Mural Man's Sweet Booty And Other Household Disasters

 

**Be sure to read this post fully before letting a child read it.  Everyone has their own definition of what appropriate reading for a child is and has a right to rule things out as inappropriate at their own discretion.**

 

Butt Disclaimer: As a writer I have a connection with the characters I create.  When they are hurting I want to help them.  Initially, I was not in support of the subject matter in tonight's blog.  House was adamant.  Mural Man's backside is especially near and dear to her heart.   Although I have no interest in having another incident like the diarrhea saga from earlier this year I cannot ignore the worries of a house in love and her concerns for the safety and health of her beloved.  I agreed grudgingly that we need to get to the bottom of things and see that the issue is nipped in the butt.  Hopefully this part of the story can be finished quickly so that we don't get too far behind. 

 

“It's not that bad.”  Mural Man says.

“I can see bare wall through those scratch marks.   Bare Wall.”  House says.

“Mural Man says he's okay.  He's probably okay.”  Carp says.

“Do you see bare wall Carp?   Because I see bare wall.”  House exclaims.

Stepping down and into the bonus room Carp looks at Mural Man and his loin clothed posterior.  Briefly.  There are three lines running down Mural Man's left cheek.  “It looks like scratch marks.”   Carp says.

“Bare wall.”   House says again.

“There are three cats, two dragons, children, Ray, TP, and Tinkletoes in this house.  Something was going to happen eventually.   He's paper.  Paper gets cut, torn, disintegrates in water, drawn on.”

“I understand that.   I am smarter than you are Carp. In many ways. I take everything that happens to me in stride.”

Carp raises an eyebrow.

House doesn't see the eyebrow (I think she ignored it) and continues talking. “Mural Man is off limits and his booty is sacred.  No one touches it.  No one!”

“No one?”  Mural Man asks teasingly.

“I have been known to...”   House admits blushing.

“Been known to?”  Mural Man asks.

“We were in Faerie and three dimensional.   We had skin and everything.  It's not like I mauled you.”

“It wasn't an accidental brushing of skin either.”  Mural Man says.

“Whatever happened to 'What happens in Faerie stays in Faerie'?”  House asks.

“After two weeks like the ones we had in Faerie can you blame a guy for wanting to brag a little?”  Mural Man asks.

“I am more than most men can handle.”  House says.

Spots and Smudge continue wrestling on the floor.  One kitten being pinned then within seconds their positions reversing.

“Tinkletoes has plans for these two.  They have to be trained, part of that training involves learning discipline.   Strict discipline.  You won't be getting scratched after today Mural Man.”  Carp says.

“Thank you.   It sounds like our problem has been solved.”  Mural Man says.

“What about this?  What about the damage?”  House asks.

“Have you tried glue?”  Carp asks.

“The lines will still be there.  Permanent scars.  Every time I look at him I'll always be reminded of what I lost.”  House says, her voice catching slightly.

“House darling.”  Mural Man says.

“Whose butt is this?  Yours or his?”  Carp asks.

“What?”  House asks.  “I admire it daily.”  She says.

“But, it's attached to him.”  Carp says.  “It may be yours to admire but his butt belongs to him.  Mural Man should be the one to decide how it's repaired.”

“I want House to be happy.”   Mural Man croons.

“Oh Mur...”   House responds breathlessly.

The kittens have stopped wrestling and are looking at the wall, craning their heads trying to figure out where the sounds are coming from.

“Have you tried asking TP if he could re-bond the fibers?”

“I will not have him 'recycled'.”   House says.

“Then House it looks like you're stuck with...”  Carp leans in and studies the scratch marks again,  “bare wall.”

“No.”   House moans.

“Let's just call TP.”  Mural Man suggests.

“TP is already in.”   The faerie calls.   He is levitating above Smudge and Spots' heads.  Fluttering just out of reach as they take turns attempting to pounce on him.  The faerie is wearing a lab coat over his usual garb, a stethoscope hangs around his neck along with a wide array of tools that are stuffed into the lab coat's pockets.  He is wearing thick, round, glasses.  The faerie flies away from the kittens and up, stopping in front of Carp's face.  “Dr. TP is in.   Where does it hurt?  Here's your bill.”   TP asks holding up a bill made out to Carp for a million dollars.

“That's not how it works Dr. TP.”  Carp takes the bill, wads it up, and throws it onto the floor.  The kittens pounce and take off with it.  “I'm not the one who is hurt.  There's your patient.”   Carp says pointing to the wall.

“Where?”   The faerie asks, looking at everything except Mural Man's backside.

“You can't see it?”  House asks.   “It's a good thing he's only paper, he could have bled out by now.”

“Where?”   TP says squinting.

“Mural Man.   The kittens scratched his butt.”  Carp says, pointing again.

“Ah yes...”  TP says.  “I can see them now.”   The faerie floats the short distance to the wall where House and Mural Man are standing, laying, leaning?   The characters are paper just picture it, okay?

“Let's get a closer look.”  TP takes out a light and studies the scratches.  He puts the earpieces in his ears and places the stethoscope on the damaged cheek and listens. “Yes.”  TP pulls a measuring tape out and measures the scratches.  “Ah yes, very good.”  He says.   TP floats away from his patient's posterior and announces.  “It seems that Mural Man has been scratched.  Now he has boo-boos.”

“We told you that all ready.”   House says and mutters a few choice words.

“Can you do something to repair the scratches?”  Carp asks.

TP looks at Carp waiting for more information.

“Don't make me say that.”  Carp says.

No reply.   TP cranes his head as if puzzled.

“Can you fix Mural Man's boo-boos?”

“Can you?”  House asks.  “I don't want him to be scarred or recycled.   He's perfect right now.  He might not be as sweet next time if you recycle him.”

“Yes.  TP fix.   TP will fix both of you.”   TP says.  He begins looking for something in his pockets.   The faerie goes through all of the pockets several times, then on his fourth pass through he finds what he is looking for.   He pulls out a square wrapped in familiar white paper.

“Is that?”  House asks.   “An adhesive bandage?”

“Yes TP's special design.”  TP unwraps the bandage adjusting it to size like a person does when they are changing the size of a window on their computer display.   When the faerie is finished a sparkling pink unicorn is covering the scratches on Mural Man's tushy.   “All fixed.  No more boo-boo.”  TP looks directly at House.  “Now it's your turn.”

Make It Stop

“Dude.  You've got a marshmallow fire truck on your nose.   Now it's stuck to your butt.”  Ray's voice can be heard in the hallway.

Dobby and Tinkletoes enter the living room to find Carp waiting for them.

“Are you sure that you want to keep this plan in place?”  Carp asks Tinkletoes.  “I have been watching the kittens and they are pretty wound up.”

Spots slides past the kitchen's entry with a cellophane wrapped toy in his mouth.  Ray follows close behind.  “Dude.  That's the toy surprise, whoever opens the box gets that.  I opened the box.”

  Spots gains his footing and picks up speed running away from Ray.  Ray runs past the entry, he loses his balance sliding into the refrigerator door.  Spots stops, returning to Ray without the toy.  He sniffs at Ray for a minute.  The kitten looks at Ray, looks at the refrigerator door, looks back at Ray.  The kitten shakes his head and leaves.

  The open box of cereal falls from the counter landing onto the floor.  Smudge follows jumping from the counter top, landing easily on Ray's chest.  Ray groans, the added weight pushing air out of his lungs.

 “They've taken out Ray.”   Carp says looking at Tinkletoes.

“Ray is a low level target.”  Tinkletoes points out.

“They did take him out without much effort or training.”  Dobby adds.

Tinkletoes looks at Dobby then back at the kittens.  They are alternately jumping on and off of Ray's stomach as they race around him stopping periodically to chew on his hair or bat at his nose.

“Make it stop.”  Ray calls out.  “Make it stop.”

“These new recruits show potential.”  Tinkletoes says.   “The next lessons are discipline and taking orders.”

“Taking orders."  Carp repeats laughing a little bit.   “Who's going to do that job?”

  Tinkletoes and Dobby look at each other and then at Carp.

“Me?”  Carp asks.

“You know about discipline Carp, you used to write all that girlie stuff.   Writing girlie stuff takes discipline.”  Tinkletoes says.

“One of the most useful tools for establishing discipline is intimidation.  You're better at that.”  Carp says.

“This is a chance for you to get better at it.”   Tinkletoes counters.

The self-proclaimed mercenary looks at Dobby and whispers,  “The kittens need experience interacting with a higher level target.”  The ginger tabby nods briefly.

 Tinkletoes turns back to Carp,  “You can do this soldier.  Now get in there and teach those kittens discipline.  Start with the basics.”

“Step 1.  Line them up and break them down.”

Tinkletoes nods.  He and Dobby take their leave.

The kittens are wrestling on the kitchen floor.  Rolling, tumbling, clawing, and chewing on each other all over Ray's body.  Chewing on Ray's body.  Ray lays on the floor with his eyes closed and mutters quietly,  “Make it stop, make it stop.”

Carp walks into the kitchen, redirects the kittens to other pursuits, and walks over to Ray.

Ray opens one eye,  “Is it okay?  Is it safe?”  He asks.

Carp nods.

“What did you do?”  Ray asks.

“I threw a ball and got Spots' attention.”

“The other one?”

A crinkly noise is heard coming from the laundry room.

“Is that my toy surprise?”  Ray asks.

“A necessary sacrifice.”  Carp answers.

“Dude...I've been waiting for that one.  It completes a set.”

“Necessary sacrifices Ray.”  Carp repeats.  “Are you done experimenting or would you like me to leave you three alone?”  He asks.

“I am done.   Those kittens are hardcore.  They rock way harder than I do.”

Carp reaches out giving Ray a hand up.

Ray rises, dusting himself off.  He studies his body closely. “Do you see any blood?”   He asks.  “How's my hair?”

Carp looks at Ray taking stock, the same slept in clothes, the same eyes with the same slightly distant expression, his shoulder length hair still the same frayed mass of frizz it always was.  “It looks great.”  He says.

“Good.   I think I've got a date later or something.  It's a relief to know that I won't have to shower.”

“Ray,”  Carp says,  “go ahead and shower.”

Ray stares at Carp with a vacant expression.

“You said it was a date.  You've been playing with cats.  What if she's allergic to cats?”

Ray stares then a light slowly dawns.  “Dude!  You're right.  That is so brilliant.” Ray says.   “I'm gonna take off now.”  He makes his way through the laundry room and into the bonus room where the kittens are wrestling, both yearning to have complete custody of the cereal box prize.   “You guys rock hard.”  The kittens stop playing and watch Ray closely.   “It was fun.   Catch you later man.” Ray says to the kittens before leaving the house.   Smudge watches the door close, seeing that his brother is distracted Spots pounces pinning him to the floor and chewing on an ear.

Carp stands in the bonus room doorway watching Spots and Smudge play.  “You two do have lots of energy and you are relentless with your prey.”  Carp says to himself as he watches Smudge abandon his brother to rip the head off of a toy mouse.   “I can see why Tinkletoes wants to bring you in, but to find a way to control when and how you use it...”

“Yeah.   Good luck with that.”  House says from the other side of the door frame. “Those little monsters are destroying everything.”  She says.

“They're like little kids aren't they?”  Carp asks.  “You can't expect a toddler not to color on the floor or the wall at least once.”

“Coloring on the wall I can deal with.  They have been scratching them.”   House says.

“Scratches can be painted over.”

“Not these scratches.”  House says.  “The little monsters are the devil incarnate.”

“Darling it's okay.   I'm fine.”  Mural Man's voice can be heard coming from the bonus room.

“No you're not.  You were attacked mercilessly and I want justice!”  House exclaims.

Carp steps into the bonus room to get a look at the paper couple.  “What's the trouble?”  He asks.

“You don't see that?”  House groans.

“See what?”

“Mural Man.  They've shredded my baby's sweet booty.”

Hallway Antics And Hidden Scarves

“Now that your mom is occupied, let's have some fun.”   Where'd those kittens go?”  Tinkletoes asks Dobby taking a step away from the door.

There is a Whoosh and then another Whoosh is heard.  Tinkletoes suddenly feels more weight on top of his combat boots.  He looks down to see two pairs of eyes looking up at him expectantly.   The eyes are wide and radiate intense, unbridled energy.  “They have a quick response time.  That's good.   Now it's time to teach them how to follow orders.”  Tinkletoes says smiling.

“Good luck with that.”  Dobby says.

Spots watches Tinkletoes, then Dobby, then Tinkletoes throughout the exchange.  The kitten's pupils dilate and his body tenses.  Spots jumps, hugging Tinkletoes around his leg and climbs.  The kitten doesn't stop climbing until he is perched on Tinkletoes' shoulder and surveying all that he deems his.

  Tinkletoes turns and looking at Spots the self-proclaimed mercenary says, “Don't do that again.”  Taking Tinkletoes' words as an invitation Smudge does the exact same thing on the opposite side.  Conditions are right and a game of tag between the kittens ensues.  Spots slapping at Smudge only to miss and hit the top of Tinkletoes' head Smudge retaliating and smacking the human on the nose.

“How long are they gonna do this?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“They're kittens.  Short attention spans.”   Dobby says.  “Wait for it.  Three, two, one...”

  Smudge runs down Tinkletoes' left side taking off into the living room Spots following closely down the right.

  “Dudes, where did you go?   I've been looking all over for you two.”  Ray's voice can be heard from the room next door.  “Salt pumps you two up.  Now let's see what happens if I give you sugar.”* Something breaks.  “Dudes chill out.  There's plenty of Marshmallow Fruit Bits for all of us.   You guys like milk, don't you?”

  “Was that something breaking?  I thought I heard something breaking.”   Writer Lady's voice calls from the other side of High Command's door.

  “Everything is fine.”  Tinkletoes says.  “Go back to your writing.”

                                     The Teller Cont'd

   “No Armand there are not.  No crystal ball either.  I was trained that those are all embellishments.  Dressings, put out to fulfill an expectation that many have of tellers.  If a client's mind is full of expectations they cannot truly hear what they are being told.”

  “Really?”

  “It is the philosophy I was raised with.  If it is that way for all tellers that I cannot say but with my bloodline it is.”

  “This home doesn't look like the surroundings of such a young woman either.” Armand said.  “How old are you, twenty-two?”  He asked.

  “I am twenty-eight.  This is a family home.  I did not decorate it.”   She answered calmly studying Armand.  He had dark hair and eyes.   Although he was of average height and build many would have thought twice before walking down a dark alley with him.

  “Armand.  You called me Armand earlier.   How did you know my name?”  He asked.  She was a pretty woman of average height with coppery hair and amber eyes that competed for his attention.  Armand found himself having trouble finding his words.  Twenty- eight.   It was hard for Armand to see the young woman as twenty-eight.   There was something different about her.  Something more grounded than the other twenty-somethings he knew.  Was she one of those old souls?  Was that what they were called?

  “Once again...”   Cecily pointed out patiently.

  “I came to a teller and asked her how she knew things.”   Armand said finishing her thought.

  “Sit down.  I'll bring you some tea.”

  “That would be nice but unfortunately there's no time.”   Armand said.

  “There is always time sir.”

  “There isn't.  I came to see you tonight...this is about my wife, Olivia, she's laying in a hospital bed in a coma and no one knows how it happened.  My sister-in-law found her laying on the floor in our home nearly beaten to death.   We have no idea who would want to hurt her or why.  A lady who cleans at the hospital heard about Olivia, she saw my distress, and said you could help.”  Armand said as he worked his hand, a wrinkled piece of cloth clenched in it.

 Cecily could see the brightly colored fabric as it peeked out between his fingers.

“I brought this.  The cleaning lady said to bring something of Olivia's.  She was wearing this when my sister-in-law found her.”

  “What about the police?”  Cecily asked.

  “They are investigating.  They think I went out for something to eat.”

  “Instead you came here.” Cecily said. “What about the scarf?”

  “My sister-in-law picked it up and put it in her purse during all of the excitement and found it in her purse later.   She said that she forgot she had it.”

  “You didn't give it to the police?”  Cecily asked.

  “I needed something to bring to you.   I couldn't give it to them.  Not yet.”  Armand explained.

  Cecily looked at Armand closely and wondered if her previous assessment had not revealed enough about her visitor.  She turned and left the room, returning with a bag.  “Put the scarf in the bag.”  She said.  “When you return to the hospital give the scarf to the police.   Tell them the story of how you gained possession of it. Say that you put the scarf into your pocket and forgot about it, while you were at dinner you reached into your pocket to get your cell phone and found it there that was when you realized you had forgotten to give it to them.  The moment you found the scarf you asked your waitress for a bag and put it in there.  Make sure the police know the names of everyone you know of that has touched this scarf.”

  “You aren't going to touch it?”  He asked.

  “No, the scarf is evidence.”

  “But I need your help.”  Armand said.  “I have to know what happened to my wife.”

 “We will find the answer you seek in good time.  I have other ways of...getting to the truth.  Tell me Armand, how much time do the police expect you to be gone?”

  “An hour.”

  “The hospital is two blocks away.   You have been here about ten minutes.  We still have time.”  Cecily said as a smile crossed her lips.   “Tea?”  She asked.

*Never feed your cat sugar or salt.

Ten Hundred Hours

  “I look awful.”  Writer Lady says looking into the bathroom mirror.

  “No you don't Mom.”  Dobby says.  The ginger tabby is sitting in the doorway watching as she goes through her daily grooming routine.

  “Ray?  Hey man, I was wondering where you were today.”   Tinkletoes says making his way to the open doorway.   Realizing his mistake he pales at Writer Lady's saddened expression.

   “I didn't mean it.”  He says.

  Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes.   “Yes you did.”  She looks at herself more closely in the mirror.  “You're right.  I have the same bags under my eyes, the same tired expression, the same dry, frizzy, blonde hair.   I'm turning into Ray.”  She turns back to the mirror, then looks back at Tinkletoes, tears welling in her eyes.  “I'm turning into Ray.”

  Dobby crosses the distance and rubs against her ankles.  “It's okay.  You're just tired Mom.”

  Writer Lady reaches down and scoops up the cat.

  “It's okay Mom.   It's okay.”   He purrs rubbing his head against her face.

  “Thank you kitty.”  She says scratching an ear.

  “Better?”  He asks.
 

  Writer Lady nods and puts Dobby down, quickly wiping away her tears.

  “You shouldn't feel bad Ray's a good guy.  He's always smiling, no matter how tired he is.   Laid back too.”  Tinkletoes says.

  “I know.”  She says.

  “Hey...where is everyone?”  Ray asks, entering the hallway and looking in through the bathroom entry.

  “Whoa...Dude.  It's just like I'm looking in the mirror.  Cool.”

  “I'll be okay.”  Writer Lady manages to squeak out.  She looks at Tinkletoes as she slowly closes the door.

  Tinkletoes knocks on the door.   Writer Lady opens it a crack.  “You haven't had much of a chance to write lately have you?”

  “No.”  She answers.

  “When you get done here, why don't you spend some time in High Command? You might, you know, feel better.”

  Writer Lady nods and closes the door.

  Tinkletoes turns around looks at Ray who is holding an unopened bag of cheese puffs in one hand.  Both kittens are sniffing at the bag with interest.  “There's a cheese puff ban in this house Ray.”   He says.

  “It's an experiment.”  Ray says, lifting the bag from the kittens' reach.

  “Let's wait until the lady of the house says it's all right.”  Tinkletoes says.

The odd sniffle can be heard coming from behind the bathroom door.   The kittens lose interest in the discussion and take off running through the house. First dashing through the living room then returning to the hallway and running over Tinkletoes' feet into High Command up the Big Writing Chair and back down, claws extended for better handling around curves.   The pair bolt out of High Command and make a b line for the bedroom climbing up Writer Lady's headboard pulling threads of the fabric covered board as they go.  Dobby, Tinkletoes, and Ray stand in the bedroom entry watching as the kittens take part in a final battle.   Hanging onto the edge of the headboard, tails flicking in the breeze, the fall to the mattress long and dangerous.  Hey, it seems huge to a kitten.  The fight ends when Spots launches himself skyward (well...the ceiling—skyward sounds cooler) towards the ceiling fan to escape his brother's onslaught.   The kitten flips head over tail finding himself hanging off of the foot of the bed where he lands, holding onto the bed's quilt with the tip of a single claw. 
 

  “So it's an experiment huh?”  Tinkletoes asks looking at Ray.

  “Dude...an experiment.”

  “I think a temporary lift of the cheese puff ban would be okay.  Keep those recruits busy Ray.”

  Ray smiles and nods.  He walks into the bedroom, picks up Spots, and carefully detaches him from the quilt.

 

  “Ray?”  Tinkletoes calls. “Don't tell the High Commander, the General, Her Ladyship.”    He shakes his head.  “Don't tell any females.  This is guy stuff.”

Not getting any response Tinkletoes looks in Ray's direction.  Ray is staring at him with a blank expression.

  “Ray?”   He asks.   Tinkletoes walks over to Ray and snaps his fingers in Ray's face.  Nothing.

  “If anyone asks, it's a training exercise.”  He announces.

  “Dude.  What time is it?”  Ray asks.

  “Ten hundred hours.  You'd better get going.”  He says.

   "Cool."  Ray says nodding and continues his work.

  When Tinkletoes checks on Writer Lady the door to High Command is closed.  He knocks. 

 

  “Yes?”  She calls.

  “May I come in?”

  “Yeah.”  She says, suspending typing long enough to answer.

  He enters, walking into her line of sight and she looks up. “Hi.  How's it going?”  Tinkletoes asks.

  “Pretty good I think.  When I sat down I didn't feel like I had anything to say but...”  She says gesturing to her full screen.

  “Wow.”   He says.  Tinkletoes begins reading over her shoulder his lips moving silently as he reads.

                                                  The Teller

The only way to discover what happened to your wife is to call your brother by his true name.

At precisely nine pm. there was a knock on the door.  She knew that it was precisely nine pm. because at nine pm. she always sat down with her last cup of tea for the evening.  An herbal blend that calmed her nerves and quieted her sensitivities so she could rest.

Not tonight.  On this rainy September evening her visitor, the one that had been lingering on the outskirts of her consciousness for many months made his unexpected entrance, exactly as she had foreseen it.  Cracking the door a bit, Cecily had a gift but not a precise one, and as Grandma had always said those who came looking for the wisdom of a teller were not always without malice in their hearts.

“Are you the teller?”  A voice asked from the other side of the door.

“I am.”   Cecily responded.

“I'm sorry to call so late but I need your help.  It is quite urgent.”

Cecily closed her eyes as he spoke, she listened for inflections in his voice, seeing the colors of his words and sensed his strain.  The fear in his heart.  She was in no danger.

“I was expecting you.”  She said and opened the door the rest of the way.

The fortune teller's words did not fully sink in until after Armand had come through the door.

“You were expecting me?”  He asked as he looked around the room.  “How could you be expecting me?”

Cecily's lips curved up into a brief smile.  “You arrive seeking the help of a teller and asks how she knows things?”

“That is silly isn't it?”  Armand asked.

Cecily smiled briefly.

Armand looked around and took in his surroundings, the modest furniture, the fireplace, the hand sewn throw pillows, the weather beaten looking cat with unusual eyes.

“You are surprised?”  Cecily asked.

“Yes. A bit.”  Armand admitted.  “There are no candles, no exotic looking scarves, no incense.”
 

“No Armand there are not.  No crystal ball either.   I was trained that those are all embellishments, dressings, put out to fulfill an expectation that many have of tellers.  If a client's mind is full of expectation they cannot truly hear what they are being told.”

“Really?”

“It is the philosophy I was raised with.  If it is that way for all tellers that I cannot say but with my bloodline it is.”

“The home doesn't look like the surroundings of such a young woman either.”  Armand said.   “How old are you, twenty-two?”   He asked.

“I am twenty-eight.  This is a family home.  I did not decorate it.”  She answered calmly looking closely at Armand.

She was a pretty woman of average height with coppery hair and amber eyes that competed for his attention.  Armand found himself having trouble finding his words.

  “That's interesting."  Tinkletoes says.  "A little bit redundant at the beginning but still good.” 

  “It's the first page of a first draft.”   Writer Lady points out.

  “How many drafts will you write?”

  “Thousands.”   She exaggerates a bit. 

 

  “Oh...in that case.   It's real good.”

  “Thank you.” 

 

  “I wanted to let you know that everything is moving along normal perimeters.  Everything is fine out there.”

  “The kittens are fine?”  She asks.

  “The new recruits have been contained, reassigned, and are participating in training exercises.”

  Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes and raises an eyebrow.

  “The kittens are fine.”  He says.

  “Okay.   I should stay in here?”  She asks.

  “Stay in here.”

  “Okay.”  She says and continues typing.

  Tinkletoes backs out of the room and quietly closes the door.

  “So did Mom buy it?”  Dobby asks.

  “She bought it.”  He answers.

New Recruits

Writer Lady quietly shuffles into the kitchen through the morning's darkness.   She finds her way to the light switch and more importantly the coffee pot.   TP appears in a puff of smoke.

“Don't talk to me.”   Writer Lady says unsurprised by the faerie's entrance.

“Rise and shine.”  TP sings, giggling.

“That's not funny.”  Writer Lady says, picking up the carafe and filling it with water.

“It's really funny from here.”  TP giggles.

As the carafe fills Writer Lady's eyes begin to feel heavy, she nods off only to be awakened by water spilling out from the top and down the sides.  She mutters an expletive.  There is a knock on the door; muttering a bigger expletive she answers it.

“I'm back!”  Tinkletoes announces.  The self-proclaimed mercenary is smiling and looks well rested.

Writer Lady glares.

“Don't you want to say anything?  Hi.  I missed you.  How was your flight?”  He asks.

She continues glaring. 

“You don't look so good.  Are you sick?” He asks.

TP flutters near Tinkletoes' shoulder having followed Writer Lady to the door. “She's had kittens.”  The faerie giggles.

Writer Lady immediately turns her glare to the faerie.  “Don't do that again. You've been warned.”   She says turning on her heel.  She returns to the kitchen to make coffee.

Tinkletoes follows.  “Kittens?  You had kittens?  How did that happen?”  He asks, sitting down at the table.

Writer Lady finishes what she started and quietly watches the coffee maker brew.   “One night Mommy Cat and Daddy Cat meet at the ice cream shoppe.  Across the crowded shoppe their eyes meet and lock.  They start talking.   After several hours of getting to know each other and downing a big glass bottle of milk, they decide that they are in love, Daddy Cat follows Mommy Cat home and in nine to ten weeks kittens are born.  Six to eight weeks later the kittens are encouraged to find new lodgings.   Two found their way here.”  Writer Lady turns away from the counter and looks at Tinkletoes.  “I didn't give birth to kittens.  They moved in.”

“And now you're cranky.”   He says.

Her eyes narrow, her jaw tightens.   “I am not cranky.”

“You sound a little bit cranky.”

“I'm Not.”

Tinkletoes grins and starts to make another comment.

“It doesn't matter if I'm cranky or not.  Do you know what the fastest way is to get from 'Are you having a bad day?' to 'That fist came out of no where' is?”

Tinkletoes quietly waits for the answer.

“Telling people how they are feeling when they are already in a bad mood.”

Tinkletoes changes the subject.   “So what's been going on?”  He asks.

“They're kittens.  What do you think has been going on?”

“I don't know.  I've never met a kitten before.”

“Mew.”  A gentle high pitched sound comes from the entry leading into the living room.

Tinkletoes rises from his seat, grabs a knife from the counter, and stands in front of Writer Lady blocking her view.  “Don't ask any questions.  I have a lightsaber stashed in the cabinet above your head.  Quickly turn around, get it out, and give it to me.”

“Why?”

Not taking his eyes off of the newcomer he says. “I said, 'Don't ask any questions.'”

Writer Lady pushes her way past Tinkletoes' blockade.  “There you are.”  She says smiling.  “I bet you're hungry, aren't you?  Thirsty too.”   She continues sweetly.

“Mew.”  The kitten replies toddling across the kitchen to her.  Writer Lady scoops the kitten up and cradles it in her arms.

“Is that one of the?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“Of course.   What did you think he was a space alien?”   Writer Lady asks smiling down at the kitten and rubbing noses with it.

“It's got really big ears and it's still kind of dark in here.   Honest mistake.”

“Neither E.T. or Paul had much going on in the way of ears.”

“That's because Yoda had all the ears.  A couple of big ones he had.  Yes...he did.”

Writer Lady and the kitten both look at Tinkletoes with blank expressions.

“What do you call him?”

“Spots.”

“That's a dog's name.”  Tinkletoes asks.

“He has a pair of spots on his back.”  Writer Lady says turning the kitten over to show Tinkletoes Spots' um...spots.   That was awkward.

“He looks odd.”  Tinkletoes says and gets a glare for his effort.  “Look at him.  He's white, striped, and spotted.  He's at least four different colors.”  Tinkletoes leans in and looks at the kitten more closely.  “His chin is dirty too.”

Writer Lady studies Spots' chin.  “That is also a patch of color.  Think of it as a goatee gone wrong.”

“Mew.”  Another gentle meow comes from the doorway.

“Look who's up.”  Writer Lady says.  She hands Spots to Tinkletoes who tries cradling the kitten the way Writer Lady did.

“Those ears are big.”  He says looking down at the kitten.  “I'll bet you can hear just about anything with those.”  Spots peers up at him.  “The biggest thing about you is those ears.”  He says looking at the kitten more closely.  “No, the feet.  Those feet are bigger.  You must be part rabbit or something.”

“This is Smudge.”   Writer Lady announces bringing the bigger kitten over.  “He is colored similarly but his markings are distinct in other ways.

“A suck up too.”  Tinkletoes says pointing to his own face.  “Brown nose.”

Smudge tenses a little and jumps out of Writer Lady's arms.  “He doesn't like cuddling when other people are around.”

“A private guy huh?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady nods.

“Why Smudge and Spots?”

“Mom named them and nothing else seemed to fit.  They have middle names too. Smudge is Smudge Mal.”

“A Browncoat name.   I like it.”

“Smudge Mal liked me first.  When it's quiet he's very sweet.   Spots is Spots Wash.”

“One helluva pilot?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“Oral fixation.   He's always licking things.  The furniture, my arm, himself.” Writer Lady looks around.   “He might be licking the windows.   I haven't caught him at it.  Not yet anyway.  Ray's dying to see what he does with a cheese puff.”

The Bucket Brigade

“Here's what we need to do.”   Tinkletoes says.  He is standing by the stove with several stainless steel buckets lined up on the counter next to him.  TP, Ray, Carp, Dobby, Peter, Dylan, and Writer Lady are all across the room standing in the front of the kitchen sink.

“Bugsy told Dobby that the spells infused in the broth and the noodles are working.  He also says it will work better the faster we get the noodles into Diomedes.  There are six buckets here, we're going to fill up these buckets with broth and noodles.  Everyone is going to make a single file line and we're going to pass the buckets to the next person in line.   The person in front will give it to Diomedes.  When Diomedes empties that bucket he immediately gets the next bucket that way he gets the medicine quickly and efficiently.  The spells in his system get neutralized and no more diarrhea.”

“Cool.   Just like a western.”  Ray says.

Dylan looks at Peter questioningly.

“Do you remember the show with all the horses?  The house caught fire and everyone stood in a line passing the buckets of water?”  Peter asks, looking down at his little brother.

Dylan nods.

“It's like that.”  Peter says.

“Except that the fire we're fighting is in the belly of a dragon!  Only the intense bravery and sharp wits of our romantic hero can save us.”  Carp announces.

The entire room groans and rolls their eyes.

“What?  Too much?”  Carp asks.

“Line up men.”   Tinkletoes says.  He fills the first bucket of noodles thrusting it at Carp.  “To the front of the line.”   He says.  Carp accepts the bucket and heads for the bathroom.

“Dude you're in front?”  Ray asks as Carp walks by.  “Cool!”

Dylan looks at Ray.

“He's up front.   In the poop zone.”  Ray announces.

Tinkletoes puts a full bucket into Ray's waiting hands.  “Dude...”  Ray says.  “Do you know what this means?”  He asks.

“Uh huh.”  Tinkletoes nods.   “Back spray.”  The self-proclaimed mercenary grins.  “Bye bye.”  He says and waves.  “The rest of us are going to get in line.” Tinkletoes says to Dylan.  “TP will fill the buckets, Writer Lady will pick them up one at a time and bring them to me.  We'll pass it on to Peter and then it will continue on to Diomedes.”

“What about Dobby?”  Dylan asks.

“He makes sure we know how it's going up there.  He went back to the bathroom.”

“Any more questions?”  Tinkletoes asks Dylan.

The boy shakes his head.

“Okay,” Tinkletoes says, turning to take a bucket from a waiting Writer Lady,“on with the mission.” He says handing the bucket to Peter.

Within minutes the buckets had made their way down the line without so much as a fart coming from the dragon.  The last bucket makes its way out of Peter's hands and into Ray's disappearing into bathroom.  Everyone at the back of the line lets out a sigh of relief.

Dobby comes out of the bathroom and stops in front of Tinkletoes.  “We need more.”

“There is no more.”  Tinkletoes says.

“Bugsy says that there is an air bubble full of magic in one far corner of Diomedes' stomach.”

“I just sent the last bucket up.”

“Diomedes emptied it.”

“What if he rolls around on the floor?”

Dobby shakes his head.

“Jumps up and down?”

Dobby shakes his head again.

“What if Carp rubs his belly?”

“Bugsy says another cup of noodles is the only thing that will work.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady who has been listening.  She disappears into the kitchen reappearing with one last cup.  A coffee cup.

“Don't spill.”  She says.

The cup is full of broth.  There is a handful of noodles in the cup.  “The noodles have the most magic in them.  If you a lose a noodle...”

“I get it, we're screwed.”  Tinkletoes says finishing her sentence.

“Can I help?”  Dylan's hopeful voice asks.

Tinkletoes and Writer Lady look at each other, neither saying a word.   After a few moments Writer Lady answers, “Of course, honey why don't you keep me company while I do the dishes and then we'll cook something for the rest of us.”

“I want to help take care of Diomedes.”  Dylan says looking up at Tinkletoes.

Writer Lady quietly shakes her head, encouraging Tinkletoes to say “no.”

  Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady.  “This is my mission.   It will not fail.”   He looks at Dylan.  “Just a sec.”  “Hold this for me.”  Tinkletoes says, handing the cup to Writer Lady, he looks down and briefs his young soldier on their mission.  “Bugsy, the bug living inside Diomedes says that Diomedes has not eaten enough yet. They need one more cup of noodles.  What is Writer Lady holding?”

Dylan turns to look at Writer Lady and turns back to Tinkletoes.  “A cup.”

“That's one cup of noodles.   The last cup.   If Diomedes doesn't get all of this, if a single drop of broth drips out...”

“We're screwed.”  The tow headed boy answers.

Writer Lady covers her mouth.  Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady and grins.

“Yeah we are.  In order to complete this mission successfully I'm gonna pick you up, we're both gonna hold on to that cup for all it's worth, and you're going to give it to the dragon.  Ready soldier?”   Tinkletoes asks.

Dylan nods.

Tinkletoes picks up the boy and takes the cup. Both hold on to it.

“I have to sneeze.”  Dylan announces.

“Let's double time it.”  Tinkletoes says and the two disappear into the combat zone just as the four year old sneezes.

“Thank you again.”  Writer Lady says, she and Tinkletoes are standing in the bonus room.  Diomedes has been cured and is resting, dinner for everyone else has been prepared and eaten, and the final clean up of the kitchen is nearly finished.  “You really saved the day.”

“Keeping noodles from being spilled wasn't very hero-y.”  Tinkletoes points out.

“Sometimes a hero is the person that keeps it all moving.”   Writer Lady clarifies.

“Someone who keeps the rotation going.”  Tinkletoes agrees.

“So that tomorrow can be another day.”  She says.

The self-proclaimed mercenary nods in quiet agreement.  “I don't think I'll come over tomorrow that way you can rest.”  Tinkletoes says.

“Dobby and the others will be bored by tomorrow afternoon.   Why don't you come over later in the day?”

“After lunch?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“After lunch.”  She confirms.

A silence grows between them.

“About that con thing...”  Tinkletoes begins.

“I hope that you and Anlace have a successful or is it better to say lucrative weekend?”

“I'd be happy with break a leg.”  Tinkletoes says.

“Break a leg.”  She says, smiling gently.

Tinkletoes gives Writer Lady a puzzled look and continues backing out through the door, slipping and nearly falling on a step, righting himself just in time.

“Don't break anything today.”  Writer Lady says.

“It's okay.   I've got it.”  He says, resituating himself.  He turns to leave, turning back to Writer Lady he says, “Have a nice day.”

Following him outside, she looks to the West and the setting sun, “Have a nice night.”

“Until tomorrow.”  He says.

“Until tomorrow.”  She confirms.

Writer Lady returns inside.  Dobby stops her in the bonus room.

“That's it?  You're just letting it go?”

“Yes, I'm dropping trying to figure out where the con he's going to is if that's what you're asking.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Dobby waits for further information but gets none.

“That's your entire answer, because?”

“Because Tinkletoes says he knows what he wants but for whatever reason his actions don't match his words.   I gave him a chance to take that big step when I offered to meet him at the con and he didn't.  I don't read minds.   I can't begin to fathom how he thinks so I'm going to trust that he has a good reason for things being where they are right now.”

“So you're leaving things here?  Dobby asks.

“It's not my move kitty.”

“But Mom...”

“Dobby kitty it's been a freakishly long day.   I'm sure things will look different in the morning let's get some rest.”

“Mo-om.”

Writer Lady lets out a tired sigh and tries explaining it again. “Dobby, if anyone told me two weeks ago that these last twenty-four hours was going to take place the way they did I would have insisted that they were crazy.  I've lived a lot longer than you have kitty and this I can tell you. Life is unpredictable, it can change directions in a matter of minutes and in the course of just two weeks your life can be turned around completely.  Getting through it takes heart, love, strength, thought, hard work, and planning.   It also takes faith.  Today I choose to have faith.  Having faith in Tinkletoes is a little bit scary but here we are.  Understand?”

“I think so.”  The ginger tabby answers.

“Good.  Can I go to bed now?   I'm so tired.  I feel like crap.”

“You kind of look like it too Mom.”  Dobby says.

“Thanks so much.”  Writer Lady says with full sarcasm.  “It's time to say goodnight Dobby.”

“Goodnight Dobby.”

When Feeding A Dragon...

“Are you boys finished?”   Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes looks around the kitchen, all participants are nodding.   “Yes.  They are.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes.

“We are.”  He says looking away.

“You're just showing your ignorance.   You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”  Writer Lady says as she monitors the progress of the cooking noodles.

Tinkletoes takes the few steps across the kitchen to stand beside her.  “No one meant anything by that.  We were just cutting up.  Acting stupid.”

“It's not appropriate.”

Tinkletoes stands in one spot looking at Writer Lady and waiting for more information.

“There are children here.  We're supposed to be examples for them.  Teach them what appropriate behavior looks like.”

“The children are fictional characters, it doesn't count.”

“Of course it counts.  It always counts.”

“What about?”

“It always counts.”

Tinkletoes clears his throat in an effort to ask another question.

“Dobby counts too.  He always counts because I have to live with him and he gets away with way too much all ready.”  Writer Lady says, answering Tinkletoes' question before it's asked.

“Cut him some slack.  He's a good cat.”  Tinkletoes says.   “What's he done that's so bad?”

“He contracted a mercenary without my permission obligating me to provide baked goods as payment for an indefinite period of time, for starters.”

“You mean me.”

She looks at Tinkletoes.

“Those baked goods kicked butt.   I um...we brought happiness to a lot of people with those cupcakes.  Besides, look at what Dobby and I meeting led to.   All of this.”

There are farting noises followed by the inevitable stench that accompanies the farts and the sound of breaking glass.

“Silly human.”  TP giggles near the source of the sound of breaking glass.

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes.

“Okay, I'll say something.”  Turning away from the stove and facing the group he says, “The cow jokes were fun but always remember that Nebraska is great place.   If zombies ever attack go there first.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes, “What?” she mouths.

Tinkletoes continues, “There are lots of cows and food factories.  The zombies can be drawn in by the cows and then locked into the food factories.  Eventually they will run out of stuff to eat, turn on each other, and...No More Zombies.”   He looks at Writer Lady.  She's not impressed.   “Never underestimate the power of Nebraska.”  He says.  “It could save us all.”

Writer Lady turns back to her pot of noodles and rolls her eyes.

“If you do that too much your eyes will stay that way.”  Tinkletoes whispers in her ear.  “Caught ya.”

“The noodles are done!”  She announces, cheers are heard throughout the room. “Let me get you a bowl Diomedes and you can eat.”  Writer Lady says.

“Mi'lady,”  Diomedes says, “I was wondering if I might break my fast in the bathroom.”

“You want to eat in the bathroom?”

“My last endeavor into food consumption was quite the disaster.  I thought, well...Bugsy and I discussed it and we decided that it might be a more proactive move if I eat in the shower.”

“If you get sick again it will be a lot easier to clean up.”  She agrees.

“Bugsy wants you to know that he will be able to tell if the medicine is going to work after the first serving.  He can also tell you when I have had enough medicine and everything is neutralized.”

“That's wonderful news.”   Writer Lady says.   “If you would care to retire to the bathroom I'll bring your first serving.”

“Oh yes.   That is wonderful.  Most delicious.”  Diomedes' exclamations can be heard in the living room.  Everyone listens and waits.   Tinkletoes crosses the living room to Writer Lady.  “What do you think?”  He asks.

Writer Lady looks around quietly admiring the much improved view.

“Is the carpeting new?”  She asks.

“TP did his best.  He couldn't save everything.”  Tinkletoes says.

“That's a different television too.”   She says.

Tinkletoes nods.

“The walls look just as fresh and bright as they were to begin with.  The woodwork is prettier than it was before.  The shutters look like they don't have a speck of dust on them.”  She says.

“Faerie cleaning techniques.”

“It is wonderful.   I am most grateful to the cleaning crew.”

“Thank you.”  Tinkletoes says with a brief nod of his head.

In a puff of smoke TP appears floating next to Tinkletoes and Writer Lady.  “She meant us, silly man.”  TP says.

“Yeah, you didn't do any work.”   House admonishes.

“Thank you TP.  Thank you House.”  Writer Lady says.

TP takes a bow.

“We women have to stick together.”  House responds.  “I feel so much better. Tons lighter.  Dry carpeting can make all the difference.”

“I told you darling you're as beautiful as ever.”  Mural Man's sweet whisper is heard as it runs faintly along the walls.

“Oh Mur...”  House gushes.

Dylan enters the room just as Mural Man whispers his words of love.  “Gross!”  He exclaims.

“You say it's gross now but one day it's going to be your turn.”   Writer Lady teases.

“No Way!”

Writer Lady looks at Dylan solemnly and quietly nods.

“Seriously?”   He asks.

She nods again.

“I'm not looking forward to that day!”   The four year old declares.

“Did you need something?”  Writer Lady asks.

“Peter wants you to know that Ray and Carp are almost done cleaning off the counters.  The dishes are stacked up and ready to be washed too.”

“Thank you Dylan.  I'll be right in.”  Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes.  “It's time for me to get back in the kitchen, washing the dishes is my job.”

“Can't House do that?”  Tinkletoes asks.

“She shouldn't have to do everything.”  Writer Lady looks around at the immaculately clean living room.  “House has been through so much today.”

“So have you.”  Tinkletoes says.

Dobby enters the living room from the side closest to Writer Lady.  The ginger tabby has been keeping watch over Diomedes. “Diomedes and Bugsy both agree that the noodles are working.  But Bugsy says that it will work better the faster we feed Diomedes.”

“Flooding the system.” Tinkletoes says nodding. “We can flush anything bad out that isn't responding right away.”

“Can his digestive system take that?” Writer Lady asks.

“He's a dragon, if anything can take it Diomedes can.  Let's get everyone together.  I have an idea.”

If My Characters Asked You For A Job*

     Today I find myself looking at my LinkedIn account (like that's anything
new) perusing jobs, potential companies/contacts and not getting far.   Like much of the world, networking requires a “look at me” approach.  Something which is great for extroverted people but that is not easy for the introverts, yep that includes me.  I have adapted quite well over the years.  If you've met me before and I decide you're okay watch out for that second, third, or fourth meeting because I'm going to extrovert personality all over your a***, sorry, the place.  I can be described as anything from sweet to quirky or weird.  I have to admit that the Internet does make things easier, once I remind myself that I am in cyberspace, can relax, and share a little bit more of me without tearing a hole in the fabric of time or space.

     I'm looking at my account, okay, scrutinizing it.  I describe myself as a humorist.  My brain says (I call my brain 'Dude' just so you know).  I like that name.  It's so relaxed, laid back, smart without having to try very hard because hey, we all like to feel smart, right?  Besides, I would hate to call my brain Lance if it felt more like a Steve or a Joe or a Jackson.  Why doesn't my brain have a female name? (Scratches head)  Good question.  Dude says he'll have to get back to you on that one.   Anyway Dude says, “If you want people to see you as a well-written individual with a knack for humor you have to make them laugh.”  I told you Dude was smart right?  Which begs the question, “Can people see you as well-written if you've named your brain “Dude”?   Poor Dude two questions in one morning.

      It's all so complicated isn't it?  I wanted to talk about work, looking for work, transitioning into a new field, reinventing yourself (apparently one doesn't have to be super rich to do this, I can't help but think that being super rich would make the process easier) while still making people laugh.  Just give me a second, that was a long sentence, Dude needs some air.

      I decided that one of the clearest and quickest ways to share who I am (a t-shirt might be quicker...hmm) and still laugh at the challenges of getting, excuse me, (clears throat) finding work would be if I illustrated for you the things that might happen if one of my characters approached a hiring manager, peer, colleague, or even a random person in an effort to find work.

      TP is an interesting character.  He's a faerie.  A real one.  A really tiny man with a little pair of wings.  He flies around and everything.  He has a fondness for pixies.  Quite a reputation.   He's also fairly obnoxious.

      We enter a small dark room to find TP flying around a large gilded cage.  The hiring manager (a human) he has been interviewing with is locked inside.  He's wearing nothing but a loin cloth.  No, I don't think this is appropriate at all but according to TP this is how things get done in “the Fae”.  Don't shoot the messenger.

   “Would you let me out?”  The hiring manager asks.

   “Have you hired me yet?”   TP asks.

   “No.”  The hiring manager responds.

   “TP says 'No' too.”  The faerie says.

   “Okay then...you're hired.”  The hiring manager says.

   “You haven't asked me any questions.   Silly human.”  TP giggles.

   “Okay...”  The hiring manager decides that the situation might feel more manageable if he does what TP wants him to do.   He is a hiring manager after all.   He'll just do his job without the benefit of long pants.  Oh...the goose pimples.

   “So TP, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

   “I'm TP the faerie.  I want to learn how humans work.  Give me a job.”

   “What kind of job are you interested in?  What kind of work would you be good at?”

   “I tell people what to do and someone gives me lots of money.”  TP giggles.  “What else is there?”

   “You're a work smart not hard kind of guy.”

   “I'm a faerie, work doesn't exist for me.”

   “If that's your philosophy it sounds like you have a good attitude.”

TP looks at the hiring manager, studies his clothes, his keys, and various electronic devices that are neatly stacked on the floor just out of said hiring manager's reach.  “Give me your job.”  TP says.

“My job is technical.  It took me a long time to acquire the skill set needed to do this work.”

“TP can do it.  Want to see?”  The faerie asks.

      The hiring manager looks around.  He's in a gilded cage, wearing a loin cloth, and the cage is locked.  It's not like he's going anywhere.  “Sure.”

   “You're fired!  Go home!”  TP says giggling.

   “That was very good but giggling after you've fired someone is insensitive and the fired employee may have grounds to sue for emotional distress.”

   “Go Away!”   TP says and with a flick of the faerie's wrist the hiring manager disappears in a puff of smoke.

   Which is why TP is not allowed outside unsupervised.   Seriously, this did not really happen.   It's totally made up.   I'm not kidding.

    Aunt Purdy comes from a children's book I wrote a couple of years ago.  She is over 35, kind, smart, and gentle in nature.   One of the people central to her family and her community.

   Aunt Purdy enters the hiring manager's office with a plate of freshly baked cookies.  After handing the hiring manager her resume she sits down with her covered plate and waits.

   “I can see that you have many of the skills we are looking for.  You might have to start at a lower level position at least for the first year, would that be all right?”

  “That would be fine.”

  “You're hired.”   The hiring manager says.   Who isn't going to hire Aunt Purdy?  Seriously folks.

  “Cookie?”  Aunt Purdy asks.

  “Yes thank you.”

   Tinkletoes walks into the hiring manager's office stopping at his chair to look him in the eye.  “I'm Tinkletoes,”  he says,   “you're going to hire me.”

   The hiring manager looks at the resume printed on military green paper with camo trim along the page's side while Tinkletoes sits down in a chair on the other side of the manager's desk.  “You don't seem to have many of the skills we are looking for.  You are confident which is good.  I could keep the resume on file for you if you'd like.”

  Tinkletoes reaches into the pocket of his camos and a metal cannister falls out, rolling along the floor to stop at the hiring manager's feet.

  “I told you that you were gonna hire me.”  The self-proclaimed mercenary says, a small metal pin is dangling of off the end of one finger.

  “Threatening me isn't going to work.”

  “Three, two, one...”  Tinkletoes says, scooting his chair as far back from the hiring manager's desk as possible just as putrid dark smoke starts to billow out of the ends of the metal container.

  “Oh my god.  No, not this not now...”  The hiring manager pushes his chair as far from the cannister as he can and hides his head.  All he hears is the sound of the smoke as it slowly escapes the can, the feared explosion never comes.

  When the smoke has been expelled completely from the can Tinkletoes reaches out and picks it up.  

 “The smoke grenade must have fallen out of my pocket. Sorry.”

  “There is a no weapons policy at this company.   I will not be hiring you.”  The hiring manager coughs out handing Tinkletoes back his resume.

  “I'm a great guy to have around.  Kinda smart.   Funny.”

  The hiring manager continues coughing and shakes his head.

  “I make custom lightsabers in my spare time.  I could probably make you one.”

  “I'm a Trekkie . Star Wars is the enemy.”  The hiring manager proclaims.

  “Isn't there room for both?”  Tinkletoes asks grinning.

  “Noooo.”  The hiring manager says.  His “no” ending with a fit of coughing.

  “I'm not even gonna ask about Firefly.”  Tinkletoes mutters.  “I think you should consider me for a job.  I am a veteran.”   He says addressing the hiring manager.

  The manager looks at Tinkletoes and glares.

  “I single handedly saved the world from being taken over by Ninja Zombies.  You don't want to be without me on your team if space aliens attack.   Give me the schematics for this building and I could have a plan for a complete lock down on this place by the end of the week.  A space alien would never live to see the inside.”

  The hiring manager picks up the phone and says, “Hello, Security.”

  “You're busy.  I'll just let myself out.”  Tinkletoes says leaving the room.

   Sitting at my computer now reading over what I have written I know I have illustrated my ability to write humor.  I always feel better with feedback though don't you?   Dude likes it.  He says you should too.  In my peripheral vision I can see something fluttering to my right.   The faerie nods in approval. 

 Something, sorry, someone is breathing on the back of my neck.

  "So what do you think?"  

  "Looks good.  Let's get this out there, the offers are gonna start rollin' in.” Tinkletoes answers.

Within a few minutes I'm done.   Letting out a sigh I rise from the chair satisfied that my mission is complete.

  “I need the computer!”  Dobby's voice can be heard from the living room.

  The faerie plants himself on his own personal “any” key and refuses to budge.  “TP's Turn!”

  “No.  She needs more contacts on the LinkedIn account.   I'm taking command of this workstation.”  

Tinkletoes says sitting down.

  I look at Tinkletoes doubtfully.

  “You need more contacts.”

  “I know but this isn't like acquiring Facebook friends.  I need to make business contacts.”

  “Every contact is a good contact.”  Tinkletoes says.

  “How is a military surplus vendor going to help me find work as a writer?”

  “He gets catalogs?”

  “No tweeting.”

  “Tweeting can be helpful too.”

  “You're making people at the Pentagon nervous.”

  “I'm just sharing my ideas.”   Tinkletoes counters.

  “Some ideas aren't meant to be shared.”

  Did I mention my vivid imagination?  It's with me all the time. 

  

  Thank you for reading.  Have a nice day.

*This post is separate and unrelated to the storyline that is currently running.