Wilfredo's Wonderland

Once upon a time, not too distant in the past, in a land far, far away, yet not unfamiliar to our own, an overworked compliance analyst bore witness to the heavy, sidewinding snow decorating the pitch-black sky to encase eight cars scattered across The FourPoint Investments office park, trapping her in an loop of unhappily ever afters for an hour too long...

Chandel was situated in a black blazer, matching colored midi skirt, thick leggings, and ruffled white shirt. A long coat fell to the crimson tufted rug at her side. She falsely earned a: “Why the long face?” and swept it away with her long ebony tail, holding her brown head with polished hooves as she leaned over. She sat miserable, continuing to think over how she would get home.

Feet flip flopped on the floor, forward to the factory formed felt furnishings, flippers flailed in fine fashion, to find the frosty frigid flatland. The sleek silhouette sat swiftly in a soft synthetic sofa to see the sideway snowfall with serenity. “Fancy the falling flakes and frost?” someone spoke to her side.

“Nah.”

“Pity,” he paused, “Personally, I prefer petrified pines during this picturesque precipitation.”

“You talk funny for reason?”

“To be tethered to talking to this tone is tiresome, tedious, and taxing, to be truthful.”

“I can’t,” she was amazed and annoyed at his vocabulary.

“What with what?”

“That.”

“That?” his flipper flew forward.

“Ah-ha…” she affirmatively furrowed her brow.

“Why miss, a scene or sight like this is not something I can miss!”

“Scuse’ you?!” her body jerked upright and twisted defensively to face the Emperor Penguin.

“I say such a snowstorm is simply serendipitous to see,” his flipper flew fancifully to the frosty foreground from afar.

Chandel stared into the white body and up to his beak to see if his intent was true, despite having his eyes well concealed by his black and yellow cap. His delusive nature was too stupefying to unpack at 6:30 PM. Her face became fatigued from unbelief.

“You disbelieve? Or disapprove? How disappointing…” he said sadly, slouching and somewhat sulking.

“You go make an igloo if it’s so nice out, Thesaurus Rex,” she flatly prompted him.

“A splendid pseudonym and suggestion!” he conceded and clapped. He hopped and hobbled to the horse. “The interesting idea of an illegal icy igloo is intriguing! I will weave wonders whilst you watch my wares!” he set the satchel silently.

“Sure…”

Five minutes passed as she managed to fan away any more perceived sexual harassment, like she always had had to. Yet, something unusual happened this time. She marveled at the penguin with a car snow brush and shovel tucked under his flippers.

The King Craftsman conjured a creation of curious construction, claiming from the cars, spontaneously vacating sports vehicles, sweeping station wagons, loading off lorries, any sum of snow to simulate a slope so smooth and circular summoning more snow in its circumference, deftly dilating deep into the dome, regarding the radius, retrieving realistic replication of the illegal icy igloo, fit for an Equine Empress he entranced from the entrance.

Chandel was still leaning forward, aghast during such a display within just fifteen minutes after collecting the snow into a large pile. She finally donned her long coat while catching him act of the worst crime: Insulting the Intelligence of a Colleague. She barged out the front door and stomped trough three feet of snow. As if the blizzard feared her, the snow let up and ratted out the penguin out, as if he drew bathroom graffiti. She looked at him, then the igloo.

“You practice this or somethin'?”

“Rehearsing renders records!” He jumped in juvenile joy justly, featuring his feat.

“This like home at least?” she brayed concern over the slight wind trotting to him.

He turned to her tune. “My dome is delicately decorated but I don’t desire this dormitory.”

“So, why’d you build it?”

“Tis’ tribute to thee!”

“You see me looking at snow and think to give me more snow?”

“I desire to delight,” his happiness hugged the habitat.

She stared at him, wondering if he got worse cabin fever than she did to create a bunch of silly sentences and justify his creation. A smile erupted from her red lipstick at the absurdity before her. Then an infectious laugh, slowly passing to the penguin replicated the same joy she repressed for five long years in the name of adulting.

The butler of bewilderment benevolently bestowing benevolent belly laughs, long and lasting. Happiness hemorrhaged heavily. Spectators speculated sporadically, scratching scalps. ‘The igloo incited irreversible insanity,’ individuals indubitably inferenced. “Therefore, this token of tribute is taken?”

“Sure,” she stated flatly and leaned upon the igloo. She rubbed her temples absorbing the information she collected: Yes, this idiot made an igloo to prove he wasn’t looking at your-

The igloo gave way under the body part of interest, sending her slipping down, crushing the masterpiece before a crowd of six in the lot.

Poor positioning prompted the penguin to proactively plunge. Harm hardly humored him in his hostel. Snow softly spared her from sprains and strains, yet embarrassment engendered her, emanating from her eyes. Her face flustered and flummoxed from flapping out his flipper. She stared stunned, he stayed still, silently, suggesting slipping away by straining at her slightly, watching and wishing his wing would whittle down her worry if he wrapped it ‘round to wriggle her right out the wretched ruins from her rear.

She held out her front hoof and let him guide her up, though she could stand anyway, and did so. Her throat felt inflated and she covered her face. This is why I hate snow, reverberated in her mind. She obliged to his flagrant patronization and let him walk her back indoors to feel useful. Before she knew it, she was back at the window, He sat on the same gray couch she found him at and he sat by her.

“That was nice all, but maybe you outa fly to your family for vacation.”

“I fear flying isn’t my forte... Chit-chat?” the penguin pushed his personal portmanteau to the peripheral of his peepers.

“I swear, if I hear any more rhymes-”

“An addiction to alliteration actually!”

Chandel pulled the jacket hood back over her head, “You ain’t real! You’re a cartoon or somethin!”

“Oooh, which one?! I like Linus’ Lavender Line Leading to Laurel Lane!”

Chandel fell silent and folded over, assuming a sitting fetal position, burying her head between her knees, letting two tears run from the ducts into the leggings. She was certain this was a lucid nightmare and couldn’t wake up.

Such sadness summoned the service of solace and a smile. An inspirational idea incubates from my instinct! Enamored espresso enchantments entice everyone! The portmanteau parted punctually. Thesaurus Rex’s thermos thudded. The briefcase barista’s blended breakfast bean benediction was boisterous. The cups carefully were caressed to the coffee table, filled full of fueling fluid, fanning fancy fragrances forward, fighting frosty feelings.

Contrary to self-preservation, she unfolded herself, reached out for a cup and took a small sip. The coffee was smooth, bold, carefully roasted, as if it was made now. It wasn’t stale, burnt, or littered with residue like at the cafeteria.

“What’s your name?” she couldn’t help but slur her speech slightly.

“Wilfredo Winterspur.”

“I meant a real one.”

He laid the laminated lanyard low to the lady. “Wilfredo Winterspur is so. Though Thesaurus Rex is thoughtful, tis’ this.”

Chandel let air out her nose, making a reverse snort noise. Her laugh could only convey the disbelief such an employee was real.

“Yours?” he youthfully yearned.

“Chandel Reed,” shifty eyes danced above her smirk and rosy cheeks.

The flipper flapped on the front foot friendly firm feel.

“Why do you like, this?”

“Hmm?” he hummed.

“The weather.”

“For a fortnight I fantasized of frost!”

“Sorry to crush your vacation home…” she took a sip, “…was pretty,” she forced out a compliment under her breath behind a mug.

“T’was truly tribute to thee,” was said as she slowly sipped.

“Yeah, you already said that,” she rested her elbow atop the back rest and looked at wherever she thought his eyes were and placed the mug on her crossed leg… “but why?”

“Situational spurs seem to stimulate some sentiments.”

“Based on?”

“Midafternoon magic and merriment, maybe more.”

I gotta hear this, was plastered on her face after resting her cheek onto her hoof, softly.

He paused professionally, twiddling the tips of his talons, caressing his coffee close, quickly calculating and canning careless comments and canned comments. “Searching for secrets, I see?”

“Maybe more,” the mare mimicked and minorly mocked.

“Sometimes, seeking to save secrets, some statements slip for fortunate fellow flurry fans.”

“Hate to break it to you but I hate snow,” as if to let him down softly.

“Observing the outrageous so orderly? Odd.”

“Comes with the job,” the apathy sourced from her boss calling out of work surfaced.

“Why would weather wound a woman?”

“Tell me what you were looking at and I might educate you.”

“Personal preference perhaps?” he gambled a guess in the game…

Chandel sipped the coffee as slowly as possible, staining the rim of the cup with red lipstick like she trained herself years ago, for the beverage represented her right to remain silent.

Silence saw sound, as he sung in sincerity: “I witnessed the whirls in wonderland when waddling to windows where workers would be wary. A game and gamble on goodwill with grand goals goaded me greatly to greet the greatest garnish. Dreaming deeply of different dimensions displeased me. The ridiculous recess revealed the regal reputation was rightfully rewarded. I confess, concur, and congratulate your craft conveyed by quaffing curls, cradling commentary, corroborating cooperation, and conceited curves, that complimented the canvas. If I fail at finding a flurry fan in a fairyland but forecasted fortunately to find a friend.”

Three minutes more passed Chandel watched Wilfredo describe, without trouble, an ideal scene from a cheesy movie that she would stream with heavy alliteration as a confession while she held the mug to her lips. A blend of terror, charm, humor, and titillation was upon her, yet she refused in any way to show it if she could help it. She took a swig and rested the cup down.

“You’re stuck in an office for a night, and your first thought is to sweet talk me?”

“I say such spoken sentences should be sweet.”

“Wilfredo.”

“Will will work.”

“You hear: ‘The snow isn’t the problem, it’s what’s in it,’ before?”

“Perchance a problem was present?”

She untightened her lips. “I appreciate you, but you didn’t have to do all that…”

“I intrepidly insist,” some straws summoned from the satchel, created from cookie caramelized in cocoa and cream, set forth for sipping.

Chandel adjusted herself to reach over to the cookie offered to cleanse the palate after her prolonged sipping. She found by the time she was done examining it, Wilfredo’s cup was empty and yet again he was doing something to get her attention.

Boyhood was brought back by beak balancing a barquillo. The trifling treat tilted atop his tip to a troublesome tune… then taken ‘tween toes!

“Don’t be playing with your food.” Chandel pointed the cookie at him before placing it at the lips of her mouth.

He produced profound parlor pranks promised. A wing waved. A bouquet of barquillos, Another. None in number. Again. A sturdy stack on the seat. Repeat. Crammed in a can.

She laughed and clapped at his carnie tricks finally getting her to crack some more. There was so much more room for him to keep amazing her in every way. Although she looked around for anything to go wrong like last time while finishing her drink and handing it back to Wilfredo.

Leaning and looking in liminal lanes like the loftily laid lady, he wondered what fun or frivolity would find them. The penguin packed the portmanteau promptly pursuing a passion. He handed his harmonious hospitality and help to the horse. He motioned majestically to merit for more magic, maybe more. By chance, this chore would cheer up Chandel.

Chandel took the flipper with the cookie straw in her mouth, not sure what to expect. They wandered around the office’s gray halls to a different exit to a snow filled atrium. Even this was untouched by facilities or anyone with half a brain to do snow removal. The place was tabernacled with soft yellow lighting and a feeling of a small adventure. She examined the tree, glazed and encased in ice by a frozen pond. An ordinary place moments ago, now frozen literally in time. Snow fell to a perfect drop down and only layered the cement padded floor and grass by an inch at most.

A tenacious tug. “The place is purified of problems.”

“Don’t think I won’t hold you to that…” the door opened before her.

Sifting, shuffling, and sweeping the snow, the pedals and pushes plowed a path a long line for the lady. Assuring the advents was acceptable, any adventure was confined cautiously and contained to a circumference to certainly circumvent any slippage and sliding. A bountiful ball barreled bountifully and blissfully before their barefoot bonanza. He soon saw snow surmount into something growing, grander and greater. The boulder of bliss was balanced before him at the center of the snow removed circle. Magic might be made at the midpoint… snow statues or sculptures? Something snagged him by the sides.

“Now whatcha you planning, hun?” Chandel sat the perplexed penguin on the snowball at the center of the circle. “Cause you know I ain’t fitting in a igloo.”

“The corporate campus is a quaint compromise.”

“Great because I wanaaah!!” Chandel slipped, sending a her leg kicking up in front of her, but both her bicep and leg were caught in time within the flippers, strongly and calmly, much to her surprise.

“Beware of black ice. Its treachery triggered tumbles twice tonight.”

“And how do you avoid it, Thesaurus Rex?”

“Skating or sliding suffices.”

“Keep holding, cause I don’t do that,” Chandel looked around for other critters, “And don’t get weird ideas.”

“Sudden skating school?”

“You’re not serious.”

“A seriously sudden skating school and seminar!”

“Nuh-ah.”

“The skating school and seminary is sudden as simple! Slide, sail and stop,” he held the horse hospitably.

“I ain’t doing that,” Chandel felt a slip coming on and leaned on the large snowball and the penguin pal of hers.

“Slide succeeded!”

“Don’t you have other ways of explaining that whole skating lesson?” she tried to stand awkwardly and slid forward again but caught herself this time.

“Stop succeeded!”

“Why did I trust you?” she stumbled but was still held up by a firm set of flippers, gliding shakily to his side around the snowball.

“Sail succeeded! So, in summary…” A perplexing playful push for the penguin.

Chandel slipped, sailed, and stopped backwards. The floor was encased in a layer of ice, allowing her to keep on gliding and kicking. Such a lesson clicked somehow. She slid around the snowball effortlessly for several minutes.

The exciting entertainment envisioned elicited an enchantment for encore. “More, more, more!”

It was a simple pleasure instead of simple spite. A glide and kick allowed her to shift from one place to another kicking away doubts and anxiety and crushing any other question underfoot. She eventually came to the snowball but then was given a lesson once more.

A flash of a flipper flipped for the fair forearm. Twisting and twirling to twilight tonight, the dormant domicile delivered delight dutifully though doubtfully she danced in dainty discernment. Twirling in the timeless tabernacle joyously and justly. Thesaurus Rex sat upon his throne thoughtfully training to trip the light fantastically for the flurry friend. An amorous aura advanced among the artificially arctic atrium, as the entrancing equine ensnared his eyes.

A cartoon character or harebrained hallucination, it didn’t matter anymore. Wilfredo managed to thaw out something in her with more ice and snow. She finally found his eyes and made contact, leaned on the large snowball with her two front hooves to the sides of his body.

The flipper felt frenzy but frozen and frigid. Yet engaging in an extension, they nestled at the nape. His head had hovered humbly to hold her to him.

And thus, once upon a time, not too distant in the past, in a land far, far away, yet not unfamiliar to our own, Chandel and Wilfredo were charmed by each other in their personal workplace wonderland. With many thoughts racing, they stood at each other in silence, knowing a sudden first kiss was certain. They would be great friends and maybe more indeed happily ever after.