07-19-2011, 12:53 PM
((WC: 374))
((I don't mean to complain, but there's no way Opal could know Liam's mother was insane. Few besides he and his father know, and those who do know are very tight lipped about it. Tal usually just says that Kira, Liam's mother, is dead. Oh, and he's seeing things in the first paragraph. No real movement, no butterflies.))
He paused to scratch his ear, then continued on his random walk. He paused outside of an old wooden house, staring up at it. There was movement in the window, he thought. He stared at the window, watching the shadows inside dance, as if thousands of black butterflies were whispering to him. He cocked his head, straining to hear it. He could almost hear....
He slowly walked up the rickety stairs. This house needed a good sanding, a coat of whitewash, and some major repair work. He stopped outside the door, eying it. Did he want to go inside? Yes, he did. He wanted to know why the butterflies were calling to him. The door was cracked, wisps of old paint and flakes of wood peeling. It was warped, and it didn't take much for the young male to nudge it open with his shoulder. He stepped a foot in musty red carpet. He lifted a paw in surprise, then set it down gingerly, testing the springy fabric under his feet.
"Weird..." he muttered to himself. He lifted his head, staring into the gloom. Heavy curtains covered all the windows, looking like one touch and they'd fall away. The air was stale, as though no one had been in this house since the fall of man. He glanced around, and saw the stairs. Lifting his feet high as if he were walking through snow, the young male made his way to the staircase. They were steep, but he climbed them anyways. Down a hallway several rooms laid in wait, the doors shut. One room on the very end laid open, beckoning the young male in. He approached slowly, his hackles raised.
The room he was in was empty. No furniture in the room, only the carpeting and the same heavy curtains as downstairs. The closet door stood open a fraction. Liam crossed the room, sticking his nose in to sniff. A sharp pain, and the young male fell over as a young black cat came tearing out. He let out an involuntary yelp as he stumbled away, his nose carrying fresh cat scratches. He sat on his haunches in the middle of the room rubbing his nose with his paw and muttering to himself.
((I don't mean to complain, but there's no way Opal could know Liam's mother was insane. Few besides he and his father know, and those who do know are very tight lipped about it. Tal usually just says that Kira, Liam's mother, is dead. Oh, and he's seeing things in the first paragraph. No real movement, no butterflies.))
He paused to scratch his ear, then continued on his random walk. He paused outside of an old wooden house, staring up at it. There was movement in the window, he thought. He stared at the window, watching the shadows inside dance, as if thousands of black butterflies were whispering to him. He cocked his head, straining to hear it. He could almost hear....
He slowly walked up the rickety stairs. This house needed a good sanding, a coat of whitewash, and some major repair work. He stopped outside the door, eying it. Did he want to go inside? Yes, he did. He wanted to know why the butterflies were calling to him. The door was cracked, wisps of old paint and flakes of wood peeling. It was warped, and it didn't take much for the young male to nudge it open with his shoulder. He stepped a foot in musty red carpet. He lifted a paw in surprise, then set it down gingerly, testing the springy fabric under his feet.
"Weird..." he muttered to himself. He lifted his head, staring into the gloom. Heavy curtains covered all the windows, looking like one touch and they'd fall away. The air was stale, as though no one had been in this house since the fall of man. He glanced around, and saw the stairs. Lifting his feet high as if he were walking through snow, the young male made his way to the staircase. They were steep, but he climbed them anyways. Down a hallway several rooms laid in wait, the doors shut. One room on the very end laid open, beckoning the young male in. He approached slowly, his hackles raised.
The room he was in was empty. No furniture in the room, only the carpeting and the same heavy curtains as downstairs. The closet door stood open a fraction. Liam crossed the room, sticking his nose in to sniff. A sharp pain, and the young male fell over as a young black cat came tearing out. He let out an involuntary yelp as he stumbled away, his nose carrying fresh cat scratches. He sat on his haunches in the middle of the room rubbing his nose with his paw and muttering to himself.