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.