Tired of Snow
Posted: Sat Jan 20, 2018 5:14 am
Noon of the twentieth day of the first month, 218 AR.
The Treadwell estate.
The master bedroom.
"Aloisius, you are sure there is nothing that you can do? I tire of the snow and the ice and the cold."
Alice Treadwell stands a few feet from the bedroom window with its shutters drawn tight, sealed against the cold with the aid of a curtain. She wears not only her pink gown and slippers but also a matching robe and cap. Despite all of this, she shivers.
Aloisius Treadwell rests on his back in bed, dressed in similar fashion to his wife, excepting his clothing being green to her pink. He is wrapped in blankets. He's actually quite warm.
"I have told you, lovey, mmph mmph. I control the harvest, hm, and its growth. I delight in fatness. I can influence the pigs, mmph, to make children, and, hm hm, I can do the same for faithful women. None of that, mmph, has aught to do with snow, hrm, or the getting rid of it. Now, darling, do come back to bed?"
That Alice does, stepping away from the window and, with a whuff and a grunt, settling herself back into the thick-timbered, thick-cushioned bed. "Well, Aloisius, that is an odd mix of things to be a god over."
"Hardly." With a push of his left arm, Mr. Treadwell fluffs out the covers and sheets, partially covering his wife's backside and a thigh. "Oh, turn around, mmph, and lie down, hm hm? The children are either at play in their rooms, hm, or in bed, themselves. Langley said he would be reading in his room next to ours. The servants and staff are all likely by the fire in the main room. Doctor Jacobson and his son, Beames, said they would be in their rooms. Pinky, Three-Hooves, and the others of theirs that we have left, mmph mmph, are safe outside in their pen. Arnold is in his stable. I am here, and you are letting all, mmph, the cold air into the bed! Have I missed much?"
With that speech given, Alice sighs and eases into the bed, lying down and tugging the covers from her husband. "Hush, windbag. Give your sermon tomorrow." Aloisius chuckles and chortles merrily at this, worming about in bed to face his beloved and, then, to get closer to her.
"I do not care for the cold either, love. But I shall shush, hm, and we shall rest. A nap before a late lunch will do neither of us harm, hm hm?"
"It will not make the snow go away, Aloisius."
The Treadwell estate.
The master bedroom.
"Aloisius, you are sure there is nothing that you can do? I tire of the snow and the ice and the cold."
Alice Treadwell stands a few feet from the bedroom window with its shutters drawn tight, sealed against the cold with the aid of a curtain. She wears not only her pink gown and slippers but also a matching robe and cap. Despite all of this, she shivers.
Aloisius Treadwell rests on his back in bed, dressed in similar fashion to his wife, excepting his clothing being green to her pink. He is wrapped in blankets. He's actually quite warm.
"I have told you, lovey, mmph mmph. I control the harvest, hm, and its growth. I delight in fatness. I can influence the pigs, mmph, to make children, and, hm hm, I can do the same for faithful women. None of that, mmph, has aught to do with snow, hrm, or the getting rid of it. Now, darling, do come back to bed?"
That Alice does, stepping away from the window and, with a whuff and a grunt, settling herself back into the thick-timbered, thick-cushioned bed. "Well, Aloisius, that is an odd mix of things to be a god over."
"Hardly." With a push of his left arm, Mr. Treadwell fluffs out the covers and sheets, partially covering his wife's backside and a thigh. "Oh, turn around, mmph, and lie down, hm hm? The children are either at play in their rooms, hm, or in bed, themselves. Langley said he would be reading in his room next to ours. The servants and staff are all likely by the fire in the main room. Doctor Jacobson and his son, Beames, said they would be in their rooms. Pinky, Three-Hooves, and the others of theirs that we have left, mmph mmph, are safe outside in their pen. Arnold is in his stable. I am here, and you are letting all, mmph, the cold air into the bed! Have I missed much?"
With that speech given, Alice sighs and eases into the bed, lying down and tugging the covers from her husband. "Hush, windbag. Give your sermon tomorrow." Aloisius chuckles and chortles merrily at this, worming about in bed to face his beloved and, then, to get closer to her.
"I do not care for the cold either, love. But I shall shush, hm, and we shall rest. A nap before a late lunch will do neither of us harm, hm hm?"
"It will not make the snow go away, Aloisius."