*sigh*
gift tags were required for the re-directing of plunnies.
Said the Charis: - gift tags ... hmm... under the bed, behind the hallway cabinet thingy,under the sofa, in the closet.. there might be other places but I need more pictures of your house.
Result - A search
Something wasn’t right. He knew the house wasn’t completely empty, the silence held that expectant air of something patient waiting, watching for the perfect opportunity. His first novel was hitting the shelves this week so he should be used to suspense that crackled around him, sudden noises that made him peer around corners expecting attack.
His writers group was a good place to share the little monsters. It meant excited chatter and plots that spun away growing and infecting the group as a whole. He enjoyed sitting back to listen to the resulting stories, empathising with sleep bruised eyes from when the dubious favour was returned.
Someone though had got good at reflecting. Had built defences high and fed the plunnies to rabid intensity before setting them bouncing on their way with a pat to fluffy backsides. He’d gone to bed last night to see his pillow plump under the dishevelled quilt, felt the suggestion of welcoming warmth greeting him and knew his sanctuary had been breached.
Searching the house brought no clues. Under the bed there was an odd sock, an old novel he’d searched weeks for and a cluster of dust bunnies that caused him pause. He wasted the rest of the day cleaning, showering then crawling into bed exhausted with the house smelling lemony fresh and every surface shining. The bed had been warm and soothing.
Next morning he considered the hallway unit; had it moved? was it now resting at an angle? He emptied it out, more polish over various bric-a-brac he’d be better loosing. Pulling the unit forward revealed only how much the hallway needed painting, the brushes were soon out and the windows pushed wide before he returned everything to it’s place. It looked brighter but still no monsters.
Under the sofa. It seemed logical and he peered there as his bath ran. A half chewed dog toy, that was reclaimed with a pleased huff, he got gratitude slobbered over his face and was laughing as he sunk into warm water to scrub clean. Still naked, a fluffy towel draped casually around his hips he went to his closet. Pausing as he remembered childhood tales.
If nothing else he was pretty sure he had a roll of gift tags sitting on the shelf in there. He’d lasso him some critters and parcel them back to the sender. With interest.
He threw the door open and glared at the contents of his closet. He should probably sort through his clothes soon, but it was hard to know when things would come back into fashion, when those tight bright jeans would suit a retro party. His closet stretched open before him like the entrance to a mystical realm. Stretched open and ready for his entrance.
Moving some clothes aside he peered in to dark behind the full hangers and gasped as a hand caught him, pulling him in deep so the doors could slam closed behind him. Stuffed tight in the darkness hot breath fluttered over him and a deep growl purred in his ear ‘about time’
He was reeled in, prey on a hunters line. Masterful hands held him firm and lips claimed his with an expertise that warranted exploration. Hmmm he’d be sending out those plunnies with a vengeance after this but this one plunny. This one he was naming muse and keeping. Stories heated up and un-swirled in the darkness, a soft fluffy towel giving in to gravity and falling unheeded to the floor.
x
Said the Charis: - gift tags ... hmm... under the bed, behind the hallway cabinet thingy,under the sofa, in the closet.. there might be other places but I need more pictures of your house.
Result - A search
Something wasn’t right. He knew the house wasn’t completely empty, the silence held that expectant air of something patient waiting, watching for the perfect opportunity. His first novel was hitting the shelves this week so he should be used to suspense that crackled around him, sudden noises that made him peer around corners expecting attack.
His writers group was a good place to share the little monsters. It meant excited chatter and plots that spun away growing and infecting the group as a whole. He enjoyed sitting back to listen to the resulting stories, empathising with sleep bruised eyes from when the dubious favour was returned.
Someone though had got good at reflecting. Had built defences high and fed the plunnies to rabid intensity before setting them bouncing on their way with a pat to fluffy backsides. He’d gone to bed last night to see his pillow plump under the dishevelled quilt, felt the suggestion of welcoming warmth greeting him and knew his sanctuary had been breached.
Searching the house brought no clues. Under the bed there was an odd sock, an old novel he’d searched weeks for and a cluster of dust bunnies that caused him pause. He wasted the rest of the day cleaning, showering then crawling into bed exhausted with the house smelling lemony fresh and every surface shining. The bed had been warm and soothing.
Next morning he considered the hallway unit; had it moved? was it now resting at an angle? He emptied it out, more polish over various bric-a-brac he’d be better loosing. Pulling the unit forward revealed only how much the hallway needed painting, the brushes were soon out and the windows pushed wide before he returned everything to it’s place. It looked brighter but still no monsters.
Under the sofa. It seemed logical and he peered there as his bath ran. A half chewed dog toy, that was reclaimed with a pleased huff, he got gratitude slobbered over his face and was laughing as he sunk into warm water to scrub clean. Still naked, a fluffy towel draped casually around his hips he went to his closet. Pausing as he remembered childhood tales.
If nothing else he was pretty sure he had a roll of gift tags sitting on the shelf in there. He’d lasso him some critters and parcel them back to the sender. With interest.
He threw the door open and glared at the contents of his closet. He should probably sort through his clothes soon, but it was hard to know when things would come back into fashion, when those tight bright jeans would suit a retro party. His closet stretched open before him like the entrance to a mystical realm. Stretched open and ready for his entrance.
Moving some clothes aside he peered in to dark behind the full hangers and gasped as a hand caught him, pulling him in deep so the doors could slam closed behind him. Stuffed tight in the darkness hot breath fluttered over him and a deep growl purred in his ear ‘about time’
He was reeled in, prey on a hunters line. Masterful hands held him firm and lips claimed his with an expertise that warranted exploration. Hmmm he’d be sending out those plunnies with a vengeance after this but this one plunny. This one he was naming muse and keeping. Stories heated up and un-swirled in the darkness, a soft fluffy towel giving in to gravity and falling unheeded to the floor.
x