witty repertoire

Elvira Winters · 04-16-2011, 06:34 PM

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She was getting better with stairs. Despite her limbs becoming longer and her body stretching out to greater lengths, puppy-fat still clung determinedly to her rotund form—her belly still hit every stair as she slowly made her way downward with anything but grace. Waddling along—nails clicking on the floor—she slipped outside.

Today, it was cloudy. A light mist fell. Within seconds her thin coat was soaked through, and shivering violently, she retreated back inside—a disgusted scowl on her plump features. Sitting just inside the door, she watched the rain fall. Thunder rumbled in the distance and one ear twitched at the sound.

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Elijah Winters · 04-16-2011, 09:05 PM

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omg haaay

The weather did not make the desire to leave his bed prominent, but Elijah was growing and still had a desire to explore. He crawled out from the nest of blankets that made up his bed and spent a few moments investigating the room. Neither of his sisters nor his mother were present, which meant they had all gone out. Used to such a thing, for he often slept later than they did, he trotted out into the hallway with a mind at ease. This lasted only momentarily, for there was a rumble of thunder that brought worry into his frame. Elijah was not afraid of many things (for he was happily oblivious to most), but the noise made him uneasy.

A familiar scent drifted up with the rain and the puppy slunk towards it. He did not always hide from his sister, for there was hope within him she might one day be nice. Perched at the top of the stairs, he watched her chubby sun-colored fur silently. The owlish look on his face was not entirely vacant, for his mind worked in a series of fast-paced and often remarkably deep thoughts that pulled him away from his otherwise simple existence.

Elvira Winters · 04-16-2011, 10:59 PM

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!

Somewhere behind her Elijah appeared. Eventually, her head turned, spotting him perched at the top of the stairs. Briefly, she narrowed her yellow eyes. Even if she couldn’t understand why, she knew that everyone seemed to prefer the others over her. Neglect only shortened her temper. She rose, trundling to the bottom of the staircase. Pausing there, sun-colored eyes stared upward.

“Come here,” she demanded in her childish voice, hardly expecting him to comply, but attempting anyway. Perhaps she could find some sort of use for him, since it was raining outside, lessening her options for the day.

Elijah Winters · 04-16-2011, 11:35 PM

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shoot gurl why you gotta be offline when I have plots to discuss

Oh, she turned and he hated the way her eyes looked. Even from the distance she was much too sharp, much too much like a cat or a hunting bird. Her tone was equally as piercing and his ears fanned back against his head. There was no desire in him to go downstairs. The last time he had his foot had been eaten by the dirt and it had been scary. Nervously, he perched atop the steps with baby-blue eyes wide and staring down at his spitfire sister.

He did not speak, but shook his head aggressively. The smiling bandana around his neck contrasted against the blank expression on his dark face, for he rarely smiled around his sister.

Elvira Winters · 04-18-2011, 09:08 PM

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Had she been human, or even possessed arms and legs, she’d have stood there with her hands on her hips, glaring up as he disregarded her request, shaking his head violently in an obvious decline. Instead, she could only stand on her four limbs, narrowing her yellow eyes and contemplating how to get him to bend to her will.

There was always a way to get what she wanted—it was just figuring out how to go about it. “Let’s play,” she crooned, adopting a sugary-sweet tone. Her ears slid forward as she smiled in a manner that was supposed to be anything short of wicked.

Elijah Winters · 04-27-2011, 11:28 AM

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Even if she wasn’t capable of displaying her true frustration, the boy could read it in her body. Elijah might not have inferred her true feelings yet, but he was worried she was mad. However, the little blonde girl only looked up at him nicely. She looked at him the way Odette sometimes did, when she was trying to put up with his odd behavior. Everything, though, was forgotten with the idea of play. Play could be fun, right?

The boy began to toddle down the steps, his body movements awkward from their lack of practice. He tripped towards the end and landed on his belly, whining lowly.

Elvira Winters · 05-01-2011, 01:19 AM

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One day deceit would be her mantle. One day she’d be the queen of terrible things. Until then, she was nothing more than a pudgy infant with wicked desires. The meaning of cruelty, or life and death hadn’t yet been imposed on her. Right and wrong didn’t exist. Her brother made his way down the stairs, enticed so innocently by the prospect of play with his sister.

He was naïve, innocent, and seemingly oblivious of her darker motives. Her version of amusement was wrong. But still, she smiled. “What shall we play?” she asked, as though she didn’t have anything already in mind. She suddenly seemed thoughtful, silently contemplating.

“Let’s play hide and seek,” she said, ever so dimly devious.

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Elijah Winters · 05-02-2011, 05:27 PM

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One would never suspect from their exteriors that the sun and the moon existed in the wrong hearts. Where his sister was shadow, cold and unwelcoming, Elijah opened his eyes and heart wide to the world. The grayish-white boy rose up to meet his sun-colored, dark hearted sister. She smiled, and he returned it in his toothy way. Had he known cruelty, he would have looked like a wolf, a crocodile—yet he was a child and lost within his own being, and knew little of the world outside.

Hide and seek was a game he understood. Silently, he wagged his tail high in the air. His sister closed her eyes and began to count, and off he ran in a scurry. While going up the stairs would be an obvious choice, he instead bolted down the hallway of the hotel’s first floor, looking for a good place to hide. An old janitors closet, with the door inched open, became his. Elijah quickly buried himself in a corner where musty-smelling things lay, shutting his eyes in the hopes if he did not see her that she would miss him.

Elvira Winters · 05-05-2011, 08:54 PM

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The numbers slowly rolled from her tongue, chasing the merle-coated youth away into a distant broom closet. Eventually, her counting slowed and died away into silence, just as yellow eyes opened, searching, knowing that he wouldn’t be in plain sight. Practice made perfect, and such childish games were merely a guise for useful skills garnered that’d aid later on in life. She lowered her nose to the floor, inhaling the myriad of different scents residing there. Quickly, she found his—fresh and recent, luring her toward the hallway. Slowly, she trundled along, following his invisible trail, tracing a path toward the closet.

But she didn’t enter. She didn’t even cry out or make her presence known.

Instead, she moved forward and slammed the door closed with a sharp click. There was a triumphant, vicious look on her face. Oh, how everyone seemed to prefer her silent, bizarre sibling. She despised any attention lavished on the quiet boy. So, she’d lock him away from the world. Had she been older, her methods may have been far more devious than simply closing a door, trapping him until someone found him. Pleased, she trotted off, waving her feathered trail in a slow, victorious manner.

Elijah Winters · 05-11-2011, 05:33 PM

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In the closet, he was hardly noticeable. While a solid pelt might suit others, the merle patterns Elijah wore played with light and shadow and allowed him to blend into these places between. His red bandana gave him away, forever smiling, but the boy had no concept of such a thing. He wiggled and did his best to stay quiet, even as he heard her approaching footfalls, even as he knew that the game would soon come to a close. There was a pattern in the way they played, and so he expected such a thing.

Today, though, the pattern was broken. The light vanished. Elijah froze. His ears rose and his body followed suit. This wasn’t right. This was wrong. A low whine escaped him as he crawled out of the pile of scraps and made his way to the door. The door was gone. No light came through except for a fine line along the bottom. Panic filled him, not because he was locked in a room, but because this was not how his routine was supposed to go. Sharp claws began to tear at the bottom of the door as a frantic whine turned into a high-pitched yowl, a screaming puppy-voice that was equally as horrible as it was muffled, ever so slightly, by the closed door.

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