A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary's Just Desserts

 

Writer Lady looks at the ceiling, “You’re making that up.”

“Maybe. It’s a good way to get revenge on Tinklebutt. He has it coming.”

Writer Lady shakes her head as she cooks.

“You know he does.” House continues.

“He does.” Writer Lady agrees, “But I am not going to be the one to do it.”

One hour later two pots sit on the stove ready and waiting for a bit of faerie magic.

“TP I’m ready.” Writer Lady calls.

The faerie stretches, yawns, and flies down from his lounging spot on top of the refrigerator. He flies over the pans as he inspects the food.

“One is a stew, the other Chili Mac. What I need you to do is remove the moisture from the food and package it into individual servings. The package should look like the food we showed you earlier.”

TP nods.

“I’ll wrap up the granola bars so we can get that man the hell out of here.”

TP looks at Writer Lady as he attempts stifling a giggle.

“I meant I'll wrap up the granola bars so we can get Tinkletoes and Carp on their way.”

“Okay.” The faerie floats to the far side of the kitchen. “You work here,” he instructs. “TP do the rest.”

Writer Lady gathers her supplies and moves out of the way. A familiar song begins to play as the faerie works.

“Smelly gon-go-la. Frank-en-bam-bo-la Bibbity bobbity boo…” He sings.

“TP. No.”

“What no?” He asks as portions of the entrees float in the air above each pot. TP flutters between them. As the faerie makes a wringing motion with his hands, moisture is expelled from the food as water is wrung from a dish cloth. An empty package appears labeled Big TP’s Big Entrees. A hose which extends from the package sucks up the dry food particles. When the package is full it seals itself shut, causing the hose to detach itself. The packet floats away from the stove, gently landing on an empty stretch of counter.

“You can’t sing that song. Disney owns that.”

TP stops working. “It is a faerie work song. All creatures of Faerie sing it. Nobody owns it.”

“Maybe not in Faerie but here on Earth someone does. You can sing your song just not that part.”

“Which part?”

“The bippity bobbity boo part.” She explains.

“That’s what makes it so fun.”

“It could be considered copyright infringement if you sing it so please stop.”

“I don’t see what the problem is, it’s not like your making money.” House points out. “The little guy is just having some fun.”

“Let’s just find new song, okay?”

TP rolls his eyes. “Okay.” The faerie sings. “Smelly gon-go-la. Frank-en Bam-boo-la….” He pauses for a few beats and continues. “Smelly gon-go-la, frank-en bam-bo-la…” TP looks at Writer Lady. “It’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sucky humans.” The faerie mutters as he continues his work.

The last packet seals and floats down into an open box just as the final grain of sand falls through the hour glass. Tinkletoes walks through the house and picks up the box without saying good-bye. Carp says “Thank you,” to all and encourages Writer Lady to get some sleep as he follows the self-proclaimed mercenary out carrying a case of bottled water.

Two Days Later

Tinkletoes walks through the living room, gear bag in hand, disappearing down the hall without uttering a word. When he returns several minutes later, Writer Lady puts down the book she is reading and follows him into the kitchen.

“How was your camping trip?” She asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Fine.”

“The food?”

"MREs aren't usually dehydrated. You could have just had TP vacuum seal them. The food would have been fine."

"Really." Writer Lady comments.

"It would have saved you some work." 

Writer Lady bites her tongue. "Anything else?"

The self-proclaimed mercenary shrugs. He stares at the clock on the stove as he sips his coffee. “I do have one question.”

“Yes?”

“I find myself wondering why I went to all the trouble to wake you up and ask you for food.”

“What do you mean?”

“You made two different meals?”

Writer Lady nods.

“Everything I ate this weekend tasted like Chicken A La King.”

“The Chili Mac?”

He nods.

“The stew?”

He nods again.

“The granola bars?” Writer Lady asks.

“Everything. I would have just taken what was already in the bin with me if I had known that was gonna happen.”

Writer Lady sees something moving in her peripheral vision, she looks past Tinkletoes to find a rooster wearing a velvet cloak and crown. She watches as it struts through the laundry room behind the self-proclaimed mercenary’s back, out of his line of sight. The rooster turns to look at her, puts the tip of a wing to his beak and whispers “Shh...”