I was going to say I imagined Rachel in the last paragraph as being maybe nine, but upon further research–
(no, really, research)
–a nine-year-old girl would probably be too tall for "standing on a chair to reach the sink and stove-top” (I literally pulled out a measuring stick to compare the heights this was giving me with my kitchen sink), so I think she must’ve been even younger. Five or six, maybe?
So she got by. Until the day her mother didn’t come home.
Welp. So what happened? Drink ‘n’ drive accident?
Somehow I feel like we won’t find out.
The food in the cupboards had disappeared, even the cans of pineapple, pears and nuts in foul-tasting syrup that had been left behind by the apartment’s previous residents. Desperate, terrified to leave the apartment in case the fifteen minutes she spent looking for food were the same fifteen minutes her mother stopped by, she’d turned to trying to cook the rice, standing on a chair to reach the sink and stove-top.
Aww.
After pouring the rice into the water that had been sitting on the hot stove, she’d accidentally brought her arm down on the arm of the pot, and tipped it all over herself.
Ouch.
In retrospect, it was a blessing that she hadn’t known that the water should be boiling.
…ah, yeah, that helps. Still sounds like it was hot, though, even if it wasn’t quite boiling.
Still, it was hot enough to turn her skin pink and leave her screaming enough to drive the neighbors to call nine-one-one.
Yeah, ow. Must’ve been loud.
Alright, let’s do this thing!
Hm… I’m sorry, but right now I’m somewhat sleepy and fairly hungry (waiting for some food in the making as we speak), so I’m not sure I’m up to liveblogging tonight.
See you tomorrow (Saturday), or Sunday if the next D&D session ends up being tomorrow instead of Sunday. 🙂
I think I’ll leave it there for tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow (Friday) to learn more about Little Rachel! See you then 🙂
Why, Bitch wondered, are they happier than me?
…did I speak too soon?
Maybe it’s just because I’ve been getting more and more into MLP:FiM fandom stuff recently, but it seems to me that if this is actually the case, the answer may be friendship. Human friendship.
But with the way Rachel’s brain works, shouldn’t dog friendship be about as good, if not better?
Unbidden, the answers came to mind.
She remembered living with her mother. She couldn’t even remember the woman’s face, but that was little surprise.
Ouch.
Mom had worked anywhere from three jobs to none, but she spent little time in the apartment. When she was home, she was either drinking in her room or partying with friends.
Ahhh.
I guess Rachel had to largely take care of herself even before she became homeless, then.
Little Rachel’s questions or attempts to get attention were met with anger, rejection. She would be pushed away or locked in her room.
Ew. This is the kind of parent whose face doesn’t deserve to be remembered.
Better to stay quiet, watch for an opportunity. If her mother passed out drunk, bills could be taken from her wallet, secreted away for later purchases of bread, peanut butter and jam, milk and cereal or orange juice at the corner store.
…not a bad idea, honestly, when it’s like that. Until it gets noticed, of course.
Then it becomes trouble.
If there was a party, and if she was successful in keeping from getting underfoot, she could often snatch a bag of chips, a box of ribs or chicken wings, to eat under her bed or on the roof.
I like the mental image of rooftop Rachel, even though the circumstances prompting it are unfortunate.
She climbed onto Bentley’s back, then whistled twice. Come.
The good ol’ double whistle. 🙂
A jerk of the chain collar around Bentley’s neck and a kick to his sides spurred him into action. The others followed, some yipping or barking with excitement.
Gallop! Gallop, I say!
…what do you mean “they’re not horses”?
Did other people experience anything close to this? Did Taylor, Brian, Lisa or Alec? She felt like she was one with Bentley as she caught quick breaths between his jarring footfalls.
Terminology jokes aside, I am legitimately reminded of my limited experiences with horse riding.
Water splashed onto her skin and his. Her legs pressed against his body, and she could feel the expansion and contraction as he huffed out breaths. She trusted him, and he trusted her absolutely in return.
😀
Out of context this would totally sound like a sex scene.
It varied from one dog to the next, but the same was true with the others that were following in Bentley’s wake. They believed in her, and if they didn’t love her yet, she knew it would come in time, with her patience and continued care of them. What did Lisa have that compared to that rush, this security? What did the others have?
You know, I really appreciate that now that we finally get an Interlude from Rachel’s perspective, we’re following her as she’s in a state we haven’t really seen her in before: joy. She’s having a good time, enjoying herself, and it’s very refreshing to see this side of her right now.
She whistled for them to come back, long and loud, and her dogs came tearing back through the building.
So, what’d you find in there?
She checked, and she couldn’t make out any blood that didn’t belong to the dogs. Good. Better to terrorize and inflict light wounds than to maim or murder.
Is this her way of establishing her control of the territory? Through sending her dogs into random civilian homes?
If the people in that building stayed in her territory, she would be surprised.
Not just establishing… clearing out.
She wants this place all to herself and her dogs.
A whole neighborhood all for the doggos.
Another howl sounded, far away, startling her. If her dogs were here with her… oh. Only one dog would be elsewhere.
Hm?
She listened as the howl came again. Yes. Angelica’s howl reflected her size and the degree to which Bitch had used her power on her.
Ah, there she is!
More than Bentley, Sirius and Lucy.
And of course she’s big.
Bentley seems pretty good and Magic has a great name, but Angelica remains my favorite surviving doggo. I guess it’s a bias towards the “classics”, so to speak.
Once a dog had those commands down, it opened the door to other orders. A dog that would stay put while she demonstrated with another would be that much more inclined to follow suit.
Ah, yeah, that makes a lot of sense.
If only humans were as reliable, as easy to train.
Hehe. Yeah, we’re a rowdy bunch, aren’t we.
“Dogs, attack.” The word was quiet, but every dog present was waiting for it. Bentley and Sirius stayed at their positions, but the rest of the dogs surged into the building, the larger ones leaping through the boarded up windows, the smaller ones surging in the front door.
Yeah, this ain’t home. Figured as much, really.
Growls and barks that were twisted by the unnatural shapes of their throats overlapped into a single noise.
I can’t help but imagine their throats being, like… corkscrewed, or something now.
She waited outside the building, one hand on Bentley’s neck. He wanted to go, she knew it from the tension, but he was obedient. Good. This was a test for him.
Gotta stay here, bro.
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