Sloth Fiction

Sloth Fiction 1:What Happens While Lady Writer is Sleeping

Lady Writer has noticed that junk food in the humble abode seems to disappear at an amazing rate. Since she and Spouse cannot possibly be consuming that much, she has wondered if (A) the cats have figured out how to open packages and lift the freezer door without having opposable thumbs or (B) if the Characters roaming around in her head have taken on a life of their own . . . inspired by a comment made at Servetus' excellent blog, we present:

Sloth Fiction 1: What happens when Lady Writer is sleeping . . .

"These sour cream and onion ones are quite tasty."

Guy rumbled from the over-sized recliner, where his long legs in their snug trousers sprawled across the arms. He was devouring a bag of what Lady Writer called "potato chips."

John Porter sighed. The bloody medieval menace was going to polish off all the crisps, the wanker.

"Could you leave us a few, there, mate?" He queried from the sofa, his own voice almost as deep as Guy's. "You're not the only one 'round here with an appetite."

Guy chewed slowly, his kohl-rimmed blue eyes narrowing as he eyed his fellow Character. He gave a manly sniff.

"I might consider it, if you would unhand the, the-control device for the picture-box."

John rolled his eyes. "It's called the remote control for the television and I happen to be watching this match, so-no."

Guy gave John a lordly sneer.

"Full-grown men running about kicking a ball? Where are the weapons, the violence, the mayhem?" Guy growled.

John raised up from the sofa and smirked.

"You've obviously never encountered a proper football hooligan, have you, mate?"

Guy responded with another manly sniff and proceeded to stuff another handful of potato chips into his shapely mouth.

"Do-whish she had shome deschent ale," the thirsty knight mumbled.

John shook his head. "I may be a working class bloke, but at least I know better than to talk with my bloody mouth full," he muttered under his breath.

He added aloud:

"You know LW and her mister aren't drinkers, mate. They use liquor for recipes, mainly. Not that there's anything left now that you've found their cache . . ."

Guy gave a long-suffering sigh, tipping back his head to expose his long column of white throat. LW loved that particular pose.

"Look, Soldier Boy. You're her current dark-haired favourite and she's been feeding you all sorts of delectable things. Not to mention lots of tumbling with a lovely, hot-blooded wench. I've just been-stuck in FanFic Limbo."

John sat up, a challenging look in his azure eyes. "A bit-jealous, are we? Is the Big Bad Henchman feeling unloved?"

Guy reached for his sword, only to remember LW had taken it away from him in "The Adventures Continue."

"God's teeth. The things I have to endure," he snarled.

"Boys, boys," came Harry's gently reproachful voice from the adjacent kitchen. "Voices carry. I do believe our dear LW is trying to get some much-needed rest at present. Let's all try to get along, shall we?"

John shrugged, folding his arms. "Sorry, Harry. I think Milord over here forgets how many of LW's stories he has been featured in-and how much sexy time he's gotten along the way."

He shot Guy another look. Guy flicked back his raven mane, a rather wicked smile crossing his handsome visage as he recalled some of those very steamy encounters.

"And I think Milord is determined to eat LW and Spouse out of house and home," John added drily.

"No worries," Harry said in his usual cheery manner, waving a pad and paper.

"I'm doing an inventory of the larder and freezer. There are two more tins of crisps, an unopened packet of biscuits with choccie bits, a jar of maraschino cherries, a can of squirty cream, ice cream-ah, Blue Bell, the best, according to our LW, something called 'Moollenium Crunch' . . . now, let's take a look here."

Harry stuck his head in the pantry. Straightening back up, he held up a tin, furrowing his brow. "Hmmm. Do you have any idea what a -boiled peanut is?"

Guy peered down into the recesses of the potato chip bag and sighed.

"No, but I am willing to give it a try."

Harry slid on his spectacles to read the fine print. "Says here they are pre-cooked---you heat water on the stove and warm up the contents and serve."

He set the tin down, rolled up his woolly jumper sleeves and said with his customary sunny grin, "Well, there you go. We'll give them a try."

Harry got the peanuts prepared ("Ah, still in their shell. Quite interesting!") and doled them out to Guy and John.

"Budge over, JP, and I'll watch the match with you. Amazing how many channels these American satellite companies offer, isn't it?"

Guy looked suspiciously at the pile of boiled peanuts on his plate.

Cautiously, he sniffed them, then carefully opened one. Raising his brows, he scooped out the contents and popped it into his mouth.

"Hmmm. Not bad. Not as good as peacock's tongue, but-not bad."

He narrowed his eyes at the television screen and licked the saltiness from the peanuts from his lips.

"When this-match thing is over, do you suppose we could find one of those-films, featuring unclad wenches?" There was a wistful note to Guy's words.

"I truly enjoy those."

Harry grinned. "I reckon we can. Think I saw on the satellite guide earlier 'Busty Babes in Paradise' is coming on The Movie Channel."

"Ahhhhh." Guy grinned and nodded his approval.

Harry tilted his head in thought. "Mind you, those lasses won't be a patch on my lovely vicar. Think I'll go and browse amongst LW's vast quantity of books while you fellows watch. You know I can never get enough of 'em . . ."

John smiled. "Yeah, I'd say you and LW are a right pair of bookworms. She loves you because you remind her of her mister, too."

"She loves me, too, you know." Guy said a little petulantly, flicking back his lovely mane of hair.

Harry nodded sympathetically. "Of course, you're the first Character of the Creator's she ever saw, the first one she fell for. You'll always be her first, Guy. Never forget that, old boy."

Guy's lips curved into a proud smile. "True. And she is planning to turn me into a very dashing, irresistible 18th century highwayman-whenever she finishes with your story, of course." He gave John the gimlet eye.

John grinned. "Unless of course, she decides to write about Lucas instead . . ." There was clear mischief in his eyes.

Guy's dark brows rose menacingly.

"Care for a choccie biscuit?" Harry asked, hurriedly thrusting the package at Guy.

Guy took the biscuits with a grunt. "Think I'll get some milk . . ."

He rose rather majestically and strode into the kitchen.

Harry gave a small sigh of relief.

"You really shouldn't wind him up like that, you know, John." He murmured.

"Yeah-but it's so much fun . . ." John grinned.