As Long As The Demon Doesn't Come Down With It Everything Will Be Okay

 

Carp looks at Writer Lady.

“It could be worse.” She offers. “If Daemon had come down with this it would have been worse.” 

“You’re forgetting one small detail.” Carp says. “The demon doesn't carry live ammo.”

“Daemon has really big horns. Pointy ones.”

“Tinkletoes has smoke bombs and hand grenades. Really Big Guns.” Carp counters.

“Daemon is really big.”

Carp turns from the self-proclaimed mercenary to Writer Lady wondering if something that lame is all she's got.

“He's big enough that he could do some serious damage to House.” She says in an attempt to expand her argument.

“I keep trying to think back,” Tinkletoes continues, “to the moment when I started messing my life up. Was it when I left the military, went into business for myself, was it further back?” Tinkletoes asks looking at Writer Lady and Carp. “When I was in school, I didn't always want to eat the vegetables on my lunch tray. Smelt always had potato chips and a cupcake in his lunch. My grandma was one of the lunch ladies so I always got my lunch at school. Grandma never let me have any chips or sweets, if I complained about it she’d give me extra vegetables.”

Neither respond with a kind word or sympathy.

“That woman cannot cook a vegetable.”

Still nothing.

“If I didn't see her at work in the lunch room I'd trade lunches with Smelts.” He confessed. “He really believed if he ate the vegetables he’d never be shoved into another locker again.

“How is trading lunches in grade school taking the wrong road in life?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes turns, looking pointedly at her.

“What?” She asks. “Is it a woman's responsibility to tell a man what's wrong with him?”

“Sometimes others can see what you can't.” Tinkletoes offers.

“He's right.” Carp admits.

Writer Lady steps away from Tinkletoes, turns and stares at the room in front of her.

Carp follows, “Are you okay?”

“He's looking for me to give him information. Not just information but guidance. This is serious.” She says.

“As I was saying.”

Tinkletoes picks his narrative back up. “I've devoted my life to fighting for the good guys. When I saw the extent of the threat to mankind from both Ninja Zombies and space aliens…”

TP pops into the room just outside Tinkletoes’ line of sight and begins playing a sad tune on a tiny violin.

“I not only entered the fight…”

The violin continues playing by itself as the faerie holds up a sign that reads: We've Heard It All Before.

Tinkletoes continues, “...I took command...”

“Because he can't stand not being the center of attention.” House whispers.

Writer Lady hears several beeps and the sound of Tinkletoes’ words faintly echo throughout the rest of the house.

“...leading my fellow soldiers to victory time and time again.”

TP holds up another sign that reads. It Was Literally One Weekend.

“Here I am sitting alone…”

“Dude… you're never alone.” Ray says walking into the bonus room.

“He's right.” Carp admits.

“There are five of us so far.” Writer Lady points out.

“And more are coming.” Ray offers.

A faraway look comes to the self-proclaimed mercenary's eye. Tinkletoes is a very important dude with a speech to give and no one is going to change his narrative… not yet anyway. “...wondering if these last few years have had any meaning at all.”

“Space aliens have abducted Tinkletoes and replaced him with something with a brain.” House says. Alarm sounds go off throughout the house. “Activating space alien attack force field, scanning for unidentifiable life forms. Raise security level to DEFCON 2.”

Writer Lady looks at the ceiling, she steps away from Tinkletoes and the friends who have surrounded him. “House, we’re in the midst of an anxiety epidemic. Would you mind leaving your cruel comments at home?” Writer Lady says.

“I am the home therefore I don't have one. Nice try.”

Writer Lady holds her temper, “Behave or I'm not power washing you next weekend.”

“No facial scrub?” House asks in a worried tone.

“No facial scrub.”

“Fine. I wasn't having that much fun anyway. Come on TP.”

Writer Lady runs her index finger down the length of her other index finger several times shaming TP. The faerie blows a raspberry back at her before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Ray, Carp, Dobby, the kittens, the kids, and Aunt Purdy all surround Tinkletoes. Several voices call out, offering help and asking what could be done to make him feel better. Writer Lady hears everything being offered up from washing his truck and cleaning his field gear to rearranging his weapons in alphabetical order and his ammo by size for easy access.

“I don't believe it.” Writer Lady mutters, “A woman gets anxiety and we're weak or have hormone issues or something. A child, a man or an enchanted being gets anxiety and everyone comes to help.”

“No but thanks,” could be heard coming from Tinkletoes.

People wish him well before going back to what they were doing leaving Carp and Writer Lady alone with the self-proclaimed mercenary.

“Are you sure there isn't anything we can do to help you feel better?” Carp presses.

“There may be one thing. I ran out of cupcakes a couple of days ago.” Tinkletoes says before looking at Writer Lady.

Writer Lady’s neutral expression quickly goes dark. “No. Not today.”

“It's going to make him feel better.” Carp says.

“Query letter! We're on a deadline! One that you gave me.”

“Deadlines/ guidelines it's all the same.”

“Not really.”

“We'll make an exception. Just for today.”

“I don't think it's a good idea to make an exception. This whole process is painful enough without stringing things out.”

“But you've already made so much progress.”

“I have other projects I need to be working on if I'm not working on the query letter.”

“You're helping a friend. Sweet treats make everyone feel better.” Carp says with a smile.

“Sweets are a short-term solution to a much bigger problem.”

“We can't find the source of the fire if we don't put out the flames blocking the front door.” The assassin-in-training offers.

“It's over 100° outside!” Writer Lady counters.

“That's just the heat index. It’s not really that hot.”

Writer Lady sighs, “What am I baking?” She asks.

“I'm not sure what I feel like.” Tinkletoes says. “If I could just get an assortment: Vanilla with a cream filling, Red velvet, Black velvet, Dark chocolate mint, and some of those Salted Caramel ones with the bacon on top.”

Writer Lady stomps into the kitchen and begins working, slamming everything that can be.

“See, all fixed.” Carp says looking at Tinkletoes, “You should get some rest.”

“A nap does sound pretty good," the self-proclaimed mercenary admits.

Carp heads for the kitchen. Retrieving a soda from the refrigerator he turns to Writer Lady.

“Remind me again why Tinkletoes having anxiety is better," she says.

“If Tinkletoes recovers from the anxiety it won’t spread and Daemon won't get it.”

“As long as the demon doesn't come down with it everything will be okay.” She says.

Anxious Tough Guys

 

Writer Lady steps into the hallway with Carp following close behind her. She continues down the hall, checking the bedrooms first. “House show me Dobby's room.” She calls to the ceiling. A door appears in front of her with a sign on it that reads: Real tough guys only. No Posers Allowed. Spots and Smudge this means you. A bright orange paw print signifies the end of the ginger tabby’s message. Writer Lady reaches out for the doorknob grabbing it. TP’s voice fills the hall. “No Touchie Touchie! Only the secret Tough Guy knock will allow entry.” She turns to Carp who shrugs.

“Don't look at me, I don't know anything about this.”

“Aren't assassins supposed to be tough guys?” Writer lady asks.

Carp puts his hands to his chest, the assassin-in-training responds, “I'll have you know that I have yet to give a target so much as a hangnail,” correcting her. “I did manage to put an arrow into my former literary agent’s boss’ back tire. Of course I was aiming for my ex-agent's new Timmy Chews at the time.”

“Don't assassins kill people?”

Carp rolls his eyes, “The Timmy Chews were from a special collection of highly sought after ultrahigh heels on the market for a limited time. Each pair had its own registration number. How many times do I have to keep telling people this?” He asks.

“What would a Tough Guy knock be…”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Writer Lady thinks for a bit. “This is my house.” She says before banging on Dobby's door with her fist.

“We keep telling you Daemon the answer’s 'No.' You're not mean enough to be a tough guy.” Dobby says opening the door.

Writer Lady and Carp look at each other.

“A demon from a place so deeply lodged in Hell that the only way inside is located at the base of Faerie’s most dangerous volcano isn't mean enough to be a tough guy?” She asks.

“He is a bit of a marshmallow.” Carp points out.

“He was the only one to remember me on Mother's Day.” Writer Lady admits turning to Dobby.

“Didn't he just give you a big box of tissues?” Carp asks.

“There were flowers on the outside of the box. He didn't know they weren't real.”

“Lame.” The ginger tabby says.

“A lame gift is better than not being acknowledged at all.”

“Sorry Mom.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby with her most disapproving expression. “Apologies mean nothing...” she says.

“...unless I change my behavior.” Dobby says finishing Writer Lady's sentence.

“I do listen.” He says. “Part of the time.”

The sound of explosions and rapid fire can be heard in the background. Dobby comes closer stepping into the hallway closing the door nearly all the way, placing himself squarely between Writer Lady and the inside of his room.

“Who do you have in there?” she asks.

“Peter, Dylan, Ray...Diomedes might come later if he's not feeling as nervous he's been lately. The game was too stimulating for him the other day. All the usual people, what's up?” Dobby asks.

“The anxiety alarm has been going off. Carp and I are both fine so we're trying to figure out who’s triggering it. Does anyone in there with you seem well… jittery?”

“No. We're all fine.”

“Are you sure there's no one in there that seems to...I don't know...be taking losing a little too personally?”

“No Mom we're having a great time.”

More sounds of rapid fire and explosions go off behind the ginger tabby.

“Dude your plan totally worked. You got to come see what happened.” Ray’s voice calls out. "Hurry man.”

Dobby turns his head in the direction of the sounds coming from his room.

“If you notice anything strange..”

Dobby turns back to Writer Lady and nods.

“We're resuming in five…” Ray calls. “Four…”

The ginger tabby looks behind him and turns back to Writer Lady.

“Anyone a little nervous? Having random outbursts…”

Dobby looks at Writer Lady.

Three... can be heard from the other side of the door.

“This anxiety seems to hit creatures very suddenly without warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Call me if you see anything.”

“Okay Mom I've got it.” Dobby says closing the door.

Writer Lady and Carp stand in the hallway as the sounds of Halo commences in the distance.

“Did he seem anxious to you?” Writer Lady asks.

“Not at all, the gamers seem to be okay. If you want to get that query letter wrapped up today we need to get going.”

“House.” Writer Lady calls to the ceiling, “Show us the kittens. Art on the walls surrounding the pair fades and new art appears as Writer Lady and Carp find themselves at the opposite end of the hall, in front of Aunt Purdy's door. A cheerful wreath of flowers marks the entry to Aunt Purdy’s room. Sounds coming from the other side of the door are softer than the sounds that had been coming from the other side of Dobby's. Carp knocks on the door. It opens within seconds, Aunt Purdy stands on the other side of the entry, she is smiling.

“Hello.”

“Hello.” Carp says, mirroring her greeting.

“I was wondering how you're feeling.” Writer Lady says.

Aunt Purdy thinks for a moment. “As we all know I'm not the same as I used to be. I have to admit that I’m feeling more relaxed than have felt in recent weeks. The herbal teas, music, and meditations are helping.”

Writer Lady and Carp smile.

“Not to mention the changes in diet, increased exercise, and being more mindful of what I watch and read.” Aunt Purdy continues. “They say this time of life is like a woman's second spring, it's more like spring cleaning if you ask me. The only way to get through it is to clear away your bad habits. All of them.”

Writer Lady reaches out and hugs Aunt Purdy. “We can't go through menopause for you, but we're all with you.”

“Don't forget what comes after spring cleaning.” Carp says.

Aunt Purdy and Writer Lady look at Carp waiting for more information.

“Redecorating!” He sings. “I'm not just talking about home décor, your body is doing new things so you can have a whole new look, I mean everywhere girl.”

And Purdy's lips turn up ever so slightly showing no indication whether she's up for making big changes or not kind of like the woman in the Mona Lisa, only happier.

“You heard the alarms?” Writer Lady asks.

“I did.”

“We're just checking on everyone making sure everything is okay.”

“I have quite a group of visitors today would you like to come and take a look?” Aunt Purdy asks before leading Writer Lady and Carp into her room.

Spots, Smudge, Furnatche, Paige and Daemon are all inside. Paige is blowing catnip bubbles for the animals as Daemon watches. The kittens watch the bubbles float along thoughtfully, anticipating where the bubble might go then quietly yet efficiently popping it with their claws. The baby dragon goes after the bubbles with greater enthusiasm, there's lots of jumping and happy yipping sounds. It’s an idyllic scene versus what had been transpiring in recent days.

“That was easy.” Carp observes as the pair leave Aunt Purdy's room.

“A little too easy.” Writer Lady counters.

“Pixie One is resting in her room. Diomedes is getting better but returning to his room when he feels overstimulated. TP and Pixie Too haven't been here for weeks so it's not them.”

The anxiety alarm goes off again.

“Someone's triggering it right now.” Writer Lady observes. “Who? Everyone's been accounted for. House, can you tell where the anxiety is coming from?” Writer Lady asks.

“Coordinates of anxiety outbursts are 8.6.75.309.” House responds in a monotone.

“Where is that?” Carp asks.

“How the hell should I know! Where do you think you are, in a Sci-Fi movie?” House responds.

Writer Lady rolls her eyes, “Thanks House.”

“Don't mention it.”

A thumping sound comes from the other side of the house. Writer Lady turns her head in the direction of the sound. There's another thump, this one is louder than the first.

Writer Lady and Carp take off in the direction of the sound. The writer and assassin-in-training stop in the entry to the bonus room. Tinkletoes is sitting next to the carport door. The self-proclaimed mercenary is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees are tucked in close against his torso like a child struggling to feel safe. Tinkletoes slowly bangs the back of his head against the wall. “Have you ever wondered,” the self-proclaimed mercenary asks. “what the meaning of a mercenary’s life actually is? Have you ever wondered why you're here. If lighted sabers, semi-automatics, and fancy cupcakes is all there is. Have you ever asked yourself if you're wasting your life?”

Query Letters and Anxiety Alerts With An Assassin-In-Training

 

Writer Lady sits down in High Command and closes her eyes as her breathing settles into a rhythmic pattern and slows to something calmer. She listens to the house and all who dwell within it. First, she listens for Daemon, a muffled cry of fear, screams of frustration, sounds of a demon thrashing about breaking things. Of course the last time that happened she heard lots of grunts, groans, and cries for help from House herself. Daemon was seemingly unaffected by the anxiety that was spreading, they were safe, for the time being anyway.

Relaxing a bit she returns to the source of her current torture, her query letter. After looking around the room a few dozen times. she's hit with a spark of inspiration. Confident no one else is doing what she's thinking of, she completes a new query letter in a matter of minutes. “Yay.” She whispers as she finishes typing.

“I heard that.” Carp says as he enters High Command. “Finally getting that query written?”

“Yes. All finished.” Writer Lady announces with a wide grin.

“May I read it?”

“Please do.” The Assassin-In-Training stands behind the Big Writing Chair and begins reading. “Uh-huh.. uh-huh..” Carp laughs and points to the second paragraph before continuing to read and say uh huh. He turns to Writer Lady after he finishes reading. “You're going to have to write a new one.” He says.

Writer Lady drops her forehead to the surface of her desk in defeat. After a few beats she raises her head and turns to Carp. “You said that the first query letter was too boring. It didn't capture the essence of my novel. You said the second query letter showed no imagination.”

He nodded.

“This captures the feeling of the story and shows lots of imagination. It's practically dripping with it.”

“Too much. If there was any more going on I'd feel like I was trapped in a chocolate factory with Willy Wonka. Try again.”

“Why?!” Writer Lady asks. “Whatever happened to ‘an agent will accept a query written in crayon if it’s a great book?’”

“You haven't made your book sound that good.” He says. “The agent needs to feel like they’re about to embark on a journey with someone who can talk about their work intelligently and in an interesting manner with the general public.” Carp thinks for a minute, “They want to know you can talk to Oprah about your novel and get her interested in your work.”

“You used to be a novelist, you've read my book, would you write it...”

“...for you? No Sweetie, good query letters are a skill that you need to learn. Besides, if I wrote your query they would recognize me and run for the hills. Trust me you don’t want my stamp on this.”

Writer Lady sighs, “I wasn't asking you to do my work for me, I was hoping you could do it with me. Sit down next to me, show me where I'm going wrong as I'm doing it, point me in the right direction so it's not so painful and I have a firmer foundation when it's time to write the next query letter.” She looks at Carp beseechingly. “Please? I won't let myself start another book until I finish this query letter and I was supposed to start the new book three weeks ago.”

“You and your silly rules.” Carp responds. “I'll sit with you. It’s your letter, you have to do all the heavy lifting.”

“I'm expecting to.”

“Open a new document.” Carp instructs.

As the pair type, Writer Lady and Carp argue then discuss which leads back to arguing.

Anxiety alert. Anxiety alert! Sirens go off inside High Command complete with warning light flashing. Writer Lady and Carp stop working and look at each other.

“Stop!” Writer Lady calls.

The light on the wall next to the closet door stops flashing. The alarm sounds cease. The pair listen and wait for the sound of a panic attack in progress. They hear nothing.

“I don't hear anything.” Carp says.

“The alarm must be wrong. If there was another case of anxiety in this house, trust me, we would have heard it.” Writer Lady says.

The pair return to the query letter.

Anxiety alert! Anxiety alert!

The light goes off again, both Carp and Writer Lady jump.

“Stop!” Writer Lady calls.

The alarm shuts down. They listen and hear nothing.

She looks at Carp. “Are you feeling anxious?”

“About?” He asked, gesturing to the computer monitor. “No Sweetie, I used to write these in my sleep. Are you?”

“I was more anxious about query writing hours ago and I wasn't tripping the alarms. It's not me.” Writer Lady turns towards the entry to High Command. “I think we should do a walk-through.” She says as she rises from her chair.

When Creatures Of Faerie Are Contagious

 

Writer Lady is working away on that torture device that some call a query letter when she hears the sound of metal clacking against metal. “Crap.” She rushes out of High Command managing to head Pixie One off at the pass. Or at the slot in this case.

“I heard something. Something that might be dangerous.” The pixie says.

“It's not. It's just the mail.”

“Mail.” Pixie One says repeating the word. “I don't like the sound of that.”

“Mail comes nearly every day. I'll get it.” Writer Lady continues walking to the closet, one that holds winter coats and boots as well as keeping incoming mail separate from the rest of the house. “Wait here.” Writer Lady instructs. She hears the fluttering of Pixie One’s wings fade as she reaches for the door and opens it. There’s a sharp intake of breath and a faint “Careful” in Pixie’s high pitched voice as she leans into the closet and picks up a stack of advertisements. Writer Lady returns to Pixie One in one piece much to the pixie’s relief. “Mail is one of the ways humans communicate with each other. Mail is printed on paper.”

“Pa--per..” Pixie One says tapping her chin as she thinks about what Writer Lady has told her. “Paper is bits of pulp that have been molded together. The pulp comes from trees. Trees that are killed to harvest it.”

“Yes. It’s harmless. Perfectly harmless.”

Pixie One nods with uncertainty.

She continues attempting to reassure her, “These are ads. Pictures of refrigerators and cars for sale, things like that. As I just said, they’re harmless.”

“What if the tree decides it doesn't want to be a picture of a sale car? What if it's angry about being murdered and it rises up against human cruelty and decides to eat us in our sleep?”

Writer Lady takes a moment before answering doing so with great patience.”First of all trees are not carnivorous so they won't eat us. Secondly, these are ads I don't want.” Writer Lady tosses the entire stack into the garbage. “The mail can't hurt us now.”

The pixie flies over to the trash can and peers inside. “You put the ads in the trash? The tree died for nothing?” Pixie One disappears in a puff of smoke and returns in another puff suitcase in hand. “If you aren't worried about being eaten by the tree that's fine. I won't die because of your indifference to the tree’s suffering. I'm leaving.” She announces. Pixie One’s body lights up. As she prepares to depart, a tiny bracelet appears on her ankle and turns a glittery red color grounding her to House’s energy. Keeping her from returning to Faerie.

“You know you can't do that, not until the anxiety has run its course.”

“I can't stay here.” Pixie One’s eyes well with tears. “It's not safe.”

“Sweetie, the anxiety you picked up is contagious for creatures of Faerie, we have to let it run its course. If you go home you'll spread it to everyone else. You don't want to make the other pixies, faeries, and unicorns sick do you? I know you don't feel safe at the moment but you really are.”

Pixie One looks down at her ankle and looks back at Writer Lady. “Can the bracelet be removed at least?” She asked.

“Not right now. House has some relaxing music and hibiscus nectar waiting for you in your room. Why don’t you go take a rest?”

“O-kay.” Pixie One says. The pixie flies out of the room slowly, halfheartedly pulling her suitcase behind her.

Writer Lady stops in the kitchen on her way back to High Command. She looks at the clean and empty coffee maker. “What I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee.” She says looking at it with longing.

“Can't do it.” A voice rumbles at a low growl behind her. “This mission is too important.”

“But I'm not sure how long I can keep calm and patient without a little coffee. These headaches are killing me.”

“It's more difficult to stay calm in a crisis if you're hopped up on caffeine. We have to stay calm until people stop acting crazy.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says as he rises from his seat. “I hate this too. If anyone had told me on my first day of basic training that in 20 years my primary focus was going to be watching over a bunch of crazy people I might have packed up my gear and walked home.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes with disdain. She finds it difficult to contain her anger. “This coming from a man who was convinced that dense fog was the harbinger of an alien invasion.” She takes a deep breath and counts to five. “I’m going to say this one last time. Aunt Purdy is going through the change and she's dealing with some anxiety as a result. Unfortunately for us anxiety is something the creatures of Faerie have trouble with. They can pick it up from other beings, it’s a virus for them. Apparently it's contagious and appears to slowly be traveling through this household. Furnatche picked up the anxiety, because he's closest to Aunt Purdy, it didn't really affect the little guy. Then Diomedes came down with it. He's getting better. Somehow Pixie One has contracted it. She's having more trouble. These are our friends, they're sick. They're not crazy. I don't appreciate you suggesting they are.”

“If they were human things wouldn't be happening like this.” Tinkletoes points out.

“If they were human they'd just be nervous. But they're not so they're nervous times fifty.” Writer Lady says.

“Could you at least get them to stop throwing up? It's disgusting.”

“How many times have you cleaned up a mess since this started?” House’s voice calls, echoing throughout the kitchen. “Zer-o! We're the ones handling it. Don't b**** about stuff you aren't even dealing with!”

Ignoring House, Tinkletoes leans in and whispers, “Do what you can to make them stop, the retching is terrible.”

“They have anxiety, stomach issues can come with that.” Closing her hands into fists Writer Lady takes another deep breath and heads towards High Command whispering to herself, “As long as the demon doesn't get it we’ll be okay. As long as the demon doesn't come down with this everyone will be safe.”