forthedog | (no subject)

Entry tags:

darrow,
neil

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He opens his eyes to meet a second set of huge, eerily sentient eyes staring into his, and for a moment he just lies there, trying to figure out... The world, mostly.

Close by, on the floor, he can hear Mack and Flo laughing with what sounds like delight, and the chittering language of Sprinkles, creepy fucking Sprinkles, and really he should have fucking tossed that thing in the trash the day after they'd caved and bought it, made up some kind of lie, gotten them something else to distract them...

But the chittering is coming from the floor. And the thing is on his chest.

And now that he listens, it doesn't sound like just Mack and Flo and Sprinkles down there.

Um.

He tries to sit up, shoving the thing off his chest as he does so, and that's when all five of them hurl themselves at him, cackling insanely. He hears Mack and Flo yell in surprise - "Sprinkles, no, that's Daddy!" - and then he's in a whirlwind of brightly colored fur and biting. He manages to get upright, stumbles, tears one of them off his back and slams it to the floor. It has time to get out a single indignant squawk before he crushes its head with his bare heel.

So now his foot is cut. Wonderful.

Operating on some instinct he doesn't take the time to question, the girls shrieking in the background, he stumbles into the kitchen, fumbling for the kitchen knives, managing to throw two more against the fridge. A third ends up in the sink, and he doesn't think; he stabs it into the garbage disposal with the butcher knife, the girls screaming, "Daddy, don't kill Sprinkles!" and their voices drowned out by the squeal of the disposal when he hits the switch and the angry screech of Sprinkles as it dies.

Or starts to.

Because then the power goes out.

I take one nap, he thinks, listening to Sprinkles as it groans pitifully from the garbage disposal, counterpoint to the girls' sobbing. I take just. One. Nap.

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The whole city's going to shit, but honestly, after everything that's happened, a bunch of mischievous robots overrunning the place doesn't seem like that big of a deal. Still, the shop gets closed up early, after the registers go on the fritz, the power keeps going out, and one of the little fuckers somehow turns on an entire display of rabbit dildos, still inside their boxes.

I get about halfway home on the bus before the wonky traffic lights and clogged streets makes it so I have to set out on foot. My phone won't fuckin' pick up a signal, which is just a cherry on top of a really fuckin' messed up morning.

Outside the apartment, I can already hear the shrieks, and I take the steps two at a time, busting through our front door and into...

"What the fuck..." I breathe, stepping out of the way just in time to miss the furry little bastard torpedoing straight for my face. It sails past me, diving over the railing and onto the concrete below with a mournful shout.

He hears the final furby shriek and looks up, shoving himself away from the sink and scooping both the weeping girls up into his arms. He's working out plans in his head as he heads out into the living room - get them in their bedroom, shove something in front of the window maybe, until he can figure out what the fuck is going on-

He lets out a hard breath when he sees Neil, letting the girls slip out of his grasp. Still weeping, they run toward him. "Oh, thank Christ."

"What the hell happened?" I ask, kicking the door shut behind me and crouching down just in time to catch both girls in my arms, their damp, snotty faces pressed against my neck.

"Sprinkles!" Mack wails into my ear, and I look up at Mike with a wince.

"Five of 'em came at me is what happened." He touches the back of his neck and his fingers come away bloody. "I got four. I guess you met the fifth. What the fuck is going on? Mack," he adds, sharper than he means, "be quiet for a second."

"Tone it down, man. You're scarin' 'em," I point out, pushing Mack and Flo gently back so I can get a look at their faces. "It's okay, calm down," I murmur to them, wiping at their damp cheeks.

"The whole city's gone nuts. Again. Jesus, how'd they even get in the apartment?"

He sighs, raking a hand back through his hair - and it comes away bloody, too, from what must be a bite somewhere on the crown of his head. "God, sweetheart, I'm sorry. It's just-"

"Daddy killed Sprinkles," Flo wails. "Daddy killed him with a knife in the kitchen!"

"And Sprinkles's friends," Mack chimes in, and Mike pinches the bridge of his nose, turning away and scanning the living room.

It's been a warm day. There's a window open. And the screen is torn.

He gestures at it. "Guess they were determined."

If it weren't for all the crying, this whole thing would be fuckin' hilarious. "Sprinkles was bad. Daddy was protectin' us, okay?" I say, turning them both so they can see him, "See? Daddy's hurt. It's time to stop cryin'."

They're still sniffling, worried now about the blood and still not entirely convinced that it wasn't Mike's fault, somehow.

"Close the window, we'll get you cleaned up."

"They didn't go after the girls, far as I can tell." He slams the window shut and pauses, looking down at the street, where a car appears to have slammed head-on into a lamppost and a woman is running shrieking down the street, pulling at two furry bundles attached to her head.

"Jesus." He turns back to Neil, what he'd said earlier about the state of the city finally penetrating. "What the hell is this?"

"Who the hell even knows," I mutter, taking a second to check the girls over, and sure enough, they look just fine.

"Shit, where's Max?" I say, pushing to my feet and looking around the room, like I might've somehow missed him.

"Where's..." he starts, and then it hits him. "Shit, I didn't see him." Which could be very good or very very bad. "I didn't hear him barking. Max!"

"Max!," I shout, going deeper into the apartment. I check our bedroom, the bathroom, the closets, sticking my head into the kitchen and finding nothing. Down the hall, I open the girls' bedroom door, and after I don't see anything, I almost leave, until I hear a low whine.

"Max?" I call again, walking further into the room, listening hard for a moment or two, before I hear frantic scratching from inside the girls' toy chest.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, throwing open the lid. Out pops Max, shaking and wild-eyed, the cats springing out along with him and immediately darting under the bed.

He starts to follow, then stops when both the girls let out huge, wet sobs, feeling like as close to a bad parent as he has in a while. "Be careful," he calls, dropping into a crouch and trying to soothe them, though they're both glaring at him through their tears. "There could be more of the little bastards."

Then a frightened whine and some angry hissing from down the hall, and the girls somehow manage to yell all the animals' names simultaneously. Mike curses under his breath. At least it sounds like they're alive. "They okay?"

"They're fine," I call, lifting Max into my arms when he tries to literally climb on top of my head.

Carrying him into the living room, I heave a sigh and say, "They were in the toy chest. All three of 'em."

"Little pricks," he mutters, glowering in the direction of the window again. "Thank Christ that's all that happened."

"Is Puppy okay?" Flo is still crying, but her sobs are less violent now. "Is Puppy and Cake okay?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, they're fine." Mack still doesn't seem especially receptive, but Flo allows him to pull her into a hug. "They're just hiding. They got scared."

Sitting down on the couch with a heavy sigh, I let Max curl up in my lap, scratching behind his ears to try and calm the quiet whining sounds he's making.

"Girls, next time your toys start multiplying, you wake Daddy up and tell him, okay?"

"Okay," Mack sniffles, climbing up beside Neil and reaching out to give Max a tentative stroke. Mike lets Flo join her, then sinks the rest of the way down to the floor and leans back against the couch, eyes closed.

"We gotta figure out what to do."

"Lock the doors and hope this goes away? That's kind of what I'm hopin' for," I admit with a sigh, slipping an arm around both girls, one on either side of me. They're still red-faced and sniffling, but at least they're done with the screaming.

"Not sure locking things is gonna cut it. Like I said, these little assholes seem determined." He sighs and glances toward their bedroom, where the handguns and his MP5 sit in an extremely robust lock-box. "I think we both better be armed."

"So, just like any other damn day," I mutter flatly, giving him a look: Here we fuckin' go again.

"Guess I oughta make a couple calls."

"It goes like it has before, it'll be over in a day or so." He meets Neil's look, shoots back one of his own. I know, I know. "A week, max."

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