log: Dwayne is dead
Oct. 1st, 2023 10:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_liono posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsSharon gifts Liam with half a chewed chicken. That she stole from others in the mansion. Liam is once again, much more domesticated than Sharon. And ungrateful.
Sharon was finding she shared many qualities with Liam, and among them was the fact neither of them especially used their suites for sleeping. Personally, Sharon saw no reason to use her own bed when she could steal one from someone else. Asserting dominance made the nap more satisfying. Liam, on the other hand, preferred to nap where the action was. If a common room was occupied and an unobtrusive corner was to be hand, the odds it would become inexplicably full of Liam were an easy fifty percent.
Still, Liam, like Sharon, did technically have his own space. Since he'd been in the bathroom when she'd invited herself in she'd deposited her gift in his room and then hopped onto his couch to doze while he finished doing whatever questionable things a teenaged boy needed to do in the bathroom. No one could claim she was inconsiderate.
Emerging from the bathroom along with a cloud of very gross scent that indicated his mother had not provided air freshener with everything else she'd picked up, Liam stopped when he saw his bed. Still made, but now with.... was that half a chicken?
Making an unhappy noise in his throat, he went to investigate. A rooster, not a chicken. Still very dead though. Still very much in his bed. "What. The hell?" he murmured, going to see if Shatterstar knew anything or maybe blame... oh. Sharon. That made more sense actually and she was in the couch in the common room.
"What the hell Sharon?" he demanded.
Ah, he was out. Sharon gave a leisurely stretch before replying, her long legs spilling over the side of the couch. "Present," she yawned. "For teaching me to fish. I saved you best part."
"It's bleeding on my bed! And where did you get it!" He wasn't going to touch it. She killed it, she could touch it.
Sharon's muzzle and forehead wrinkled in a passable semblance of a frown. "It was one of the outside ones. Made sure it was the annoying one. Tired of the screaming every morning."
Sighing, Liam looked up at the ceiling, suddenly understanding his mother and feeling so bad. "Get it off my bed, Sharon," he said slowly. First, get the dead animal off his bed. Then explain. "Now!"
Sharon gave him a puzzled look that swiftly transformed into annoyance.
"Fine. If the ungrateful kitten cannot appreciate the gift I hunted with my own two hands I will eat it myself." She didn't see why he should be so upset. The chicken had already been dead by the time she brought it to his room -- the carcass wasn't bleeding that much. Sharon slid from the couch with offensive insouciance and padded into Liam's room to retrieve her prize. She grasped what was left of it in her jaws and carried it into the common area, where she stared at him.
"Happy?" she asked, indistinctly.
Sighing, Liam realized he needed a lot more help than the ceiling could provide. "Where did you get the rooster?" he asked, there weren't free range chickens here. "It probably belonged to someone! You can't kill chickens that belong to people! If you want to be grateful, I don't know, say 'thank you?' Get me ice cream?" that would make his stomach massively unhappy, but it was so good.
Sharon, a 6' long purple cat unencumbered by either wallet or a New York State driver's license, stared at him for just long enough that he'd have time to replay that suggestion in his head.
"It was outside." In deference to coherent conversation, Sharon dropped the carcass into one hand to free her mouth. "They are food chickens. Egg layers. But this one is useless. Hens do not need roosters to lay." She added, sulky at the rebuff of her generosity, "Fresh. I thought you'd like it."
"But that's not your decision. You don't own the chicken," God, what had they taught this girl? Or not taught her, apparently. "You don't kill other people's animals because you don't know what they're going to use them for. Maybe it's an emotional support rooster!" Damnit now he wanted ice cream. And coffee. Coffee ice cream? "You need to tell someone you killed their chicken."
"Decline." Annoyed and, even worse, embarrassed, Sharon took the rooster back in her jaws and stalked out of the suite. It was a cat-thing, and Liam was also a cat. She'd thought he'd understand. Now she didn't even have the appetite to finish it. She should've just given it to the wolf. He would have appreciated it.
Sighing again for good measure, Liam flopped on the floor, ears in what his dad called "airplane mode, " a certain indicator that he was annoyed. His tail lashed angrily as well. He should probably find out who owned the chickens.
Sharon was finding she shared many qualities with Liam, and among them was the fact neither of them especially used their suites for sleeping. Personally, Sharon saw no reason to use her own bed when she could steal one from someone else. Asserting dominance made the nap more satisfying. Liam, on the other hand, preferred to nap where the action was. If a common room was occupied and an unobtrusive corner was to be hand, the odds it would become inexplicably full of Liam were an easy fifty percent.
Still, Liam, like Sharon, did technically have his own space. Since he'd been in the bathroom when she'd invited herself in she'd deposited her gift in his room and then hopped onto his couch to doze while he finished doing whatever questionable things a teenaged boy needed to do in the bathroom. No one could claim she was inconsiderate.
Emerging from the bathroom along with a cloud of very gross scent that indicated his mother had not provided air freshener with everything else she'd picked up, Liam stopped when he saw his bed. Still made, but now with.... was that half a chicken?
Making an unhappy noise in his throat, he went to investigate. A rooster, not a chicken. Still very dead though. Still very much in his bed. "What. The hell?" he murmured, going to see if Shatterstar knew anything or maybe blame... oh. Sharon. That made more sense actually and she was in the couch in the common room.
"What the hell Sharon?" he demanded.
Ah, he was out. Sharon gave a leisurely stretch before replying, her long legs spilling over the side of the couch. "Present," she yawned. "For teaching me to fish. I saved you best part."
"It's bleeding on my bed! And where did you get it!" He wasn't going to touch it. She killed it, she could touch it.
Sharon's muzzle and forehead wrinkled in a passable semblance of a frown. "It was one of the outside ones. Made sure it was the annoying one. Tired of the screaming every morning."
Sighing, Liam looked up at the ceiling, suddenly understanding his mother and feeling so bad. "Get it off my bed, Sharon," he said slowly. First, get the dead animal off his bed. Then explain. "Now!"
Sharon gave him a puzzled look that swiftly transformed into annoyance.
"Fine. If the ungrateful kitten cannot appreciate the gift I hunted with my own two hands I will eat it myself." She didn't see why he should be so upset. The chicken had already been dead by the time she brought it to his room -- the carcass wasn't bleeding that much. Sharon slid from the couch with offensive insouciance and padded into Liam's room to retrieve her prize. She grasped what was left of it in her jaws and carried it into the common area, where she stared at him.
"Happy?" she asked, indistinctly.
Sighing, Liam realized he needed a lot more help than the ceiling could provide. "Where did you get the rooster?" he asked, there weren't free range chickens here. "It probably belonged to someone! You can't kill chickens that belong to people! If you want to be grateful, I don't know, say 'thank you?' Get me ice cream?" that would make his stomach massively unhappy, but it was so good.
Sharon, a 6' long purple cat unencumbered by either wallet or a New York State driver's license, stared at him for just long enough that he'd have time to replay that suggestion in his head.
"It was outside." In deference to coherent conversation, Sharon dropped the carcass into one hand to free her mouth. "They are food chickens. Egg layers. But this one is useless. Hens do not need roosters to lay." She added, sulky at the rebuff of her generosity, "Fresh. I thought you'd like it."
"But that's not your decision. You don't own the chicken," God, what had they taught this girl? Or not taught her, apparently. "You don't kill other people's animals because you don't know what they're going to use them for. Maybe it's an emotional support rooster!" Damnit now he wanted ice cream. And coffee. Coffee ice cream? "You need to tell someone you killed their chicken."
"Decline." Annoyed and, even worse, embarrassed, Sharon took the rooster back in her jaws and stalked out of the suite. It was a cat-thing, and Liam was also a cat. She'd thought he'd understand. Now she didn't even have the appetite to finish it. She should've just given it to the wolf. He would have appreciated it.
Sighing again for good measure, Liam flopped on the floor, ears in what his dad called "airplane mode, " a certain indicator that he was annoyed. His tail lashed angrily as well. He should probably find out who owned the chickens.
