Funkefae School of Monsterology and the Mythical Arts

Chapter Six: Organised Chaos

The drive to Draken Cottage was as quiet as the breakfast. Emma stared at the back of John's head, glancing between the other members of the family as well. Beth's head was leaning against the window and Nichola was checking her phone in the front seat. Something about Beth's brother not having a something-something. Emma hadn't caught that much of the conversation.

She didn't really want to go back to the cottage, by herself, alone with her dragons, but she needed to pack. The pile of school supplies in the boot of the Corner's car was proof enough of that. They only had a few days until the date on the train tickets, so they didn't have time to mess about. Apparently Beth had absolutely no packing done either, she was just lucky one of her siblings still had their school trunks

The drive was short, but necessary. Emma couldn't have carried all of her supplies around to the cottage even if she had tried to convince Nichola she could handle it.

The system of moving the items from the trunk to the house was pretty well refined amongst the four of them, as Emma more often then not tagged along on their weekly shopping trips, more out of boredom than to try and be helpful. The Corner's departure was quick after that, probably to attempt to make a start at Beth's packing. Emma couldn't help but snigger quietly at the thought.

When she turned her attention back to her own packing though, she realised with a start she still had no idea where her father's trunk was. She knew he still had it, he kept all of his old school books and things in it, and had often pulled it out of his room to rifle through it and pull something new out. He wouldn't have put it anywhere random, that wasn't how her father worked. He had a method, a place for everything. It was all neat, all tidy, all in its place. She scoured the kitchen, living room and store room, even having a quick check of the bathroom, just in case. She didn't want to go into the bedroom, she couldn't. Nothing in there had moved since he left for the Zippleback dragon job, she couldn't start moving things. She'd ruin it..

She went about searching the house over again, and then again, and then again, even going so far as to check the loft space, her room, even the dragon barn, desperately avoiding the only place the trunk could logically be.

After another hour of putting it off, and putting it off, and putting it off, and, okay, maybe taking one apple from the kitchen and munching on it because, alright no one can survive an entire day on one measly slice of jammy toast, she gave up procrastinating. There was only one place that that bleeding trunk could be in the house, she had checked everywhere else.[1]

Chucking her apple core in the fireplace where the Common-or-Garden was resting for him to munch on, she moved to the banged up, well worn door. It was marred with dents and scratches, even though he had made a point of not banging it. It was just that sometimes the dragon hatchlings (and at times, herself) got a bit excited and well...

..Dragons don't  know how to open doors, do they?

Emma smiled as she traced one rather large gouge mark. Poor Colin the Amphithere had been being tormented by the three current hatchlings a little over a month ago and, without claws to try to open the door, had dragged his upper jaw from the door handle to the base three times, leaving him with a mouth full of wood chips and a nasty splinter problem that had only properly cleared up a week ago. Her dad had given up on trying to fix the door after Nova set it on fire seven times in three consecutive weeks.

Leaning her full weight against the door and wiggling the handle as she turned it, Emma forced the door open. It had been a constant struggle for her father when he got home from a job, completely exhausted,  and had tried to shoulder open the door before giving up and deciding to sleep on the sofa and worry about it in the morning.

The room was exactly like he had left it, like he had always left it. The desk below the window was clear, the office chair pushed in with a cardigan draped over the back, one he normally wore around the house. The bed was made and Emma could see from the doorway that the bookshelves scattered about the room were filled to the brim and organised efficiently. He always was one for a ridiculous amount of organisation. Even the carpet that spread across the entire floor was still clean and plush as always.

The trunk was at the foot of his bed, situated directly in the centre of the footboard of the double bed. A cream throw blanket was folded on top of it, obscuring most of the pale tan leather. The end facing her had a handle and she knew that the other had two wheels for 'easy' mobility. If her father said anything about it, it was that the damn thing had a mind of its own and had never liked him.

Pulling of her boots and socks, because who doesn't like feeling soft carpet between their toes every now and then, she moved across the room to the foot of the bed. She pulled the throw off the trunk and threw it over her shoulders like a cloak, as she always did with her father's blankets. She traced the gold lettering on the lid of the trunk, A. M. W. Andrew Martin. She flicked open the clicks of the trunk and undid the leather belts that were wound around the body of the trunk, and opened the lid.

The contents, like all of her father's things, were neat and orderly. His talisman box, not unsimilar to hers, was on its end in the corner. She knew it was empty. His Ralis talisman was on the fireplace, in the stand that held all of those ridiculous decorative pipes that his friend always sent him, even though he didn't smoke. She pulled it out and placed it on the floor beside her and began rummaging again.

His school robes were folded neatly on top of his books, along with his Ampitherux scarf and tie, green, gold and thin black lines across the centre of the gold sparkling against the black and St. Patrick's blue of the robes, jumpers and trousers... She shook her head and pulled them all out, placing them with the box. The books that had been piled below the fabric, the gorgeous faux red and green leather of the Dragonology and Monsterology books clashing with the yellow hardback of the Irish and Greek mythology compilations. Pulling out and investigating book after book before placing them back in their places. The only one not present was the talisman book, which she had sitting in the living room.

Between the books and trinkets and potions bottles, Emma caught sight of a small lock and lever in the trunk, in the middle of the front of the bottom. She knew what that was. Carefully clicking the lock open, she pulled the lever up and lifted the bottom of the trunk gently. When it was open a crack, a huge roll of steam rolled out and a roar rumbled from the depths. She quickly snapped it shut and locked it again. That was useful for another day.

When the trunk was finally empty enough, resulting in piles and piles of knick-knacks and trinkets and odd whirring things and others that hissed and bubbled, she began dragging it out of the room. It was too messy now, she knew she would ruin it. She'd clean it up tomorrow. For now, she actually had to pack.

She decided to make her room her base of operations for packing. It was already messy as anything, so a few more piles wouldn't be too bad. She took her time moving out of the room, shouldering her way through the door, dragging the trunk with her. When the worn trunk hit the wood if the floor it began to make a horrific scrapping noise, the wheels refusing to work for her. The Common-or-Garden raised his head from the fireplace and looked in her direction before promptly putting it back down after he saw nothing of even remote interest.

Stopping by the door to her room, she dropped the trunk and opened the door, allowing it to swing open as she turned back to the trunk. Her room was extremely different from the rest of the house in its organised glory. She did have a system to her madness, even though everything looked like it was everywhere. Everything was where it should be in her mind. The t-shirts and hoodies clung to each other in groups in the wardrobe, the jeans and skirts folded underneath. Her desk was piled with so much nonsense it looked like a miniature war zone and the bookshelves all around the room were filled to overflowing. And of course, the Chair. That object that every house has that is just a holder for everything else. That's how her room was organised. Ordered chaos.

Dragging the trunk into the centre of the room, she allowed it to fall at the base of her bed, before dashing out to the living room to collect all of her school things. She also grabbed her father's old satchel, that hung on the coat rack by the door. It took her multiple trips to carry everything in but she managed it, dropping it all on her bed to be sorted before  put into the trunk.

Two days to pack would do, right?

[1] Yes, even the tool shed.