Here's a game for a bit of fun. I've written the beginning of a story, and I suggest we write it passage by passage. If you're up for it, write a follow-up passage to mine and then tag the next person to continue the story. We'll keep going until we get bored of it 🙌🏻😂
It was late on a Friday evening in a small flat in St John's Wood. Catherine had just finished her usual shower and was putting the final touches to her routine, applying cream to her legs and taking care of her nails. There was something mindless on the television, lavender-scented candles burning nearby, and a cup of herbal tea slowly cooling on the table.
Suddenly, Catherine heard a knock at the door and someone shouted:
"Standish!"
She froze for a second, but the voice continued.
"Standish, open the door. I know you're in there."
Catherine reluctantly got to her feet and headed for the door. The last thing she wanted to do right now was welcome the hulking figure producing that painfully familiar voice.
I love it!! Thanks for sending it to me @lilylogue. But she knew better than to expect him to do the sensible thing and let her be. Once something had taken hold of his mind, he would see it through, often to the detriment of everybody else involved.
She opened the door. He was leaning on the wall, as if this were commonplace. He looked rougher than usual. Smelled worse. It seemed the weeks without anybody to manage his moods had taken their toll.
"Leave."
"In a moment. Was passing by. Felt it my duty to make sure you hadn't fallen off the wagon."
"You've seen me. I haven't. Be on your way."
"Christ. It's worse. You've finally decided to embrace your lot."
He was looking past her, at the cat sleeping on a blanket on the couch.
"Not that's any of your business, but it's my neighbours. I'm pet-sitting for the weekend."
The cat seemed to have somehow understood he was the centre of the conversation. He opened an eye before jumping off the couch and walking to the door. Not to hiss at the intruder. No. The little traitor rubbed itself around Lamb's legs, marking him as his own.
@dallirious Do you want to try to find the plot 😂?
Lamb crouched down. His hand pressed firmly to the back of the cat's head, then stroked down its back. The cat stretched beneath his touch, shaking its head once its tail flicked free. As Lamb looked up at Standish, he raised his eyebrows. A smirk on his lips. "What? Didn't expect me to enjoy stroking your-"
She inhaled sharply, her whole body tense.
"You think I’d show up here drunk?"
"I think you’d manage to show up at your own funeral drunk, so coming here six sheets to the wind wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination. "
A roar in the distance —from a feline clearly more advanced in evolutionary terms— loud enough to put the smaller cat on alert.
And the moment was gone.
The latter, driven by a sudden urge to break free and assert territorial dominance over the foster flat, urgently wriggled out of the harmless arms that rocked him and ran demandingly into the living room.
"Christ." Jackson drew his arm back with a wince. "Have you ever thought of flushing him down the toilet?"
"Again, is my neighbour's!" He had it coming, she thought. But wouldn't laugh and stoop to his level. She would allow herself a victory smile on the inside, however. "Come on, let me see."
They were nothing more than a few crimson spots caused by the fright. He would have licked them away if he could, no doubt. Just like his new furry admirer.
Jackson was in fact a bit like a cat, come to think of it. He could sleep anywhere, but always ready to run. His accuracy remained the same whether there was light or not. He’d eat anything off your plate the moment you took your eye off him.
Definitely a reflection for another time.
But at the thought of it, Catherine grabbed his wrist and led him back to where she'd been minutes before the intrusion, reaching down for one of the bottles.
"I happen to have a–"
He glanced around again. She was clearly trying to forge new routines with... anything apparently. Every bottle, jar or flask she posessed, laid out on the table in front of the couch.
He concluded she'd completely lost it and was sorting every single item from smallest to largest.
"None of your witch's brews!" He broke free from her grip, as if he genuinely was afraid of non-consensual poisoning. "Wasn't enough you stole a cat, you're casting spells as well?"
Catherine sighed at the memory of frustration. In the first weeks she had indeed struggled without the benefits of her routine's methodical precision. But now– now she was filled with the satisfaction of not having to put up with his nonsense day in, day out.
"It's povidone, Jackson." She pointed to the label. Something was definitely up.
[ @eliaca quieres continuar el cadáver exquisito? ]
@aladio-milhomes espero no te arrepientas por pasarme la estafeta... ---
Catherine unscrewed the cap of the povidone bottle while Jackson continued making his way around the flat with a sense of purpose she didn't recognize in him.
"What are you looking for?"
"Something that doesn't fit."
"Besides you."
He let out a quiet snort of laughter, then looked at the cat and back at her.
@eliaca Ay, me encanta, cuánto suspense!!! ahora no sé cómo continuarlo, me parece perfecto ❤️😅
Muchas gracias por haberme etiquetado, voy a intentarlo
