Undetermined to March 27, 2013
Mother's KitchenThe horridly pink-painted and floral-wallpapered kitchen was alive with the savory scents of cooking food. Wren was smiling and humming to herself as she tossed the salad--bright red-orange tomatoes, cucumber chunks, sliced onions, carrot slivers all mixed in with the various green lettuce leaves. The bread had been taken out moments ago and was cooling on the island counter, waiting for someone to sneak by and steal a bite. In the oven, one of the main dishes—a meatloaf—cooked and outside, her husband Jacob manned the grill, cooking steaks for those who didn't care for meatloaf.Mother's Kitchen by RemySwan
It was busier today since there were so many more people there than normal. Sisters, a brother, nieces, nephews, her father and step-mother, her mother, her husband, brothers-in-law, a sister-in-law, and her own daughter—all of them were there for dinner which meant that she had to do more cooking than usual. And, for the most part, she was in there on her own.
"Need some help, Wren?" her ste
From any point in the city it is possible to look up and see the grand, towering skyscraper that The Angels call home. It dominates the horizon as Nitch wanders slowly over to the lab, and he hates it. Nobody else does, of course, because they are all beautiful and handsome and successful.
The Angels are the rulers of the city. Amrise, Andolo, Aristotle and Aries. A sister and three brothers.
Golden skinned and ivory haired, with four white feathery wings, they really do look like angels. But no matter how much they call themselves that, they are still demons like everyone else. They just happen to be exceptionally powerful demons, that’s all.
Nitch glares at the building, his mood soured by the sight of it.
It’s because of the Angels that beauty is so important. It’s because of the Angels that Nitch has been an outcast all his life. He hates them fiercely, though he would admit that he likes his apartment, as shitty as it is. And Anan keeps him entertained.
Cheese is a guilty pleasure for Nitch.
He won’t eat it when he’s out, because that’s the cliché, isn’t it? The one seen on all the cartoons and in all the comics. The rat or the mouse always loves cheese. And it’s the go-to bait for the hungry cat. So he just eats it at home. A treat every now and again on the odd occasion that he can afford it.
It was cheese that cost Nitch his right eye.
The guy was more than twice his size, with arms as thick as tree trunks and the typically handsome face of someone belonging to the upper crust of society. But he was carrying a bag from Marcels, the fanciest and most expensive food store in the city. And from within that bag, Nitch could smell cheese.
Turns out tall, dumb and handsome guys don’t like it when you try to steal from them. And they really don’t like it when you insult them and spit in their face before running away with their cheese.
It also turns out that they’re pretty
Scientists are a strange breed.
Nitch sits on a cold metal table, surrounded by a group of four or five grey skinned demons in pristine white lab coats and black gloves. They have four arms and tiny black eyes, comically magnified by the oversized glasses they are all sporting. Their wrinkled heads are topped with wispy tufts of greying hair.
There’s no telling them apart, and Nitch has long since given up trying.
“Arm, please”, says one of them in a scratchy voice, like nails on a chalkboard.
Nitch holds out his arm and a needle is pressed into his skin. The scientists gather around and watch as his blood is extracted, an excited glint in their eyes. Nitch really doesn’t see what the big deal is, but he’s getting paid so he doesn’t complain.
“Prepare the sample!” The one nearest to him exclaims.
Nitch watches as one of them scurries away and returns a moment later with a small cage. There’s an actual rat inside it, thin and tatty f
Nitch wakes up to find he’s lying in a bed that is not his own. The room he’s in is free of clutter, and everything is tidy and clean. An open window lets in the heavy city air.
For a moment, Nitch is confused.
Through the heavy fog that’s settled on his brain he briefly remembers walking to work. The scientists yelling at him that they don’t want a diseased rat in the lab. Walking home again. And then…nothing. Just an inky black void.
His breath is wheezing in his chest and he can feel mucus congealing around his eyes and nostrils. He’s thirsty but he doesn’t have the energy to get up.
“You awake, Rat?”
He turns his head slightly. Crazy old Anan from downstairs walks into the room, a glass of water clutched in his right hand. His voice is gruff and deep and Nitch is surprised to see concern on the old man’s face.
“What happened?” He asks in a quiet, hoarse voice. “Where am I?”
“My room”, An
Drabble: Morning Routinekalsagnia
The sky is, as usual, full of thick rolling smog.
Grey light seeps into the room through a pair of tatty looking curtains. It illuminates the mess that had previously been hidden in the dark. The clutter. The piles and piles of knickknacks and junk – much of it stolen. So much stuff, in fact, that the floor is barely visible beneath it all.
Somewhere amidst all of this is a bed. A thick, fleshy coloured tail pokes out of a pile of blankets and rags and clothes, drooping down onto the floor. Its owner is buried beneath the pile and does not move until, somewhere in the room, an alarm clock begins to wail.
The pile stirs.
A scruffy mop of black and pea green hair emerges. There are two stubby little horns poking through the strands and two large rat ears with neon green insides. One black and green eye wearily blinks open and Nitch yawns widely, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. He scratches absently at his skin, which is grey-green in colour, and glances around for the clock.
Know Your OC: Nitchkalsagnia
1) Pick an OC, get into character, and answer these questions from their POV.
2) You can add commentary, but put them in brackets.
3) No liars allowed; only truth.
4) Yes; you can do this more than once.
5) Have fun!!
1. What is your real name?
2. What is your surname?
Don’t have one. Nobody’s ever asked for it and I’ve never bothered to give myself one. Don’t see a point, frankly.
3. What are your three most popular nicknames?
Filthy rat, Dirty rat and just plain old Rat. People round here are real creative, huh?
4. What is your favourite colour?
Neon green. Don’t knock it.
5. What is your favourite animal?
You really have to ask? Seriously? Its rats!
6. What type of animal/race of human/mythical species are you?
I’m a rat demon. And it sucks.
7. What is your favourite song?
Well, the radio I...uh...’borrowed