The Job

[Tolleson]

The morning came swiftly, far more than she would have liked and out of habit the young woman rose with the sun and began to dress in the familiar surroundings as if to simply go down stairs and into the kitchen to bake the daily bread. Half way into her dress time caught up with her, as if everything in the last year or so had been a dream. She would stop short and climb back into bed.

She wasn't the cook here anymore and despite the abrasiveness of Mr. Burnie's observations he was precisely right, she ought to find better work - pie making could be done in her own time. She had learned more and changed so much since she last saw him, he was right to be suspicious, but would be damned if she admitted it. The whole matter would have to be handled delicately.

It was nearly mid-day when she woke again, dressing this time in a clean set of finer clothes. Then was the matter of her hair, straightening it, pinning it down to ensure it stayed in place, and making sure no short strands were popping out. After all, the night prior the councilmen had caught her just after her arrival, she had been a disheveled mess having walked most of the southern road until arriving at the Dagger.

By the time she had left the Inn and joined with the main road towards the town proper she looked sharp, almost passing as a regular lady. Once in town she sought out the Toy Maker's shop and gave a brisk knock at the door, she was early, but hopefully Treadwell would answer. After all, weren't his instructions to meet him at the shop?

[Treadwell]

At nearly mid-day, one might expect Aloisius Treadwell to be in the middle of stuffing himself silly.

Instead, a "Closed" sign hangs on the front door and rumbling snores can be heard within the main room. The snores soon come to grumbly, grumpy, huffy stops, though, and soon enough, the lumbering plodding of an elephantine toymaker can be heard setting the floor to creaking.

The door creeeeaks open, and there stands a bleary- and puffy-eyed Aloisius, beard a-floof and a-puff, bright yellow pajamas unbuttoned at the still visibly bruised belly to allow an obviously full stomach room to expand, and cane in hand. His glasses are missing, having been left behind in his. . . haste, if one can call the sluggish waddling hasty.

Squinty-eyed scrutiny brings the visitor into something passing close enough to focus, and, with an elderly chirp to his wheezy voice, "Genny! Hullo! Come in!"

And then, poor, tired, bloated Tready lets out a jowl-jiggling yawwawwwwwn as he toddles backward and opens the door to let his visitor in.

[Tolleson]

Actually, she had expected him to be eating or at least awake, though the two were practically synonymous. And at any rate, wouldn't the middle of the day be a prime time for a merchant to be selling his wears?

Feeling slightly sorry for waking up the plump toymaker she would hesitate before entering and even as he gestured her in and she followed, she'd ask, "are you... would you prefer I come back later?"

As the Dagger's cook and living mostly in the kitchen, she had only ever been to the town proper on several occasions, and once before was to this very shop though it had been so long she'd almost forgotten where it was. Just inside the door but trying to leave enough room for the portly fellow to close the door behind her she would stop - attempting to be as polite as possible of course, awaiting his direction.

[Treadwell]

"Oooooh, come in, come in! It's all the same to me, mmph mmph, and I could use the company. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night, dearie. Every time I would move even the slightest bit, hmm hmm, my poor, injured belly would remind me quite nicely of just what injurious punishment that mean old table did to it last night!"

There's a jolly hint to his squeaky, shrill voice, but the occasional wince to his actions and watery film to his eyes hint at his being in more pain than he seems to let on.

"Now, come in, hmph! I'm sure I can find you something to snack on, hee hee, while we talk about what it is you can do for me, hmm hmm, and what I can do for you!"

With that, Treadwell turns and toddles into the toy shop, leaving the door ajar for Genny to come through. The one-piece pajama outfit he wears certainly doesn't flatter his ever-widening form, leaving just about every roll and curve and bulge visible enough through the warm, comfy, yellow fabric. It does, though, muffle the hefty whumpfing of his feet to a softer padding-thumping as he shuffles toward the countertop to the left of the store, there to thump his walking cane against the bar's surface and to put his other hand to an aching backside.

"So! Come in, close up the front door, lock it back, mmph mmph, and talk to me, dearie! I'm rather interested in what all you can do!"

[Tolleson]

Gladly she obliges, and grins though she isn't very hungry at all it is surely just a polite offer so he may also snack.

She does as the friendly, yellow ball of fluff asks. Closing the door, locking it up and following him in. Despite how absurd he looks and the extreme detail his attire reveals his plumpness is still, in a strange way, rather adorable.

She does takes note of the way he winces. It does seem like the bruise is far more than her idea of a bruise, "perhaps you should go to the Rememdium?" Her offer is genuine but also, what was she to say about herself. Her best and most practiced skill was already known to him, and probably a good part of the reason he grew more porcine every day.

[Treadwell]

"Hmm? Oh. . . ." He pauses where he stands, looking down at his still exposed, still black and blue tummy. "I guess I should do that, or I should find some other way to heal this. I simply haven't made time, mmph mmph."

With that said, he picks up a mug of what looks like ale from the counter next to him, and then he wobbles cane-aided back to one of the two Treadwell-sized rockers by the empty fireplace. The mug is finished with a couple of gulps, a wave is given to the other chair, and the mug is quickly set aside on a table in arm's reach (a very short distance, indeed, for Tready) as Aloisius tugs a blanket from the back of the rocker and covers himself up as he settles carefully into place, trying to ignore the throbbing that seems to be afflicting him in belly, behind, joints, and everywhere else.

"Now, where were we? Oh! Yes! Mmph mmph. . . you were about to say something or other about what all you can do? I know you're quite the pie-maker, miss, but what else are you?"

And, of course, at his mere thought of fresh, goopy, delicious pies, his aching stomach (so obviously, visibly stuffed already!) gives a hungry burble.

[Tolleson]

There was a slight hesitance, an anxious sort of alertness buzzing in the young woman as she looked around the place and watched the tubby fellow sit then gesture her onward. Despite being amongst the brawlers and brigands in the Dagger, the creaky, old and familiar place was actually somewhat comforting. But here, the unease she felt was the sort of subtle nagging that came when entering someone's home for the first time. There was an uncomfortable awareness, that of being a stranger, not knowing customs or protocol, much like entering any unfamiliar place. She would step forward and set into the chair trying her best not to outwardly share her anxiety. Her hands had been together, fingers interlocked for lack of knowing where else to put them and when she'd begun to move they swung free, the cool air hinting at the sweat in her palms. Wasn't it always a little frightening becoming noticed from being invisible, especially by someone so well respected?

Aside from her height, she rather looked like a child in a adult's world taking a rest on this Tready-sized furniture. There was a good long pause as some of the trepidation melted out of her and the courage built around her thoughts of how to explain, or lie, or find something at all to say to the man when really she had nothing. "What else... What else," she struggled and then as if internally scolding herself for not being more direct she would look straight up at him.

"...My father was a doctor," 'was' being the key word here, though she had told Treadwell of her numerous brothers ages ago, she couldn't recall ever telling him that her father had been ill. Regardless she caught herself a bit too late and her brow furrowed at the slip, but it was better to move on that attract attention to such a small detail and so she shrugged gently and offered in a tepid tone, "I have worked as an herbalist for him". This was probably not exactly what he had in mind. Seeming to run through a mental list of the other jobs she may have worked a few moments went by, the consideration of her words apparent, "... and as the cook, here". But that had been before the dragon, which despite the still rebuilding state of the town and nearby areas, was a good while ago. He had only asked her 'what' else she was; and what was she... a doctor's daughter, a cook, a klutz, a twin, a liar?

[Treadwell]

Treadwell listens attentively to the nervous young lady sitting a few feet away. When she announces her previous profession as herbalist, he slowly nods his head and waits for her to finish.

"An herbalist, hmm hmm? Most herbalists don't know much about taxes and money and the like, my dear, which you seem to know quite a bit about, mmph mmph! Now, should you ever want to discuss any of that, hmm hmm, do let me know? As it is. . . ."

He pauses to slip his hands gently onto his stomach, there to rest lightly on that bruised belly.

"I can still certainly use your services, dearie, if you wouldn't mind working for me personally, mmph mmph. I'm sure we can figure out something for you to do at my house--something that would surely pay you much better than whate'er you would be making at the Dagger, hmm hmm!"

[Tolleson]

Should she ever want to discuss any of that, not in this life time. "...If you're about to make me your personal cook I will have to decline," she'd mustered up enough courage to say as much but it took far more to be direct, "as pleased as I am that you enjoy my pies Mr. Treadwell... I ... I... do worry that you... " Oh, how to put this delicately - surely he of all people knew, "... over indulge?"

Even while she spoke she couldn't help but rest her eyes on his enormous middle. If she cooked for him here the entire town would go hungry as there would always be something on his plate.

[Treadwell]

The glance going to his enormous middle is certainly noted, and it brings a warm and jovial smile stretching across the jowly-jiggly face hidden in that equally enormous cloud of a beard.

"What would make you think I overindulge, hmm hmmmm? Dearest me!" He pat-pats his hands to the unbruised sides of his hips. "Believe me, Genny, mmph mmph, when I say that I stay quite, quite hungry at all times! Is that really the sign of someone eating too much? I simply happen, hmm hmm, to have a most unusual situation to live in, myself, and it results in my, ahem, shall we say 'blessedly large girth?'" The smile only grows as his stomach gives a thunderous roar.

"You see? I hardly overindulge myself. It's just that, well, dearie, I'm sixty-six years old, and most folks hardly live that long at all, mm hmm. I've been stuffing myself full since I started sucking from a teat, though, and, well, old habits die hard! In truth, I have to work rather hard, hmm hmm, to keep myself from bellying out and growing to fill the whole house! It's all about resisting temptation, mmph mmph! Even for those of my Tubbian faith, who are urged to eat, eat, and eat, mmph mmph, they too must know balance! Balance, yes yes, and though this old man outweighs most prize pigs in town, mmph mmph, he teaches his followers that they can't eat everyone out of house and home!"

By this time, Aloisius's idle hands have absently taken to playfully jiggling the flabbiness of his gut as he talks. This, though, brings on renewed anguish from the still sore and injured area, prompting his stopping.

"Overindulge. . . . I eat enough to keep myself in a right good shape, love, hmm hmm, and that shape is round. Believe me, Genny dearie, when I tell you that I will never grow too large or end up sick or dead from it! Now, if you would rather not work as my cook for fear that I'd eat myself into more a ball than I currently am, hmm hmm, then I should tell you that with my three children, me, and Alice, one of us is always getting sick or hurt or some such. Alice and I can't easily get to the Rememdium when something goes terribly wrong, hmm hmm. If you would rather not cook, what all could you do as an herbalist, then?"

At this, Treadwell finally draws a breath longer than a couple of puffs, falling into wheezy, huffy weariness from talking, talking, talking. His middle inflates and deflates with his effort to regain his wind. There he rests, his labor for breath, his open pajamas, and his slouched posture in his rocking chair perhaps making him resemble too much a great-bellied mother-to-be about to deliver. But, at last, he actually listens instead of talks!

[Tolleson]

He had not been but a sentence into his explanation before her cheeks began to burn, "Oh .. I..." Ashamed, she stuttered and her hands shot up, palms facing him, defensively as if to dispel the idea that her comment was meant to be offensive. But then as if realizing that she also just interrupted she clapped her left hand over her mouth and nodded; the thoroughly pinned down hair atop her head bouncing with the gesture as she listened. Yes, blessedly large, the Tubbians would agree.

His Tubbians were a strange group in her mind, but then again her studies of religion had been, sadly, cut short. This stunted education left her with little knowledge other than first hand experience.

When he finishes her hand has already lowered, her gestures finally reflecting a lowered defense. "I could surely do that... my father was an excellent doctor.. one of the Duke's," there was great pride in her words. She meant of course to the Duke of Thessilane who was probably fairly well known around Myrken and if his Tubbiness did not know to whom she refereed it would surely reflect to him her origins.

What could an herbalist do, "...well, to start... perhaps a... tea to calm your stomach." Though with the ever-hungry belly of Treadwell even the strongest tea would find a formidable enemy.

[Treadwell]

Treadwell can't help a merry laugh that sets him wiggling-jiggling all about at her reaction. "I'm hardly at all offended, dearie! I was merely making a jest at myself at my own expense, mmph mmph!" He grins wider. "A tea for such would be perfectly suitable. . . and, hmm hmm, would you happen to have anything to help with sleep?" Closer examination would prompt a heavy, dark baggy spread there under his eyes, not entirely hidden by fleshiness and eyeglasses. He did just wake up a few moments ago, after all, but why else other than interrupted sleep at night would he even need to doze off after meals? "Or breathing? Or maybe just those random aches that come with being, errrr, a right round fellow? I put myself in your quite capable and ready hands, miss!"

[Tolleson]

That was and wasn't as comforting as she was hoping it to be. In one sense it filled her with immense pride to have made it so far, but on the other their was doubt and anxiety; but then she had come here fearing the worst. Perhaps he had wanted her to put into practice the things she'd only learned about theoretically. Retrospectively it made perfect sense why, during the night prior, Mr. Burnie had been so eager to learn where she gained the experience.

"Well... I ... Certainly, but I will have to collect the herbs or procure them first," after all she had come with a large bag of... nothing very useful to her now.

[Treadwell]

"That's perfectly fine! I look forward to your finding what you need, and I'm sure that Alice--my wife, you know, hmm hmm--can use some assistance, too, if you wouldn't mind the work! You'll be paid rather handsomely, of course, for what assistance you can manage."

With that, Aloisius lets forth a face- and body-wobbling yawwawwwwwwn that leaves him blinking and slack. "Dear me. . . . I should probably go back to bed, hmm hmm?"

[Tolleson]

All this rather good news leaves a wide-eyed and eager Genny ready to begin working, though not without shooting out of the chair with a wide grin. The poor portly fellow may have been tired but it was still mid-day with a brightly shining sun outside. She very nearly hugged Tready but thought it best not to disturb the already angry bruise, especially since it had been caused by her in the first place.

"Thank you ... thank you Mr. Treadwell. I will not disappoint you," even though she wasn't quite sure of herself she was certain she would do everything she could to keep her word.

She head towards the door and let herself out unless he had anything else to say, the poor fellow could spare at least a few unnecessary steps.