Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-32558333-20200418022721/@comment-36855838-20200507140619

Lemme just move this closer so I can work easier.

GNAL.LUI-DJ wrote:

You're at home, doing nothing important when you hear the doorbell, you go to answer and find a Kikimora standing at the other side. Something you noticed is that she wasn't wearing the traditional maid uniform that all the Kikimoras used, she's wearing a black suit with black gloves and sunglasses, after a few moments she spoke

"Greetings, I was hired to clean you, may I come in?"

You moved aside to let her pass, as you closed the door you wondered why she's here, you don't remember asking for a maid as you didn't need one anyway, then something got your attention

"Wait, wha' d'you mean with you were hired to clean..."

You turned around and hear the Kikimora gasping in surprise when she looks you in the eyes, your face turned pale when you saw a pistol in her hand as she was attaching a silencer on it

"...me?"

WWYD?

The surprise evident on her face, she lowered the gun.

"A-are you Harold Smith?"

Confused, I shake my head no.

"No, this is 302B, you'll want 302A, he's my neighbor, you see. Why, has he done something wrong?"

Something washes over her, whether it's relief or sorrow, the tension has drained from her muscles, she looks far less unsettling now, and without her propping herself up to full height, her long red and black tie comes down below her waist.

She takes a few nervous gulps of air, apparently her thick, layered suit is poorly composed for the muggy heat of a floridian summer.

Perhaps she's from New York, or Chicago?

"C-could I trouble you for a-a?"

"Glass o' water?"

She returns a nervous smile and nods.

As I walk to the kitchen, I can barely hear the quiet click-clack of her scaled feet on the tiled floor, evidently she's used to sneaking, if I hadn't known she were here I would have dismissed it as nothing.

Water in hand, my ears follow her footsteps, and I turn to face her.

While slightly surprised by my lack thereof, she takes the water with all the grace a woman who is sweating like a bison in an oven can.

I grab a chair from the kitchen table, and she manages to collapse into it just perfectly to pop open the top three buttons of her shirt, opening the collar, cooling her off, and coming just shy of showing anything particularly interesting.

Evidently, she's all business today.

"So, name's Harry Selwyn," I say as I pull up a seat to join her by the refridgerator, "that'll be the reason for the H.S. on the nameplate outside, if you're wondering, he moved into his apartment first," she nods along vacantly, either uninterested or trying very hard forget all I say, "and neither of us wanted to change from initials because of the cost."

"302A?"

I nod, while she fills and downs another glassful of water from the fridge fountain.

She pushes up her sunglasses with her middle finger, unbuttoning her top a little more and brushing her tie aside.

"Thank you very much, Mr. . ."

"Selwyn," I say, struggling not to look as she hefts her surprisingly ample bosom.

"You can look, if you's like."

As I steal a glance, there's a bright flash of ligh-

---

I'm washing the dishes, the chairs are all pushed in.

Why would that be noteworthy, though?

I struggle to remember, but it escapes me.

No matter, I have a date tonight!

I can't believe my luck, but I saw a door-to-door saleswoman today, and she asked if she could come back for dinner!

To think a Kikimora would find me worthy, it's got my stomach full of butterflies.

As the timer goes off, I take the chicken off the heat, ready to finish off cooking the fried rice.

''I hear the doorbell. . .''