The less than convincing scene of macho behaviour was laughable enough - but as soon as it dawned on her what he was trying to do, she blinked, threw her arms around him and pulled him back against her tightly with a smile. “Get away from her!”įor a moment, at least, Pacifica was pretty sure he was playing around. Which was abruptly interrupted when Dipper dove in front, legs astride, his puny little fists raised towards the wicked creatures, his teeth were gritted and fists raised in a desperate attempt at intimidation. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath, trying to control the overwhelming panic… “Pleaseturnaroundpleaseturnaroundpleaseturnaround-” she whimpered, her hands laying flat against the manor’s icy cold brickwork as more and more smog-enrobed animals closed in on her.
Each dark, furry silhouette seemed to drop white foam from its buck-toothed jaws, each hateful gaze staring right to the bottom of her - as if the creatures were judging her. She quickly realised exactly what was going on, and had little protest to make against the crazed attitude of the furious animals. Said Northwest froze solid, her eyes widening. The flat line of advance turned into a curve, encircling her. Suddenly, rather than the manor’s entrance, each one of the terrible ghouls diverted towards the young socialite, cutlasses and swords ready. Revenge came to the forefront as eagerly as their terrible mission. Their heads spun - their eyes piercing towards the unmistakable scent of family baggage. Then, as they got closer, they smelt something and shrieked in their familiar blood-curdling manner. The only intent was to get that lumber and destroy what stood in their way, be it humans, children, the town of Gravity Falls, bricks and mortar, an army of geese, or decorative gazebos and flowerbeds. The symbol of the Northwest family’s crime and corruption. The history of the manor, its intrinsic value, that meant nothing. Bruised beavers, beaten beavers, beavers missing ears - the injured were no less fettered in their dedication to the cause. Flowerbeds (still in the perfectly preened shape of the Northwest Monogram) were flattened. They could hear swords and cutlasses being unsheathed, the sound of scratching and grinding as more and more of them assembled over the Manor’s walls.Īnother Gazebo fell. Their piercing red eyes glowed through the thick smog that followed them, enrobing the creatures into a poorly defined, pitch-black mass. It was like a schlocky low budget picture from the 80s. The ongoing mass of advancing, screaming fauna was impossibly intimidating. They never lost! Over summer it had been success after success, and now they were quite literally backed into a corner?! There they were, backing against her childhood home in a last ditch effort to prevent a group of shadow rodents from tearing it apart, and they were losing.
0 kommentar(er)
