“Her lamp is on. She’s up again,” said a slightly gruff voice in a rather loud whisper.
A pair of azure blue eyes gazed with clear amusement at the owner of said voice.
“Thank you for stating the obvious, Milord.” The azure-eyed one said, sarcasm evident in his own deep, gruff rumble.
A loud sniff. “I am merely expressing my concern that our LW is yet again not sleeping—Soldier Boy.”
The Sniffer folded his arms across his chest and lifted his attractively stubbled chin.
“At least I’ve made certain she is taking her Super Secret Vitamin.”
“Soldier Boy” folded his (rather spectacularly muscled) arms across HIS chest, his mouth twisting into a smirk.
“How, by bellowing at her and rattling your Magic Sword?”
The Sniffer’s azure eyes, which were rimmed in a fetching kohl liner, narrowed, his lips a tight little line.
“I am the constant, faithful servant of our lady. I would NEVER—threaten her.” Another sniff as he flicked back a lock of his lustrous raven mane. “At any rate, at least I have a Magic Sword, which Ladywriter created just for me. Do you have a Magic—A—B-K—123, or whatever you call it?”
Soldier Boy bit his lip in an effort not to laugh at Milord’s consternation and his lack of knowledge of 21st century weaponry. He loved to needle his sometimes prickly ancient counterpart, but he didn’t want to get him truly angry.
The Medieval Menace was a handful when he was really stroppy. And Ladywriter would be very unhappy if any furniture got broken.
“Now, now, lads, let’s play nice,” said the lanky Jumper-Clad One in a gentle conciliatory tone. He’d just appeared, a book tucked beneath his arm.
“It’s a shame our dear LW is battling insomnia yet again, but our arguing amongst ourselves won’t help the matter. Remember, she loves us all very much and the last thing she’d want is for us to fight.”
Porter (he of the impressive muscles) gave Harry (the jumper was surely a dead giveaway, Dear Reader) a lop-sided and affectionate smile. Who didn’t love the good-humored accountant?
“Harry, mate, ever the peacemaker. What would we do without you?”
Harry flashed him a sunny smile. “Reckon you won’t have to find out. We’ll all live forever—another perk of being a ChaRActer. If the scriptors try to finish us off, dear LW and the other admirers of our Creator simply love us back into being. We’ll be around for a long, long time.”
Sir Guy straightened his broad shoulders and flicked back his mane of hair once more.
“And I’ve been around longer than anyone—over 800 years.”
Harry nodded. “And you’re LW’s favorite, too, Sir Guy. Why, isn’t today devoted to you at her blog?”
A boyish smile lit up the dark knight’s face. “You are correct, Harry. It’s Guyday Friday!”
Porter resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He would indeed try to play nice.
He nodded in the direction of the book tucked beneath Harry’s arm.
“So—what’s our resident bookworm reading these days?”
“Ah—trying to stay in touch with our Creator.” Harry held up the book for the other ChaRActers to see.
Sir Guy’s face fell. “Not—HIM again.” And with a put-upon sigh, he turned on his booted heel and marched quite majestically out of the room. Presumably headed to the kitchen. It had been a least an hour since his last raid on the refrigerator.
Harry gave Porter a chagrined look. “Well, he is going to be a fellow ChaRActer, after all . . .”
Porter shrugged. “Seems our local knight isn’t a big fan of JRR Tolkien.” He smirked. “Competition.”
“Ah, yes. I should have thought of that . . .”
“No worries, mate. He’ll drown his sorrows with cake and milk. Speaking of which, I could murder a slice myself.”
Harry grinned. “We’ll have a midnight feast.” He laid his copy of THAT book on a nearby table.
“Best leave this be for now.”