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On a cold winter’s night in Slothgate, the winds had already begun to carry snowflakes to the ground. As the small population of Sloths, Dogs, Birds and other creatures that for some reason lived together in this town settled down for the night, the weather was just beginning to coalesce. From dusk until dawn, every house in Slothgate was trapped in what could only be described as ‘the worst blizzard since last week’ by local television reporters.
Quentin The Sloth awoke from his usual 16 hour slumber to find himself feeling rather chilly. ‘To be expected in this particularly harsh winter,’ he thought to himself, hopping out of his bed. As he wandered around his quaint little house in his typical morning daze, he couldn’t help but notice he had — rather foolishly — left one of his windows slightly ajar. ‘At least I know where the draft is coming from now,’ he thought, stumbling forwards towards the window.
As he attempted to use his sloth claws to pull the window shut, he was suddenly struck by the emergence of a peculiar noise. It sounded like a whisper coming from outside, but as he glanced around the small section of his garden that he could see from where he was standing, nothing was around to make the noise. Thanks to his prior encounters with ghosts, he knew to be wary. He shut the window tight, and began preparing himself psychologically for another spiritual adventure.
Deciding to go about his day but with more vigilance than usual, Quentin wrapped up warm to protect himself from the cold winds and headed outside. Slothgate was frozen in time. Icicles hung from the corners of rooftops. A blanket of soft white covered all the rolling fields beyond the south of his house. The pathways to the center of town had become sheen and slippery. In the distance, Quentin could see some of the locals frolicking around in the middle of the road, throwing snowballs at each other and constructing the foundations of primitive snow-castles.
Amongst the rabble of creatures was Quentin’s good pal Quinn The Dog, who was pushing snow forwards with his snout in an attempt to roll it up into a ball. As Quinn spotted Quentin getting closer, he yelled out “Quentin! Come and help with this!”
“Help with what? What are you making?” Quentin asked.
“We’re building a snowman!” Replied Quinn, gleefully.
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Joining forces, Quentin begins rolling a snowbody of his own, combining it with Quinn’s until they have the beginnings of a snowman. Within time, they had the whole body and head sorted. A face had been poorly drawn on. They only needed the finishing touches to bring it to life. In traditional snowperson building, this usually meant giving it an accessory like a scarf or a hat.
Quentin The Sloth was of course known for wearing hats. So when it came time to adorn their new snow creation with one, everybody turned to Quentin, expecting him to hand over his elegant top hat to give the snowman a bit of personality. What they didn’t know, of course, is that Quentin’s hat had a long and magical history and that simply wearing it could produce all kinds of unwanted effects. Quentin’s hat was a special artifact. It had to be treated like one.
“I can’t hand over my hat! Do you know where this thing came from?” Quentin yelled.
“We’ve got no idea, actually. Just looks like a hat to me!” Quinn snapped.
“It’s a lot more than just a hat, Quinn.” Quentin retorted.
“What’s so special about it?” Quinn inquired.
“It’s magical, of course.” Quentin replied.
Quinn chuckled at this outlandish claim.
“Yeah, sure thing, Quentin.” Quinn said, jumping upwards to snatch it off his head with his little paws.
Quentin tried to grab it back, but it was too late. Quinn had already placed it on top of their snowman, making it look very trendy. Beyond just looking trendy, however, it was also radiating a bold new aura. A magical aura. Within minutes of the hat being placed on its head, the residents of Slothgate were shocked to see that it was now beginning to move on its own, its head rotating from side to side. |
“Well howdy!”
The snowman spoke, its voice carrying over stunned silence.
“Did the snowman just… talk?” Quinn said.
Oh no, Quentin thought. This could end badly.
“Why yes, I did indeed talk! Nice to meet you!” The snowman said cheerfully, winking and tipping his new hat.
The next few hours went by in a blur. Before Quentin knew it, the townsfolk had adopted the snowman as one of the community, dubbing him ‘Snow-Quentin’ on account of his hat and happy demeanour. As they continued to play in the snow and later prepare for their upcoming Christmas celebrations, all were transfixed by Snow-Quentin’s playful banter. After people had to go home, Quentin invited Quinn and their new buddy Snow-Quentin back to his house for a warm beverage.
“Tell that joke again, Snow-Quentin!” Quinn said, the two now laughing into the hot cocoa that they were each drinking. They had constructed some sort of hilarious in-joke on the journey back.
“Alright, well,” began Snow-Quentin. “What do you call a sloth without a fancy hat?”
“What do you call a sloth without a fancy hat?” Asked Quinn, smirking as he set up his punchline.
“You call them Quentin! Hahaha!”
Before Snow-Quentin could finish their hilarious joke, Quinn had already erupted into raucous laughter. You know how dogs laugh with their whole body, just wiggling all over the place with absolute joy? Like that.
Quentin, on the other hand, shrunk into his arm chair, feeling shame. It had only been a couple of hours and he could tell that Quinn was already getting along with Snow-Quentin much better than they ever had. Had the magical hat perhaps given the snow all of Quentin’s charisma? Was Quinn starting to prefer Snow-Quentin? A silly thought, but not an impossible one.
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Things really started to get intense with the game of Uno. The game was approaching a fiery conclusion, and all the way through Quinn and Snow-Quentin were making little jabs at Quentin’s hatless-ness. Snow-Quentin played a draw four card, to which Quinn chuckled: “You got me good there!”
A few minutes later, Quentin also played a draw four card, to which Quinn delivered a harsh: “Quentin! How could you do that to me?” Quinn was clearly upset about it in a way that was a little weird considering that Snow-Quentin had just done the same thing.
“You were a lot nicer when you had your hat, Quentin,” Quinn followed up, pulling a plate of Christmas cookies towards him. After the game was done, Snow-Quentin and Quinn went out for drinks. Quinn’s words had stung.
After they left, Quentin was thinking about what had gone down. How did his hat bring a snowman to life? Why was his new friend Quinn enamoured with ‘Snow-Quentin’? Did people really only like Quentin for his hat? He had a lot of questions, and was in desperate need of some wisdom.
That evening, Quentin was de-icing his windows. As he sprayed his favourite brand of de-icer onto them and started scraping the ice away, his reflection became clear in the glass. Staring back at him was a sloth. A sloth without a hat. It reminded him of his late grandfather, Quentin The First.
I was starting to think you had forgotten about me. Rang out a voice from behind him.
“Quentin The First?” Quentin said with a startle. “How are you here?”
You know how it is. Us sloths are magical creatures. Continued the pale Specter of Quentin The First.
“Magical, right. But I feel like I’ve lost all my magic without my hat.” Quentin replied, turning to face the ghost.
Don’t you think sharing your magic with the world is a good thing? The world could do with a little more magic these days, couldn’t it?
Quentin paused at his grandfather’s words, considering them. He brought a snowman to life, after all - wasn’t that worth it, even if it meant them getting the attention for a while?
You know I’m right.
“But my hat is part of who I am!”
You’re right about that. But maybe your hat has to go on its own journey now. There’s nothing to stop you making another one.
“But without my hat, I’m just another sloth!
I don’t think so, Quentin. The magic is in your heart, not in your hat.
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Those last words repeated in Quentin’s mind for a while. After finishing his conversation with the specter, he sat quietly in his bed, just staring at the ceiling. Perhaps if he opened up to the idea of Snow-Quentin, they could become friends. It was almost Christmas, after all.
Quentin slept restlessly throughout the night, with visions of Snow-Quentin replacing him. When he awoke, it was the morning of December 24th. Quentin would usually have a Christmas Eve party for all of his friends in Slothgate, but his tiredness was telling him maybe he should go back to bed. Or was this the chance he was looking for? To prove he could be a good friend, to prove he didn’t need the hat to be charming.
Quentin got to work: cooking, cleaning and preparing a set of fun magic tricks and games. He hand wrote invitation letters that he posted through letterboxes and made sure his house was in tip-top shape. It wasn’t just going to be a Christmas party, it was going to be the Christmas party.
When the time arrived, Quentin was surprised to see that Snow-Quentin and Quinn actually turned up, amongst other guests: Char the charcoal mameshiba, Steven the micropig, Fandaniel the panda and plenty of other friends. There were snacks, decorations and the same four Christmas songs that you’re tired of playing on a loop. People shuffled awkwardly around each-other and made small talk. Snow-Quentin was un-characteristically quiet, as if he had been doing a lot of thinking.
“Welcome to my annual Christmas party!” Quentin announced, breaking the silence. “I’m glad to see you all here today, but I’m especially happy to see our new friend, Snow-Quentin.” Quentin said, raising a glass of mulled wine.
Snow-Quentin shuffled out of the crowd to get slightly closer to Quentin.
“It’s an absolute pleasure to see you too, Quentin.” murmured Snow-Quentin, producing a gift-wrapped box from behind him. “I got you a gift,” he continued.
“Why would you get me a gift?”
“Well, I felt bad about taking your hat, so…”
Hearing the snow’s words, Quentin began tearing the box open with his claws. Inside a cardboard box was a brand new hat - a similar style to the one he had handed over to the snowman except slightly shinier.
“Thank you so much, Snow-Quentin.” Quentin said, with a slight tear in his eyes.
“It’s nothing, really. It’s not magical like your old hat. But I need that to, you know, be living snow and all.”
“I understand.”
Quentin stretched his arms to give Snow-Quentin a big hug.
The two embraced, and although Quentin thought it was a rather cold hug, it was a nice conclusion to the saga - they had both realised there was enough room for at least two Quentins in the world, even if one of them was made out of snow.
The End.
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On a cold winter’s night in Slothgate, the winds had already begun to carry snowflakes to the ground. As the small population of Sloths, Dogs, Birds and other creatures that for some reason lived together in this town settled down for the night, the weather was just beginning to coalesce. From dusk until dawn, every house in Slothgate was trapped in what could only be described as ‘the worst blizzard since last week’ by local television reporters.
Quentin The Sloth awoke from his usual 16 hour slumber to find himself feeling rather chilly. ‘To be expected in this particularly harsh winter,’ he thought to himself, hopping out of his bed. As he wandered around his quaint little house in his typical morning daze, he couldn’t help but notice he had — rather foolishly — left one of his windows slightly ajar. ‘At least I know where the draft is coming from now,’ he thought, stumbling forwards towards the window.
As he attempted to use his sloth claws to pull the window shut, he was suddenly struck by the emergence of a peculiar noise. It sounded like a whisper coming from outside, but as he glanced around the small section of his garden that he could see from where he was standing, nothing was around to make the noise. Thanks to his prior encounters with ghosts, he knew to be wary. He shut the window tight, and began preparing himself psychologically for another spiritual adventure.
Deciding to go about his day but with more vigilance than usual, Quentin wrapped up warm to protect himself from the cold winds and headed outside. Slothgate was frozen in time. Icicles hung from the corners of rooftops. A blanket of soft white covered all the rolling fields beyond the south of his house. The pathways to the center of town had become sheen and slippery. In the distance, Quentin could see some of the locals frolicking around in the middle of the road, throwing snowballs at each other and constructing the foundations of primitive snow-castles.
Amongst the rabble of creatures was Quentin’s good pal Quinn The Dog, who was pushing snow forwards with his snout in an attempt to roll it up into a ball. As Quinn spotted Quentin getting closer, he yelled out “Quentin! Come and help with this!”
“Help with what? What are you making?” Quentin asked.
“We’re building a snowman!” Replied Quinn, gleefully.
|
Joining forces, Quentin begins rolling a snowbody of his own, combining it with Quinn’s until they have the beginnings of a snowman. Within time, they had the whole body and head sorted. A face had been poorly drawn on. They only needed the finishing touches to bring it to life. In traditional snowperson building, this usually meant giving it an accessory like a scarf or a hat.
Quentin The Sloth was of course known for wearing hats. So when it came time to adorn their new snow creation with one, everybody turned to Quentin, expecting him to hand over his elegant top hat to give the snowman a bit of personality. What they didn’t know, of course, is that Quentin’s hat had a long and magical history and that simply wearing it could produce all kinds of unwanted effects. Quentin’s hat was a special artifact. It had to be treated like one.
“I can’t hand over my hat! Do you know where this thing came from?” Quentin yelled.
“We’ve got no idea, actually. Just looks like a hat to me!” Quinn snapped.
“It’s a lot more than just a hat, Quinn.” Quentin retorted.
“What’s so special about it?” Quinn inquired.
“It’s magical, of course.” Quentin replied.
Quinn chuckled at this outlandish claim.
“Yeah, sure thing, Quentin.” Quinn said, jumping upwards to snatch it off his head with his little paws.
Quentin tried to grab it back, but it was too late. Quinn had already placed it on top of their snowman, making it look very trendy. Beyond just looking trendy, however, it was also radiating a bold new aura. A magical aura. Within minutes of the hat being placed on its head, the residents of Slothgate were shocked to see that it was now beginning to move on its own, its head rotating from side to side. |
“Well howdy!”
The snowman spoke, its voice carrying over stunned silence.
“Did the snowman just… talk?” Quinn said.
Oh no, Quentin thought. This could end badly.
“Why yes, I did indeed talk! Nice to meet you!” The snowman said cheerfully, winking and tipping his new hat.
The next few hours went by in a blur. Before Quentin knew it, the townsfolk had adopted the snowman as one of the community, dubbing him ‘Snow-Quentin’ on account of his hat and happy demeanour. As they continued to play in the snow and later prepare for their upcoming Christmas celebrations, all were transfixed by Snow-Quentin’s playful banter. After people had to go home, Quentin invited Quinn and their new buddy Snow-Quentin back to his house for a warm beverage.
“Tell that joke again, Snow-Quentin!” Quinn said, the two now laughing into the hot cocoa that they were each drinking. They had constructed some sort of hilarious in-joke on the journey back.
“Alright, well,” began Snow-Quentin. “What do you call a sloth without a fancy hat?”
“What do you call a sloth without a fancy hat?” Asked Quinn, smirking as he set up his punchline.
“You call them Quentin! Hahaha!”
Before Snow-Quentin could finish their hilarious joke, Quinn had already erupted into raucous laughter. You know how dogs laugh with their whole body, just wiggling all over the place with absolute joy? Like that.
Quentin, on the other hand, shrunk into his arm chair, feeling shame. It had only been a couple of hours and he could tell that Quinn was already getting along with Snow-Quentin much better than they ever had. Had the magical hat perhaps given the snow all of Quentin’s charisma? Was Quinn starting to prefer Snow-Quentin? A silly thought, but not an impossible one.
|
Things really started to get intense with the game of Uno. The game was approaching a fiery conclusion, and all the way through Quinn and Snow-Quentin were making little jabs at Quentin’s hatless-ness. Snow-Quentin played a draw four card, to which Quinn chuckled: “You got me good there!”
A few minutes later, Quentin also played a draw four card, to which Quinn delivered a harsh: “Quentin! How could you do that to me?” Quinn was clearly upset about it in a way that was a little weird considering that Snow-Quentin had just done the same thing.
“You were a lot nicer when you had your hat, Quentin,” Quinn followed up, pulling a plate of Christmas cookies towards him. After the game was done, Snow-Quentin and Quinn went out for drinks. Quinn’s words had stung.
After they left, Quentin was thinking about what had gone down. How did his hat bring a snowman to life? Why was his new friend Quinn enamoured with ‘Snow-Quentin’? Did people really only like Quentin for his hat? He had a lot of questions, and was in desperate need of some wisdom.
That evening, Quentin was de-icing his windows. As he sprayed his favourite brand of de-icer onto them and started scraping the ice away, his reflection became clear in the glass. Staring back at him was a sloth. A sloth without a hat. It reminded him of his late grandfather, Quentin The First.
I was starting to think you had forgotten about me. Rang out a voice from behind him.
“Quentin The First?” Quentin said with a startle. “How are you here?”
You know how it is. Us sloths are magical creatures. Continued the pale Specter of Quentin The First.
“Magical, right. But I feel like I’ve lost all my magic without my hat.” Quentin replied, turning to face the ghost.
Don’t you think sharing your magic with the world is a good thing? The world could do with a little more magic these days, couldn’t it?
Quentin paused at his grandfather’s words, considering them. He brought a snowman to life, after all - wasn’t that worth it, even if it meant them getting the attention for a while?
You know I’m right.
“But my hat is part of who I am!”
You’re right about that. But maybe your hat has to go on its own journey now. There’s nothing to stop you making another one.
“But without my hat, I’m just another sloth!
I don’t think so, Quentin. The magic is in your heart, not in your hat.
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Those last words repeated in Quentin’s mind for a while. After finishing his conversation with the specter, he sat quietly in his bed, just staring at the ceiling. Perhaps if he opened up to the idea of Snow-Quentin, they could become friends. It was almost Christmas, after all.
Quentin slept restlessly throughout the night, with visions of Snow-Quentin replacing him. When he awoke, it was the morning of December 24th. Quentin would usually have a Christmas Eve party for all of his friends in Slothgate, but his tiredness was telling him maybe he should go back to bed. Or was this the chance he was looking for? To prove he could be a good friend, to prove he didn’t need the hat to be charming.
Quentin got to work: cooking, cleaning and preparing a set of fun magic tricks and games. He hand wrote invitation letters that he posted through letterboxes and made sure his house was in tip-top shape. It wasn’t just going to be a Christmas party, it was going to be the Christmas party.
When the time arrived, Quentin was surprised to see that Snow-Quentin and Quinn actually turned up, amongst other guests: Char the charcoal mameshiba, Steven the micropig, Fandaniel the panda and plenty of other friends. There were snacks, decorations and the same four Christmas songs that you’re tired of playing on a loop. People shuffled awkwardly around each-other and made small talk. Snow-Quentin was un-characteristically quiet, as if he had been doing a lot of thinking.
“Welcome to my annual Christmas party!” Quentin announced, breaking the silence. “I’m glad to see you all here today, but I’m especially happy to see our new friend, Snow-Quentin.” Quentin said, raising a glass of mulled wine.
Snow-Quentin shuffled out of the crowd to get slightly closer to Quentin.
“It’s an absolute pleasure to see you too, Quentin.” murmured Snow-Quentin, producing a gift-wrapped box from behind him. “I got you a gift,” he continued.
“Why would you get me a gift?”
“Well, I felt bad about taking your hat, so…”
Hearing the snow’s words, Quentin began tearing the box open with his claws. Inside a cardboard box was a brand new hat - a similar style to the one he had handed over to the snowman except slightly shinier.
“Thank you so much, Snow-Quentin.” Quentin said, with a slight tear in his eyes.
“It’s nothing, really. It’s not magical like your old hat. But I need that to, you know, be living snow and all.”
“I understand.”
Quentin stretched his arms to give Snow-Quentin a big hug.
The two embraced, and although Quentin thought it was a rather cold hug, it was a nice conclusion to the saga - they had both realised there was enough room for at least two Quentins in the world, even if one of them was made out of snow.
The End.
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