Tubbius frowns unhappily at His Tubbox gaming system. It suddenly wanted to download an update, but the TubbNet is being fickle tonight.
On top of that, His Portliness is burning up in His nightgown tonight. That might just have to come off, even if it means His sitting in bed in just Tubbra and underwear.
Or, Mrs. Tubbius hrm hrms, He could just turn down the heat slightly. While Piggy Cliff is perpetually snowy, now, even in summer, there might be such a thing as being too warm. She isn't very pleased, Herself, at the moment. One of the maids in the palace is about to begin labor for twins within the hour, and Her Gravidity is both burning up, as well, and beginning to feel the divinely connected sympathetic pains and contractions.
His Rotundity politely adjusts the thermostat, wriggles out of His gown, and softly mmphs His support for this rather frequent occurrence. Tubbians are nothing if not fat and prolific, just like their royal many-great-grandparents. At least these pseudo-deliveries do nothing to harm or affect Her Motherhood's own, rather often, pregnancies. If they did, there would never be any more baby princes and princesses--certainly not MORE.
Your Imaginary Friend and Loftegen 2