A Visit to the Toy Shop

[Treadwell]

Morning of the sixth day of the seventh month, 211.

Today, Aloisius Treadwell toddles about inside his toy shop in the middle of Myrken Wood, a few waddly steps from the local gallows platform. He wears the same outfit as he did nearly eleven months ago when he received his new pipe from his old brother: a brilliant red vest and pair of trousers with a bright yellow, long-sleeved shirt covering up the hint of his bright yellow pajamas under that. His belt of toymaking tools still jingles at his enormous waist. The only real differences would be the pipe in his mouth, still puffing-smoking as he wobbles about, looking for more stuffing with which to plump out a miniature cow's belly and udder, and his belly, which has grown considerably rounder in that nearly year's time. His wife Alice blames her fattening up during her last pregnancy making him do the same; Tready knows, however, that it's just the result of his just wanting to eat, whether or not Alice would have been carrying a baby in her belly.

The toyshop itself hasn't changed. The exterior of the building still has the carved wooden sign by the door, shield-shaped, with the words "Tready's Toys" engraved in it. A window, with shutters open for light, flanks either side of the wide, wood front door, set centrally in the building's front wall.

Inside the toy shop, one would find a half a dozen long tables with all manner of stuffed and carved toys carefully positioned and carefully made, with round tables put up in various spots for showcasing more of Treadwell's work. A few larger things hang from the walls themselves--the biggest of the stuffed creatures (a great, enormously fat, two-headed black dragon with a red underbelly and throat!), sleds for the winter months, and wooden suits of toy armor and corresponding weapons, all child-sized.

Centered in the back of the store is a good-sized fireplace, currently burning lightly, with two Treadwell-sized, cushioned rocking chairs in front of it. A round rug, patterned and sewn in colors to resemble the fat old toymaker's face and beard, sits on the floor between them. At the moment, the stuffed cow in progress rests in one of the two rocking chairs, awaiting finishing.

To the far left is the counter for making purchases, although it's currently covered with stuffed creations in progress. Behind it hangs a single nail on the wall and a massive, rectangular box shelf fashioned into seemingly endless cubby holes with fabric pieces, stuffing, cloth, and whatever else a toymaker might fancifully need. A tailoring kit of needles, thread, buttons, and more sits on the counter next to the various creations, open for Treadwell's easy access. In the back corner of the shop itself, behind the counter, is an arch leading to, apparently, Treadwell's kitchen and living quarters.

Today, in particular, Treadwell awaits visitors, especially a certain dragon kin who wants to see him about some caves. . . .

[Drache]

The aforementioned dragonkin was strolling pleasantly through town, having decided to walk rather than fly. Flying would have been quicker, sure, and she wouldn't have to endure the open staring, but she knew that the more people got used to seeing her around, the quicker her presence would become old news. It would be nice, she supposed, if every time she showed up she caused a great stir. Lots of dragons simply loved that sort of thing. But in the end, Drache found it too tedious, and she just wasn't quite that full of herself. Usually.

In spite of the summer heat, a lovely black silk brocade cloak trailed down her back, covering the golden sheen of her wings. The exquisite garment was clasped at her throat by a large fire opal that stood out even against her vermilion scales. The red embroidered coat matched her black suede top, which was cut low in front and even lower in the back, and capri-style pants that ended mid-calf. The belt with many pockets on it seemed an ever-present part of her attire. Her clothes were always tailor-fitted, but they weren't always so nice.

She came from the direction of the tavern beyond the city walls and took a detour through the more commercial area. She'd been there before, both on her own errands and also with Descant to make arrangements for the Ball, but each time it seemed she found a little shop she hadn't noticed before. This time was no different, and she spent a little time waylaid at a bookshop, trading faint hisses with the resident shop cat while trying to see what text the furry beast was sitting on. The book-keeper, who was becoming increasingly worried that Drache was going to simply eat the fluffy tabby, was mollified when she purchased several books, at least one concerning the history of Trae Kesla, and one detailing Rasazan specifically.

Following the old cobbled streets into the center of town, she eventually came upon the sign she wanted. She looked up, amber eyes scrutinizing the building facade and glancing through the windows. With a swish of her tail, she pushed open the door and made her way quietly inside. Glancing around, she unclasped her cloak and hung it over her arm.

What she found inside was truly astounding! She knew what 'toys' were, and she knew that Councilor Treadwell 'made toys', but as she moved, suddenly and completely distracted, down beside the first table of carved and stuffed creatures, her expression dissolved into that of the complete childlike fascination of one who never played with a toy in. her. life.

At first she tried to keep her claws to herself, but the greedy little itch to touch everything quickly overcame her sensibilities. She picked up a wooden sword, and quickly abandoned it when she came across a full suit of wooden plate mail. And then she couldn't get over how soft that little toy pig was. Did the wheels on that tiny chariot -really- spin? Look how unbelievably -shiny- that ball was! What did one do with a ball, anyways? How funny was that little dragon?

Unbeknownst to her at the time, one of her wing phalanges managed to snag the trailing end of a spool of thread. She didn't notice until she'd moved quite a distance away when a simple motion sent the little craft box crashing to the floor. Startled, and now able to feel something tugging on her wing, she spun around and succeeded in wrapping herself with the fine blue thread. Distraught, she circled again and came face to face with the two-headed black dragon. She spat and yowled like a cat whose tail had just been trod upon. A really -big- cat. Backing away, she stumbled against the edge of a table covered in stuffed animals and fell. The soft pink pig landed with a floppy plop! on her head, lodging adorably between her backwards sweeping horns.

It was in such a disheveled and compromising state that she finally recalled the purpose of her trip to this house of horrors and hesitantly voiced, "Councccilor Treadwell?"

[Treadwell]

"Hmm? What--ho! Ho there!"

Tready has already started wobbling hurriedly for the fallen dragon kin, his cane in one hand and a jar of fluffy stuffing in the other. "It's all right, dearie! It's all right, mmph mmph! That," he nods at the stuffed dragon with a puff of smoke from his pipe, "isn't going to hurt you! It's, hmm hmm, something I made to remember an old friend. . . ."

Over the hefty gent toddles, setting down cane and stuffing for a moment, studying the situation with an enormous grin. "There, there. . . It's not too badly hurt, none of it! I can fix this box up soon enough, and the thread? Oops! One moment, m'lady!" Fat fingers carefully dislodge the loosest of the spool and then deftly unwrap the dragon a loop at a time, rethreading the fabric in question. The plump little piggie is scooped gently from her head and repositioned on a table with its stuffed mates, and there the red-garbed tub finally puffs to a wheezy, florid stop.

"Can I help you up, hmm hmm? I didn't mean for that over there to scare you any. . . It's not alive, you know. Here, let me help you to a rocking chair over there?"

[Drache]

The now disgruntled half-breed rumbled irritably and, with the tubby Councilor's assistance, managed to get to her talons. She held extremely still while he unlooped the thread, the only parts of her moving where the eyes and the smoke coiling from her nose.

"I apologize for my clumsinesss, Councccilor," she started, looking on rather morosely as the tubby toymaker cleaned up her mess. "I would be happy to reimburssse you for anything I broke."

Unused to being 'helped' in such a way, and still highly embarrassed, she was rather stiff as Treadwell led her to the rocking chair. There was a bit of shifting as she arranged her wings and tail -carefully- to fit into the seat, and she refolded the elegant cloak in her lap.

"Thank you. Don't apologize, it was my fault. I've never ssseen ssso many toys before and I wasn't paying attention. That dragon is...fascinating." She eyed it dubiously. In her homeland, the only two headed dragons were half-breeds like her, but hatched from the eggs of female dragons rather than sired by dragon males. They also tended to be quite mad and vicious, even by dragon standards.

"You actually knew sssuch a creature?" If there were other dragonkin in the area it was vitally important for her to know! She seemed to be calming down and rolled her head to the side a few time, a comforting sort of preening.

[Treadwell]

"Ooooooh, nothing's broken, dearie! There's nothing in this shop I can't rightly fix with a couple of hours of time, mmph mmph!" With that, Treadwell turns and shuffles back to reclaim the stuffing for the cow he was working on, and, as he settles into his usual rocker by the fireplace, he begins plumping out the cow and its udder with great, fat handfuls of fluff.

"That dragon was a friend of mine, yes yes, although he didn't care for folks to know it. Bracchus lived here as a fat little old man much like I am, named Roderic Cliché. He owned this toy shop before I did, and he's come back here to live from time to time, but he's always looked like that fat little old man--never as a big black, two-headed dragon. Folks, hmm hmm, wouldn't trust him terribly much if he did."

With that, Tready wheezes to a pursy stop, huffing for breath and setting his pipe to sporadic bursts of smoke.

[Drache]

Mollified, Drache settled into the chair and listened, watching Treadwell re-embowel the toy cow with some fascination.

"I sssee." She wondered if his comment about Bracchus not being trusted in his true form was some kind of hint towards herself.

When the toymaker paused to puff on his pipe, she decided to bring up the main reason for her visit. "Ssso, Councccilor. I do not want to take up very much of your time. I wanted to ssspeak to you about purchasssing land ssso that I can make a home here. Having been friends with a dragon I'm sure you know how important a proper lair is?"

She reached into one of her pouches and withdrew a slightly more detailed map than than the one she had first shown him, and unrolled it to show him the area she was interested in. It respected the land claimed by the fae kingdom and didn't quite reach the lake.

[Treadwell]

"Hmm hmm. Yes, dearie, I know about that, hmm hmm, and I know folks wouldn't have known what to think about a full-blown, fat, elderly dragon with not one, mmph mmph, but two heads sprawling out on his back and sunning his tummy in the lake! But I'd wager someone like you should be fine, yes yes! Now, let me see that map. . . ."

Aloisius here tries to wriggle in his rocking chair to examine the map squintily. However, his great gut folds in a little too much on itself in spots, winding him and leaving him huffing even worse than usual as he smushes himself up most uncomfortably as he studies it.

"It looks fine!" comes out with a breathless squeak, and then he pursily flops back into his rocker, setting it into motion as he gulps and gasps at his breath.

[Drache]

Drache smiled fangishly at that, helpfully trying to adjust the map so he needn't struggle so much to look at it. At his approval, she rolled the map up and left it for him on the closest table.

"I heard that there was sssome trouble with a dragon here fairly recccently. I hope you predict truly when you sssay sssomeone like me should do fine. Now, is there anything ssspecial I need to do? I know when it comes to land purchassses there is often a sssigning of papers, and the matter of payment..."

Such things were so terribly tedious, but the half-dragon was determined to give the likes of Glenn Burnie little room to stand on when they disagreed with her presence in Myrkwood.

[Treadwell]

After a few moments to get what he can of his breath--a difficult task, indeed, given his winded state, his pipe, his age, and his obesity!--he flapflaps his fleshy hands at Drache and shakes his head. "I still have to. . . still have to write all that up!" A gulp for breath leaves him thumping a fist on his breast. "Have to measure land, look at current shilling and gold exchanges. . . . all that rot, mmph mmph! For now? Mmph. Should be fine!"

With that much forced out, he sits up juuuust enough in his chair to slump backward into it at what most might consider an uncomfy diagonal of sorts, sprawling out and letting his arms drop lazily at the sides of the rocker. Smoke puffs feebly out of his pipe, but there he rests, lazy and breathy as he tries to relax.

"What else, dearie? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

[Drache]

"I thank you for taking the time to do thisss. When you are ready, it should be easy to find me at the Broken Dagger."

She waited patiently for the huff-puffing to subside, eyes glittering with triumph in the firelight. Things were going well for her!

"I wouldn't mind sssome tea. And I brought a contribution to lunch." She pawed through one of the pouches at her belt and eventually withdrew a small tightly wrapped basket. She started to hand it to Treadwell and then changed her mind, simply setting it on the nearest table and unwrapping the leather cover. Inside nestled a little less than a dozen wild pheasant eggs. Somehow, they'd survived her tumble earlier intact.

"I poached them myssself."

[Treadwell]

"Ooooooooh! Eggs! I love 'em, hmm hmm, love 'em! I do love some eggs!"

With that vibrant, jolly exclamation, Aloisius Horatio Treadwell of Westenford, Amasynia puts his hands to the sides of his rocker and mmphingly, puffily gets himself back to his feet with a careful bracing of his knees and back.

Of course, every single joint all around him creaks noisily and achily as he rises, but soon enough, there he is on his feet, taking up his cane and tottering for the eggs.

"Come come! I already have lunch prepared, of course! Eggs! Hoo hee! Wonderful eggs! My dear Drache, hmm hmm, did I mention I love eggs?" He cackles heartily and carefully scoops up the offering. "Then again, look at me! Alice--that's my wife, hmm hmm--calls me a fat, round egg all the time. Now! The kitchen's right yonder way," he gestures with the tip of his cane toward the arch behind the countertop, "but be careful going in! The round table in the middle's quite full, the chairs are pulled out already for sitting, and I had to move a few boxes of wood and stuffing in there this morning, mmph hmm, so the floor's got something of everything in the way!"

And that's when Tready, red-faced and starting to wheeze mightily again, finally shuts up, a hand going to his burning, throbbing chest. It's no heart trouble or such, but it's just that usual tightness of chest and shortness of breath he gets when he runs himself out of breath and his body takes to wanting to complain a bit.

[Drache]

The dragoness was mightily pleased by Treadwell's reactions, having hit on a favorite food of his quite by accident.

"Indeed? That is mossst fortunate!" She grinned mutely while Treadwell carried on, surrenduring the eggs and then turning to precede the man into the kitchen. She stepped over obstacles with the greatest care until she found a spot to stand, her eyes shifting constantly to take everything in. She glanced back at him with some concern, deciding that it would be most compromising and sad if the toymaker happened to drop dead on his way to fixing up lunch.

[Treadwell]

The winded Treadwell makes his way into the kitchen in good time, bumping lazily against the countertop on the way and again setting his toymaking tools to jingling musically there around his middle. The belt comes off with a little huffiness from its owner, being hung up on its nail behind the counter, and then Tready resumes his toddling into the kitchen.

Once there, it's no hard feat for Aloisius to find some tea, a mug for each of them, and plates to put the already prepared breads, cheeses, cold meats, and goopy pie slabs on.

But he also has eggs! A moment or two after he puts the plates of food and mugs of tea out, he carefully divides the eggs equally on their plates, and, starting to get back a little of his breath, he giggles again and finds himself a big, broad bib to tie in place over his beard and bosom.

That done, settling into place at his table in one of the custom-built chairs--is all of the furniture in this toy shop made to sit low and wide and cushiony for Mr. and Mrs. Treadwells' tubby bodies?--and waggling fat fingers at the spread before them.

"Eat, my dear, hmm hmm!" squeaks out with merriment.

[Drache]

The more athletically shaped halfie found herself a seat in another expansive chair and wait as Treadwell made all the preparations. She started to contribute once or twice, but she generally didn't use so many implements when it came to dining and finally settled back to wait patiently.

At his instruction, she picked up an egg and popped it in her mouth, shell and all. She closed her eyes and rumbled in pleasure. Tready wasn't the only one who enjoyed eggs. After crunching it up and swallowing it down, followed up by some tea, she started in on the cold meats, systematically avoiding the pies and any baked goods.

She wasn't a silent eater and offered a compliment of various rumbles and growls and snapping teeth as she tucked in, but she wasn't sure what to say. When she was satisfied, she clutched the teacup in her hands and gazed around the kitchen and what she could still see of the toy shop.