At the expense of seeming like I’m running out of ideas: Sally strikes again.
Personally, I don’t really feel like this is me going back to the well one too many times, so much as making use of the differences in Matilda and Nolan’s temperaments to take the same general premise in a new direction.
Nolan Lyte sleeps. As he sleeps, he dreams and as he dreams, he speaks. “Just let Matilda have it,” he murmurs into his pillow, “she likes tongue casserole.”
He is torn out of his dream by the sensation of hands shaking him.
“Gah!” he cries as he jerks upright. “Bears! Wolves! Bear-Wolves! We’re all — Oh, what’s wrong, Sally?”
Nolan peers into the gloom of his bedroom and squints to see the familiar figure of his little sister, clutching, as ever, the equally-familiar figure of Count Bunnyescu.
“I can’t sleep,” Sally says. Not for the first time. Or the second. Or probably even the thousand-and-second.
“Come on,” Nolan says, pulling aside his bedsheets and allowing Sally to climb in beside him.
Sally smiles broadly and snuggles close to her favourite brother.
“Nolan,” she asks. “Could you not snore tonight?”
“I’ll try,” Nolan says.
“Goodnight, Nolan,” Sally says.
“Goodnight, Sally,” Nolan says, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.
“Ahem,” Sally says, poking her brother.
“Goodnight, Count Bunnyescu,” he says into his pillow.
Sally soon finds herself thoroughly unimpressed to find her brother snoring into his pillow.
She reassuringly pats Count Bunnyescu’s head. “I know he’s loud,” she tells her beloved companion, “but just try to get some sleep.”
The sound of Nolan’s snoring is occasionally interrupted by the sound of his sleeptalk. It is only a marginal improvement.
“Wow, Falcata!” she hears her brother say into his pillow. “You kicked his leg out of his leg!”
Even in spite of her brother’s snoring and the strange situations he must be finding himself in within his dreams, Sally manages to drift off to sleep.
When Nolan wakes up in the morning, he is momentarily very, very bemused to find that he has apparently been struck blind overnight. A brief moment of panic fades as he regains his senses and realises that he is not, in fact, blind.
Sally has simply managed to drape Count Bunnyescu over his face as she tossed and turned at night. She has also managed to drape most of herself over him too.
He manages to free his arm out from under and gently shakes her, trying to get her to walk up. All he accomplishes is getting her to roll over slightly.
“But, Nolan,” she mutters in her sleep, “you said Matilda likes tongue casserole.”
Her shakes her more forcefully. “Sally,” he says. “Wake up.”
She rolls again, groans and reflexively whacks him in the face with Count Bunnyescu.
“Wake up!” he says again.
Sally groans again, pushes herself off of him, sits up on his bed an blinks up at him.
“Good morning, Nolan,” she says, rubbing her eyes.
“Yeah. Good morning,” he replies.
“And good morning, Count Bunnyescu.”
Sally pouts. “You snore too much, Nolan,” she tells him.
“You could always just sleep in your own bed,” he offers.
She resolutely shakes her head.
He watches as she stares thoughtfully at him. “Hey, Nolan,” she asks. “Who’s Amara? You were talking about her in your sleep.”
Sidebar: Today is the second time I’ve used the phrase “kicked his leg out of his leg”.
While Owen was explaining his actions, he flubbed his line while presumably trying to say something like “kicked [his] leg out from under [him]” or “kicked the heck out of [his] leg”, leading to him boasting that he kicked Bret’s “leg out of [his] leg”, which is simultaneously completely nonsensical and completely on-the-nose.
So, basically, Wrestling is better than the things you like.
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