Irene, fully charged butcher knives in hand, leaped from a silent prowl towards her sister Viv. But Viv faked left and Irene landed in the hall, her knives arcing against the carpet, burning it through.
Irene, anticipating a from-behind assault, double flipped farther down the hall. Nothing. Silence. She unfolded and hesitantly walked back into her kitchen.
Viv had simply disappeared in the last place either of them had expected; into a chair. In utter dismay, Viv’d had to find a place to sit. Viv turned towards her sister, left arm draped over the chair’s back, and swept her right hand over the scene. “What’s all this, you’ve gone DOMESTIC?”
Irene placed her knives back into the charging block and turned to the stove. On top sat her sad chive souffle. Kitchen sweat dripping off her face, she took a deep sigh.
“I’ve got a tire pump in my Zoomer. Maybe we could pump your souffle back to life?”
Irene turned to Viv and smirked. “You’re making a new one. If it’s successful you can stay for dinner.”