I had grand plans for the day. Drink some tea. Go for a run. Play war with my brother in law's diecast figurines*.
The black trunk with silver CrystalCaste scrolling was too much for my itchy fingers last night, and while the boys were out I hazarded a peek. Between giggles and layers of exacto- cut foam my plan took form. There would be two armies. The painted figures (Paintees) would have the easychair high ground and the obvious advantage. The unpainted (Pewtees) would be camped on the carpet savannas--worn from walking, but silent and grim.
At the sound of silver trumpets there would be a wild surge downward. First a shriek and slide as tiny hooves caught the nap, then the clattering of miniature swords by the landing near the Japanese balls, now a fierce sortie by a company of dwarves, perhaps some surprise reinforcements from behind our collection of Oz. And the Paintees would fall with the day while victory was crowed by fleets of eagles, and bats, and impossibly small flying squirrels in breastplates....
All to be caught on film. Perhaps narrated.
But brother and box are gone, and our camera never was up to the task. Which is for the best--since what would have started as mockery would undoubtedly have turned into plain fun.
* or 'Figs' as we were solemnly informed
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