Week Eighteen: Sunday (evening) Who: The Madcap Brigade. (Capt. Scumble, Lt. Bunnyknickers, Sgt. Muffy, Cpl. Cupcake, and possibly Pvt. Batgirl) What: Livestock larceny. Where: Woods-->pasture/barn-->Fire House CR(?) Why: ...
“Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to—whoa. Watch it, guys, there’s some malevolent mud on premises.”
Tottering slightly, Sasha looked down, trying to navigate around the slippery spot in the darkening twilight.
It would be safe to say that Susannah Hallmeyer was acting...and looking...odd. Instead of the usual elegant uniform of hem and heels, or even the more pragmatic denim assembly, Sasha was decked out in drawstring camouflage pants, starlet tee, and a striped hoodie sporting cat ears. A Venetian half mask straddled the back of her head. she was also humming, whistling, and grinning like a barmy monkey.
Maybe it was because of the weather, the threat of rain turning the evening sky into a foreboding shadow, the smell of damp beginning to spice the air. Rain always corkscrewed her temper. Maybe it was because of the task at hand: creeping through a patch of woods towards an unwary pasture, and its equally unwary wooly residents. Maybe it was because of the company, because what could you say about a group of girls who spent Sunday night kidnapping livestock for absolutely inane purposes.
Maybe it was because of the flask in her pocket, its contents steadily diminishing.
“Be wevy, wevy quiet,” she hissed behind her. “We’re hunting for a wab—whoa-whoa-whoa-ouch.”
...why hello, Mr. Ditch. How are you faring this fine, sweet evening? Now on her back and temporarily out of sight in what had better damn well be dirt, Sasha exhaled hard through her bangs. Yep, this was exactly how she wanted to approach her twenties: dad dead, mom gone, sadistic vampire twin sister actively out to ruin her sanity, hiding in a mythical school on a fantasy island—stealing sheep. Well, trying to anyway.
“...yo?” She called out. “Y’know, I think I dropped the happy sauce; can somebody toss it down here? But, um, not on my head—well, not on the pretty bits. Also, I ain’t dead.”