The Writing On The Wall

 

Writer Lady raises the light to the gray wall.

To Writer Lady. Greetings my friend. Apologies for the dramatic method I am using to reach out to you but The Graylands have been attacked and my means of communication are currently quite limited. My magic has become erratic due to the evil that has infiltrated my lands. I have little control over the results of its use. The enemy has taken over most of my kingdom. I find myself surrounded, only Castle Gris and the woods encircling it remain under my care. Will you please send help in battling this new enemy? As it appears he is from your world, not mine, I feel that the only way I can defeat this human is with the help of other humans. Will you help me win this battle and restore The Graylands to her prior glory? Please respond with great haste as I am not sure how much longer I can hold the castle on my own.

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady and grins. “You stay here.” He says. “I've got this.”

Writer Lady's eyes shift to the other adults in the room gauging their reactions.

“Stand Down Dipshit. She said she needs someone to outwit another human not spill ninja-zombie brains everywhere,” House responds. “When it's time to make a mess she'll call you.”

Tinkletoes’ upper arm muscle flexes in anticipation. “War is messy,” He says. “I make great messes.”

“He's not wrong.” Paige admits.

“Mi’lady more information has arrived.” Diomedes announces as he gestures to the top of the wall which is now glowing bright gray.

Writer Lady moves the beam of light from the base of the wall back to the top.

P.S. The enemy’s armies consist of wild ogres and ninja-zombies. If the warrior known as Tinkletoes would escort you here it would be most appreciated. His skills in defeating the ninja-zombie army is legendary here in Faerie.

The self-proclaimed mercenary does not speak a word. A quiet calm radiates from him. He looks at Writer Lady. “Legendary. I told you I had skills.” He says as a grin slowly crosses his lips.

“You have skills.” She agrees.

“That have made me legendary.” He says, finishing the sentence.

“He's going to brag about this all day long.” House comments.

“Not all day.” Tinkletoes counters. “Just long enough to make sure everyone knows I'm a legend.”

Writer Lady trains the light back on the wall.

Your assistance is most desperately needed. Castle Gris and all who reside in it await your arrival. Please make haste before it's too late.

Most Gratefully yours Lady Gray

Writer Lady watches as the words disappear from her wall and the color returns to it.

The heavy sole of a boot scrapes against the linoleum as Tinkletoes shifts his weight.

“Orders?”

Writer Lady looks at Diomedes, whose color has changed from the neon glow of earlier to a more subdued but still dramatic warm orange.

“Your orders M’lady?” He asks.

Writer Lady looks from Tinkletoes to Daemon and Diomedes to the other people in the room. “I'm working on them,” she says. “I need a little more information before I give any orders.” Writer Lady looks in the direction of the ceiling and calls “TP!”

The faerie pops into the room next to Writer Lady, he's wearing a Jester hat and is giggling. When TP sees that something important seems to be going on, the faerie’s giggling diminishes, flowing into a “Yes?”

“What's going on?” She asks.

“What?” TP responds.

“If Lady Gray is at war, if The Graylands are in trouble, why didn't you say something?”

The faerie did not speak at first. “TP's been…… busy.” He says. He looks at the bell from the hat he's wearing dangling in front of his eyes and quickly removes it.

Tinkletoes approaches shifting his gaze back and forth from the hat in the faerie’s hand and the baby dragon. The self-proclaimed mercenary stops next to Writer Lady. “Where'd you get that?”

“What?” TP asks as he hides the hat behind his back.

“The thing with the bells on it. The hat."

"I found it.”

Writer Lady studies TP closely before shifting her attention to Furnatche. The baby dragon is sniffing at the floor. His super smeller nose is working at full throttle as he slowly meanders closer and closer to the ground below TP's fluttering form. “Where was it? Where did you find it?” She asks.

TP looks at the ceiling before answering, "In the wallway.” He says.

“Wallway?” Writer Lady repeats.

“It's a walkway through House. Between her walls.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady, “Told you something was wrong.”

“How long has it been here?”

“Not long.” TP says.

“House why didn't you say something?”

“I didn't know it was there until now. Let me take a look.”

“It's Faerie magic.” TP calls.

“Clearly.” House agrees. “Just what I thought. It's very sophisticated faerie magic. More sophisticated than the rest of the magic that flows through me. Whoever did this is powerful and highly skilled.”

“Are there any remnants of the magic left from Lady Gray's message?” Writer Lady asks. “If there is please see if it's the same magic.”

“It is not.” House responds.

“Great.” Writer Lady says looking at Tinkletoes. “Now we have two problems.”

“Not necessarily.” Diomedes says as he approaches. The dragon ducks under lighting fixtures, his wings tucked safely in being careful not to damage anything in his esteemed creator’s home. “What if the correspondence on the walls was her second attempt to call for help? What if her first attempt took place before much of The Graylands had fallen? When her magic was stronger?”

“We aren't looking for an intruder.” Carp says as he approaches the group.

“We're looking for a messenger.” She says.

House Dragons And Giggling Walls

 

Tinkletoes’ eyes stop at the baby dragon sleeping in the corner of the room. “What's he doing here?” 

Writer Lady turns and looks at Furnatche. “He's curled up in the corner, his breathing is slower, his eyes are closed.” She looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary. “It looks like he's sleeping.”

“The lil’ guy doesn't usually sleep in here.”

“He's usually with the kids.” Writer Lady agrees.

“What's he doing here?”

“How should I know?”

“It's your house.” Tinkletoes says.

“Furnatche is another living creature. Autonomous, independent. I can't tell you what's going on in your…” Writer Lady chooses her words carefully before continuing, “...head how would I know what's going on in his?”

The self-proclaimed mercenary grunts and begins searching Writer Lady's dresser. He’s closing the sock drawer when he notices movement in the corner of his eye. As he opens Writer Lady's pajama drawer he turns to find Furnatche has raised his head. The baby dragon’s eyes open. Furnatche stretches, releasing the tendrils from his nose, the dragon puts nose to floor and begins walking towards the door. The self-proclaimed mercenary follows.

“What are you doing?” Writer Lady asks.

“Something's going on, the dragon knows it too. You got a problem with that?”

“What are the PJs for?”

Tinkletoes gives Writer Lady’s pajamas back to her. “Nothing. Here.” Tinkletoes looks everywhere but Writer Lady's eyes. “I was helping you clean your mess up,” or something like that fell out of the self-proclaimed mercenary's mouth.

Furnatche stops and sniffs at the molding at the base of the wall near the bedroom door. The baby dragon turns and looks at Tinkletoes.

“Do you smell something?” Tinkletoes asks.

Furnatche raises his head and walks into the hall, stopping near the door to Writer Lady's room. Tinkletoes follows, Writer Lady throws her pajamas on to her bed and follows, completing the group.

Tinkletoes puts a finger to his lips, gesturing to Writer Lady to be quiet. Everyone listens.

“Do you hear that?” He asks.

“What is that?”

“Someone's giggling.”

Writer Lady looks around and cocks her head, listening more closely. “It's coming from... behind the wall?”

Furnatche sniffs where the sound is coming from.

“It's the middle of the night T.P. would you just give it up already.” She says.

“It's not T.P.” Tinkletoes observes. “T.P. would just pop in. He wants us to know when it's him. Whoever this is, they're looking for something.”

“Or someone.” Writer lady observes.

“I keep this place on lockdown. No one else should be here.”

More giggling is heard coming from behind the wall.

“We can hear you!” Writer Lady calls out.

The giggling stops.

“This isn't your typical house. There is at least one doorway to Faerie here, there could be another one. Perhaps we have a new visitor.”

The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head. “T.P., Diomedes, Daemon, even the giant what was his name…Gordon, showed themselves. That pointy eared Teletubbie lookin' thing I saw or whatever this is isn’t coming in to say ‘Hello.’ Until we know who or what this is I'm raising security protocol. Effective immediately.” The self-proclaimed mercenary’s eyes sweep the hallway. “Someone is watching over this house and everyone in it, probably 24/7. You take the First Watch. Carp will come to relieve you at 6:00 a.m.”

“Isn't 6:00 a.m. a little late?” She asks.

“I'm kind of tired.” Tinkletoes admits. “Coffee can wait until 6:10.”

Writer Lady watches as Tinkletoes and Furnatche walk in the direction of the other bedrooms. “I'm not allowed to sleep anymore," she says with a sigh. After First Watch, making coffee, seeing to it everyone has eaten and cleaning up the kitchen, Writer Lady settles down in bed and closes her eyes.

“Mom?” Writer Lady turns on her side and opens her eyes to find Dobby Cat. She reaches out and rubs the ginger tabby's head. “What do you need, Bubby?”

“A situation is developing in Quadrant 8B.”

“Speak English Kitty.”

“Something is wrong in the bonus room.”

Getting out of bed she quickly puts on her robe and follows Dobby to the bonus room where a group has already gathered. Dobby stops walking when the pair are adjacent to the utility closet and holds out a small flashlight.

“You're going to need this.” He says.

Writer Lady notices that the light in the room appears to have ended at its halfway point. Taking the flashlight from his paw, she turns it on. Tinkletoes, Carp, Aunt Purdy, Peter, Paige, Dylan and Furnatche all look the way they should. Daemon and Diomedes stand next to the back wall. They are both glowing brightly illuminating the wall behind them which no longer has any color at all. Everything beyond the demon and the dragon only exist in shades of gray.

“Where did the color go?” She asks. “Why isn't House freaking out?”

“The flashlight Dobby gave you appeared after Diomedes discovered the changes to the room.” Aunt Purdy says, “Your initials are engraved in the base of it.”

Holding the base of the flashlight up to the light in the closet behind her, Writer Lady sees ‘WL’ engraved into the base of the flashlight in intricate script. She turns her attention back to the group.

“The wall is giving off a vibration, Mi’lady, one that feels like home.” Diomedes explains. Daemon emits a high pitched sound that Writer Lady hasn't heard coming from him since T.P. and Dobby drew the demon from his home several years ago. Furnatche yips in agreement.

“There is magic here. Powerful Faerie magic. It could be some sort of message.” Diomedes suggests. 

“Your first magical mail. I'm so excited for you.” Carp says.

“I bet it's a letter,” Dylan says. “From Hogwarts.”

“Sorry kid.” Tinkletoes says. “Wrong story.”

“We are all curious Mi’lady.” Diomedes says.

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “Open her up, let's see what we're dealing with.”

He's Catching The Damn Thing

 

Furnatche’s butt wiggles with excitement as the baby dragon watches hands and feet move around him. He listens to the sounds of the video game, jumping with excitement when Dylan, his favorite human, wins. The baby dragon’s tail stops moving, he raises his head and sniffs. Turning and leaving Dobby's room, AKA The Gamers Den, Furnatche puts his nose to the floor after he enters the hallway, he raises his head and sneezes.

“It's not that bad.” House says.

Furnatche lowers his head, sniffs and sneezes again.

“Everyone's a critic.” She continues, releasing a long suffering sigh. “I've been busy.”

Furnatche looks at the ceiling.

“Fine.”

The floor beneath the baby dragon’s feet glows momentarily lighting the hallway before diminishing completely. Furnatche lowers his head to the floor and sniffs, continuing his search for the source of the interesting smell.

“Better?” House asks.

The baby dragon relaxes his posture allowing his tail to swish back and forth as he works.

“I'll take that as a ‘yes.’ You're welcome.”

Furnatche stops at the end of the hall. He turns his head in the direction of the door to Writer Lady's bedroom then back towards a door he never smelled before. The dragon's nose sparkles briefly as he releases the tendrils that stay tucked away around the edge of it. His boy Dylan calls them Super Smellers because the little bean shaped sensors open and close as they taste the air. Furnatche sniffs at the pink, blue, green, purple, and yellow door that glitters with magic. It glows momentarily as giggling is heard from the other side. As the glowing fades the door disappears and is replaced by a wall.

Furnatche turns in the direction of Writer Lady’s room and sniffs. The baby dragon puts his head to the door as he pushes on it and walks inside. Furnatche waits as Writer Lady shifts on the bed at the sound of the door moving and settles back down under the covers. He continues his search around the room. The baby dragon weaves his way around the dresser, nightstands, and bookshelves. He searches under her bed entering from one side and emerging on the other. Furnatche wanders into the closet taking several minutes to have a thorough sniff. He returns to his inspection of the bedroom itself stopping for a moment to sit in the room’s center. Furnatche and his super smeller nose keep sniffing, searching for a particular scent. After several moments, he sneezes.

“Hello Furnatche.” Writer Lady says. She rolls onto her stomach to observe him from underneath her warm and cozy spot. “Hello.” She repeats. “Whatcha doin’ Sweetie?”

The baby dragon looks at Writer Lady and steps forward to greet her, sniffing her hand as she rubs his head. He releases one contented rumbling sound, then returns to his search as she drifts back to sleep. 

Furnatche wanders into a dark empty corner of the room and sniffs. The tendrils disappear into his nose. He rubs his head against the floor. The baby dragon has found the source of the scent he was searching for or where it likes to linger at least. He curls up in the corner of the room and falls asleep. As the room goes silent a face appears on the wall above his head. It watches for a moment, giggles softly then disappears.

Writer Lady opens one eye moments before her space is invaded. There’s no mistaking the sound of the combat boots thumping up the hall or who’s wearing them. She waits until the thumping stops at the end of her bed before speaking. “What do you want?”

“From you? Nothing. I'm lookin' for that thing.” He says.

“What thing?”

“The lil’ guy.”

“Which lil’ guy?” She asks.

“The new one.”

“There's a new one?” Writer Lady sits up in bed and turns on a lamp. “What does he look like?”

“One of those bright colored things on TV with the antennas on their heads and a funny square on their stomachs.”

“You saw a Teletubby? In this house?”

“It's not the same color but it's short like one, has this annoying giggle and really pointy ears.” Tinkletoes says as he looks under Writer Lady's bed then begins tossing things from her closet as he continues his search. “It popped into my quarters as I was finishing up an inventory check rambling something I couldn't understand. When I asked how it got past my security locks it started giggling and ran off. I can't catch it.” Tinkletoes turns and looks at her. “Would you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“The perimeter has been breached. The Invader must be captured and interrogated so security measures can be upgraded. So this doesn't happen again.”

Writer Lady rolls her eyes. “This house is enchanted and a portion of it is a gateway to Faerie. Did you stop to consider the possibility that whoever is in this house is not of our world? That House let him or her in voluntarily?”

“I don't care what's in here, it doesn't belong here. I'm catchin’ the damn thing.”

As Long As The Demon Doesn't Come Down With It Everything Will Be Okay

 

Carp looks at Writer Lady.

“It could be worse.” She offers. “If Daemon had come down with this it would have been worse.” 

“You’re forgetting one small detail.” Carp says. “The demon doesn't carry live ammo.”

“Daemon has really big horns. Pointy ones.”

“Tinkletoes has smoke bombs and hand grenades. Really Big Guns.” Carp counters.

“Daemon is really big.”

Carp turns from the self-proclaimed mercenary to Writer Lady wondering if something that lame is all she's got.

“He's big enough that he could do some serious damage to House.” She says in an attempt to expand her argument.

“I keep trying to think back,” Tinkletoes continues, “to the moment when I started messing my life up. Was it when I left the military, went into business for myself, was it further back?” Tinkletoes asks looking at Writer Lady and Carp. “When I was in school, I didn't always want to eat the vegetables on my lunch tray. Smelt always had potato chips and a cupcake in his lunch. My grandma was one of the lunch ladies so I always got my lunch at school. Grandma never let me have any chips or sweets, if I complained about it she’d give me extra vegetables.”

Neither respond with a kind word or sympathy.

“That woman cannot cook a vegetable.”

Still nothing.

“If I didn't see her at work in the lunch room I'd trade lunches with Smelts.” He confessed. “He really believed if he ate the vegetables he’d never be shoved into another locker again.

“How is trading lunches in grade school taking the wrong road in life?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes turns, looking pointedly at her.

“What?” She asks. “Is it a woman's responsibility to tell a man what's wrong with him?”

“Sometimes others can see what you can't.” Tinkletoes offers.

“He's right.” Carp admits.

Writer Lady steps away from Tinkletoes, turns and stares at the room in front of her.

Carp follows, “Are you okay?”

“He's looking for me to give him information. Not just information but guidance. This is serious.” She says.

“As I was saying.”

Tinkletoes picks his narrative back up. “I've devoted my life to fighting for the good guys. When I saw the extent of the threat to mankind from both Ninja Zombies and space aliens…”

TP pops into the room just outside Tinkletoes’ line of sight and begins playing a sad tune on a tiny violin.

“I not only entered the fight…”

The violin continues playing by itself as the faerie holds up a sign that reads: We've Heard It All Before.

Tinkletoes continues, “...I took command...”

“Because he can't stand not being the center of attention.” House whispers.

Writer Lady hears several beeps and the sound of Tinkletoes’ words faintly echo throughout the rest of the house.

“...leading my fellow soldiers to victory time and time again.”

TP holds up another sign that reads. It Was Literally One Weekend.

“Here I am sitting alone…”

“Dude… you're never alone.” Ray says walking into the bonus room.

“He's right.” Carp admits.

“There are five of us so far.” Writer Lady points out.

“And more are coming.” Ray offers.

A faraway look comes to the self-proclaimed mercenary's eye. Tinkletoes is a very important dude with a speech to give and no one is going to change his narrative… not yet anyway. “...wondering if these last few years have had any meaning at all.”

“Space aliens have abducted Tinkletoes and replaced him with something with a brain.” House says. Alarm sounds go off throughout the house. “Activating space alien attack force field, scanning for unidentifiable life forms. Raise security level to DEFCON 2.”

Writer Lady looks at the ceiling, she steps away from Tinkletoes and the friends who have surrounded him. “House, we’re in the midst of an anxiety epidemic. Would you mind leaving your cruel comments at home?” Writer Lady says.

“I am the home therefore I don't have one. Nice try.”

Writer Lady holds her temper, “Behave or I'm not power washing you next weekend.”

“No facial scrub?” House asks in a worried tone.

“No facial scrub.”

“Fine. I wasn't having that much fun anyway. Come on TP.”

Writer Lady runs her index finger down the length of her other index finger several times shaming TP. The faerie blows a raspberry back at her before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Ray, Carp, Dobby, the kittens, the kids, and Aunt Purdy all surround Tinkletoes. Several voices call out, offering help and asking what could be done to make him feel better. Writer Lady hears everything being offered up from washing his truck and cleaning his field gear to rearranging his weapons in alphabetical order and his ammo by size for easy access.

“I don't believe it.” Writer Lady mutters, “A woman gets anxiety and we're weak or have hormone issues or something. A child, a man or an enchanted being gets anxiety and everyone comes to help.”

“No but thanks,” could be heard coming from Tinkletoes.

People wish him well before going back to what they were doing leaving Carp and Writer Lady alone with the self-proclaimed mercenary.

“Are you sure there isn't anything we can do to help you feel better?” Carp presses.

“There may be one thing. I ran out of cupcakes a couple of days ago.” Tinkletoes says before looking at Writer Lady.

Writer Lady’s neutral expression quickly goes dark. “No. Not today.”

“It's going to make him feel better.” Carp says.

“Query letter! We're on a deadline! One that you gave me.”

“Deadlines/ guidelines it's all the same.”

“Not really.”

“We'll make an exception. Just for today.”

“I don't think it's a good idea to make an exception. This whole process is painful enough without stringing things out.”

“But you've already made so much progress.”

“I have other projects I need to be working on if I'm not working on the query letter.”

“You're helping a friend. Sweet treats make everyone feel better.” Carp says with a smile.

“Sweets are a short-term solution to a much bigger problem.”

“We can't find the source of the fire if we don't put out the flames blocking the front door.” The assassin-in-training offers.

“It's over 100° outside!” Writer Lady counters.

“That's just the heat index. It’s not really that hot.”

Writer Lady sighs, “What am I baking?” She asks.

“I'm not sure what I feel like.” Tinkletoes says. “If I could just get an assortment: Vanilla with a cream filling, Red velvet, Black velvet, Dark chocolate mint, and some of those Salted Caramel ones with the bacon on top.”

Writer Lady stomps into the kitchen and begins working, slamming everything that can be.

“See, all fixed.” Carp says looking at Tinkletoes, “You should get some rest.”

“A nap does sound pretty good," the self-proclaimed mercenary admits.

Carp heads for the kitchen. Retrieving a soda from the refrigerator he turns to Writer Lady.

“Remind me again why Tinkletoes having anxiety is better," she says.

“If Tinkletoes recovers from the anxiety it won’t spread and Daemon won't get it.”

“As long as the demon doesn't come down with it everything will be okay.” She says.

Anxious Tough Guys

 

Writer Lady steps into the hallway with Carp following close behind her. She continues down the hall, checking the bedrooms first. “House show me Dobby's room.” She calls to the ceiling. A door appears in front of her with a sign on it that reads: Real tough guys only. No Posers Allowed. Spots and Smudge this means you. A bright orange paw print signifies the end of the ginger tabby’s message. Writer Lady reaches out for the doorknob grabbing it. TP’s voice fills the hall. “No Touchie Touchie! Only the secret Tough Guy knock will allow entry.” She turns to Carp who shrugs.

“Don't look at me, I don't know anything about this.”

“Aren't assassins supposed to be tough guys?” Writer lady asks.

Carp puts his hands to his chest, the assassin-in-training responds, “I'll have you know that I have yet to give a target so much as a hangnail,” correcting her. “I did manage to put an arrow into my former literary agent’s boss’ back tire. Of course I was aiming for my ex-agent's new Timmy Chews at the time.”

“Don't assassins kill people?”

Carp rolls his eyes, “The Timmy Chews were from a special collection of highly sought after ultrahigh heels on the market for a limited time. Each pair had its own registration number. How many times do I have to keep telling people this?” He asks.

“What would a Tough Guy knock be…”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Writer Lady thinks for a bit. “This is my house.” She says before banging on Dobby's door with her fist.

“We keep telling you Daemon the answer’s 'No.' You're not mean enough to be a tough guy.” Dobby says opening the door.

Writer Lady and Carp look at each other.

“A demon from a place so deeply lodged in Hell that the only way inside is located at the base of Faerie’s most dangerous volcano isn't mean enough to be a tough guy?” She asks.

“He is a bit of a marshmallow.” Carp points out.

“He was the only one to remember me on Mother's Day.” Writer Lady admits turning to Dobby.

“Didn't he just give you a big box of tissues?” Carp asks.

“There were flowers on the outside of the box. He didn't know they weren't real.”

“Lame.” The ginger tabby says.

“A lame gift is better than not being acknowledged at all.”

“Sorry Mom.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby with her most disapproving expression. “Apologies mean nothing...” she says.

“...unless I change my behavior.” Dobby says finishing Writer Lady's sentence.

“I do listen.” He says. “Part of the time.”

The sound of explosions and rapid fire can be heard in the background. Dobby comes closer stepping into the hallway closing the door nearly all the way, placing himself squarely between Writer Lady and the inside of his room.

“Who do you have in there?” she asks.

“Peter, Dylan, Ray...Diomedes might come later if he's not feeling as nervous he's been lately. The game was too stimulating for him the other day. All the usual people, what's up?” Dobby asks.

“The anxiety alarm has been going off. Carp and I are both fine so we're trying to figure out who’s triggering it. Does anyone in there with you seem well… jittery?”

“No. We're all fine.”

“Are you sure there's no one in there that seems to...I don't know...be taking losing a little too personally?”

“No Mom we're having a great time.”

More sounds of rapid fire and explosions go off behind the ginger tabby.

“Dude your plan totally worked. You got to come see what happened.” Ray’s voice calls out. "Hurry man.”

Dobby turns his head in the direction of the sounds coming from his room.

“If you notice anything strange..”

Dobby turns back to Writer Lady and nods.

“We're resuming in five…” Ray calls. “Four…”

The ginger tabby looks behind him and turns back to Writer Lady.

“Anyone a little nervous? Having random outbursts…”

Dobby looks at Writer Lady.

Three... can be heard from the other side of the door.

“This anxiety seems to hit creatures very suddenly without warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Call me if you see anything.”

“Okay Mom I've got it.” Dobby says closing the door.

Writer Lady and Carp stand in the hallway as the sounds of Halo commences in the distance.

“Did he seem anxious to you?” Writer Lady asks.

“Not at all, the gamers seem to be okay. If you want to get that query letter wrapped up today we need to get going.”

“House.” Writer Lady calls to the ceiling, “Show us the kittens. Art on the walls surrounding the pair fades and new art appears as Writer Lady and Carp find themselves at the opposite end of the hall, in front of Aunt Purdy's door. A cheerful wreath of flowers marks the entry to Aunt Purdy’s room. Sounds coming from the other side of the door are softer than the sounds that had been coming from the other side of Dobby's. Carp knocks on the door. It opens within seconds, Aunt Purdy stands on the other side of the entry, she is smiling.

“Hello.”

“Hello.” Carp says, mirroring her greeting.

“I was wondering how you're feeling.” Writer Lady says.

Aunt Purdy thinks for a moment. “As we all know I'm not the same as I used to be. I have to admit that I’m feeling more relaxed than have felt in recent weeks. The herbal teas, music, and meditations are helping.”

Writer Lady and Carp smile.

“Not to mention the changes in diet, increased exercise, and being more mindful of what I watch and read.” Aunt Purdy continues. “They say this time of life is like a woman's second spring, it's more like spring cleaning if you ask me. The only way to get through it is to clear away your bad habits. All of them.”

Writer Lady reaches out and hugs Aunt Purdy. “We can't go through menopause for you, but we're all with you.”

“Don't forget what comes after spring cleaning.” Carp says.

Aunt Purdy and Writer Lady look at Carp waiting for more information.

“Redecorating!” He sings. “I'm not just talking about home décor, your body is doing new things so you can have a whole new look, I mean everywhere girl.”

And Purdy's lips turn up ever so slightly showing no indication whether she's up for making big changes or not kind of like the woman in the Mona Lisa, only happier.

“You heard the alarms?” Writer Lady asks.

“I did.”

“We're just checking on everyone making sure everything is okay.”

“I have quite a group of visitors today would you like to come and take a look?” Aunt Purdy asks before leading Writer Lady and Carp into her room.

Spots, Smudge, Furnatche, Paige and Daemon are all inside. Paige is blowing catnip bubbles for the animals as Daemon watches. The kittens watch the bubbles float along thoughtfully, anticipating where the bubble might go then quietly yet efficiently popping it with their claws. The baby dragon goes after the bubbles with greater enthusiasm, there's lots of jumping and happy yipping sounds. It’s an idyllic scene versus what had been transpiring in recent days.

“That was easy.” Carp observes as the pair leave Aunt Purdy's room.

“A little too easy.” Writer Lady counters.

“Pixie One is resting in her room. Diomedes is getting better but returning to his room when he feels overstimulated. TP and Pixie Too haven't been here for weeks so it's not them.”

The anxiety alarm goes off again.

“Someone's triggering it right now.” Writer Lady observes. “Who? Everyone's been accounted for. House, can you tell where the anxiety is coming from?” Writer Lady asks.

“Coordinates of anxiety outbursts are 8.6.75.309.” House responds in a monotone.

“Where is that?” Carp asks.

“How the hell should I know! Where do you think you are, in a Sci-Fi movie?” House responds.

Writer Lady rolls her eyes, “Thanks House.”

“Don't mention it.”

A thumping sound comes from the other side of the house. Writer Lady turns her head in the direction of the sound. There's another thump, this one is louder than the first.

Writer Lady and Carp take off in the direction of the sound. The writer and assassin-in-training stop in the entry to the bonus room. Tinkletoes is sitting next to the carport door. The self-proclaimed mercenary is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees are tucked in close against his torso like a child struggling to feel safe. Tinkletoes slowly bangs the back of his head against the wall. “Have you ever wondered,” the self-proclaimed mercenary asks. “what the meaning of a mercenary’s life actually is? Have you ever wondered why you're here. If lighted sabers, semi-automatics, and fancy cupcakes is all there is. Have you ever asked yourself if you're wasting your life?”