Road Trip?

Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Fri Nov 09, 2012 10:42 am

When next Glenn Burnie finds himself at his office in the meetinghouse, there is a note folded and tucked into the edge of his door. Whether he finds it in time for its contents to mean anything is, perhaps, another matter.

Even without his seeing the signature inside the note itself, the splotchy, sloppy handwriting on the outside of the note ("Governor G. Burnie, Myrken Meetinghouse" with a wavy scrawl of an underline below Burnie where the ink was smudged by a fatty hand) is obviously that of the fellow whose office is just a door or two down in the Meetinghouse: Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, the man with far too many titles under his belt.

The paper unfolds neatly enough, with minimal blurring of the text given that the ink had (mostly) been allowed to dry before the page was folded, sealed with a waxen blot, and the wax smushed in with a simple "T" seal from a signet ring.

= = = = =

Glenn,

Come the first day of next week (that's in three days, mind you), I'll be leaving out in the morning to go home to Westenford, on the Amasynia coast, for all of the better part of, oh, about a week, give or take a day or two. Travel by carriage takes a bit over land when dealing with a slow, elderly horse, but I digress. I have a bit of business to attend there involving a property settlement--specifically, an inheritance of a house and tailor shop there from one of my cousins in the Drivel side of the family. For some reason, it seems that my cousin Regis thought it a good idea to leave all of his earthly goods to a man twenty years his senior who happens to live most of his time about as far away as he can be in Myrken Wood!

Well, I can't say that any of the Drivels have ever had a lick of sense in their heads.

Either way, this won't take me too terribly long, as I said. I'm not leaving anything here undone--the taxes are catalogued and counted up for the first half of the month, my toy shop will be locked up in my absence, the Tubbians have my subordinates to oversee their affairs here, my dear wife Alice and our children are being taken care of by our staff at home and by my physician, and this office of mine could stand a few days without me in it.

If there's anything you would care for me to bring you back from Westenford when I'm done there, or if you want to join me for the ride and actually get to see the ocean for a few days instead of stay cooped up here in these abominable woods, do send word to me at home. You're certainly welcome to come along; if nothing else, it would mean that the trip up there and back wouldn't be so long and dull.

Respectfully,

Aloisius

= = = = =
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Glenn » Sat Nov 10, 2012 3:30 pm

Aloisius,

How do I put this lightly? A matter of no small weight has arisen, one involving nothing less than the pork supply to Myrken for the winter. You understand that my schedule is thereby engorged in the most unpleasant of ways. Years ago, Cinnabar and myself traveled to Westenford and found it a welcome and charming place, one known for its full cupboards. Perhaps you could bring back what salted bacon you could. It would be a boon to Myrken as a whole come the frost.

In my place and with your leave, I will send a young man to be your travelling companion, a very clever member of my Inquisitory just awakened from a horrible ordeal. I think the time away will do him well, and he will, of course, be able to oversee the purchasing of even more victuals from Westenford in order to deal with the upcoming shortage. I'm sure you and Maxwell will get along smashingly and I only regret that the business of government keeps me from being with you myself.

Ever yours,

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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Sat Nov 10, 2012 5:24 pm

A response is sent later in the evening, Saturday, by way of a lad paid handsomely enough to save Councilor Treadwell the trouble of the trip back to the Meetinghouse from his toy shop.

= = = = = =
Glenn,

I do completely understand your concerns, but I might be able to ease some of them without indebting us terribly much to the merchants back home. The Tubbian church has a surprisingly large (in numbers and girth) selection of pigs being raised by our members there; worry not the reason why save that it is quite useful for all involved to have a ready source of meat available. Send some of your fellows to the church some time next week, and have them ask for what tubby porkers you need slaughtered--and feel free to take of our food stores, as well! We've plenty to share, with good reason! My own dear pet--my old sow, Pinky--is off limits, of course, but the rest of her kin in the lots behind the church are certainly up for the taking as necessary, within reasonable boundaries.

Now, as for this Maxwell fellow: I trust he'll be ready to leave out in the morning, tomorrow, on Sunday? While I do love good sleep and a warm bed, I can also avail myself of a good nap while my driver gets old Arnold to pulling my carriage out on the road. I aim to leave around the dawn or a little after.

Yours,

Aloisius
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Maxwell » Mon Nov 12, 2012 4:42 am

Small, wiry, bespectacled, Maxwell arrived on the proscribed morning with the wagon from the letter. He was wearing quite bulky clothes but then the seasons were changing and changing and they were going north. More than than that, he had been through quite the trauma and was recovering, it seemed. His skin was pale, his nose sniffly, and really, he looked like he needed a sandwich or eleven. "Councilor Treadwell." Respectful. "Gov..Governor Burnie," the words seemed an effort, though one that was getting easier by the moment. The young man's nasally voice continued after he wiped his nose. "sends his regards and thanks you for allowing me to accompany you. I had.. you.." A clearing of the throat.

"I was mentally assaulted by thousands of years of memory. I've named the specific magical assault "the memorification curse, and I am afraid that I see the most peculiar things currently." his voice became quite hoarse suddenly. "You weren't a butcher, Councilor, were you?" Then with a long exhale he shook it off, wiping his nose once more. "No, no, no matter. The Governor thanks you for your kind offer as well." Maxwell would look about skittishly, this way and that,as if expecting something to jump out at him. "And will take you up on it of course, but for now, he thinks so public a display would be a mistake. It'd be far better to secret out a bit at a time and he'll be in contact with your ... your men, about such a transfer, yes." Another snorting clearing of his nasal passages. "I am also to buy what we can on the trip. The investment will pay off soundly, the Governor feels, on top of what you and yours may be able to provide."

It was a minor miracle that he was able to parrot most of that back. "We shall go when you're ready. Perhaps, after some nice soothing tea? It's my nerves you see. Ten hundred thousand years of memories. Perhaps more. Seven hundred thousand years, all coursing through my mind. It impacts even my legendary nerves."
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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Tue Nov 13, 2012 12:21 am

Morning of Sunday the eleventh day of the eleventh month, 212.

"A butcher?" comes the squeak of the old tub's pitchy voice. No other words are given as he steps aside long enough for his carriage driver--town crier Jack Alldale, who was only a very few years former as thin and reedy as Maxwell but has, as of late, blossomed quite plumply under Treadwell's Tubbian tutelage--to set down a sizable block for Treadwell to step upon to heft himself gaspingly into the carriage. The Councilor's lurch forward is something of a sideways spiral, a half twist, and into the excessively plush seating of the coach he goes, taking up more than his share of the space on his bench with enough of a sliver of space left for, perhaps, Maxwell to settle on without having to quite sit on top of the old man's thigh. Once he is settled, Alldale puts the step into the back of the carriage and wobbles breathily about to the front to take his place.

Meanwhile, Treadwell's flabby hand motions and wiggles for company!

"Hardly a butcher!" A wheeze for breath sets the jelly that is Aloisius to quivering. "Papal authority of the Church of Tubbius, tax collector, town councilor, toymaker, gifted embodiment of the Elven entity Father Winter, mmph mmph, onetime Governor, Chief Justice of Westenford, seated Justice of the same, player on a stage 'fore it fell away under me, and good-for-nothing slug-about! But not a butcher, dear boy, hmm hmm!"

Treadwell's face is gleaming with sweat and a smile should Maxwell decide to join him, and the elder's squeaky tale continues.

"Now, tell me about this curse, hmm hmm? It sounds like you get close to someone, mmph mmph, and whoopsie daisy! You start a-seeing things they know or some such? Hoo hah! More, more, more, dear sir! I simply must know, mmph mmph!"

The piggy, beady eyes squint in the morning light behind those hefty, massive glasses on the potatoey bulb of a shnozz. A faint sunlit sparkle gleams off their tiny, barely visible, black centers.

"No, not a butcher! Not, ahem hrm hrm! Not in the usual sense! Up, up, up! We've a long way to go this morning!"
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Maxwell » Tue Nov 13, 2012 2:33 pm

"Father. Winter." The smile that Maxwell manages is a forced thing. This was the Councilor, an important man. He had been Governor, through hook or crook, perhaps, but the bespectacled scholar knew of important men. Eccentricity was a sign of intelligence, of course! Some even said he had such traits, brilliance, first and foremost, of course. "I.." A sniff, as if it was far too cold around Treadwell as it was, "see."

He scooted up without too much effort. It only took three tries, and on average, Maxwell bet it would take FIVE tries, at least. He was ahead of the curve as usual. Now, though, he was BESIDE The curve, squished to the side beside it. "Yes, well," Another clearing of his throat. "It is not technically a curse, perhaps, but it sounds better than the Memorification Magical Side Effect. Catch, a cretin of mystical descent who may or may not be," and here it was a mumble under the young man's breath, something certainly unheard by even a companion with perfect hearing; then his voice would rise again, "intersected with my brain. It is millions of years of HIS memory that is coursing through my not unimpressive brain. So you'll excuse me," those beady eyes bore down upon him. The Butcher! The fat Man. Maxwell let out a yelp and almost fell right back off, hanging on only at the last moment.

He rubbed at his nose as if in a panic. "Ah! You'll excuse me, if I... recovery would take years for a normal mind. My mind shall take a few months, I imagine. But" A raise of his hand, his left hand rose. "Worry not, stout..." very stout. "Councilor! I shall be more than impressive company on this trip. Even disabled as I am, you shall find my wit.." His gaze drifted off as a bit of drool formed on the side of his lip. He seemed to be gone completely from the conversation.
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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Wed Nov 14, 2012 3:46 pm

Morning of the eleventh, continued.

"Mmph!"

It's a simple acknowledgement from the excessively corpulent elder wearing the green suit jacket, bright yellow vest, and orange trousers. He raises his cane and gives a thumpity-thump against the side of the coach, signaling that it is time to start into motion once the last of the goods (including any of Maxwell's!) are packed safely away. Soon enough, the carriage wobbles and creaks into motion, bumpity-thumpity as it rolls lazily up the road, pulled by a horse seemingly made just to match its owner in girth and age.

The ride goes quite simply. Once Maxwell remains lost in his thoughts for any duration at all, Aloisius lazily nods off into the forewarned nap, soon enough grunting and rumbling as he snores. The only thing that rouses him at all is the eventual empty gurgling in his gut around time for lunch, which tugs him slowly back to reality with a yawwwwn and a blink to stare at his riding companion over his glasses that have slid down on his snout. A good, solid rain beats down around the coach and horse by this point, and a glance outside reveals a simple fact.

"Nowhere to stop this thing, mmph mmph, and set up for dinner!"

Thus the most unceremonious (and breathtaking!) fumbling about for a stack of wrapped and exorbitantly stuffed sandwiches in a basket between their feet ensues. One is offered, two are kept (one per hand!), and a wheezy-breathed nod is given toward a bottle tucked in the far corner of the carriage, on the opposite, plushly lined bench.

"Some ale in there, mmph mmph. And there ought to be a couple of mugs, hmm hmm, tucked in behind it. Pour us up something, hmm hmm!"
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Maxwell » Fri Nov 16, 2012 8:47 am

Cold and wet. Despite his blanket of know-it-all-ism, that was very much how young Maxwell felt. Cold and wet and with a big fat butcher beside him. This was a man of QUALITY, to be respected, to.. he does take up quite a bit of room, doesn't he? Still, the way he just rolled with the knowlege of the memorification curse, even the idea that Catch, the arcane creature who attacked the old Councilor's body multiple times was the one to do it! Yes, he rolled with that information and... it would be rather easy to roll him right off the carriage. Then he'd have all the space. It was a .. no, no. After a time, despite the squish and the rumbling, Maxwell would drift off as well.

Sleep was no relief for the Inquisitor however, not anymore. Not with all those memories splish-sploshing around his head.

"Ale." It was a pernicious habit, drinking, and Maxwell had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. Except for maybe, just maybe, it would quiet raging memories in his mind. He was about to refuse when he decided better, otherwise. Two mugs were poured and the young man made a sour face as he drank the first bit of his. "To your lordship." His voice rasped out the toast.
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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Fri Nov 16, 2012 9:27 am

Lunch on the eleventh.

"And so to straightening out the mess in your head, dear lad, mmph mmph!" Treadwell's mug is raised just a touch, and with a shlurp, down some of its contents go. The first of the sandwiches is unwrapped, paper unfolded carefully enough despite fat and fumbly fingers, and it is gobbled down hastily enough. The second follows in short order, between throaty grunts and breath hrmphs and a brief fit of jelly-tummy-quaking coughs.

"More?" The Councilor tap-taps a booted foot against the side of the basket before he wheezily bends just a bit to fetch more, indeed--for himself, of course.

The evening of the eleventh comes soon enough, the afternoon hours having been interspersed with Treadwell's occasional shuffling-squirming about, trying to make his great bulk comfortable. A stop is called once after a few hours for a brief respite of stretching the legs, of toddling about outside, once they reach a suitably dry spot of land near an oddly out of place patch of trees among the oncoming flatness of the Amasynian plains. With the carriage parked in some shade and with Tready bobbling about in the grass, cane-assisted and pipe-smoking, Maxwell finally can have some peace and quiet to himself for a few moments. He might hear the command being given to set up camp for the night after a bit, and then the carriage will shift and rock some as the round-stomached old gent hefts himself back into place with a shudder and a hurrwhuffff of breath. Regardless of where Maxwell ends up when Tready is back in the carriage, the elder fellow gives him a squeaky, rolling call.

"Well! We have to do something about making things comfy, hmm hmm, for the night! You're welcome to lie down, spread out, what-have-you on the other bench there, should you like, mmph mmph, or you can squeeze in here beside me. It doesn't make a great lot of difference!"

With that said, and with a little fumbling to put away his cane and pipe, Treadwell wriggles about in his seat, flapping free a floofy, red-and-gold-striped blanket that, until now (like its blue-and-green-striped counterpart under Maxwell's seat), has been folded up under his bench. Covering up for the night and shuddering where he rests--and not waiting for much of an answer, he locks his door of the carriage and joins the already dozing Jack Alldale, the driver and town crier (seated up front still!), in snoring mightily into the night.

Granted, this is still the border of Myrken Wood going into the grasslands of Amasynia. Something could always happen.
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Maxwell » Sat Nov 17, 2012 11:05 am

If this trip had been going northwest instead of northeast, there was very good chance the Governor would have held the old man back, would have certainly held Maxwell back, or perhaps even sent someone more formidable with the tax collector. As it was, there was danger, yes, but less so than in other places. Still, Treadwell had a knack for it, the ability to end up in all of the worst situations, just like Maxwell had a knack for making all of the worst situations even worse.

In general, however, the young, slightly askew scholar was impressed by Treadwell's hardiness in this situation. Oh, people had camped in much harsher conditions, but that he was camping at all, at his age, in his physical state, it was impressive. He could have remained home in his house with all the necessary comforts. The impressed look turned to a more sour one. Both of them could be at home in a more comfortable situation now. The sour look would stay upon his face throughout the preparations.

The idea of sleeping by the fat man wasn't the worst in he world. He might end up squashed and no longer have to worry about the dreams. No, no, sleeping outside so a bear could eat him would be a far better option than that. "There are seven species of bears in Amasynia you know." It was time, instead of sleeping, for a long rant about the differences between the grey and the light grey varieties, Maxwell had decided.
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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Sat Nov 17, 2012 5:37 pm

Night of the eleventh.

It is a drowsy, grumpy-faced Treadwell who sits there in the coach, groggily listening to the prattling about bears for a bit before finally nodding off where he rests, his floofy white beard spread out over the red and gold blanket.

No bears attack them in the night, mercifully.

Morning of the twelfth.

Waking to the sun heating the carriage and pouring through the slatted, shuttered windows of the carriage is certainly not very fun for Councilor Treadwell, but just outside the carriage, in a tiny, carefully tended fire pit, Mr. Alldale is cooking up an assortment of eggs and bacon. The smells alone are enough to set the mountainous stomach rummmmbling before Treadwell rouses to wakefulness, and then, as he comes around yawning and blinking, Tready finds himself stumbling and staggering outside, there to take a seat on a notably large rock while waiting for breakfast. Bleary-eyed, slack-jowled dullness pulls the old butterball down to lethargic, sluggish squooshiness.

At least the breakfast being cooked is wonderfully tasty!

Afterward, it's back on the road whenever Maxwell is ready, with Tready looking more than ready for a mid-morning nap as he tries to fight it off to keep up some semblance of conversation.

"Family, hmm hmm? Wife? Children? Is there anyone, mmph mmph, who means much to you, sir?"

It's still a good many miles to Westenford, yet, although a smaller village is certainly visible in the distance. It might just promise reasonable beds to rest in for a few hours and a suitable lunch--although, if the truth be known, Treadwell, in his stupor, has been munching steadily at the basket between the two men. Neither it nor the bottle of ale seems to be getting any emptier. . . .
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Maxwell » Mon Nov 19, 2012 2:09 am

Bacon so early was always a bit rough on his stomach, but after the dreams he had, Maxwell would go out of his way to change the taste in his mouth, no matter what the fare may be. Ah yes, one of his absolute favorite topics, himself. There would be a snively smile to the rotund Councilor and a nod to go along with it. "Yes, well, I'm from a golden city, or perhaps I went there. It was quite a long time ago. And sang as I had with my family before, with the moon of course, and I do think I've visited your butcher's shop before," this said so matter-of-factly. Quite a bit of blood, there," a waggle of a finger. "quite a bit of blood. And flies, so many of those, yes. You ought to do something about that. By the by, have you seen my soul anywhere? They took it from me, you see. I think you may have had a hand in that. My soul?" His head tilted and doubt entered in for a moment. "Or was it my monkey?"

He looked off for a moment, blinked, and continued as if he had just spoken for an hour, which as Treadwell knew was more than possible. "So as I was saying, after finishing my studies on peculiar rock formations of four thousand years ago, I left Heath, much to the dismay of my, as I said before, very renown family, my parents, all my older brothers and sisters, my six uncles and seventeen cousins, three nephews, two nieces, and my seventeen former tutors, but the call of the world was upon me! And here I am, in Myrken, to donate my inexhaustible talent to the cause of betterment to all mankind. And that is how I arrived here with you!"
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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Mon Nov 19, 2012 3:18 pm

"My dear, dear sir. . . ." Treadwell starts, frowning as he tries to make sense of this barrage of blustery blathering. He's as bad as a Westenford politician! "I'm hardly a butcher, mmph mmph, and I do think you've had a most peculiar, mmph mmph, life, though a tad mixed up!" Heavy shoulders roll.

"We're closing on a little town called Orson--and by 'little' I mean in numbers, not in the size of its occupants. There are five here, all brothers, all quite happily devoted to Tubbius. That building there amid the houses--the building with the great, domed roof? That's the church, here. We'll certainly find hospitality there."

Hospitality indeed! After the carriage rolls to a stop and Jack waddles off from it into the church. In short order, out wobble six men all round of belly and waddly of walk: Jack is accompanied by Derrick, Erik, Garrick, Marik, and Rick, the five, portly, elderly brothers all wearing burgundy robes and all being the only occupants of the town and the church.

"Great Tubbius!" comes the merry call from Derrick, the leader of the group, and the eldest. "Come, come! We'll certainly be honored to have you stay the night with us before you continue your wonderful journey home!"

A great grin shakes Treadwell's jiggling jowls, and, hands going to the sides of his seat, he hefts himself up and, slowly, out of the carriage, cane in hand. "Well, dear Maxwell! Come! Out! We've company we're keeping waiting, mmph mmph!"
"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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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Maxwell » Tue Nov 20, 2012 2:08 pm

"I'm.." Maxwell adjusted his spectacles at the spectacle before him. It was all.. it was all so strange. "I rather thought that you had gathered a group of ... well, Councilor. There is simply no nice way to say this." He snorted slightly, though that had more to do with excess mucus than anything else. "I thought you had allowed sycophantic freeloaders to flock around you in your old age, to create a ridiculous cult based around not virtue but consumption, and that they were bleeding you (though thankfully not the Treasury, despite that indubitably being their intent) dry. Or empty. Larders empty. A better metaphor!" The pale young man raised his finger victoriously.

"Now I see that either I was mistaken in my perfectly reasoned assumptions, a rare thing indeed, might I say, or the conspiracy to use feed their mouths by feeding your ego is larger than I ever imagined. Larger." He snortled once more as he walked beside the fat man, speaking softly. "That pun was not intentional, but when you have a mind as sharp as mind, such things cannot help but escape!"
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Re: Road Trip?

Postby Treadwell » Wed Nov 21, 2012 12:11 am

"Ridiculous! Preposterous! The Church of Tubbius has been around for centuries, dear fellow, mmph mmph; it's hardly something unique to me and the folks in Myrken Wood! Rest assured, hmm hrmm, that this devotion--and the deity to whom it is given--are genuine. I merely happen to be the rather blessed recipient of it all!"

Lunch at a gathering of Tubbians is a seemingly endless stacking of plates and trays, platters and mugs, in a hastily passed about buffet meant to balloon bellies 'til they nearly burst. The five brothers, Jack Alldale, and Treadwell all sit in wide, cushioned chairs around a dining room table in the church building indicated earlier, feasting quite merrily and noisily after Aloisius blesses the meal and flumps heftily into a seat not quite large enough to hold all of his immense belly, thighs, and rear. So, overflowing his chair but still looking quite jolly despite it, the Councilor ends up waving the much thinner Maxwell over, beckoning him to join them in their indulgences.

Odd indulgences, yes, but surely it beats out having to sit inside the carriage next to him all day?
"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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