Sloth Fiction

Sloth Fiction 6: The Porter Had Landed, or Hatching a Cunning Plan

Lady Writer, like many of you, has been quite concerned about the fate of one of her favorite Characters-a concern shared by several of the Creator's other Characters, as it turns out . . .

"Lady Writer?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm really worried about Lu-John--" Harry sighed, his brow crinkling beneath his floppy dark hair.

He nodded towards the den sofa, where The Character Formerly Known as Lucas North was curled up sleeping, a three-legged cat cuddled against his feet and and a large, fluffy feline roosting atop the old, much-loved peach-and-cream crocheted afghan Lady Writer had carefully placed over the Character.

It had turned quite cold in south Alabama, and those two cats were helping keep Lu-John warm and toasty. Ladywriter, Guy and Harry were sipping cups of coffee-French vanilla for LW, hazelnut for Harry and Mississippi Mud Slide for Guy. The dark knight did like his choccie.

"I'm quite concerned about my old Spy Friend as well, Lady Writer," Guy said, absentmindedly crunching his beautiful white teeth into a peanut-shaped biscuit.

"He simply isn't the same Character since all this John Bateman malarkey has arisen, poor fellow. The sleek and handsome servant of Her Majesty, so courageous and strong in spite of the obstacles in his path--"

Guy's own handsome visage clouded. "I hope he is not coming completely undone over--a woman." He gave a small sigh.

"Women-can be very-fickle-creatures." A deep sadness crept into Guy's kohl-rimmed eyes, before he quickly added:

"Present company excepted, naturally--"

Guy gave LW a gallant little bow, the crumbs clinging to his shapely lips diminishing his grace not one jot.

The sight did make LW smile a little wider than she would have otherwise.

For she was very worried, too. She'd been bedeviled by worries for far too long about one of her favorite Characters.

"Oh, my dear Guy. I have asked myself the same thing," she said, running her fingers through her thick blonde hair, leaving it standing on end.

"Is Moody Maya worth the exorbitantly high price our beloved Character seems to be about to pay? Worth throwing everything he's worked so hard for, languished those terrible years in prison for, even if he did have a checkered past, surely he has more than made up for it with his many heroic actions and brave deeds . . ."

LW sighed. "I just don't sense the, the passion that would lead Lucas-John-oh, our beloved Spy Man to jump off the deep end." She shuddered.

"Possibly in the literal sense."

Harry shrugged his broad jumper-clad shoulders and slowly shook his head.

"Maya certainly doesn't have the zesty, irresistible personality of my lovely vicar," he said.

A gruff voice sounded in their ears. "Moody Maya doesn't have the zesty, irresistible personality of that dog biscuit Guy is eating."

Guy froze in mid-chew. He frowned and took a closer look at the bag on the kitchen bar. "They make biscuits for-dogs?" He exclaimed with consternation, looking into the coolly amused eyes of John Porter.

Lady Writer clapped a hand to her mouth, a contrite look in her eyes.

"Sorry, Guy, those are the peanut butter-flavored treats Fran gave me at the humane society meeting . . . her doggies wouldn't eat them." She stifled a giggle as she shook her head.

"Oh, dear, Guy, I thought you had the Nutter Butter cookies Mr. LW bought for a dessert he's planning to make. They look a lot alike."

John Porter chuckled darkly as he strode into the kitchen.