bats13

Quaxo tiptoed into Bustopher's home through the doggie door that lead into his elaborate garden. Inside opera music echoed in his ears and off the walls of the house. It was a fancy house with marble floors and portraits along muted walls with the occasional bust. As the two tuxedos walked Quaxo started to drool, a wonderful aroma was coming from…from somewhere. The smell reminded his stomach he had not eaten yet today. "Mr. Jones?" Quaxo ventured as they entered the parlor. The twenty-five pound cat jumped onto an elegant royal blue couch, "What is it boy?" he asked. "When can I eat?" Bustopher laughed, "In due time kit, in due time

Come home. –SM What do you need? - JM Please. –SM Tell me why and then I'll consider it. – JM Jim, please. Just come home. -SM Jesus Christ Sebastian, your whining is so terribly grating on my nerves. Yes, I will come home. Give me twenty minutes and I'll be there. – JM Jim removed the papers stacked upon his desk and dismissed the pathetic client before him; he wasn't going to be worth his time anyway. He hailed a cab and gave an address just about a block from their flat, one can never be too careful. Jim walked the distance to the flat in little time, letting his head roll about the different reasons that Sebastian could want him hom

She was dreaming again.  Night after night, her dreams were haunted by him.  But this one was different. She’d expected it to be the standard “final confrontation”, but this time, he wasn’t playing by the rules… “It’s only a crystal, nothing more.  But if you turn it this way and that, it will show you your dreams…”  He offered her the crystal, and as if compelled by some unseen force, she took it.  When she looked into it, she gasped, nearly dropping the orb. Visions of her…and him.  Of rocking to sleep a golden-haired infant with his mother’s eyes; of hide-and-seek with two giggling

A night in New York City. Supposedly the proud parent of romantic encounters around the numerous landmarks, gigantic blow out parties in the hottest night clubs, and the ritziest people found on every high end block. Now, if someone could explain how that translated to you dragging a drunken Mr. Ackerman home, that would be just lovely. Beginnings are the best place to start things, so let's roll back a few hours. The annual company bash was in full swing, the windows of the office's lobby reverberating with the noise. You weren't sure if a single coworker was sober outside yourself. Even the sullen Mikasa had a pink tint to her cheeks, and