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.”