Unexpected Responsibilities

Unexpected Responsibilities

Postby Treadwell » Wed Oct 07, 2015 2:45 pm

Late morning, cool and chilled thanks to wind and recent rain.

Tready's Toys, Beauregard Street, Myrkentown.


The toy shop is warm and toasty, a welcome reprieve from the cold outside in the rest of the town. Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, born of Westenford and transplanted to Myrken Wood, bounces about the room, cane in one hand and feather duster in the other, merrily dressed in a brilliant scarlet shirt (far too snug all around, buttons threatening to burst with too deep a breath) with matching suspender straps and pink trousers and boots. Humming horribly off key, squeaky and loud, the elderly fellow almost manages a jolly sort of prancing about despite consistent throbs in a breakfast-full belly and a swollen left knee. Something has him happy at the moment, though he cannot place just what yet. Now is not a time for reflection and meditation, no! He has a toy shop to clean up, having already spent part of the morning before breakfast taking good care of the side bedroom, to the immediate left of the store area.

The prancing comes to a wheezy stop as a considerably solid knocking--a pounding, almost!--comes at the front door.

"Oh? Coming!" is his shrill, elderly squeak, a veritable pipe of a voice, so nearly feminine in its age, a far cry from the bellows and rolls of his youth on a stage. The toddle from the twin, luxuriously cushioned rocking chairs by the fire to the door is short enough, and then, the door opens, and white bushy brows go up.

"Why. . . Hullo!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Treadwell
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