A Writer Lady's Quest To Get Some Sleep

*Never light any firework of any sort inside a building or at a stove. That goes for sparklers too.

 

Writer Lady covers her head with her pillow and lays back down as far out of Tinkletoes’ reach as humanly possible.

“Still here.” The self-proclaimed mercenary announces. “I’m not leaving without food.”

Writer Lady removes the pillow from her face. “Eat nuts.” She says.

“What?”

“Eat nuts, berries, boil up some tree roots. You have a rare opportunity to really hone those skills.” She says before covering her face with the pillow again.

“It’s January. Too cold for foraging.”

Writer Lady ignores the comment. The room grows quiet, she hears a rustling sound. “He’s still here isn’t he?” She asks. No one responds. She feels the mattress shift as Tinkletoes' weight takes residence on the far corner of the bed.

“Still here.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says.

Three minutes pass.

“Still here.” He repeats.

“You aren’t going to give up are you?” She asks.

“I’m military trained and a Browncoat, what do you think?”

“Duude...you said you were in a hurry.” Ray says.

His voice is coming from the general direction of the bedroom door.

“I am.” Tinkletoes responds.

“I found some food. The bowls, plates, and cooking spoons. Let’s get this put together. I’ve been up for three days, I’m finally ready for some shut eye.”

“Okay Ray. Let’s do it.”

The bed shifts again as Tinkletoes’ weight is no longer forcing the corner of the mattress down. “I appreciate the help Ray. At least some people care enough to pitch in.”

“Some people are too out of it to realize they’re being taken advantage of.” Writer Lady mutters under her breath.”

“Tinkletoes and Ray cooking together. This oughta be fun.” House comments.

The bedroom is once again quiet as a light slowly dawns.

“What did you just say?” Writer Lady asks.

“Tinkletoes and Ray cooking together. This oughta be fun. I wonder if TP would record it for me. We could send it to one of those comedy websites.”

Writer Lady sits up, wide awake. “Not in my kitchen,” she says as she throws on a robe.

“You sure?”

“I like my kitchen and besides listening to you complain about smoke damage isn’t something that I want any part of.” Writer Lady walks into the kitchen seconds before Ray begins toasting a jumbo marshmallow at the stove’s front burner. One that has been skewered with a sparkler. The burner is on. Blue flames dance merrily around the burner's circumference, waiting.

“No!” Writer Lady’s voice echoes through the room as she pushes both men out of the way. “No fireworks in the house!”

“Does this count?” Tinkletoes says.

“The kitchen is inside isn’t it?” House comments.

“How much time? How much time do we have?” Writer Lady asks.

“Twenty minutes.” Tinkletoes responds, straightening up.

“Where’s TP?”

“Mor-NING.” TP calls as he dives from a curtain rod above a kitchen window and flies into Writer Lady’s field of vision.

“You’ve been in here the whole time?”

The faerie nods.

“And you did nothing to stop them?”

TP shakes his head. “It looked like it was gonna be fun.” He says rolling into a series of mid-air somersaults. “TP loves a good show.”

“Guess what? The cost of your ticket has just come up and payment is due. If I'm providing food for this excursion, I need you to slow the passage of time. I'm going to need about two hours.” Writer Lady looks around her kitchen at Tinkletoes and Ray’s mess. “Make that two and a half hours. I need to clean up this mess before I can do anything. Now what to make..."

  Tinkletoes steps forward, "I have a list of preferred items."

  Writer Lady glares at Tinkletoes.

  "In case you're looking for ideas." He says handing over the list.

  "Ideas." She confirms as she studies his requests."I know what to make. The other challenge is going to be packaging.” Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “Will you get one of your open MREs? I need to show TP the packaging.”

Tinkletoes leaves and returns with an open Chicken A La King MRE.

Writer Lady scribbles a quick list. “If I make this can you package it up like what you’re looking at here?”

TP nods.

“Okay let’s get to work,” she says as she gets started putting things back in order. Several minutes have passed before she realizes things are unusually quiet. She turns and looks around the room. TP is relaxing on a lounge chair on top of the refrigerator, a large hourglass towers over the faerie as he naps, she notices the sand is moving at a phenomenally slow pace. The clocks on the stove and the microwave appear to have stopped moving completely. Her oven beeps indicating it has preheated. She sets about mixing together oats, dried fruit, nuts, butter, brown sugar and honey. Tinkletoes wanders over to where Writer Lady is working and peers over her shoulder while she is stirring.

“What’s that?”

“Whole grain, fruit, nuts, honey, brown sugar or in other words, granola.”

A look of disgust crosses the self-proclaimed mercenary’s face. “Don’t you have any protein bars?”

“This is granola. It’s all-natural and has no preservatives. People have been eating this as a convenient and portable source of nourishment since way before a single protein bar came into existence.”

Tinkletoes nods halfheartedly. “Could you at least throw some extra protein in?”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. “If I don’t have protein bars in the house what makes you think I would have protein powder?”

“Good point.”

Writer Lady spreads the mixture on to a cookie sheet and puts it in the oven. She heats oil in a skillet and begins sauteing onions and carrots.

“What’s that?” Tinkletoes asks. “We’re sleeping rough. There’s no refrigerators where we’re going.”

Writer Lady nods. “TP and I know what we’re doing.”

“Okay. Well make sure you don’t put any dairy or fish or anything that will go bad in there. Don’t make any of that funny food either.”

“Are you going to continue asking questions or should I send you on your way with a backpack full of Chicken A La King?”

Tinkletoes stares at the wall for a moment. “Just remember I gotta eat whatever this is. All weekend.”

Writer Lady glares at Tinkletoes until he leaves the kitchen. “The only thing keeping me from pouring a laxative into this pan is Carp.”She mutters.

“I heard Carp mention that he was feeling constipated.” House says.

Writer Lady's Bedroom: Four AM

Writer Lady opens one eye. The room is dark. Her mother’s words run through her mind. “You don’t eat enough, you’re too skinny.” She rolls on to her back and contemplates how many times she heard those words. Shaking her head, Writer Lady rolls over to the other side. Smudge is curled up against her. She smiles. It’s always nice to have your own personal heater on a cold night. It seems the kitten agrees. She closes her eyes hoping to return to some level of REM sleep. Then she hears, “It’s so difficult to shop for new clothes these days. Mind your sweets!” This is also her mother’s voice. Eventually she gets back to sleep, “Grr...where are the sweets?” The words are gruff, she imagines a large monster in the room standing over her. Raising her hand, she feels around in the general vicinity the voice seems to be coming from and finds nothing. She lowers her hand falling back into the deep sleep she is craving.

Several minutes later she hears someone say, “Where’s the food?” Writer Lady ignores the question. She feels something push against her shoulder. “Where’s the food?” She opens one eye, a large silhouette is standing over her. She sits up, the top her head meets against something hard. She hears a grunt, the obstruction is no longer blocking her trajectory. “What the…?” She asks.

“That’s what I was gonna say.” Tinkletoes’ voice counters.

She reaches out for…

“That is not the lamp.”

“Get out of the way.” She says. Writer Lady manages to find the switch and turn the bedside lamp on, after her eyes adjust she releases a full glare in his direction. “What are you doing in here?”

Tinkletoes is standing next to the bed in full fatigues: pants, t-shirt, coat, and combat boots. The self-proclaimed mercenary is dressed for an outing and rubbing the chin which has just met with Writer Lady’s head. “Looking for food.”

“For what?”

“Carp and I are brushing up on our survival skills this weekend, we’re out of food.”

Writer Lady reaches for her phone. “The supply store will be open in two hours.” She announces as she places her phone back in its resting spot. “Have fun.” She says as she lays back down.

“We are scheduled to reach our campsite at 0500 hours. Food supplies must be packed now.”

“Go to your room.” Writer Lady says.

“What?”

“Your room. Go get some of those MRO thingies you’re always stockpiling, isn’t that what they’re for?”

“MREs or Meals Ready To Eat. Yes, that’s what they’re for. I don’t have any.”

Writer Lady sits up again and waits for more information.

“Ray ran out of cheese puffs, sugar cereal and popcorn last week. He was looking for a snack and got into them. TP kind of told him if he kept eating he would find a prize.”

“The next day you went out and purchased replacement supplies...” Writer Lady prompts.

Tinkletoes shakes his head. “There haven’t been any orders for my new line of lighted sabers. The training budget is empty.”

“If you have no training budget then why did you schedule an excursion? Where did the money come from for registration, gas, and your other supplies.”

Tinkletoes looks at the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, everywhere except Writer Lady's face. “I might have done well with a wager or two.”

“It was enough to pay for everything except the food?”

“Something like that.”

Writer Lady picks up her phone, she scrolls through the web browser for several minutes. “Would you look at that, the camping supply store delivers anywhere at no additional charge.”

Tinkletoes looks at the screen. “That is only for the extra large tub of dehydrated macaroni and cheese.”

“Uh huh. If we order in the next ten minutes they’ll throw in a case of powdered eggs, yummy.” She says as she begins ordering the supplies.

Tinkletoes grabs the phone away before she can finalize the order.

“Hey.”

And cancels it.

“An excursion with such unbalanced supplies is unacceptable.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She counters.

“To run a proper training expedition the correct supplies must be obtained, ‘sides it wouldn’t look right in front of the other guys, you know, a delivery truck pulling up way out in the middle of nowhere like we’re a couple sixth graders who forgot their lunches.”

“Correct supplies?” Writer Lady repeats, “It’s four in the morning. You are waiting until the last minute to tell me, someone who is not a part of any of this, that you, the one who failed to replenish your supplies when you first noticed them missing is in need of several days worth of food within the next half hour.”

“Reminds me of a sixth grader.” House offers.

“House.” Writer Lady says.

“It’s the truth.” She counters.

“Also unnecessary thank you very much.” Writer Lady says.

“Compromised.” He corrects. “The supplies were compromised.”

“Compromised? How were they compromised?”

“Ray opened each and every one of them, eating only the items he wanted.” Tinkletoes admits.

“Meaning?”

“I kinda got a whole bin full of salt and pepper packets, wipes, plastic cutlery, toilet paper, and highly suspect entrees.”

Writer Lady raises an eyebrow and looks at Tinkletoes squarely.

“Chicken A La King. The only thing left is the Chicken A La King.” He confesses.

“How is that her problem?” House asks.

“Shh!”

Tinkletoes reaches deep, deep, deep down. Where is anybody’s guess. He looks at Writer Lady and says. “I know I may not be the nicest guy and considering some of the things I’ve done, you may not care if I spend the next three days eating that stuff but Carp has been a good friend to all of us. If you don’t help us you’re subjecting our friend to that...stuff. Not just for one meal but for several. You are a kind and just writer lady. Be kind for Carp’s sake.”

“For Crap’s sake.”

“House!”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“Don’t make Carp eat the Chicken A La King.”

Writer Lady hears a clucking noise. She looks past the edge of the bed, a rooster wearing a crown and a velvet cloak struts past her. She closes her eyes wondering what she possibly could have done to deserve a night like this one.