Continuing to Work: Staying in Motion

Continuing to Work: Staying in Motion

Postby Treadwell » Thu Oct 16, 2014 5:03 am

Sometimes the hardest working men and women need a chance to rest.

For roughly the last month, on many of the days he hasn't been seen around at his toy shop or the Broken Dagger or the former Tubbian church or the meetinghouse, Aloisius Treadwell has been in and out of Myrkentown, giving his butler turned carriage driver further experience in steering that great, round horse and great, round coach up and down and around the roads in Myrken Wood, sometimes accompanied by Myrkentown's town crier Jack Alldale and sometimes not. Always dressed to look something presentable and generally given to jovial spirits, the Lord Steward of the province had duties to oversee.

Smaller towns within a few hours of distance were as graced with his presence as others. It would have been easier to have sent Jack borrowing a horse and delivering messages sometimes, but as this has been an extended series of trips, it has been acceptable to see villagers and townsfolk in person, getting to know them, becoming acquainted with local leadership, worming his way into the occasional quickly won friendship if not subtly earned respect due to his position and title and commands.

Smaller towns were to gather up representatives, usually one from each, to decide among them who would sit on the upcoming Council and then to send word to Treadwell at the meetinghouse of their progress.

Larger towns with landowners with ample property and notable political structures already were given the same message but were also informed that those landowners were also expected to take their places at the Council, to represent Myrken Wood's wealthier elite and established families. In these, especially, did Treadwell make time to get to know these local heads, dining with them, sitting in on their town meetings, discussing overall direction in the vaguest of terms with the few who were practically guaranteed seats on the Council.

All in all, the last month has been one of staying in motion for Aloisius Treadwell.

This afternoon, it seems, is one of the same.

He has long since brought one of his two wide-seated, amply cushioned rocking chairs into his office to replace the more stationary seat therein, moving it out into a storage room for the time being.

At the moment, that rocker squeaks gently beneath him, tipping Aloisius lightly back and forth; his chest rises and falls under his fluffy, white beard as he rumbles forth snores that set the quills in a cup on his desk to quivering with the sounds. Fingers clench and release at the ends of the armrests; glasses slip almost unnoticeably, down and back up, with the swaying of his body.

Even in a nap, at rest after a hard month's work and miles up and down Myrken Wood roads, it seems the Lord Steward cannot stop moving.
"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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