Prescott Tolliver

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Overview

xxxxxPrescott Tolliver is a transplant from New York, or so the stories go. He's a hot-shot food critic from the Big Apple who came to town for the funeral of an acquaintance a few years ago and decided to stay. He has a blog, he visits the ritzier spots in town (though he is rumored to love a regular old cheeseburger from a diner) to give them that New York cachet. He has been known to cook as well, with years of experience as a sous chef in Paris, France.




xxxxxJohn Dahl, born in 1969, was the youngest of four boys, raised by his parents in the middle class suburb of Hanging Hills, Maine. His father was a lawyer and his mother a teacher. Early on, John showed a love for cooking, and learned to make his own food as soon as he was allowed to handle knives. He made full meals for the family by the time he was big enough to use the stove. But he was ambitious enough to want more. He had a dream of becoming a real chef. During his high school years, he worked as a busboy and waiter at a local restaurant during the summers, and was allowed to do prep work the summer after graduation. He moved on from there to attending the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York.

xxxxxAfter graduation from CIA in 1991, John began work as a Range Chef at a four star restaurant in New York City. The work was hard, the hours were long, but he was living his dream. Dreams sometimes become nightmares, though. One night when he was taking a break in the alleyway, he was snatched by a group of privateers who called themselves The Agency. The Agency roamed the New England area, grabbing mortals with skills in expectation of higher prices for them in the Goblin Markets. Despite the fact that John was obviously a cook of some sort, he was passed from Market to Market until he was finally sold to The Storm Hag.

xxxxxIt wasn't long before The Storm Hag made John one of her favored children due to his obvious cooking skills, and he did everything he could to stay in her good graces. He was put to work as a butcher of questionable meats and maker of sausages. John took the job, depending on what he remembered from his class work and a firm resolve to not perish. Days turned to weeks turned to years, and John became good at his job. And the Wyrd took to John, molding him into a blood and fat covered goblin of a man, resembling the Pamarindo of Italian folklore.

xxxxxOne day John looked down and noticed the embroidered patch on the chef jacket that he'd never taken off. And he remembered his job, remembered his family. Remembered his dream. Coming back to his senses was painful, but the clarity was the greatest feeling he'd ever known. He began planning his escape. John laced some of his best sausage with a sedative made from an Arcadian plant and fed it to some guards. He snuck past their sleeping forms, then ran wildly through the snowy woods and across the Hedge, returning to the real world of Hanging Hills on December 31, 1999.

xxxxxHe landed in the middle of a large New Year's Eve party. For some reason, the chaos of the celebration going on didn't scare John. It only cheered him, as compared to his recent dreary existence. He wandered around, cold, shivering, but smiling. Just as he was confronted by security guards, two Spring Lost, Demi John the brewer and Betty Bedlam the gristlegrinder, found and vouched for him. They pulled him aside and got his story, what little there was of it. The next day, after a bit of pledging, they got him set up in temporary housing.

xxxxxThe next year or so, John got on his feet, took a job at a local restaurant, and took classes in French at the local community college. One of the local Winters had set him up with excellent forged ID, and he took the name of Prescott Tolliver. He also did what any Lost would do, and snuck out to see what happened to his family during his absence. The good news was that everyone was alive and thriving, although older. The bad news was that his fetch was there, struggling with his self-owned pizza place.

xxxxxThe now Prescott made a decision. He sent his fetch a note, containing ways to improve his pizzas. At the end, he stated, "In exchange, I will leave you alone. Signed, You." He assumed that the fetch would understand. The next day, he quit his job and took a plane to Paris.

xxxxxThe next few years were a challenge. Prescott worked to get a job at a restaurant in Paris, the place he considered to be the best in cuisine. And it was tough. But Prescott figured that it couldn't be as horrible as what he felt he went through in that other world, if his half-remembered dreams were any indication. He fell in with the local freehold, joining the Spring Court in the process.

xxxxxPrescott slowly rose from kitchen assistant to sous-chef. And he began to write down his thoughts on food and cuisine culture. Painstakingly, he became an author as well as a chef. His first book was "Rethinking Food and Wine Pairings". It wasn't a best seller, but it made a splash, and this encouraged him to write more and get better. Another book about French cuisine did become a best seller, and he made his way back over the ocean to New York. He rented a fancy apartment in the Tribeca area, and proceeded to write a food critic column on the internet, making New York restaurants shake in their boots. Though, as a Spring Courtier, he was really all about the desire. They desired those five star reviews. The customers desired the chance to eat at an acclaimed restaurant.

xxxxxThree years ago, he received a letter from one John Dahl. "Thank you for leaving me alone," it read. "Goodbye. Signed, You." Prescott knew something was amiss and returned to Hanging Hills to find that his fetch had died of pancreatic cancer. While Prescott was climbing the ranks in the world of cuisine, John Dahl has taken his advice and made the pizza place a success. He'd gotten married, adopted three children, and supported the local community, sponsoring a kid's baseball team and donating to charity. It had been a good life, by most standards, and when Prescott showed up at the funeral, the church was packed. At the wake, he spun out a tale to the widow about John Dahl saving his life back in New York. And he decided to come back to Hanging Hills for good.

xxxxxPrescott knows that he cannot move back to Hanging Hills on the old terms. He's a moderately famous food critic and gourmand. He has created a distant friendship with the Dahl family. John's children call him Mr. Prescott, and his occasional visits are like a whirlwind tarriance from an eccentric uncle. His current goals are to protect the Dahl family, keep up his career, and join the Knights of the Knowledge of the Tongue.

How Can We Help You?

  • Food!
    Prescott writes about food. Prescott cooks food. Prescott's life is food.
  • Spring
    He's a member of the Spring Court in good standing.
Contacts
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NAME
About them.
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NAME
About them.
logs
  • (2016.01.23)
Lost Meet & Greet
  • (2016.02.22)
Spring Court Meeting: February 2016
  • (2016.02.27)
Master Bake Pilot
  • (2016.07.14)
Spring Court Meeting - July 2016
  • (2016.06.11)
Homecoming 2016
  • (2016.10.16)
October Movie Night
  • (2016.10.22)
Monsters Feast
faces

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Prescott

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“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.”
- Orson Welles
vital statistics
Full Name: Prescott Tolliver
Birthdate: July 21, 1969
Apparent Age: Late 40's
Occupation: Food Critic & Executive Chef, Albergo Gancia
Virtue: Fortitude
Vice: Gluttony
Sphere: Changeling
Court: Spring
Seeming: Wizened
Kith: Pamarindo
“There is no sincerer love than the love of food.”
- George Bernard Shaw
notable stats
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“Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the 'Titanic' who waved off the dessert cart.”
- Erma Bombeck
specialties
SPECIALTY NAME
SPECIALTY NAME
“Cakes are healthy too, you just eat a small slice.”
- Mary Berry
soundtrack

Eat It - Weird Al Yankovic

Your table manners are a cryin' shame
You're playin' with your food, this ain't some kind of game
Now, if you starve to death, you'll just have yourself to blame
So eat it, just eat it

Food, Glorious Food ~ Oliver! soundtrack

Food, glorious food,
Hot sausage and mustard!
While we're in the mood --
Cold jelly and custard!
Peas pudding and saveloys
What next is the question?
Rich gentlemen have it, boys --
..in digestion!