Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-34068755-20180115050558/@comment-36855838-20190815031817

Cough, Grimderp, cough

I knock twice on the oakwood door, the rap of my knuckles giving way to the hollow echo of a house that is empty where it matters, and full where it most certainly does not.

I step backward, away from the door, my arms crossed behind my back, my one suit freshly drycleaned for the occasion.

As the pacing of soft, padded feet echoes towards the peephole, I take a moment to admire one of the several thousand or so orchids and tulips which dot the front lawn.

At long last, the doorknob turns, and the door swings open in absolute silence, a blast of frigid air pelting me in the face.

Before me stands a freckled, pale-skinned, black-haired, bony, blue-eyed, dry-nosed, wide-hipped, baggy-clothed, thin-lipped jackal.

"Good afternoon, Andrew. I must. . . apologize for my appearance, I have been preparing your present, it has not been easy."

She crosses her arms beneath her moderate chest, and she leans against the doorframe as if she has been climbing up and down hills all day, coughing, panting, her tongue lolling loose from her mouth.

Her Khaki skirt, I note, is torn, exposing part of her thigh, her thick black turtleneck sweater is missing half of the collar on her left side, and her nails are uncharacteristically unpainted, her right hand is dripping with a small amount of blood, though the source is likely buried up her drenched sleeve, just out of sight.

She motions weakly for me to enter the house, and a pair of the twelve kikimora melt their way out of the shadows of the coat closet.

The one on my left wears a tight white shirt, and a pair of short cotton shorts, her eyes are a light chestnut colour, and her full lips are stretched open into a crooked facsimile of a smile.

"It would be a pleasure to take your coat, sir."

I wave her off.

"No need, miss, I'm just here to collect something, I don't intend to stay very long."

The other one, her eyes are red, and her hair is long, less curly, a deeper black, she takes Diana by the left arm and escorts her toward the staircase, her long blue and black dress swaying along with her hips.

"Let's get you cleaned up and bandaged, mistress, and then we'll bring you some dinner!"

I call after them, "What about my gi-?!"

I feel a sharp tug at the end of my sleeve, the Chestnut one yanks again, harder, and I lose balance.

I cry out, but she clamps her hand over my mouth, and I land with a loud THUMP in the seat of a large, soft wheelchair.

"Please relax, sir, would you like something to drink?"

I jump, her hot breath on my ear and her sudden closeness putting me off.

"No, thank you. I would like to see Bart as soon as possible."

I feel her hand on my shoulder, the grip is tight, almost painful.

"I'm sorry sir, but you must know our bodies age more gracefully than our hearing, and I am about 200 years old! What did you say you wanted to drink?"

Her grip tightens.

"J-just some water, p-please."

She nods, her grip softens.

"Ice, sir?"

I nod my head slowly, "Yes, if it's not too much trouble."

She grabs the handles, and begins pushing me towards the kitchen.

---

We arrive in the kitchen with little incident, and Chestnut practically dances her way from the handles to the refrigerator.

She takes out a cup and pushes it against the lever, activating the waterspout.

Once the glass is almost full, she brings it to me, and I take a sip.

The water is warm, at least compared to the ambient temperature.

"Is the ice maker busted?"

Chestnut looks at me like I've murdered her entire family, her eyes wide and very suddenly blodshot, her tail standing straight on end, the gray fearhers bristling with seething contempt.

She snatches the glass from my hand, and stares into the depths of the water, her veins popping out of her forehead, her face contorting into a horrific carving of anguish and unbridled rage, her hands shaking.

The glass shatters in her hands, not inward, but outward.

Blood drips from her cut hands, coating the solid mass of ice which was previously warm water.

I quickly stand, looking for some form of escape.

Chestnut, having none of it, slaps me across the face.

I land back in the wheelchair, which I realize has long, tall gaps beneath the armrests.

Chestnut climbs in on top of my lap, sliding her hips all the way forward until we are uncomfortably close.

"Drink."

I regard the bloody ball of ice she is continually shoving into my cheek with an apropriate level of enthusiasm.

"It's solid, I can't drink ice."

She contorts her face again, and this tine I can feel her whole body tensing along with it.

The ice instantly melts, splattering all over us and steaming away.

Mere moments later, we both erupt into uncontrollable screams.

Just as we pause for breath, Bart walks in through the backyard door.

---

"What is the neaning of this?"

Batholomew stands in the next room, and Chestnut is sitting in a plain wooden chair, her body shaking, her eyes wide, tears. flowing from her eyes.

I watch silently from behind the door.

"The water was n-not cooperating. The water never listens to Edith, The water hates Edith, do not hate Edith too, master, I am doing my best! I promise, I will try harder! I will!"

She starts flailing, bucking her hips to slide the chiar closer to him, as if she were tied to it at the wrists.

He sighs, and pinches his nose.

Edith starts flailing in a more frantic manner, and as Bart grabs something out of sight, she goes stock still.

"Will you behave?"

She nods, rapidly.

He pats her on her head.

"Good. Good girl. Lay."

She leaps from her chair, and goes completely limp, flopping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Okay, sit!"

She springs into a cross-leged, sagelike position.

He walks towards her, and strokes her hair.

"Good girl."

He must have lost concentration, because whatever he was holding falls from his hand, and the ringing sound it releases leaves Edith Cowering on the floor, whimpering like a baby.

Bart picks it up, and returns it to it's place.

Edith is still cowering, and Bart pulls something ropelike from the wall of the room.

He turns towards the door.

"Head out back, I'll be out shortly to escort you through the gardens!"

As I step out the back of the house, a loud crack echoes from behind me, and Edith howls.

---

About half a minute later, Bart steps outside.

"Alright, let's go see your present!"

He steps past me, and I size him up as I follow him into the hedge maze.

His frame is large, muscular, but not positively bulging with strength.

His clothes are casual, a pair of khaki shorts and a baggy, blue and red plaid button-up shirt.

The Buttons are all undone, and so the shirt behaves moe like a cape with sleeves, covering his back but leaving his chest exposed.

Where he got all the scars visible there becomes apparent once we reach the metal shed at the heart of the maze.

"Here's your present!"

I incline my head.

"A shed?"

He shakes his head.

"No, silly, inside the shed!"

I walk towards the door, and inspect it.

"There's no handle."

He walks up, and kicks the door on a spot painted blue, sending it flying open.

In the darkness of the depths of the shed, I can see a faint, flickering light.

I head cautiously towards it, and suddenly, another light joins it.

The slight increase to the glow allows me to make out a face.

"A hellhound?!"

He nods, shutting the door and striking a match, he lights a lantern.

She squints at the bright light, growling softly.

"So, what do you think of your gift?"

I look at her agaib, now that I can see.

Her skin is black, and covered in short, smooth, soft fur.

Her eyes shine, reflecting the light of the lantern like a cat's, and her ears twitch as I examine her clothes.

She's wearing a tight white T-shirt, covered in datk red blotches, and a pleated white skirt, also coated in red spots.

Only then do I notice the bruises, the chains, the whips, the clubs, the bell, the massage chair.

"What did you do to her, Bart?"

He regards her with minor disgust.

"Everything, thrice, none of it worked. We sha'n't be taming her now, her terror is too unstructured. We were hoping you might have more luck. You always did make order out of chaos with such ease."

I consider the Girl before me again, Beautiful, but horribly hurt, and what it means if they won't keep trying to train her.

"I can read the mood, you've got a deal, I'll keep her."

He nods, and injects her with something.

She falls unconscious.

---

I sat in my apartment, The hellhound sitting on my bed, still drugged, now naked.

I dab the washcloth into the clean water again, wiping off the last of the dried blood I can find.

I admire her body, now clean and free of clothing.

Her tail is decidedly Large and fluffy, her hips are wider thsn der shoulders by an inch or two on either side, and her other curves are certainly not lacking, either.

"Knew just my type, you rich bastard."

I climb into bed, gingerly laying my hand across her stomach.

She stirs slightly, and I turn my face to hers.

She begins to breathe easier than before.

---