It was the year 1000 and humanity had evolved at an alarming rate. However, the other Morrow Days were still clowning around as usual, though there seemed to be something disturbing about their behaviour.
'SILENCE!!!'
Even Sunday jumped, for it was not him who had screamed. It was the usually silent Sir Thursday, who was attempting to prise Lady Friday from his arm.
'Get off me you degenerate!' Yelled Thursday as the Mistress of the Middle house puckered up. 'This is not the time!'
'Oh sorry Thursday, we forgot what side you really played for.' asked Monday, sniggering. He then made a noise that sounded like 'musical theatre…' before falling forward, fast asleep.
All the days stared at him, except for Wednesday who did not appear to have noticed, as she was too busy stuffing down a whole meringue pie. She only noticed once Monday's arm knocked some hors d'oeuvres, rather inappropriately onto her breasts. Wednesday slapped Monday into consciousness before cleaning off the crumbs into her hand and scoffing them down with a small drink.
She followed the small drink by draining the gravy boat loudly.
Sunday sighed and turned to his deputy, who was pinning a 'Superior Saturday' name badge to her gown.
'Saturday, call for order.'
'Why can't you do it my lord?'
'Because I'm the son of the Architect. The most superior Denizen in the house!'
'Alright… Morrow Days please calm down!
The other Days reluctantly turned to face Saturday, who regarded them all as if they were lower life forms. Monday was the only one who did not turn round; in fact he had managed to balance himself on his armrest and had swiftly fallen asleep.
'Now I trust you've all been reading the newsletter that will have turned up a your demesnes regularly?'
The Days all grunted affirmatively. After repeatedly smashing his inter-demesne messaging system with a sledgehammer, Lord Sunday had insisted on sending messages across the house via a newsletter system, which the other Days had made contributions to.
At least, they had all made contributions in the beginning until Lord Sunday had cancelled 'Lady Friday's Lonely Hearts column' and 'Thursday's How to lose friends and pulverise people' after he declared that their subject matters were not appropriate for a high class newsletter. Lady Friday had protested that Sunday's five page photoshoot was hardly appropriate either and it was this remark that had caused him to stab her with an 'experiencing' drug. The other Days did not see the Mistress of the Middle House until several days later, when she insisted that she was a Viking Goddess. The paper currently consisted of three sections:
Life and Opinions of Lord Sunday: (subtitled-Your Superior and don't you bloody well forget it)
Tales of the Front lines by Sir Thursday, Supreme Overlord of the Great Maze
And finally, the news itself, which was a group effort. However, due to Monday's current narcolepsy, Wednesday's gorging and Sunday's staunch refusal to share an article with his underlings, it eventually boiled down to the remaining Days to write it, and they too, were finding it difficult to work, what with Tuesday seeming unable to write anything original, Thursday's violent temper exploding every time there was a spelling mistake and Saturday spending the entire time complaining about how she was much better than Sunday. As for Friday, she spent about five minutes working before disappearing with different Denizens, before returning in what could only be described as 'a rather odd mood'.
Sunday was about to move on before Lady Wednesday cleared her throat, which could mean only one thing, the buffet was empty.
'Yes Lady Wednesday?'
'Well, me and Lady Saturday have been doing some thinking…'
There was a sarcastic cough from Thursday.
'And we think that we should restore the Will.'
Gasps came from the conscious Days.
'Is this true Lady Saturday?' Sunday asked, fixing his subordinate with an imperious glare.
'Er… of course not! It was all her idea!' Saturday yelled quickly, going to place a hand over the mouth of the indignant Wednesday. There was no need however, as the turncoat Day had lost her composure and had begin chewing into the table.
'In that case, Lady Wednesday, by the power vested in me by the Glorious Architect, a.k.a. The Creator of all, a.k.a. Mum, I strip you of your Key and demesne.'
Sunday pointed the Seventh Key at Wednesday, who looked up from her unusual meal to be hit by an invisible beam. The Third Key flew from her belt, and the Duchess of the Border Sea began to expand…
A short while later, after the leviathan Wednesday had been expelled from the room, and the indignant Sunday had been expelled from her stomach and hosed down, a sort of peace returned to the room. None of the Days noticed, or particularly cared that Friday had disappeared.
'Now that's over, I once again end this Morrow Days council, which has proceeded terribly…as usual. I bid farewell to all of you, and hope that you can leave without causing too much…'
At that moment, Wednesday's Dawn, Friday's Dusk and Thursday's Noon burst in, and begin to speak at once.
'Sir, sir…the Lady Wednesday just ate my brothers!'
'The Great Maze is under attack…again!
'We caught Lady Friday streaking through the hall sir!'
At this last message, Tuesday and Sunday leapt up, with a little more enthusiasm than they usually showed.
'But sir, what shall I do about the Third Key?'
'Oh I'm sure you can come up with something…'
Much later…
'I meant put it in the safe or something, not seal it in a worldlet inside her stomach guarded by a pirate! What is wrong with you?'
Sunday sighed. Every time…