A Peculiar Misunderstanding.

[Treadwell]

Father Winter made his rounds through Myrken without any real hitches by any means. Toys and clothes were delivered, being left in secret and without trace of his having appeared at the house. The last he remembered was wobbling into his toy shop just before dawn, exhausted, and collapsing into a rocking chair by the fireplace.

He was woken some short while later by some pounding on the door. Two guardsmen were soon allowed entrance by a bleary-eyed, rubber-limbed Treadwell.

"Well! Umm--" Here, Treadwell let out a yawwwwwn and shook there, snow falling off his velvet and fur robe. "Well! Sirs! What can I do for you, lads--err, pardon. Private. Sergeant."

"Councilor."

"Councilor, we need to ask you about a few things."

"Ask me--about what?"

"Your store, sir, and where you were last night."

"But--" He paused, giving a look around at the mostly empty shelves and tables--shelves and tables that had been stocked to near bursting yesterday afternoon.

"Councilor, you're the only man who sells toys in town, sir. The private, here, found toys left in his house last night, and a questioning of his neighbors *and* their neighbors led to more findings of the same."

"Well, of course!" The fat man managed a sleepy sort of grin, turning to head for the back door of his shop. The sergeant's hand on his arm stopped him and turned him around.

"Some chalk this up to one 'Father Winter' and call it a holiday tradition of sorts. While I'd think a few in town might still want to believe that childhood nonsense," the sergeant paused, tightening his grip on the flabby shoulder, "what the private and I have here, Councilor, comes to dozens of somehow flawless instances of breaking and entering."

Treadwell froze, his fat face dropping considerably. "But--"

"No 'buts,' sir. For now. . . Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, you're under arrest on. . . far too many counts of breaking and entering every place of residence in Myrken Wood. Right this way."

"Thirty-seven, and that's not *every* residence in town--just the ones with children in them."

"Fine! Right this *way.*"

And out a crestfallen Councilor Treadwell, still wearing the red velvet and white fur of the previous night, would be led out at something between a stumbling shuffle and a march across the way to the jail, where some time in a cell awaited as long as he couldn't give a satisfactory sort of answer to his captors.

= = = = = OOC = = = = =

To any looking for new characters to take all of a sudden, here's your chance--two very anti-holiday-spirit-of-things guardsmen, one private, one sergeant!

[Thall]

The fuzzy little prosimian mewed pathetically as it watched its owner be carried away by the local guardsman.

Strangely enough, the fallen Paladin, Haar walked up behind the lemur and scooped it up, gently petting it on the head -- to which it squeaked in surprise and then gave a gentle purr.

The ex-Templar sighed deeply and scratched the fuzzy thing's belly, "We'll get your owner out of there soon enough, little creature, soon enough..."

[Treadwell]

He'd been in the jail cell for only a few minutes before visitors started pouring in, bringing--what else?--food to Myrken's biggest belly. A bowl of stew had been downed politely (though sleepily) enough at first, and then Tready had nodded off somewhere in the middle of a conversation. Now, the guards and the rest in the cell block would have to put up with his snoring for, oh, the next twelve hours or so.

Poor guards and prisoners.

[Treadwell]

In a scene that simply made Tready wonder, Altias came in and ranted and raved in perfect Treadwell style, seeing to the councilor's pardon and release. The plump old gent found his way home soon enough, getting in a few minutes to rest and relax by himself in his own comfy tub with his own comfy tray of comfy foods nearby. Awwww.