Counting the days until MOTV release! Here is another deleted scene
I didn’t know what to bring to kill a few hours at the PAW facility. I didn’t have any books and doubted Catherine would approve of me bringing casework around the patients. I decided to take the night off, enjoy the evening as the magical critters did.
Tips was in the multi-purpose room painting as usual when I arrived. I snuck up behind him to get a good look at the painting first, hoping for another Hobbit president. It was another gladiator princess Iris.
I sighed, “I’m not dying my hair, Tips. Anyway, how’ve you been?”
He flinched and looked up at me, “Oh now you ask,” he apparently affronted by my attempt at casual conversation, “I’ll have you know that I’ve been making excellent progress in my rehabilitation, I only have to go to group therapy four days a week instead of seven now.”
He motioned to the painting with dramatic flair and I cringed, the movement exposed more of the painting and it was worse than the previous one, “Aw, come on Cornea, look how hot this makes you. ”
“My boobs aren’t that big either,” I said pointing at her armor, “And really? Those boots are horribly impractical, how did she climb that tree with nine-inch heels? I’d rather climb barefoot than risk twisting an ankle like that.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, “Everyone’s a critic.”
“You’re just lucky Agent Beast can’t see what you’re really painting,” I said, giving him a playful nudge, “And if Adrian saw that, I don’t know if you’d have a painting hand anymore.”
“I’m ambidextrous,” he said wiggling his fingers, and eyebrows suggestively, “And I think if he saw my true art, he’d need a cold shower.”
“I highly doubt that,” I muttered, dropping onto the couch in the multi-purpose room, “So what do you guys do for fun around here?” Tips turned back to look at me with a raised eyebrow, “Fun?”
“Yeah, fun,” I said, “It can’t be all group therapies and talking sticks can it?”
“Well, no, but I wouldn’t say we ever have fun,” Tips crossed his arms and pouted his lips.
“TV? Movies? Books?” I asked, “Board games?”
Tips scoffed, “Come on Cornea, board games?”
“I seem to remember someone got very into Catan and was banned from the shelter’s game closet,” I said, tapping my chin pretending to try and recall who on Earth that could have possibly been.
“There is no way the Colonel had that long of a road,” Tips grumbled under his breath before regaining his chipper attitude, “No, we don’t play board games. Come, let me show you.”
He wrapped his arm through mine in a gesture we’d done a thousand times but felt weird now. Like he shouldn’t be touching me this way anymore. But that was silly. Tips was my friend, not the only thing that changed was our location.
He led me away from his easel and to the other side of the multipurpose room. All the shifters were out on their run so the fey and variant humans dominated the space.
“Here’s the arts and crafts section,” Tips said pointing to a folding table covered in glitter and glue. A human-looking woman stared at a piece of paper in complete concentration. A single fleck of glitter rose from one of the jars and traveled across the air until it reached her paper before dropping into place. Her face relaxed and she waved at me. I waved back.
“That’s Polly, she’s a telekinetic working on finesse,” Tips said, “I was the one suggesting glitter motion. Hi Polly!”
Polly’s wave turned into a middle finger but her grin remained in place.
“She doesn’t take artistic critique well,” he whispered, steering me toward another table where Earl sat opposite Dug, a checkerboard between them.
“You said no board games,” I remarked.
“Trust me, that ain’t no game of checkers you’re familiar with,” Tips said. We watched for a moment as Earl took his turn. He put his finger on one of the chips and Dug put his finger on it too. The Centaur and Stonfolk engaged in a mini-game of tug of war over the piece until Earl ultimately was able to slide his piece, “King me.”
Dug’s lip twitched but he added a chip on top of Earl’s, “No fair, you have better leverage from up there.” “All is fair in Checkers and War. Now take your turn.”
A peal of squeals came from a room near us, “What’s going on in there?”
Tips looked at his naked wrist, “It’s about time for Trees Company.”
“Trees?”
Tips nodded, “Yeah, it’s about a dryad who gets root rot and tries to make money for treatment by becoming a pollen dealer. It’s a pretty popular show with the fey.” “Oh, can we watch?”
“Come on Cornea, you’ve never been the type to sit at home and watch the boob-tube,” he said, “I bet your little sleuth brain is itching for a mystery.”
“I have enough mysteries at work,” I told him, “I don’t need more in my off time.” “Oh come on now, that’s not the Cornea I know and love,” he said, patting my arm and leading me away from the television room, “Are you seriously telling me you don’t want to know about all the stuff going missing from our rooms?”
“Is the Brownie out of containment?” I asked, remembering the kleptomaniac household fey with the impossible to pronounce name.
“Cornea, I thought we went over this,” Tips scolded.
“No, the actual Brownie. Boobeark or something like that,” I said hurriedly.
“Bwbach?” Tips asked.
I nodded and his shoulders sagged, “Fine I guess that makes sense. Well, there goes my whole plan for the evening.”
I glanced back at the TV room. An evening to shut off my mind and not think about my life and the bond and the cases sounded so nice right now. Even Nancy Drew took a night off now and again.
Tips sighed, “You’re not interested in having fun with me tonight, are you?”
I patted him on the arm, “Every night with you is fun, Tips. It just doesn’t always have to be an event. Come on, I went my whole life without knowing there was fey reality tv.”
“You’re not missing much,” he grumbled.
At ten, a bell chimed and most of the lights dimmed.
“What’s that?” I asked.”
“Lights out,” he explained, “Gotta head to bed now. You have a good one Cornea, don’t let the beast get you down, ok?”
“We’re doing better,” I told him, “You don’t need to worry about me, bud. Just focus on getting out of here, right?”
His lips twitched and he left the room followed by the rest of the patients until I was alone with the fey streaming service.
“All clear?” a high pitched voice asked from the door. I turned to see Patty and Meredith bounding into the TV room with a giant bowl of popcorn.
“Oh sweet,” Meredith took the remote from the table, “Just in time for Wings.”
“Oh, I know that one, Gran used to watch the reruns all the time,” I said.
Meredith and Patty shared a look before Patty grinned at me, “I don’t think she did. I’ll give you the quick rundown.”
So Wings was not the beloved 80s sitcom about an airport. It was a dating show for Angels where one contestant was actually a devil in disguise. If the devil made it to the finale, it would get its wings back, having shown the pantheon that it was worthy of grace once again.
I could just imagine the old ladies in Gran’s knitting circle rolling over in their graves imagining a devil returning to heaven.
“Oh don’t worry, these aren’t the Angels you’re probably imagining,” Meredith added.
The show started and rather than long hair, white wings, and lyres, the angels appeared human. Like if the Real World was set in Cloud City for a season.
“So which one is the devil?” I asked.
“We don’t find out until the end,” Meredith said, leaning closer.
“It’s half the fun of the show,” Patty added, “I think it was Felicia, but she was eliminated last week.”
“I say it’s Jedediah,” Meredith said, pointing at a surfer-type man, leaning against eh cloud wall.
“Why doesn’t he fall through the cloud?” I asked, “Clouds are just water, right?”
Meredith and Patty snorted with laughter, “This is on a sound stage in Saskatchewan. Angels are really tight-lipped on what their god’s afterlife is like so they switch up the set each year.”
