Saturday, June 24, 2023

Tinkletoes Is A Man. He Knows Things.

 

Writer Lady stumbles into the living room to a flurry of activity. Aunt Purdy, Peter, Paige, Dylan, Furnatche, Ray, Carp, Dobby Cat, Smudge and Spots are all standing in various spots around the perimeter of the room. Tinkletoes and TP are near the center next to a lift bucket. Diomedes stands inside the bucket, Writer Lady watches as it rises closer and closer to the ceiling. TP is floating in the air near Diomedes’ shoulder, encouraging the dragon. A dragon that is looking decidedly uncomfortable. The lift’s movements are choppy. Writer Lady can’t help but wonder who is at the other end of the controls especially considering the fact the lift doesn’t appear to be attached to anything.

Ray narrates. “Diomedes you are being lifted up into the sky! You are standing in the sunlight. Close your eyes and imagine the sun warming the scales on your back! Imagine the muscles in your back relaxing. Taking a deep breath you...”

Tinkletoes holds a bullhorn to his lips. “...push those wings out!”

“No straining!” TP giggles.

“Don’t listen to him.” The self-proclaimed mercenary continues. “Keep pushing. Making your body do what it doesn’t want to is war. War is Hell!”

TP flutters close to Diomedes’ ear. “What is good for humans can be bad for dragons.”

Carp says, “TP’s right don’t listen to Tinkletoes.”

Everyone in the room takes a turn nodding in agreement.

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady, “I expect it from you.” He looks at Dobby Cat. “Et Tu Dobby?”

“He’s already in pain. Why do something that could make it worse.”

Tinkletoes holds up the bullhorn. “I am the ranking officer here. I have the skills. I have the bullhorn. Who do you people think is in charge?”

“Clearly not you Dipwad.” House replies.

Writer Lady rolls her eyes as far as she possibly can. “Here we go.” She mutters.

Diomedes looks down and finds Writer Lady. There are so many stories that depict dragons as heartless predators. What she sees in his eyes is tension, trepidation, a little bit of fear, embarrassment...mostly what she sees is sadness. “TP would you see that Diomedes is lowered to the ground please.”

Once the dragon is once again on solid ground and the lift truck illusion has been removed, Writer Lady moves in closer. Crooking a finger she gestures for the seven foot dragon to lower his head. He complies. “I have never been in your place.” She says. “This must be a difficult situation for you, dealing with an unusual problem far from home. I would be a little nervous about this whole thing.” She looks at Tinkletoes, bullhorn raised, the self-proclaimed mercenary ready to charge ahead. “I might even be scared.” The dragon blinks and pales slightly, she continues. “I don’t trust Tinkletoes a lot to handle this type of situation. I do trust TP. I don’t always trust TP, but when it comes to the magic of Faerie and making it work here on Earth, he’s your guy. He is a faerie and faeries are known for making trouble. TP knows when it’s time for mischief and when to focus on doing the right thing. He knows how special you are. How important you are to me. TP won’t screw this up.”

Writer Lady looks at the faerie who is now fluttering inches away from their faces. “If he does screw this up he’ll have me to answer to. Me and The Lady With The Long Golden Hair and Lady Gray from the Graylands along with whomever else I can find.”

“TP help. No mischief for the big guy.”

“I’m holding you to that.” She says.

TP nods solemnly.



Writer Lady walks slowly down the side street towards the center of town. Because she doesn’t want anyone looking in her direction it feels like everyone is looking at her. She’s dressed comfortably in her favorite jeans and sneakers along with a t-shirt appropriate for the occasion that reads “Make Love Not War.” The top’s only other decorative feature being a daisy in the lower right hand corner. Subtle compared to the dress of many of those around her, it’s a good choice considering TP threw it together at the last minute.

Diomedes walks beside her. The dragon is wearing a tasseled vest, a blonde shoulder length wig and granny glasses.

Writer Lady notices people giving Diomedes odd glances here and there. “Dragon costume.” She explains. My cousin Bubba is helping out. He’s in the parade.”

Most people nod politely. A woman Writer Lady recognizes as a neighbor comments, “I didn’t know your aunt had two boys.”

“She doesn’t. Bubba is my great-uncle’s husband’s youngest nephew.”

A man with a clip board approaches before the woman can comment further. “Is he in the parade?” He asks pointing at Diomedes.

“Yes. He’s riding with Smelts in the lift truck.”

“You two need to get moving. We’re starting in ten minutes. The parade is lining up on Fourth street. Behind the coffee house. Smelts is at the end of the line.”

Writer Lady looks at her neighbor. “We’d better go.”

“Nice meeting you.” The woman says to Diomedes.

Diomedes’ need to show proper etiquette outweighs his oath to remain silent until they return home. “Yes it was lovely to meet you. Good day Madam.”



“In just a few minutes it will all be over.” Tinkletoes says startling Writer Lady. The pair watch as TP, disguised as a butterfly, focuses all of his power on the scales along Diomedes’ back, reversing the chemicals in the sunblock the dragon is wearing, enchanting it to attract the sun’s ultraviolet rays instead of blocking them. The bright yellow light pours into Diomedes’ back and quickly disappears. The other onlookers don’t seem to notice.

“I’ve never seen TP’s power glow with such intensity. What if this works...”

“...too well?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks finishing her sentence.

“What if his wings emerge in the middle of the parade instead of after it’s over?”

Tinkletoes shakes his head, “TP and I talked about the timeline. I talked to Smelts. He knows what to look for, if he sees anything that looks like wings Smelts is going to pull the truck out of the parade as soon as he can and take Diomedes back to your place. We’ll take him out to the lake to exercise, you know, the wings, after it closes.”

The pair watch cars, trucks, cheerleaders and other brightly dressed parade participants walk by.

“ ‘Sides that dragon’s muscles are so tight there’s no way anything is coming out until he’s spent a good twenty or thirty minutes soaking up sunlight. No, those wings may still have to be pulled on while he’s pushing out. It’s not like he can get a few minutes of intensified energy and just pop them out. I’m a man. Men know things. I know things. I’m right.”

Writer Lady looks back up at the parade and watches as it passes in front of her. She can see the bucket of Smelts’ truck is raised above the street. Diomedes bends down to avoid the occasional utility line. The dragon seems to be making the best of things, waving to the crowd and moving to the music. During a particularly energetic rendition of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough the dragon stops moving. His multicolored hues disappear. They are replaced with a bright orange-yellow color outlining a red one at his center. Diomedes squares his shoulders as a concentrated look crosses his face, there is a loud whooshing sound…the wings emerge.

The crowds gasps audibly then begins cheering.

Realizing what’s happened Diomedes begins moving again, dancing and waving. His extensive wings flap up and down in time with the music.

Six girls from the high school dance team run back to Smelts’ truck. Flanking the bucket on both sides from the street below the girls begin dancing. Soon the dance team and the dragon are dancing in time with the music and each other.

Excitement can be felt throughout the parade, word spreads and onlookers begin chanting, “Go Bubba! Go Bubba! Go Bubba!”

Diomedes’ wings move with more and more energy. As the song continues, the dragon’s wings lift him up. Up out of the lift bucket and into the sky. He flies over the crowd and and up the parade route. The dragon flies over the marching band and The Shriners in their tiny cars buzzing the group as he passes. As Diomedes rises higher into the sky he begins turning in the air flying in loops.

“Shi..” is the only word she hears cross Tinkletoes’ lips.

Writer Lady turns and looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary. “It looks like I owe you an apology. Diomedes has totally blended in. I don’t think anyone will ever remember my never heard of before today cousin Bubba, that he was in the parade dressed up as a dragon or his taking off into full flight. You were right Tinkletoes. You are a man and you know things.”


Sunday, June 11, 2023

Cartoons, Ancient Pixies, and A Really Bad Dream

“You actually believe that no one who sees Diomedes will think to do a double take?”

Tinkletoes does not acknowledge Writer Lady’s question much less answer it.

“Look at who I’m talking to.” She mutters. “This is going to be an absolute train wreck.”

“Did you hear about the train wreck?” Ray asks as he walks into the kitchen. “Astronomical.” He says. “No one was killed. No one hurt. Hollywood could not have planned a better accident.”

“There was something about one on the Internet.” Tinkletoes comments.

“There was something wrong with the tracks, when the engineer was trying to stop he hit the brakes too hard.”

“The cars jack-knifed?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks.

“No. This was way better. One car ran right up the back end of the other, pushing it’s back end up into the air. Like this.” Ray holds his right hand up horizontally, he raises his left hand below the right one vertically in an attempt to illustrate a visual image of the crash.

“Kind of like an old cartoon.” Tinkletoes observes.

“It’s cool when they figure out how to do cartoon stuff in real life.” Ray says as he opens the pantry and begins looking for food. “Oh yeah,” Ray turns to Writer Lady. “Diomedes wanted me to tell you that,” he holds up his hand and closes his eyes, “we have exited your bed chamber and you can now resume your rest period confident that you will not be disturbed before the yellow glowing orb has once again shown in the morning sky.”

Writer Lady smiles briefly at Ray’s effort to repeat Diomedes’ words exactly. “Thank you Ray.”

“No problem. Are you going back to bed?” He asks.

“Sleeping is what most people do at this hour.”

“I was wondering,” Ray continues.”is it true that the spirits of ancient pixies use a door in your closet to travel back and forth from their ancestral grounds?”

Writer Lady’s face contorts into an odd mix of confusion, surprise, and concern. She pauses before answering.

“That was two floor plans ago.” House responds with an exasperated sigh. “Does anyone know how to listen anymore? The ghosts of the Ancient Ones prefer the attic now.”

“Get too crowded on the main floor?” Tinkletoes asks.

“No. They prefer the darkness of the attic. It’s better for their rituals.”

“Rituals?” Writer Lady asks as her face pales. “What kind of rituals?”

The self-proclaimed mercenary shakes his head. “You know House, she always makes things sound more intense than they really are. Go back to bed.”

“What about Diomedes?” She asks.

“TP and I have everything under control.” Tinkletoes says.

“No you don’t.”

“We do.”

“You don’t.” Writer Lady volleys back.

“We do.” Tinkletoes returns to the stove and Writer Lady. The self-proclaimed mercenary picks up the mug of tea and hands it to her. “You’re going to need lots of rest, because you’ll be busy tomorrow afternoon telling me how wrong you were to suggest we could not handle this.” He takes position behind her, gently guiding her out of the kitchen, through the living room, down the hall and back to her bedroom.

“How is he going to get enough sun?”

“Smelts’ brother has a really big truck with a bucket on it. He’s in the parade tomorrow. He’s agreed to give Diomedes a ride.”

“I thought you weren’t close to Smelts.”

“No one is. No one likes him all that much.”

“Why would his brother help us?” She asks.

“He doesn’t like Smelts that much either.”

As they approach Writer Lady’s bedroom she asks, “What happens if this other Smelts doesn’t show up?”

“Doing these local parades is good for business. He’ll show.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he has a flat tire or runs out of gas?”

“He’ll call another Smelts, the one with the towing company.”

“What if the bucket truck can’t be fixed?”

“We’ll find another truck for him to stand on.”

“What if the sun doesn’t come out?” She asks.

“We’ll take him someplace where the sun is shining.”

“What if TP’s goop won’t stick to Diomedes’ scales keeping the magic within it from attracting more heat to Diomedes’ back?”

“We’re men. We can handle it.”

“A lot can go wrong.” Writer Lady points out as she’s guided into her room.

“We’ve got it. Relax.” Tinkletoes says as he exits the room closing the bedroom door behind him.

“There’s no way this is going to work.” She says before sipping her tea.

“I heard that.”


Writer Lady tries to sleep. When she isn’t picturing all of the things that might go wrong at the Summer Lovin’ Festival she contemplates why the ghosts of ancient pixies would want to spend any portion of their afterlives in her home and what type of dark rituals they might be performing in her attic. She wonders how dark a pixie ritual can get. “They’re pixies. Pixies are like the cheerleaders of Faerie. Cheerleaders are fairly harmless, they might wear you down with all that spirit and all those ‘Read-y? O-kays!’ She relaxes and closes her eyes, a dream comes into focus. Writer Lady finds herself frozen unable to move or scream. She watches helplessly as half-dead pixie cheerleaders fly through the house spilling blood at every opportunity. So many bodies...the blood all looks the same. It glitters with magic. The blood changes color. From red, to gold, to yellow, green, dark green, teal, sky blue, purple, pink, gray, to brown and to black the cycle repeating over and over. All of the colors and shimmering magic in the blood can only belong to one living being.

“Diomedes!”


Ancient Writings and Keyholes

  “ What language am I looking at that of the elves or that of Faerie?” Writer Lady asks. “ That is the precise question wh...