Realistic or Modern Charlie Hobson: The Clown's Fortune

[Stickdom]

A Silent Night...
A quiet night out on the town. The city lights quietly fade out of existence, leaving you to contemplate your existence illuminated by the streetlamps of a downtown road. It's Monday night, only a few hours left before Tuesday rolls around and you get to look forward to your next comedy gig on the other side of town. Tonight's performance didn't go so badly, it was amateur hour at a karaoke bar that just opened trying to drum up business, and Jerome had heard about it and gave you the tip they were looking for an act. The crowd was small, but lively, some looked like they had been there for several hours already, enjoying the all-day Grand Opening Specials. considering it was the beginning of the work week for most of them, you wonder if perhaps the owner couldn't have waited for a Friday night to get the weekend crowd. You made some nice tips on your way out the door, got lots of flirting glances from half-drunk men whose brain could probably only handle one primal thought at a time right now. One brassy fellow even scribbled his number on a napkin and tried to tuck it into your shirt as you passed by, but he ended up tripping over the stool and just half-heartedly tossing it towards your face. You couldn't help but give him a disgusted look as it fluttered to the ground, and he dragged himself back to the bar and ordered another drink without giving you even a second smile.

You've had a lot on your mind recently, Cedric mostly, though your mother also came up once or twice. If you weren't arguing with one or the other, it was both at once it seemed, and then the whole world might as well be against you. Last night at the fortune teller's shop hadn't helped much either. Why had you even gone? Maybe you had been drunk without realizing it, it wouldn't surprise you after the heartache Cedric gave you as he slammed the front door in your face on his way out that morning. At least you got a souvenir of your optimistic idiocy, that little card you walked away with had a little painting on it. You pulled it out of your pocket once or twice today, almost without thinking, it comforted you somehow. You could almost identify with the kids sitting in the picture side by side, looking out at the city in front of them as if they were detached from the rest of the world, just two friends being together. You really wished you had a friend right now.

Wildcats​

 

[Wildcats]

The walk home was a miserable one. She was tired, uspset...and yes, she couldn't ignore the possibility she was slightly drunk. The card in her pocket almost seemed to be pulling at her, weighing her down. She considered dumping it, why did she still have it anyway? It was a card, a tiny slip of paper.

It wouldn't last long at her dump of an apartment.

Speaking of, their rent was due soon. It was possibly that nights wage, along with the tips she received, could be enough but she hadn't yet counted and honestly, she wasn't in the mood to feel optimistic.

It took almost 16 minutes, at her slow rate, to arrive home. Cedric wasn't home yet, she knew better to wonder where he would be at that time of night. He had some drinking buddies, he usually spent time with them. A sense of bitter envy joined her array of emotions, none particularly pleasant. Normally she would have shut it down, reminded herself of her love of the man. But as said before, she was almost in a mood where she didn't want to be happy. The work was against her, and she wanted people to know it.

She dumped her purse on a nearby chair, after sweeping a small layer of clothes Of it and onto the floor. She moved towards the fridge, grabbed herself a can of redbull. Wouldn't it be wonderful if they actually gave her wings, and she could just go, just fly off.

Instead, she fell on the bed, a king sized, not too shabby. It was a shared one. She lay there, sipping her can and sulking, for lack of a better word. Her book was right next to her, sat slip open little over half way through. She didn't pick it up. It was a good one. It had dragons, and heroes, and destiny.

Destiny. What a ridiculous idea.


((OOC i'm so so sorry this took so long. It won't be a habit, I swear. It's just been an insane past few days for me. Sorry again.))

 

[Stickdom]

The mess surrounding your living space fails to get you down anymore, you're just used to the clutter at this point. Cedric is many things, but neatness is not on his good list. You try to keep it at least managable when you can, but so often now you just seem to let it take over. His empty beer cans rolled under the bed seem to be more and more frequent lately, you sniff your nose not only at how much he drinks, but the quality. Your proud Scottish heritage would never normally allow such piss-thin alcohol into your house. But Cedric was like that, and you tried to ignore it, that he was thin and shallow. You tried so hard to look for the positives in him, to see a silver lining on every dark cloud he rained on you with. It was hard, and most days you settled for an umbrella of a good book or a night in, safely alone while he went out and did whatever it was that he did. Probably nothing good.

You feel a little spike of life come into your chest, obviously the Red Bull kicking in. You always had a case tucked away somewhere, it was your safer alternative to alcohol, you always felt you could very easily slip into a booze-induced coma if you wanted to, and then you'd be just as bad as Cedric. Still, that doesn't stop you from mixing up the occasional Jagerbomb at the bars and clubs you show at, and the bartenders are usually more than happy to give you a little extra kick in it when you ask. You wrestle with the idea of whether to wait up for Cedric to get home, if he came home at all tonight, or just curling up in bed and trying to get some sleep. You weren't sure you could do either right now, your thoughts were so busy and your mind racing a million miles in every direction. Suddenly, in a quick jolt, you hear a noise at your front door, faint but distinct, a scraping against the metal frame. Was someone trying to break in? It could be the sound of a crowbar or a lockpick, and the stories you've been hearing going around about the rash of burglaries in local apartments weren't exactly reassuring you right now.

 

[Wildcats]

She rolled herself out of bed, attempting to be quiet but only managing to make the springs in the mattress creak horribly. She cringed to herself, but continued in her attempt for silence nevertheless. She crept over the bedroom floor, taking large steps to avoid clothes and trash. Her head, she noticed, was much clearer then it had been a few moments ago.

Reaching her open built in wardrobe, she considered her options. She would need a weapon, that was undebatable. Common knowledge. After assessing the worthy candidates she could spot through the mess, she decided upon a baseball bat. It was wooden, and signed by some guy Cedric knew. It wasn't sharp, but it was long. And she knew she had some upper body strength she could use.

She continued on her journey, beginning to feel slightly stupid. It was probably just a rat, or her imagination. Neither one would surprise her, and yet here she was creeping around her house with smudged makeup and a baseball bat. And yet, the thought she could just go back to bed didn't even occur to her.

She reached the door. And stood there. Waiting. Listening.

 

[Stickdom]

As you draw nearer to the front of your apartment, the scratching slowly stops, as if whatever it was had moved on or paused its attack on your door. You release a breath you didn't realize you had been holding, and then the sound started up once more with renewed fervor, though this time you hear the sound a little more distinctly, not strong enough to be a person breaking into your home, not focused enough to be a key or lockpick fumbling at the lock. Actually, it sounds much lower that that, possibly an animal of some kind, scratching at your door. Or else the world's smallest burglar trying to break into through your door frame by scraping a fork against the metal.

You don't know if any of the neighbors have pets that they keep, the landlord doesn't forbid animals in his building, but he has shown a severe distaste for them over the years. The different levels of your apartment complex are kept sealed with layers of doors, and you are several floors up, it would be a miracle if a wild animal made it to your door. So you are left clutching the baseball bat standing inside your door like a crazed axe murderer with only half of their weapon, wondering if it is safe to open your door, when a single sound brings you back to your childhood in a single moment. A cat's meow. And not just any cat, you remember a distinct rasp in the purring and a deep-throated meow that would often curl up around your feet or pounce on your bed in the early morning. Your cat.

 

[Wildcats]

That wasn't possible. Not at all. Cleo was dead, had been for a long time. She had hurried her. She remembered burrying her, remembered the friends from school standing around trying to act, the somber music playing, her mother hugging her tight. Cleo was dead. This was some other cat, some strange cat that sounded just like hers. Perhaps it was her neighbors, she really didn't know them as much as she should.

But it was a cat, and she wasn't going to leave it out there. There was a chance it wasn't her neighbors, and it was alone and lost. She had always had a soft spot for animals, especially cats.

She threw the bat to one side and raced to the kitchen, mind made up. She filled a small, plastic bowl with the last of the milk then rushed back to the door. Some milk spilled over the side. She didn't care. She placed the bowl on the floor, and pulled the door open gently, looking down eagerly for the small creature who had spiced up her night.

 

[Stickdom]

As you slip the door open, the scratching stops and a small furry head peeks its way into your apartment followed by a slender body and a swishing tail. The cat saunters into your room as if it owns the place, rubbing against your ankles and giving you an expectant mew. You can hardly believe your eyes, if you hadn't known that your dear Cleo had passed on years ago, you would swear that this was her now, this cat's actions and appearance are almost identical. There are some differences, this cat's colours are a bit lighter, its coat looks sleek and smooth, almost shiny in the dim light of your apartment, as if the cat here had been recently bathed with shampoo that would make the models on the beauty commercials jealous. But in attitude and personality, this cat has Cleo written all over it, even to the point of falling over and curling around your foot to bat at your toes the way Cleo used to do, purring like a racecar at the starting line. The animal has no fear, even when you move around, it follows you as if it has lived here with you its entire life. It doesn't have the fear or skittishness of a feral cat, it doesn't flinch if you reach out to pet it. You wonder if it is someone else's pet after all, it seems too friendly and used to human presence to be otherwise, but there are no tags or a collar to identify it, you certainly haven't seen or heard this cat anywhere in your apartment building. Maybe it was meant for you, you wonder, maybe it was your Cleo reincarnated and looking for you to give you just a little spot of pure happiness in your life.

You are torn between reporting a missing cat and keeping it for yourself. The superintendent of the apartment complex doesn't have a rule against pets, but he made it very clear that he dislikes animals who are disruptive or make a mess, and you don't know if this cat will cause problems with the somewhat peaceful environment on your floor, it might be loud and needy or even breaking furniture or knocking over fragile house decorations in the night, actions that had already gotten some of the more rowdy and wild tenants evicted from the building a while ago. And then there's Cedric, what would he have to say about it? You lived several stories up, it's not like you could keep the cat outside on your tiny balcony for the rest of its life, and you were more worried that he would end up violently kicking it or throwing things at it in one of his fits of rage. But you had to decide what to do with it, it had come to you, now looking up at you with wide eyes full of trust and animal affection, the same look that Cleo had won your heart with, and you felt it would be cruel to turn it away, but would it be more cruel to keep it?