Diomedes' Dilemma

 

“Oh.”

Writer Lady shifts under her blankets.

“Ooh.”

She moves on to her back just as she begins dreaming a rag tag group of cat burglars have shuffled up the hall and entered her bedroom.

A voice says, “I’m sorry Sir. This just isn’t working. Oh.”

Writer Lady realizes she knows the voice calling out in pain. “Diomedes?” She calls as she opens her eyes. Reaching out she turns on the bedroom light. Her eyes adjust to the sudden burst of light, then focus to reveal the identities of the figures standing at the foot of her bed. Dobby, Ray, TP floating in the air above Dobby’s head and Diomedes. “Diomedes are you in pain?”

The seven foot dragon shakes his large head. “I am.”

“What’s wrong? Has House been refusing to raise her ceiling for you when you enter a room again?”

“No, not at all. House has always been thoughtful and accommodating.” He responds.

“Is it your stomach again?” She asks recalling the Stomach Bug Incident of 2015.

“No.” He responds. “It’s my...it’s my.” The dragon turns a soft blushing pink color. “It’s my wings. They appear to be stuck.”

Writer Lady sits up, propping her bed pillows in front of her headboard, she leans her back against them. “You have wings?” She asks.

“Yes Mi’lady. I use them only for flight.”

Writer Lady tries to imagine a set of wings that would keep Diomedes in flight.

“Considering my size and weight as you can imagine my wings are quite large.” He explains. “Mi’lady, you look perplexed. Do you not believe me?”

Writer Lady gets out of bed and approaches her very early morning visitors. She looks at Diomedes. “Of course I believe you. It’s just, I’ve never seen anything that indicates you have wings.” She walks behind the group, studying Diomedes closely. “There’s nothing laying against your back. Even if the wings are not extended shouldn’t we be able to see them?”

“No Ma’am. I am not descended from one of your Earth dragons, I was born in Faerie. Being from Faerie I have the ability to store them underneath my scales.”

“He keeps them inside. Deep inside.” TP adds.

“May I?” She asks.

“Yes.” The dragon responds.

Reaching out, Writer Lady lifts the edge of one of Diomedes’ scales and sees nothing but skin. “There’s nothing here.”

“Be most assured Mi’lady, they are definitely there.”

“How can we help you?” She asks. “Do you need more space? House…”

Creaking can be heard as House begins rearranging the dimensions of the room.

“It’s not that simple Mom.” Dobby says.

“You can stop moving House.”

The ginger tabby looks at Writer Lady, “Diomedes has kept his wings tucked in for so long, they’re stuck.”

“How stuck?”

“We’ve been trying for hours. They just won’t come out.” Ray says.

“What if we give him a back rub?” She asks.

“That was what we did during the first two hours.” Dobby says.

“Hot bath or shower?”

“We couldn’t get it under his scales.”

“What if we applied heat to the area?”

“We were talking about that. Diomedes says humans don’t have anything that can put out that kind of heat Mom. But TP has an idea.”

“I’m sure he does.”Writer Lady says. “What’s the catch?”

TP flutters around Diomedes pretending to be tuned out of the conversation. He attempts to appear innocent. The faerie looks up and stares at her like she’s speaking Bocce.

“There’s no catch.” The ginger tabby counters.

“It’s TP. When TP’s involved there’s always a catch.”

“Lil’ Dude says Diomedes needs sunlight to loosen his muscles, once they’re loose he can jump start them again.”

Writer Lady rubs her face. “It’s two am there isn’t much sun right now.”

“We need to take him outside tomorrow Mom, at midday.”

“High Noon!” TP giggles.

Writer Lady looks from Ray to TP to Dobby then to Diomedes. She reaches up and pats Diomedes as reassuringly as possible on a front leg or is it the arm? Putting on her robe she leaves the room. Entering the kitchen, she fills the kettle with water and prepares a cup for tea. “What a mess.” She mutters.

“It’s not all that bad.” A voice says from behind. Writer Lady turns to find Tinkletoes at the table perusing a newspaper. A coffee mug sits on the table next to him at the ready.

“What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to come over.”

“The mug?”

“Thought I’d bring it with me. Wanted to beat the morning rush.”

Writer Lady gestures to the empty kitchen. “The line is so long. How will you ever manage?”

“You?” The self-claimed mercenary asks.

“My bedroom is... crowded.”

Tinkletoes nods. “That thing with Diomedes? Dobby said they were going to ask you for help.”

Writer Lady turns her attention away from her cup. She looks at Tinkletoes.

“He’s been having a problem for a while now. Poor guy.”

The kettle sings. She turns off the flame and pours the boiling water into her cup. Returning the kettle back to its resting place on the burner she asks, “If this has been going on for a while why didn’t someone say something?”

Tinkletoes shrugs. “It seemed like a simple problem. Diomedes kinda looks up to you, he didn’t want to bother his creator if he didn’t have to.” He turns a newspaper page. “TP says he has a plan.”

“TP and his plans.” Writer Lady says as she fiddles with the string on her tea bag. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“You’re not supposed to do that.” Tinkletoes says. The self-proclaimed mercenary steps over to Writer Lady and her cup. Taking charge of the string he picks up the spoon she left resting on the counter, he lowers the tea bag into the cup and sets the bowl of the spoon on the bag weighing it down. “That’s how to brew a cup of tea. TP thinks if we get Diomedes out into the sun when it’s at its brightest his muscles will loosen up. When the outer edges of the wings become accessible we can pull them out. TP will give the wings a boost of magic, Diomedes can take flight and everything’ll be okay again.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes. She is not convinced.

“He says if we put sunblock on Diomedes’ back he can enchant the lotion to pull in the energy from the sun’s rays instead of blocking it out. As far as plans go it sounds pretty solid.” Tinkletoes says turning back to his seat and the newspaper.

“You think we can take a seven foot dragon that changes colors like some big ol’ mood ring, traipse him out where everyone in the neighborhood can see him, get his wings extended, and allow him to take flight without any of the other humans freaking out?”

“Wont’ be a problem.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says pointing to the paper in front of him. “This weekend is the Summer Lovin’ Festival. The streets are going to be full of people dressed up like hippies. They’ll be so busy dancing in the street to “Gimme Some Lovin’” by the Spencer Davis Group that no one will notice a thing.”