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.