A tidal wave of some whitish, oozing, semi-solid liquid slurped through the doorway, flowing at an incredible speed over the door and completely covering Xander's head, as this strange substance continued to pour out from the house into the front yard. Actual terror now seized Xander as he instinctively held his breath and tried fruitlessly to push off the door to escape from whatever vile stuff that was about to suffocate him. Fortunately, after a few more moments, the stream of pale sludge tapered off, dropping to a sullen trickle as Xander felt the weight of the muck covering his face beginning to dribble away. Gasping for breath, and then anxiously coughing and spitting to get rid of whatever had just gotten into his mouth, Xander suddenly stopped this panicky action, to instead lick his lips, as he now tasted….oatmeal?
Preoccupied by this astonishing occurrence, the one-eyed man, with his face completely covered by that overcooked foodstuff and still pinned under the door while unable to see anything, ignored the sloshing footsteps coming nearer, until his burden holding him down was abruptly hauled off him, with Xander himself then being yanked off the ground by a hand gripping his shirt collar. Dangling from this hand easily lifting him high up in the air so that his feet barely touched the ground to skid along the remains of the oatmeal flood, Xander was rapidly carried away, as he frantically wiped his face to see who was doing that.
In the middle of this, Xander was unceremoniously dropped face-down onto the ground, with that part of his head managing a direct landing into a deep puddle of pure rolled oats intermingled with water. Just when he successfully accomplished a quick push-up to get his head out of the puddle, Xander felt two small hands grab the waistband of his pants, to then effortlessly pull that item of clothing down his legs and over his boots. Opening his mouth to roar in protest, a still-blind Xander instead howled with real distress as he was then hit by a strong stream of very cold water.
Ten minutes later, Xander looked around while seated on the horse, in nothing but his underwear, as he glowered at his hosed-down pants and shirt mostly oatmeal-free and dangling out to dry while pinned onto the washing line next to the house. Also attached to this length of cord were another male's shorts and shirt, child size, next to a girl's blue sundress and another girl's short patchwork dress, all of this clothing still damp from being hurriedly cleaned under the garden hose.
As his tour of the grounds continued as part of the apology for getting in the way of their escaping lunch, Xander just had to ask. Tapping the shoulder of the boy also in his underwear seated in front of him on the horse, the older man cleared his throat, and inquired a bit plaintively, "Does, uh, this kind of thing happen often?"
The boy and his undressed sister too at the very front of the horse, who from quick introductions Xander knew were Tommy and Annika Settergren, twisted around in their seats to grin at their visitor. His attention caught by this, the horse also turned his head to watch with equine curiosity his riders, though Xander didn't pay all that much attention, as he was promptly answered by the pair of children's enthusiastic nods and giggles that incidents such as had just happened to a certain American today were not all that uncommon at the Villa Villekulla.
Xander did notice that the horse nodded, too.