the journey; part 1.

 *NOTE: It irks me because I have pages of this hand written in some journal that I cannot locate at the moment. It may take me awhile to get back into the groove of this one. I kinda forgot where I was going with it....

The room was spinning into a whirlwind of chaotic order. The coffee cups hung in the air, making a straight line of dirt-mouthed dishware. The musty dishcloth, haphazardly tossed into the sink three days before spiraled off into the air, somersaulting over itself in a parody of giddiness.
   I clapped my hands over my eyes but I could still hear the movements of my dirty kitchen re-arranging itself as I stood there. Disinclined at the moment to believe in the validity of the activity around me I groped into the corners of my brain, trying to feel out an explanation. The immediate response of my addled grey matter was to suspect drugs. I.E. foul play. [dum, dum, duuummm...]
   It had in fact been several years since I had intentionally ingested any sort of hallucinogen. In order to verify my new theory I reached out to touch an offending object; an airborne pepper shaker shaped like a cheeseburger, fully expecting it to disappear at my touch. Like the object of your desire in a dream fades when the alarm jolts you awake.
   The cheeseburger, upon my touch, whirled around and angrily sashayed in a wide arc, bouncing back and forth sending pepper flying in all directions.
   "No touchy," I murmured, pulling my hand back. "I get it. Relax." It circled around (orbited, perhaps?) my head for a few moments, attempting to gauge my reaction, then, apparently satisfied I had learned my lesson, zoomed off to rejoin it's companions. The oven mitts were dancing cheerily with each other, keeping to a secret tune that only kitchen things must know.
   A normal, sane person at this point would have generally reacted more strongly than I currently was. I was merely absorbed in watching these inanimate objects sudden lack of inanimacy. I felt I had been waiting to see something like this all my life.
   I considered my hypothesis of potential drug consumption. What had I drank earlier? What had I eaten? As I wracked my brain I noticed sugar drifting into the air. It came in short bursts as the sugar bowl waltzed slowly around the room. I held my cup of coffee (this cup staying quietly in my hands, uninterested in adding to the merrymaking of it's kin) up, trying to capture enough to make the drink palatable.

I had just managed to coax enough sugar into my cup when I heard a noise behind me. It was a small "ahem!" A throat clearing that startled me into a spin. The coffee sloshed onto my shirt as I involuntarily drew my arms up against my chest in surprise.
   A squat figure stood before me. A pair of round eyes fixed themselves on mine. They were an astonishing shade of purple. Not the soft, almost violet that some inherited. Like a temperamental shaft of light in a pool of still water. These eyes were vibrant. A vividness I had never seen in a person before. At least not without the aid of contacts.
   The figure cleared it's throat again. It was a subtle noise, really. Blending into the clinking and clanking of the dishes. I blinked owlishly at him. My initial reaction spent I merely gazed curiously at the round purple-eyed man standing in my house. One would expect more of a reaction, generally. A jolt of shock. A gasp or surprise, perhaps. But no, at this point I was beyond all that nonsense.
   My kitchen was frolicking. My linoleum was covered in a salty, sugary, peppery concoction. I figured this guy might at least be able to point me in the right direction as to why this was so.
   "You're late," a breathy Marilyn Monroe sex kitten voice murmured.
    The noise I thought I wasn't going to make escaped me at this moment. The Round Man let out an exasperated sigh that sounded like a baby hiccuping.
   "I sa-eeed," he paused dramatically. "That. You. Are. Late."

                 *****i can't find the piece that goes here, i know it's written... some.... where*****

"My name is Headmistress Papillon,” the bouquet garmented woman announced. She seemed pleased at the direction the interview had taken and had decided it was time to enter into the grande finale.

“You have been brought here at the request of the Royal Re-Institution Committee. As you are no doubt aware this is a great honor. Service in this endeavor could very well bring about the end of such chaos and bring about a new kind of peace to our unhappy province.”

            Magdalena stared, eyes bugging with surprise.

            “I…uh… What?”

            The Headmistress sighed impatiently for the sixth time since Magdalena’s arrival. “You are a member of the Imperial family, surely you realize that?”

            Magdalena’s face colored crimson with frustration.

            “Will you quit saying everything as if I should already know it? I’m not a mind reader y’know.”

            “Headmistress Papillion squeaked in surprise. “But… of course you are.” She spun around, orange dress flowing around her tulip fashion. Binns was the direction of her fury.

            “What is the meaning of this Binns?? An Imperial that can’t read minds? Where is her Modsiw? Has any of her training been completed?”

            Binns cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, not exactly.”

            “What precisely does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

            Binns rattled his throat again.

            “Stop that irritating growling and get on with it!”

            “It appears Lady Magdalena’s Modsiw disappeared shortly after their arrival to The There. She has received no training, milady."

             She reached her hand out in a clenching motion, as if by sheer force she could snap poor Binns head off his neck. Binns made a small bow and, in the same motion, beat feet to the door. He moved with such speed that the papers on the Headmistresses desk had not settled before he was out of the room.

             "Well then," Papillon muttered. 

              Magdalena continued to stand there, flabbergasted. In the entire half an hour she'd spent in this place she had witness more bizarre things than she had in her entire lifetime. A menopausal, flower-headed woman and a purple eyed midget arguing about her being able to read minds was a little more than she could take in one day.

              "Well, if you'll excuse me, it seems pretty obvious that I'm not who you think I am. I'd like it if you could get that little dude back in here so he can take me home, I left my coffee pot on."

              "No, no, that will never do," the Headmistress replied. "No, what we need is a new Modsiw. Although I've never had to find one for someone who has already reached the Age of Acceptance. It is very unorthodox." She looked up at Magdalena's blank expression. "It just isn't done."

               "Oh....?" was all Magdalena could say.

               Headmistress Papillon walked circles around the room, tapping her fingers against her mouth, whispering quietly to herself. Magdalena took this opportunity to slowly make her way to the door. She backed up, a step at a time, pausing between each one to see if the other woman was paying attention. 

               She wasn't.