Who Grayson and OPEN Where The Menagerie When June 11th, early afternoon What Feeding time! Warnings TBD, as always :)
So the castle thing had been a tad unexpected. Gray hadn't really seen it coming when he signed up, but he took it as a good sign that this new gig was going to keep him on his toes. It had actually taken him a good twenty minutes of wandering the labyrinthian hallways of the castle to realize that his attraction was actually outside, safely nestled behind a high-walled garden of the courtyard. The sprawling Menagerie took up the entire space, segmented by different habitats. Closest to the entrance was a stretch of land resembling a savannah. Further in along the right hand side, the swaying grass gave way to the rolling sand dunes of a desert, and across from that one would find themselves in the frozen wasteland of an arctic tundra. Though there were no caves or walls to separate them, the animals kept to their own respective areas and tended not to bother one another. Gray suspected this had something to do with the fae magic surrounding the place.
He found his way there and apologized to his cast... he had already made the proper introductions on his first day, and had quickly established who the troublemakers were. High among that list was a sarcastic elephant named Babar ("No shit?" he'd inquired. No shit was the unamused response) a small, waspishcockatrice named Elizabeth, and the usual suspect, his Carbuncle, Roger.
Said familiar was currently perched on his shoulder as he made the rounds in delivering lunch to his new friends. At the moment, he was in the process of feeding his hell hounds, two enormous, hulking creatures that resembled flayed rottweilers, each with three heads and violet flames where their eyes should be. They were a lot sweeter than their appearance and names led others to believe; Grayson had summoned them himself, and the Garden had responded to the new arrivals by creating a fiery, hellish little corner of the attraction for them.
Anyone happening by would hear the unmistakeable sound of Funk #49 blasting from a blutooth speaker near Grayson's feet as he threw raw meet to his tri-headed friends, a tone-deaf rendition of the lyrics carrying from his mouth. Roger made a loud squeaking noise above the racket, and Grayson paused singing only long enough to snap, "No, you're flat, Roger. Really, do you hear yourself?" Another pause, and Grayson rolled his eyes at the hellhound nearest to him. "Et tu, Karen? Well someone just lost out on seconds."