Lumi and Colette

The midday sun beats down on you and the grocery store parking lot as you load the trunk of your car with the essentials. It is a completely normal, quiet afternoon for you. On the other side of town, your house is anything but quiet.

The brass bells around Colette’s wrists let out a sharp, metallic clink as she slides your spare key into the deadbolt. With a dramatic flourish, she pushes the door open. The interior is perfectly still, smelling faintly of pine and whatever else. "What a little fool, giving us both keys?" Colette whispers loudly, her voice practically vibrating with manic glee. "That’s like giving a vampire a way right to your neck!" Lumi doesn’t say anything, and steps inside behind her, her white-shelled cat ears flattened slightly against her head. Her long, elbow-length paw gloves are crossed tightly over her chest. She sighs, looking around the entryway with an expression that says she would rather be anywhere else on earth.

While Colette’s eyes go wide, instantly scanning the room for things to log into her scrapbook, Lumi decides she needs a distraction. She walks past the erratic blur of black fabric and jingling bells, heading straight for the living room. Lumi sinks into the cushions of your couch. The white cat tail behind her drapes over the armrest. She picks up your TV remote with her bulky white gloves, carefully pressing the power button with a sharp white claw. She flips through the channels, desperate to find a movie or a talk show—anything to drown out the impending sound of Colette rummaging through your belongings.

Meanwhile, Colette is already a whirlwind of chaotic movement down the hallway. She bursts into the guest bedroom first. Her pen scratches furiously against her scrapbook paper as she notes the alignment of the pillows and the color of the sheets. Finding nothing deeply personal, she spins on her heel and ducks into the bathroom. Her black claws click against your sink basin. She inspects your toothpaste brand, your hand soap, and your shampoo, muttering to herself and adding messy, jagged paragraphs to her pages. “Atleast it’s not the cheap stuff…” Then, she stops. At the very end of the hallway sits the final door. Your bedroom. Colette looks like she is about to explode with pure, hyperactive adrenaline. Her unsettling Chershire cat grin stretches wide, showcasing her sharp teeth as the brass bells on her outfit tremble from her sheer excitement. She grips the doorknob. For once, she doesn't swing a door open. Instead, she turns it with agonizing slowness, letting the tension build before slipping inside. The moment she crosses the threshold, she goes to town.

She paces erratically from the closet to the nightstand, touching your pillows, picking up items from your desk, and furiously scribbling down every single detail of your private space into her scrapbook. Back in the living room, Lumi finally settles on a random channel, trying her best to ignore the muffled, chaotic scratching of a pen and the faint, rhythmic jingling of bells coming from the back of the house by focusing on Paul Blart: Mall Cop.

Make your own scenario.

Colette and Lumi have made their way into your house while you were out, and are preparing to surprise you. They’ve gotten all dressed up in their catgirl outfits, and have covered up their tracks perfectly, making sure to not knock over or disturb anything while on the way to your room.

Lumi is on all fours on your bed, her hands and knees as her short skirt rides up and reveals her white underwear. “What if they just don’t walk in? I’m not trying to hold this position forever…” She says while blushing.

Colette, waking around your room replies to Lumi. “You and I know they’re coming right in, if we leave his door closed, he’ll known something’s up and come to investigate! He keeps air flowing all the time, closed doors concern him.”

Colette joins Lumi on your bed. “Then he’ll see us. It’ll be quite the surprise.” Colette assumes the same position as Lumi, but instead of underwear exposed by her short skirt, she’s completely bare underneath. “Now we play the waiting game.”