“Legend holds that the Golden Lion guards the entry from those who would trespass upon the grounds of the Duke of Wormetshire. There are tales of unexplained deaths in the area near the Golden Lion and the gateway it is said to protect. Pretty scary, yes? If you’ll follow me this way, I’ll lead you to the gardens …”
The tour guide led the rest of the gawkers on towards a lush and borderline overgrown garden. Lawrence stayed behind, staring at the Golden Lion.
“People come up with the craziest stories sometimes.”, Lawrence muttered.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”, replied the Golden Lion.
Lawrence jumped back awkwardly, landing square on his ass. His voice was apparently far more agile than Lawrence as it was nowhere to be found. He just sat, mouth moving silently. The Golden Lion just looked down at him. And burst out laughing.
“Oh I say, that is the funniest thing I have seen since Lord Manfred Wigglesmith passed away in front of me with his trousers around his ankles!”
Lawrence stared up at the metal lion’s head mounted on the gate as it chuckled. Perhaps the local cuisine was not agreeing with him, perhaps it was a bizarre jet lag complication, maybe he had just gone completely starkers. There was not way the cast bronze lion head was laughing.
“What the hell is going on?!?”, Lawrence managed to squeak out as he wrestled to regain control of his voice.
“You made a comment, I posed an observation, you scrambled backwards landing on your bottom, and I found that to be rather hilarious. I think that about sums it up.”
“How the hell are you talking?”
“Quite simple, honestly. I move my mouth in specific ways while contorting my lips and moving my tongue, which give rise to changes in tone resulting in the formation of words and sentences. Just as anyone else speaks.”
“But you are a door knocker!!!”
“Psht! I am most certainly not a ‘door knocker‘. I am a door guardian. There is a clear difference.”
“Whatever! You still should …”
“Whatever? I beg your pardon. Do you see a large ring in my mouth or looping around my head through my ears?”
“Well, no, but …”
“Then it should be quite plain to see that I am by no means a door knocker as I possess no means to knock upon the door.”
“I suppose I see your point, but …”
“You suppose? You suppose?! Well, suppose I simply devour you here and now as the tales say, hmmm? Would that perhaps solidify the fact for you that I am not a ‘door knocker‘?”
“Nononononono!”, Lawrence stammered as he scuttled backwards.
“Just as well, I really can’t devour anyone. Most of the tales are simply rubbish. People have died by this gate, to be sure, but mostly they just died of heart attacks and the like when I spoke to them. You humans certainly are a fragile lot.”