boromir raised his own, "To peace."
They drank.
Silence. Muffled street noises from outside. Imrahil refilled both their glasses, smiled, decided to begin. The first move was always important. It set the tone and the pace of the conversation. And now he needed something to immediately lower Boromir's defenses, something to lighten his mood, to cement their bond of familial affection. And so once Imrahil had poured both of them a goodly amount, he leaned back in his chair, took the glass, and grinned.
"I remember the first time I brought you here. You were not fifteen, I believe."
Boromir grinned slightly. "Aye… it was the day I joined the Guard."
"'Twas a good day."
They both drank.
"Ah, but this is a dull tavern for a young lad. All brooding, old Men here."
Boromir smiled, said nothing.
Encouraged by Boromir's somewhat calm demeanor, Imrahil decided to move closer to his desired topic.
"Your companions have many adventures to relate," Imrahil commented idly. "Why, the dwarf's tales of Moria alone could fill a book."
"We were there less than four days. 'Twas not so epic."
"Ah, but nonetheless, they are grand tales. Grand tales." Imrahil sipped. "I have heard also that you passed through the Golden Wood."
Imrahil waited for more. Boromir said nothing. He held his glass, stared out the window. The silence was not what Imrahil expected. And so he shifted in his seat, considered the wine bottle, glanced outside, inhaled, exhaled, planned. After a few moments, when it was clear that Boromir was not intending to say anything at all, and indeed seemed to have already forgotten of Imrahil's presence, Imrahil cleared his throat. He leaned forward, stared gravely into his glass.
Boromir looked up.
"Boromir, you know that, as my nephew, as my blood-kin, I have always your interests at heart. And this is regardless of title. You know this, yes?"
Boromir did not respond. Imrahil sighed heavily – yes, he could allow some candor now, indeed it would make this talk all the more authentic. He poured both of them a third glass, slowly.
"I will not ask you of… what happened." Boromir tensed. Imrahil continued, "That is only for you to share, if you so choose. But… it is clear that you have been affected. And this pains me to see."
Still, the other Man said nothing, and so Imrahil continued, smoothing and weighing and testing his every word, letting the tone remain low, earnest.
"And Faramir worries as well. Last month – ai, we thought you lost, nephew. Lost to us, ne'er to return. When the King did heal you – well… 'Twas a miracle. But it is clear that there is still… much to heal."
"What mean you?" Boromir asked bluntly.
"Boromir, you say you do not recall anything of last night?"
Boromir shifted his weight, his gaze flickering across the table, nervous. He crossed his arms.
"I remember little. I recall only the halfling and… nothing more."
"That halfling came to us this morning, Boromir. There was a mark on his jaw, and he claimed you struck him."
Boromir dropped his gaze, stared at the ground.
"I did not want to believe him – but one of the young guards confirmed his story – "
"It is true."
The muttered remark interrupted Imrahil's train of thought, his flow of speech. He stumbled to a halt, looked up at Boromir. The younger Man had his eyes locked on the floor, his arms crossed. Rigid.
"I did not mean to…" Boromir continued, "'Twas a moment of madness."
A pause.
Direct. Now. Now. Do it now. The timing was right. Imrahil raised his eyes, stared at Boromir until the younger Man met his gaze.
"Boromir, the King is considering Faramir to be his Steward."
Silent explosion. Nothing changed physically, yet Imrahil could hear the very air charge itself with crackling energy. Boromir's expression remained blank, yet he stared at Imrahil now so heavily, so fiercely, that Imrahil had to break away and look out the window again. They sat in this swelling tension for several moments, listening to all the other sounds, counting the seconds.
Finally, Imrahil spoke again:
"Give yourself time to heal, Boromir… Young Beregond has kept the Guard and Faramir has attended to all the Steward's matters for the past two months. Nephew, we thought you lost – you had already been replaced. And when you awoke… I know not what the King intends, but think of yourself first, Boromir. Take this time to ease old wounds, to rest in a time of peace. Let Faramir bear the burden of the Stewardship."
Boromir's jaw clenched visibly. He drank his wine, finished it.
"So my brother usurped my birth-right as I was mending in the Houses of Healing?"
"Nay. Faramir played no part in this decision. He merely attended to what you could not in those days. And Boromir…" Imrahil lowered his voice as he heard laughter from downstairs, "we did not expect you to come back to yourself. The Healers said your mind was scarred beyond repair…" he added in a low hiss, "We did not e'en think you capable of living unattended anymore."
Boromir's expression darkened. He took the bottle, poured himself a full glass, ground his teeth audibly, slammed the bottle back down. Imrahil waited, focused and wary. All his senses came alive with warning – and so he watched cautiously as Boromir took the glass, scowling, and drank. Boromir did not look at him – he merely stared out the window.
Finally, he growled low:
"Tell my brother I shall not allow him so easy a victory."
"It is the King's decision. Not Faramir's."
Boromir clenched his jaw. "Then what do you suggest I do?"
"Accept it."
"Very well." Boromir exhaled. He leaned forward, muttered very low: "Leave me."
Imrahil hesitated. Boromir looked at him.
"Leave, uncle. You have played your role well enough. Go tell them of my reaction. Tell them I… am digesting."
Suitably chastised, Imrahil raised his eyebrows mildly, shrugged, and rose from the table. Now suddenly seemed the time to drop his political demeanor, to speak candidly, to console perhaps. And so he stood for a moment, struggling to find the appropriate words, but eventually surrendered to the silence and simply bowed his head formally. Boromir ignored him and did nothing save stare out the window until Imrahil was gone.
It was dark when Boromir exited The Tree and Tavern, and he found the Citadel Guardsmen still outside, but standing now, preparing to leave. And Minas Tirith – Minas Tirith, all the city, everyone, everything, it was alive with celebration. Even though the coronation was tomorrow, already the city was in revelry – and so the streets were crowded with people, and nobles were filing into The Tree and Tavern, jostling Boromir as he passed, nodding and bowing and saluting. And women and children were unfurling long banners of the White Tree from their windows, and someone was playing the lute from further off, singing.
This joy did not infect Boromir. Rather, he limped out of the tavern, scowling, feeling the pain in his right leg travel up his entire length, feeling the anger, the humiliation, the proud fury bubbling deep in his heart. Beregond of the Guard saw him leaving, and called to him three times, yet Boromir did not turn. Only when Beregond put his hand on the Man's shoulder did Boromir note him.
"My lord!" Beregond cried, breathless. "Back to the Citadel so soon?"
Boromir turned, saw Beregond watching him expectantly. Behind the younger Man, the other Guardsmen mingled, talked, laughing. Boromir knew all of them. All these Men. His Men. His soldiers. Some had fought with him in his Osgiliath days, others he knew from his youth. And so, perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the company, whatever it was, Boromir's tension was immediately eased when he turned to the group.
He smiled.
"Aye, Beregond," he clapped the young lieutenant on the shoulder, "up to bed."
One of the other Guards, the dark-haired Iorlas, younger brother to Beregond, laughed loudly. "Our Captain grows soft in his old age!"
He was elbowed by one of the other soldiers, but it was clear they were all a little drunk, for they chuckled and talked loudly and ignored the heavy looks from the elderly lords sitting further off.
…And how Boromir's heart ached to hear them call him Captain, to see these young Men, these young soldiers, as he had once been, laughing and smiling and drinking and and and… And he was no longer part of that – they had ripped it away from him, Barad-dûr had ripped it away from him – Aragorn had ripped it away from him – but here was Beregond, and here was Iorlas, and there, further off, standing with welcoming smiles, were Amlaith and Ragnor and and and…
Boromir grinned.
"And what do you knaves have planned for the evening?"
"Ah… well, my lord," Beregond clopped his heels together in mock formality, bowed his head gravely. "As you know, this fine evening is being called the King's Eve. And, as everyone knows, King's Eve is to be celebrated in the taverns! With ale!"
The other soldiers laughed, cheered. Some of the nobles – the lord of this or that fief, the minister of this or that matter – were also listening. Grey-haired Men smiling crookedly, watching the young soldiers banter.
"Join us, Captain!" Iorlas beckoned.
"Aye, grace us with your presence, my liege!"
"'Tis been years since we have visited the Laughing Oliphaunt."
"Or the Rose Garden!"
"Or the Skulking Squire!"
The names flew by Boromir too quickly to register properly and he laughed, and they laughed as well, and Beregond took him by the arm, pulled him into the group.
Still chuckling, Boromir looked around the young Men's faces. "I know not of the Rose Garden."
"Oh!" Ginger-haired Ragnor cried. "Oldest brewery in the second circle – "
"So they claim," Eomund interrupted.
"Aye, so they claim, my lord," Ragnor ceded. "They claim they brew since the days of Eärnur."
Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Let us to it then."
And so he joined the Guardsmen, and they walked down the fifth circle, and stopped first at The Skulking Squire. And the night wore on, with much ale and mead and wine and sometimes brandy being poured, and songs were sung, so that Boromir laughed and told lewd stories and reminisced over the days in Osgiliath or Ithilien. And never once did Beregond, or young Iorlas, or ginger-haired Ragnor, or any of the others, ask him of his Quest nor of the War. Nay, they let it all be, and for this he was grateful.
Instead, much was as it had been in his youth. The streets and taverns were crowded with people, and the Guard was showered with praise and admiration wherever they went. And when the merchants or bartenders or passing groups of young soldiers recognized Boromir, they always insisted on clapping him on the shoulder, on shaking his hand.
And so Boromir drank. Drank enough to forget what Imrahil had told him, drank enough to forget that this was a time of peace, and his life with the Guard was finished, and his life now as a soldier, as a leader, was over. He drank enough so that when they all went stumbling out of The Skulking Squire and down towards The Laughing Oliphaunt, they slipped on the cobblestones, and laughed at each other for it, and had to stop often to relieve themselves in the nearest alley.
Beregond, Boromir dimly realized, held himself in check for most of the night – acting, even in the taverns, as the informal leader. Taking command. Relieving Boromir of his usual position. For Beregond, indeed, had often been Boromir's second-in-command, and he had led the Guard since Boromir's departure. He was a good Man.
The streets of Minas Tirith spun. The street lanterns wobbled, dizzy. Voices, loud and slurring, echoing in Boromir's ears, so that when he spoke, his own voice sounded distant. And Boromir found himself stumbling sideways down the street – for it felt as if the ground pitched this way and that way, as on a storm-tossed ship. The Guard was all speaking loud, laughing, teasing, jesting, supporting each other. And Boromir heard also the buzz in the air – the conversations between wives, calling to each other from one window to the next, discussing, gossiping. The children shrieking and running and they are still out, even at this late hour? And the elderly Men sitting against the marble benches with their pipes, smoking and talking and gesticulating wildly.
All the pain had faded. Boromir found himself smiling easily and chortling at nearly anything that was said. At one point, while Ragnor was telling a particularly obscene story, Boromir nearly tripped and fell, though immediately young Eomund swept in and caught him. He pulled Boromir's left arm over his shoulders. Boromir felt only a slight twinge in the scar – in the old wound – but he was too slothful to comment on it and too numb-clumsy to walk without support.
"Easy on the cobblestones, Captain," the blond Man slurred, snorting with a half-hiccup, half-chuckle. "They sway…"
Boromir could only nod his assent. Without his realizing it, they had already entered the thin alleyway which led to the Guard's historical tavern of preference – The Laughing Oliphaunt. It had always been a military establishment, and Boromir had learned to drink here as a young lad. For it was just indecent enough for a soldier's pleasures, but still respectable enough for the highbred. And so always the elite – the Guardsmen, the archers of Blackfoot Vale, the Rangers of Ithilien – they had always come to this tavern.
As the clumsy group clambered in, Boromir remembered something: once he had inadvertently run into his brother here, after years apart, when both had just returned from their respective battles, and both had come to relieve their sore muscles and heavy hearts with a quick drink before ascending to the Citadel. That was five years ago.
Now The Laughing Oliphaunt was vibrating with raw energy. Music. Laughter. Smoke. In Boromir's already drunken state, it seemed to throb with such a force, such a force, to sway and spin, and the entanglement of bodies, that he was immediately grateful for his fellow Guardsmen on all sides who pushed through the crowd for him, who held him upright. And so they edged through this crowd, earning cheers and joyful shouts and happy cries, for many recognized this or that Guardsman, and most recognized Boromir amidst the heads. Indeed, someone thrust a mug into Boromir's hand before he had even found a seat, and he smiled into the crowd, raising it.
"Ho! The Guard arrives!"
"The Lord Boromir!"
"Boromir the Tall is come!"
An explosion of talk. Music rising, rising, rising with every beat, every bellowed chorus. A large booth on the far side, against the wall and away from the seething mass in the middle of the tavern, was immediately vacated so that the Guard could sit. And so they all clumsily fell into the booth, giggling and steadying themselves against the table and jostling each other.
"Amlaith!" Iorlas cried over the noise. The bearded Guardsman, Amlaith, older than the rest, nearly Boromir's age, looked over. Iorlas cupped his hand over his mouth: "Where did you find that ale?"
Amlaith shrugged, indicated Boromir, who was also holding a mug. The younger Iorlas blew his breath out in mock irritation, looked over his shoulder and strained to see over the mass of people. Finally, the barmaid arrived, and she took all the orders, and, after an indeterminate amount of time, Boromir found himself crowded behind steins and mugs and glasses and goblets. The mass of people surged forward, fell back, laughed, sang. Someone danced a jig. Boromir finished his stein, wiped the bitter drink from his beard. He swayed in his seat, blinked, attempted to focus on the conversation between Ragnor and Eomund, but found he could not follow what was being said.
He found a solid presence beside him, and he leaned against it instinctively. It was Beregond. The dark-haired Man was leaning forward, arms crossed, elbows on the table, watching the scene with half-lidded eyes. When Boromir noticed him, he smiled slightly.
"Does a Man good to cut loose once in a while," Beregond remarked. Boromir nodded, leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes. Steadying himself.
"What of your sons, Ber…" Boromir hiccuped slightly, catching a belch in his throat, "…Ber-grond. What of Bergil?"
Beregond grinned tiredly, ran a hand over his face. "Bergil is at home with his mother, but Borlas insisted on staying with his aunt this evening… She lives in the fifth, and she has a young son of the same age as he. So he is enjoying himself."
Boromir nodded, not bothering to open his eyes, just listening…
And suddenly a toast was being made, and Boromir was jostled awake, for he had fallen asleep with his head against the wall, and all the commotion suddenly roused him, confused.
"To the King! To the return of the King!"
"Hear, hear!"
Boromir's cup was inevitably pulled up with the tide, and he drank, as everyone else did. And Beregond shifted at Boromir's elbow, lowered his voice:
"The younger lads… Iorlas and Ragnor… They still mean to go to the Rose Garden. Though I'd say it's back to bed for all of us…"
Boromir roused himself enough to shake his head. "Nay, nay. One more stop, good Beregond. And then up to the Citadel – later. But come. It has been too long since we have all been out. This is a good day."
Beregond gave Boromir a look, but Boromir ignored him, and instead struggled to stand. And so they all stood, all swaying now, the more sober ones helping the less, and the Guard filed out of The Laughing Oliphaunt and back into the alley. And after relieving themselves in the side alley, where a veritable line of drunken Men had formed, they stumbled back into the fourth circle.
It was late now, very late. The windows of each home were dark. The stars, crystal bright against the black sky. Stragglers in the street, most people had gone to bed by now. Beregond and Iorlas walked ahead, the two brothers, setting the slow pace, talking quietly. Behind them, Eomund walked alone, hands stuffed into his doublet's pockets, his lanky legs striding on, zigzagging. Boromir, Amlaith and Ragnor followed, silent.
The city slept now, while the banners and flags and flowers were already prepared, waiting for tomorrow. With slow, lazy steps, an occasional grasp of a shoulder to steady himself, Boromir walked beside his soldiers, all formality long forgotten. They had often done this – in the past – the nights after returning from Osgiliath, the nights when a comrade had fallen, or when a particular battle had been won. The Men loved Boromir for it, that the battlefield's captain would sit with them, drink with them, jest with them. And Boromir sometimes did it because he too needed the respite, or sometimes he did it because he knew the Men needed to see him there, amidst them, even when he was so weary from battle he thought his limbs should fail him ere he reached his bed…
But that was all gone now, all finished. There would be no more such nights.
Boromir sighed, leaned heavily against Amlaith. Stumbling steps. Murmured talk. Consciousness fading in and out.
The Rose Garden. Boromir suddenly found himself seated, leaning against a stone wall. A courtyard. Dark now, too dark to see, but he vaguely perceived wooden crossbeams strewn with roses above him. A gentle night breeze. And the light, a warm glow, coming from the tavern itself, while out here, in this small garden, all was dark. Soft conversations. Old Men smoking their pipes. Very quiet, calm.
Most of the Guard was too drunk to consider any more toasts, and so they drank sparingly, slowly. Boromir tasted ale on his tongue, felt the heavy glass in his hand. Just enough strength to set it down, just enough control to not let it fall… Boromir leaned back against the wall, nearly hoping to sink into it. It felt as if it were liquid, moving back and forth. He struggled to remain upright against it, to avoid sliding down onto the ground. Half-lidded eyes. A silent, muted buzz in his ears. Distantly, Ragnor chuckled softly over something Beregond was saying.
A young woman. The barmaid. Bending over him, and Boromir smelled the roses and thyme on her. Slowly, he looked up. Studied her. But his vision swam. And it was dark, and he was tired, and he felt he should sleep here, on the ground, and the nausea, too much ale…
But he desired her to stay, because he liked the smell, and how quietly she worked.
As an echo, a distant echo, for he was very drunk by now, Boromir heard her speak:
"And how is your wife, Lord Beregond? And your little ones?"
"Ah, they're fine, Ana. Thank you. And your brother?"
"Mending, still mending, my lord."
She removed Boromir's glass. Boromir watched her dully.
"Though he did yell at me not to coddle him just yesterday – so that is a good sign."
A soft laugh. "Aye, it is. He was a fine lad. I'll come visit sometime." Shifting. "Have you met our captain, Ana? This is Lord Boromir."
Attention on him. Boromir pulled himself up, attempted his most sober look. He nodded gravely to the young woman. "Good evening, my lady."
She smiled kindly. "My lord." She looked at Beregond, eyes warm. "'Tis not late, my lord? The sun will rise soon, and tomorrow I should say we are all busy with the coronation."
Eomund, who had his head in his hand, tilted sideways, nearly asleep, looked up. "The coronation?"
Iorlas groaned, dropped his head into his arms. "And I have morning duty…"
"Aye, it is late enough. Indeed, let us to the Citadel, gentlemen," Beregond said, standing. He chuckled slightly. "It seems our captain is ready for bed as well."
And Boromir felt hands jerking his doublet, pulling him up, and a few pats on the back, and his arm around someone's shoulder and and and… He swung his head around, saw a retreating form, the young barmaid, Ana, carrying the tray loaded with empty glasses back into the tavern. Blurring into the warm glow.
"What is her name? Ana?"
But he did not hear the reply. Instead, all faded.
Jerking back to consciousness. A circle – which circle? Third? Fifth? Boromir pulled his arm from Amlaith's shoulder, muttering, My own legs can carry me… Stumbling to the side. Hands on the wet cobblestones, breaking his clumsy fall. And then rough hands pulling him back up, back onto unsteady knees, while both his arms were pulled around two sets of shoulders. Again, nothing…
Waiting. Waiting against a wall, leaning back, eyes closed. Nausea. Waiting for Iorlas and Eomund to relieve themselves. Trickling. And then a loud chuckle, echoing down the alley. Slurred joke. Who said it? Ragnor. Always joking, ginger-haired Ragnor. But Boromir felt again the rising tide of nausea.
"All well, Captain? You are turning green."
Darkness. Nothing.
An alleyway. Someone gagging him. Rough fingers pulling away from the mouth, away from the throat, just as Boromir jerked forward to vomit. And now a steady hand against his back. Amlaith's deep voice, booming soft, There. Good, Captain, good. It was the King's brandy at the Oliphaunt, I wager. That's near poison. Trembling legs, leaning against the wall for support. A cat meowing. From further off, Boromir could hear the other Guardsmen talking, lingering, waiting.
Still shivering, but walking on his own legs. He recognized the circle now, they were in the fifth. The Citadel loomed ahead. Almost there. A hand against Beregond's shoulder for support. The others talked.
"What time is the coronation?"
"Oh, Valar…"
"The coronation starts at midday, or we must be ready by midday?"
"Shhh. Iorlas, you - you talk too loud."
"How's the Captain?" Ragnor turning around.
Boromir snorted indignantly as he took his uneven steps. "I am well, thank you."
"Aye, you are now!"
"Captain, we half-dragged you since the second circle."
"And what do you eat? Bricks? You weigh more than a horse."
"A fat horse."
Laughter. Despite himself, Boromir smiled.
Playlist Navigation Bar


text:
- Product Information
Product Description
Your decorations are sure to be aces when you add some sparkle and little bit of luck to Vegas and game night theme party tables. Our Casino Confetti features a splash of metallic black, gold and red complete with small cards and card suit cutouts. A whimsical addition to Wonderland theme party decorations, too! Our Casino Confetti comes priced and packed in a 1.2oz bag. Please order in increments of 1 bag.
- Questions & Answers
- Reviews
Spend a Day in Paris with a Paris Party!
Add a Paris theme to any type of soiree with the help of Paris decorations and French treats. Use these party planning tips and ideas to help you prepare for your party!
Totally 80's Party Ideas
Add an 80's theme to an upcoming party of event! Use these party tips to help you set up for an 80's theme party, complete with decorations, food ideas and more.
Add a Pink and Gold Color Scheme to Your Party!
Throwing a party? Try using a mix of pink and gold colors to create the color scheme for your party décor. This color combination can be used for birthday parties, bridal parties, baby showers, and much more!

subset: commoncrawl


text:
Listen to/view CDC podcasts on your computer or download them for reliable health and safety information when and where you want it. New to podcasting? See Podcast Help and RSS Help
Staying Safe Around Buildings Damaged After a Disaster PSA (:30)
Safety in buildings damaged in a disaster. Created: 10/25/2009 by Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC). Date Released: 10/25/2009. Series Name: CDC Radio.
Press Play to listen to this CDC Podcast
Running time = 0:30
To save the Podcast, right click the "Save this file" link below and select the "Save Target As..." option.
Save This File (478KB) [right click]
How are we doing?
Podcasting Resources
Contact Us:
- Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
1600 Clifton Rd
Atlanta, GA 30333
- Contact CDC–INFO


text: Top 10 Sexiest Jobs Category Business Photo Galleries TV News Anchor Pros: They get to be on TV and are very knowledgable about world events.Cons: It's a hard business to get into, and it's hard to find a niche. (credit: Richard Harbaugh/ABC via Getty Images) Construction Worker Pros: With the right materials, these guys can build some amazing structures.Cons: Depending on the project, the work can be very dangerous. (credit: Chris Hondros/Getty Images) Soldier Pros: They fight for their country and wear a prestigious uniform.Cons: These heroes risk their lives to protect their country. (credit: Scott Olson/Getty Images) Artist Pros: They're doing something that they love, and expressing emotions.Cons: Many great artists go undiscovered and money can be tight. (credit: Paul Kane/Getty Images) Nurse Pros: They help people.Cons: They work long hours. (credit: Danny Bollinger/NBAE via Getty Images) Cowboy Pros: Quiet life away from the city... unless you're the Naked Cowboy.Cons: It's a lot of manual labor and mostly outside, in any weather. (credit: EMMANUEL DUNAND/AFP/Getty Images) Firefighter Pros: They save lives and serve the community.Cons: They risk their lives every day. (credit: Scott Barbour/Getty Images) Professional Athlete Pros: If you're good, you'll get worldwide fame and fortune.Cons: The odds of making it big are slim, and there's the potential for injury. (credit: Kevork Djansezian/Getty Images) Cocktail Waitress Pros: A good one can make a killing on tips alone.Cons: Most of your customers are drunk. (credit: Timothy Norris/Getty Images for IMG) Entertainer Pros: They're famous, travel the world and make good money.Cons: Competition is fierce and you must maintain your look at all times. (credit: Frank Micelotta/Getty Images) Next Gallery: ALCS Game 3 View Comments


text:
Hi everyone.
I bought a brand new Nokia Asha 501 Dual SIM and because I wanted to have a fine control of the amount of battery charge available at the moment, I developed a simple app just to read the value from the system, and show it in a Label. I am getting the property value calling the following API: LocalDevice.getProperty("com.nokia.mid.batterylevel")
However, the values I get are not progressive. The phone stays at 100% for about 2 days and then drastically drops to around 75%, and after another 2 days (aproximately) it drastically drops to around 50%, and then 25% and finally 4% when the low battery indicator and message is shown. I believe that the battery life is normal (about 1 week, aproximately), but I can't control the time to know when I should charge the phone. When the low battery sign appears, I have maybe 3 or 4 hours left of battery charge, and if I could know prior to that moment that the battery is around 15%, for example, I could charge it, because I knew that I won't have enough battery from there on.
Is this the right property to read the battery charge level? Am I using the correct way to do this? Is it recommended?
Thank you for reading this, and maybe help me with this issue.


text:
Booth: N-7288 Pavilion: Mach Components/Cleaning/Environmental
5944 East N Avenue
Kalamazoo, MI 49048
Connect with Us Online:
PRAB Introduces the Latest in Horizontal Motion Conveying to Ensure Reliable Scrap Removal and Maximum Press Uptime
PRAB, Inc., a global manufacturer of engineered scrap metal conveyor systems, has redesigned the horizontal motion conveyor known as the Quick Return (QR) to showcase at IMTS this fall. The QR Conveyor offers durable, reliable operation for efficient removal of scrap away from a press or other cutting and stamping operations.
The QR Conveyor uses horizontal motion that gently propels material forward without vibration or springs. The flexibility of the drive location allows for a very adaptive design to fit in existing pits. The drive is engineered using standard, readily available components, keeping maintenance costs and operating requirements low.
The QR is engineered to effectively move any shape, material, thickness, and load quickly and reliably. It is suitable for use with laser, plasma, single press dedicated units, or as a transfer system for plant wide applications over long horizontal distances.
"We have redesigned the QR to enhance the longevity of the drive which is the workhorse of the unit. Our customers are no longer evaluating conveyor purchases on price and features alone but rather on the uptime and overall utilization of their equipment. The QR, as with our many other conveyor designs, is engineered to offer the best overall value to industry," states Mike Hill, Vice President of Sales and Marketing for PRAB.
To get learn more about the benefits of the QR Conveyor, visit http://www.prab.com/conveying/quick-return-conveyors.html or call one of the PRAB application engineer's at 800-968-7722 or email firstname.lastname@example.com.
PRAB Diagonal Shaft Wringer
PRAB's Diagonal-Shaft Wringer will be a feature piece of equipment at the 2014 IMTS. The Wringer reclaims costly cutting fluids and produces more valuable dry chips. Dry chips ensure compliance with EPA regulations when transporting scrap for recycling. Process rates of up to 10,000 lb/h can be achieved. Additional chip processing and filtration equipment can be integrated for a full, turnkey processing system.
Effective chip processing with a PRAB Diagonal-Shaft Wringer, allowing manufacturers to:
· Increase the value of aluminum, brass, steel, cast iron, and alloys
· Lower hazardous waste disposal costs
· Reclaim valuable coolants for recycle or reuse
Features include:
· 700 Gs of centrifugal force that separates chips from fluid
· Gravity or air discharge units for efficient chip handling
· High output and fully automatic operation
· Five available models in three sizes, engineered to handle specific scrap challenges
For more information, call (800) 968-7722, e-mail email@example.com, or visit prab.com.
PRAB is a leading manufacturer of chip material handling and fluid filtration equipment. Engineered to help industrial manufacturers add value to scrap and decrease associated costs, PRAB equipment conveys and conditions bushy metal turnings, removing cutting fluids and turning scrap into shovel-grade chips for increased resale or further processing. Our fluid filtration equipment takes collected cutting fluids and recycles them for reuse -- significantly increasing ROI by decreasing costs associated with hazardous waste disposal, and water, oil, and coolant replacement. PRAB industrial partners depend on us to improve their shop safety and housekeeping by conveying scrap away from work areas and enabling environmental compliances for wastewater management. PRAB's partnership with Veolia Water has expanded our decades of experince in industrial wastewater treatment. From ultrafiltration, to evaporation, and to distillation technologies PRAB can help you meet your water reclaim and recycle goals. For more information on how can PRAB help you improve processes and increase profitability, visit www.prab.com.


text:
<< Previous Next >>
Reported by Michael Malott - This weekend I traveled to Reo Raceway in Rockport, IN to get some testing done with the new chassis & front end for my OFNA Hyper 9e & new PT racing oils. I got there early for plenty of practice to see what was going to work best for outdoor so I can be prepared for when we have the first big outdoor race in a couple of weeks. The 1st heat came around and I was feeling really confident in my car & in my tire choice for the round. The heat started off really good & I was turning some really fast laps & was on a TQ run. About halfway through I started to make some stupid mistakes & had a couple problems with lapped cars & I ended up turning a 19 5:03 which would be TQ for the 1st round. The 2nd heat I made a tire change & went from a SS Gridiron to a SS Impact. When the heat got started I was turning super fast lap times & was on a 20 lap pace & a new TQ at the halfway point. I over jumped the car jump & ended up pulling the driveshaft out of the center diff so I was done for the round. The 3rd round I made a couple changes to my setup to try & get it a little better. The 3rd round was really good & I was happy with the car but I made a lot of mistakes & ended up only turning 18 laps but I still won the heat. My TQ from the first round was good enough to TQ the class and put me on the point for the main. The 12 minute main got started & I got out to a really good jump & was clicking off fast laps and trying to get away from the field. About 2 minutes in I got into lap traffic & it was getting pretty rough on the track. I started making mistakes & trying new lines to try and get through the traffic. Once I got into traffic that allowed 2nd place to catch up. We both got through traffic about the same time & we were running a very fast pace. We were both pushing each other & making mistakes & trading the lead back & forth. At the 5 minute mark the traffic had cleared really good & it made it a lot easier to race each other. At about the 6 minute mark the 2nd place guy broke & was forced to retire from the race. I got into my groove & started laying down fast laps & was pulling away from the field. At the 8 minute mark I had a lap on the field and & still pulling away. At the end of the 12 minute main I took the win & ended up putting 2 laps on the field. I was really happy with the way my car was running & I am looking forward to outdoors in a couple of weeks. My OFNA/BCE Hyper 9e was dialed all night. My Tekin Power & AKA rubber I was able to have all the power & traction I needed all night. The PT RC Oils provided me with a smooth & consistent ride as well.
Reported by Gaige Herrera - In the Pro 4 short course class, on the brand new track layout Gaige was able to get the T/Q in the second round. There was a round 10 trucks in the class and a total of 60 racers on Wednesday night club racing. By the end of the first lap it seemed like it was going to be a easy win for the Nexx10sc. However with 2:00 minutes to go, got tangled up with lapped traffic, and allowed second place to catch up. It was a close battle with a lap to go till second place bobbled and gave Gaige the win.
Reported by Marc Maglinte - My first race with the 1/8th off-road HyperStar Buggy! This past weekend I race with the HyperStar at Revelation Raceway in Ontario Ca. I got there in time to make at least one qualifier in Novice/Amateur class that landed me in second place for the start of the main. Which put me behind James Grossaint driving his Hyper 9e. At the start James and I would lead the pack. In a few laps we were exchanging places between second and third. By the third the leader had broke, and that put us in first and second. James had to retire a few laps later so I came into first place and never look back taken the win. I have been working on set up for the last 3 weeks and it paid off. All the little changes and tips I got from DJ help out, Thank you DJ! The HyperStar had a lot of steering and great corner speed, hopefully I can continue to improve on the HyperStar setup to make it even better.
4x4 Short course A-main Video
Reported by Chad Bradley - Hot Rod Hobbies: The first Friday night club race at Hot Rod Raceway was a huge success bringing in over 100 entries to their new club night. In the Pro 4wd SC class Chad Bradley took the win in both rounds of qualifying driving the SCRT-10 setting the TQ going into seven minute main event. The start of the main did not go as planned as Chad got loose and spun on the start and had to make his way through traffic from nearly last place, Chad was able to regain the lead on the third lap and was able to continue setting fast lap times which in turn lead to a one lap lead over second place.
4x4 Short course A-main Video
Reported by Will Eikenberry - I went to the new track in Palmdale called Controlled Chaos Raceway, it's a little small, maybe the size of hot rod but square. The track is SC all the way with small jumps and very small line, you have to right on to go fast. They have been running it dry so you have lots of grip but there are so many little bumps and ruts you have to be careful about getting it sliding.I got a little practice in before the heats and finished the first heat second and the same in round two to another guy. I had run a few 23.7s but mostly 24s. I was worried about the first lap, the straight goes into a 180 and I was sure there was going to pile. There was but somehow I got through it with the lead. I held the lead for three min with second and third catching me and bobbling over and over. I turned it over and and gave the lead away, I was matching speed with the leader but wasn't making any time and he was driving clean. At five min mark I got it together and ran five low 22s to catch the leader. I was faster in a couple of sections but he would get away from me just before the straight in a series of diagonal bumps. I would be right on him again but couldn't make a clean pass. with half a lap to go the pressure paid off and he piped it giving me the lead to the end.
<< Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Next >>


text:
ContactAmy Melton
Enjoy the outdoors every Saturday and Wednesday this summer at the Farmers Market at Minnetrista.
Join us all summer long for our outdoor farmers market.
Every Saturday of each month, May through October.
Every Wednesday beginning June 2 through October, Farmers Market from 3:306 p.m.
Cooking demonstrations, beverages, and lots of wonderful goods from local farms are all in one place!
Shop, socialize and get your weekend off to a fantastic start at Minnetrista!


text:
Turkmenistan Flags
Precisely dyed, all seal and designs are in correct proportion to flag sizes. Even complex emblems exhibit with fine detail in brilliant colorfast colors..
They feature double stitched sewn edges and 4 rows (2 rows on the 12" x 18" flags) of lock stitching on the fly end. Lock stitching increases the durability of the flag and provides a nicer feel to the flag. In addition the flag heading uses a durable canvas heading reinforced with precision stitching and spurred brass grommets.
Lightweight and strong, these Turkmenistan Flags will fly in the slightest breeze, but still have superb wearing strength due to the material's superior strength-to-weight ratio.
Choose the plain flag for outdoor use or hanging on a wall.
Flags with pole sleeve and fringe should be used on our indoor mounting sets, or carried on our parade poles. These flags are not designed for hanging on wall or outdoor flagpoles. Any flag with pole sleeve & fringe is finished with lined pole sleeves, leather tabs, and a beautiful golden yellow fringe on 3 sides.


text:
Whetman Pinks: Specialist breeders of Garden Pinks and Hybrid Dianthus.
Welcome to Whetman Pinks – the UK's leading breeder and propagator of award winning perfumed Pinks and Dianthus with a worldwide reputation for quality.
Whetman Pinks have been the main grower and distributor of scented Pinks in the UK since 1936. Our service to you is professional and friendly and with more than 70 varieties to choose from, you, our valued customers, are able to order plants on line.
There is an important new addition to our catalogue for 2013 'Memories'. Dianthus' MemoriesPBR
was sold for the first time in May 2012. The plant is protected by Plant Breeders Rights (PBR) and the propagation for commercial sale is illegal without a licence from the Breeder.
Whetman Pinks, as a member of the BNCS, will donate to the Alzheimer's Society all royalties collected together with all additional voluntary contributions received from the sales of MemoriesPBR until December 2013. Their target is £15,000.00. See our News page for more about this important launch.
To help you stay informed please visit our Cultural Information page containing videos with hints and tips for getting the best from your Pinks.
Please note that our minimum order quantity is 10 plants (postage and packing charge within the UK is £5.00 for all orders up to 50 plants). You are buying a well rooted plug plant carefully packed and sent with growing instructions. You will not be disappointed.
All our Pinks are grown from virus indexed elite mother plants and are consequently healthy and vigorous, establishing quickly in well drained sunny garden borders, patio planters or containers. They are featured regularly in the media throughout the world and richly deserve their reputation for being hardy, drought tolerant and beautifully perfumed. Check out the many varieties that have won the RHS Award of Garden Merit. They will perform for you.
Latest News
Whetman Pinks of Devon Receives The Queens Award for Enterprise for International Trade
I am delighted and proud to inform you that on 21st April 2013 Whetman Pinks was honoured to receive the Queen's Award for Enterprise 2013 for Outstanding Contribution to International Trade.
Please kindly see the full press release in our News page
Grower of the Year Awards & World Grower of the Year 2013
Whetman Pinks memories won the Best New Herbaceous Perennial in the Grower of the Year Awards. We also won the BPOA (British Protected Ornamentals Association) Ornamentals Grower of the Year and we also won the Overall Ornamental Grower of the Year Award.
The NFU have entered Whetman Pinks in the World Grower of the Year competition which takes place in Canada in September at the Niagara Falls. See their website for further information
Whetman Pinks, as a member of the BNCS and in support of their chosen charity, has agreed to donate the receipts of royalties collected from the sales of Memories until December 2013. We hope to raise in excess of £15,000 and hope to inspire you, our valued friends and customers, to help us achieve this figure. On the order form, you will find there is an opportunity to add a voluntary contribution of your own to Alzheimer's Society, should you wish.
Search by flower type
Copyright © 2008-2015 Whetman Pinks Ltd.
Home | Gift Certificates | Contact Us | Site Map


text:
UPS has been carving out ways to improve efficiencies for more than 100 years. It wasn't always called being "green," but embracing social responsibility and sustainability is deeply rooted at UPS.
Selecting UPS is a wise step in making your company more efficient and greener.
At UPS, logistics is the path to sustainability.
Measurement Matters
UPS has one of the most robust and detailed programs for measuring and reporting the carbon impact of our own operations, as well as that of our customers.
Action Matters
The right mix of UPS products and services can help you help the environment. Conserve resources, ship efficiently and sustainably.
Recognition & Credentials
UPS's robust programmes for measuring and reporting carbon impact are recognised and certified by leading organisations.


text:
Summer Transfer START Information- Registration for this program will begin May 1, 2015.
Transfer START is a one-day orientation, advising, and registration program.
In order to have a wonderful START experience please read the following START program
information carefully before registering for START.
- Transfer START Program Dates
- Transfer START Program Schedule
- Driving and Parking Directions
- Information for Individuals with Disabilities attending START
- Preparing for your START Session
Frequently Asked Questions
If you have any questions or concerns please visit our FAQ page, or contact us directly via e-mail at: email@example.com or call 541-737-7627.


text:
Publication Date:Dec 03, 1999
Source:Harvard Business School
Product number:
English Hardcopy Black & White
Also Available in:
|English Hardcopy Black & White
$ 6.93
Sendwine.com, an online retailer of premium gifts of wine by the bottle, faced decisions about its growth strategy in mid-1999. Mike Lannon, president and founder, had established his company as a prominent player in an increasingly crowded field. But with success came a difficult choice: How should Sendwine.com spend the venture capital money it subsequently had attracted? Should the company consolidate its niche position in wine gift giving? Or should it aggressively expand into new gift-giving categories under the "Send.com" name?
learning objective:
To familarize students with the strategic and organizational challenges facing an early-stage Internet venture, especially the challenge of building consumer trust and the decision about whether to diversify.
subjects covered:
Diversification; Entrepreneurial management; Internet; Service management
- Geographic: Massachusetts
- Industry: Beverages
- Industry: E-commerce
- Industry: Internet services
- Industry: Retail trade
- Company Employee Count: 46
- Event Year Begin: 1999
- Event Year End: 1999


text:
Artist in Residence
1st – Reginald Baylor
2nd – Katie Musolff
3rd – Shelby Keefe
4th – Timothy Westbrook
5th – Stephanie Barenz
6th – Niki Johnson
Food & Drink
Cafe at the Pfister
Chef Tips
Lobby Lounge
Pfister Hotel
The Pfister Narrator
1st – Julie Ferris
2nd – Stacie Williams
3rd – Ed Makowski
4th – Dasha Kelly
5th – Jenna Kashou
6th – Molly Snyder
7th – Anja Notanja Sieger
Well Spa + Salon
Become The Next Narrator
The Pfister Homepage
Review Your Experience
Pfister Buzz
Heather Kanter-Kowal
05 Nov, 2011
The Pfister
About the author
The Pfister
Follow the Pfister On the Web
Anja Notanja Sieger – The Current Narrator
Anja is pronounced (ON-JUH) and 'Notanja' (not-ON-JUH). Anja is the person-conduit and Notanja is the spirit writing the letters. Both currently hang out in the Pfister Hotel and would like to meet you.
"I am a performing typist who interprets other people's thoughts in the form of "prosettes." Prosettes (poetry-letter hybrids) are typed for the customer on-the-spot, usually on a typewriter. For me the typewriter offers the pre-computer era tradition of translating ideas into clacking physicality. Customers can choose from the following options: Poetry, Love Letter, Insult Letter, Letter of Recommendation, Short Story, Letter from a Pet, Other. Writing letters requires me to pretend for the duration of the composition that I am the client."
Contact Anja via email at
Recent Posts by the Narrator
Two Texans
(March 30, 2015)
A Mud Bath, Followed With An Insult
(March 24, 2015)
Coke A Cola and the Meanderthal
(March 21, 2015)
Whispering, 1925
(March 16, 2015)
If he don't love me, how could he love you?
(March 10, 2015)
About Life, About Mystery
(March 4, 2015)
A Psychometric Questionairre
(February 28, 2015)
Top ↑
@ThePfisterHotel on Instagram
The Pfister on Facebook
@PfisterHotel on Twitter
Tweets by @PfisterHotel
© 2015 The Pfister Hotel