Re: Quicklog: Witch Sibs
[Wyatt was out. The little boy was exhausted from a day of gardening and chasing after the one ice cream truck that ventured into their neck of the woods. Destiny was more than half convinced that the truck peddled pills to the residents more often than popsicles, but whatever. The little brother slept, open mouth unconscious, on the little velvet couch in the sitting area of Destiny's trailer. The television was on something bootleg and animated, but it wasn't loud. He had a blanket of 70s crochet, the vintage clash of yellow and brown. His little arms were around Rocky the terrier, who seemed equally exhausted, making little doggie snores with his tongue hanging out past his maw.
Destiny opened the door and put a finger against her lips to signal volume was to be on the low side. Then she ticked her head toward the curtained bedroom area, where they could gossip and drink.]