=17= [dream] - slightly backdated!
The floorboards seem larger for some reason. Hm. Or maybe they’re just closer. That would make sense since the bar top seems higher up than usual. Still, it doesn’t take much effort to reach it. You are light and long-limbed. Your face reflects in the window as you pass and you notice nothing but short pale hair and luminous silver eyes. Your appearance never particularly interested you. It’s not of any use.
Odd, though. The trash bin seems farther off than you remember, too. And it smells much better than it has any right to. Casual, you move down the counter to investigate. Sniff. Sniff. And you’re leaning over the bar, peering in. Is that chicken scraps from the grill? Just the smell of them makes you hungry. Weird. You’re almost never hungry.
But it’s there and it’s perfectly good and you are hungry, so who is it going to hurt if you just sneak them out? No one will care. Lightly you land on the edge of the bin and reach in daintily. That chicken is just inches from your nose.
And all of a sudden, the world shifts. Someone grabs the back of your neck and you lose your footing, limbs dangling in confusion, and you are carried across the bar like a piece of meat. Indignities! How dare someone take hold of you in your own home for trying to reclaim some perfectly good food from the bin. But for some reason you can’t even think to tell them off until you’ve already been tossed out the door. You turn, face the entrance and scowl. But when you open your mouth to protest, only one irritated sound comes out.
Meow!
Odd, though. The trash bin seems farther off than you remember, too. And it smells much better than it has any right to. Casual, you move down the counter to investigate. Sniff. Sniff. And you’re leaning over the bar, peering in. Is that chicken scraps from the grill? Just the smell of them makes you hungry. Weird. You’re almost never hungry.
But it’s there and it’s perfectly good and you are hungry, so who is it going to hurt if you just sneak them out? No one will care. Lightly you land on the edge of the bin and reach in daintily. That chicken is just inches from your nose.
And all of a sudden, the world shifts. Someone grabs the back of your neck and you lose your footing, limbs dangling in confusion, and you are carried across the bar like a piece of meat. Indignities! How dare someone take hold of you in your own home for trying to reclaim some perfectly good food from the bin. But for some reason you can’t even think to tell them off until you’ve already been tossed out the door. You turn, face the entrance and scowl. But when you open your mouth to protest, only one irritated sound comes out.
Meow!