Thread: untitled (dream/jinx)

It was those exact same cries that made Deacon's staying in the forest-ridden vista harder and harder. The walls between rooms were outlandishly thin. Each grunt, slap and howl could be heard clear through the drywall. Of course the twenty-five year old, over-sized man was doing your typical male-oriented activity, watching sports, until he realized the time. Bright, bold red letters read 515pm on the digital clock aside his bed. Estelle was due over around 530. His chocolate brown eyes went wide he scrambled forward for his t-shirt on his bed, but stumbled, and hit the scuffed wood floor with a sickening thud. Things just didn't seem to be going well for him today. After lying on the floor in complete dismay for two minutes, the hulking man climbed to his feet, fetched his top and skittered out of his tidy chamber. The hallway was relatively clean save for a few food stains here and there, and the laundry basket had to be taken to the basement ... but who was he to complain? Basil. Deacon's deep, stark voice fled his mouth much like a bark. Basil, he commanded again, curling his fingers and wrapping loudly at the lycan's room door. After a period of time the lycan finally adhered to Deacon's behest and pried the door ajar. 10 minutes, Deacon warned. Of course he was referring to the amount of time before his sister came. She was a frightening woman, tall and illustrious, but her eyes ... physically and mentally, they were torturous. Please ... no more of those fast boys while she's here. Deacon rarely spoke, but when he did, it was a majestic happening indeed. The pleading tone of his velveteen voice could possibly even make Wesley weep ... given the right incentive, of course. Meanwhile, Deacon's guest had already arrived. Much to his dismay she was curled up all snug on the couch aside two other large-sized lycans who were all too happy telling their 'horror' stories about fights, and explaining the gory detail of their war wounds. Of course, the men were hounding over Deacon's little sister. She was a true, genuine woman, tall and curvaceous. Her bust was plump as plump could be while her complexion was left naturally bronzed no thanks to her Brazilian roots. Estelle? Deacon breathed curtly, sliding his grey snowboarding toque from his shaggy black mop. As the woman turned her head, her tempest beryl eyes bore into her brother's face while her lion's mane fell from grace and framed her soft yet mature facial features. Much to Deacon's chagrin, a beer was already curled tight in her manicured claws. Do I get a hug? he pressed, but of course, he had to come to her for an embrace. She knelt up on the couch and gave her brother a loving embrace, skillfully balancing her beer in her hand while she hooked her forearm around his neck. I missed you, he hummed sweetly. I haven't seen you in years ... you've grown over a foot, Estelle said in reply. Her voice was like her brothers but feminine. Softer, lighter, but it held immense authority and even a slight foreign twinge. I have some friends I'd like you too meet, aside from those two over there, he jested, Basil and ... Wesley, but I don't even know if he's here anymore.listulistulistu