Everett mopped sweat from his brow and groaned as he rolled over in bed. Not all was well in room two-oh. The previous day had been absolutely spectacular in its complete and utter awfulness. Awe inspiringly terrible. Sure, everything had started well enough, but Everett, alas had made the mistake of supporting a school fundraiser, and then coming home to a letter. Silly fool.
Early Saturday morning, Everett began to pay the price. He rolled from his bed and stumbled to the water closet. He lost his account, as they would say at home. This went on so frequently, in fact, that he had nothing left to lose, and finally collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bathroom rug.
He awoke to the feel of a rough tongue at his temple. Large green eyes blinked at him, concern addressed with the pad of a paw to his cheek. He realized what day it was, and he groaned. There was just no way he would be going anywhere.
Everett composed himself and crawled over to his desk, writing something out with care. The bright sunny morning was terrible to behold, a reminder that he would not be partaking in anything resembling life that day. He wondered, idly, what awful sin he had committed to deserve such a fate, even as he found himself bolting for the bath a few more times.
There was no telling how he managed to get down the stairs to have the messages sent. It cost a pretty penny to do it from the Inn, but he was willing to spend it, such was his guilt.
He was going to miss the birthday party.
A letter arrived at the Great Hall very early, hours before the soiree. It was addressed to Lydia Loran in a slightly shaky (though no less elegant) hand. It was accompanied by a lovely spray of spring blooms in a pretty glass vase, though admittedly, Everett had not been the one to choose them.
Lydia,
I know that I promised that I would be there to celebrate Erin's birthday, but I am desperately ill and simply cannot leave my bed today. I convey to you my sincerest apologies, as I was so looking forward to the party. I have sent flowers for Erin.
I will call just as soon as I am feeling better. Again, I beg your pardon. I pray your night is successful and enjoyable in every way.
-Everett
Accompanying the multicolored blooms was a note that read only "Happy Birthday, Erin."
Early Saturday morning, Everett began to pay the price. He rolled from his bed and stumbled to the water closet. He lost his account, as they would say at home. This went on so frequently, in fact, that he had nothing left to lose, and finally collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bathroom rug.
He awoke to the feel of a rough tongue at his temple. Large green eyes blinked at him, concern addressed with the pad of a paw to his cheek. He realized what day it was, and he groaned. There was just no way he would be going anywhere.
Everett composed himself and crawled over to his desk, writing something out with care. The bright sunny morning was terrible to behold, a reminder that he would not be partaking in anything resembling life that day. He wondered, idly, what awful sin he had committed to deserve such a fate, even as he found himself bolting for the bath a few more times.
There was no telling how he managed to get down the stairs to have the messages sent. It cost a pretty penny to do it from the Inn, but he was willing to spend it, such was his guilt.
He was going to miss the birthday party.
A letter arrived at the Great Hall very early, hours before the soiree. It was addressed to Lydia Loran in a slightly shaky (though no less elegant) hand. It was accompanied by a lovely spray of spring blooms in a pretty glass vase, though admittedly, Everett had not been the one to choose them.
Lydia,
I know that I promised that I would be there to celebrate Erin's birthday, but I am desperately ill and simply cannot leave my bed today. I convey to you my sincerest apologies, as I was so looking forward to the party. I have sent flowers for Erin.
I will call just as soon as I am feeling better. Again, I beg your pardon. I pray your night is successful and enjoyable in every way.
-Everett
Accompanying the multicolored blooms was a note that read only "Happy Birthday, Erin."