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Dreaming/ Dream on~ Dreamer style...

Delia now has her own point of view now! origins from Charmingal's: Dreaming With Tolley, hilry, lex and looney already in forks. Delia, Catkin and Tasha set off to meet them. but nothing is EVER simple is it? no. WARNING: may contain traces of vampire, wearwolf, phycologicaly scared/insane characters and moonsugar!


3. Toast!

Rating 5/5   Word Count 616   Review this Chapter


A small snowy village.

Dawns just breaking.

Peeking out my window I smile at its sleepy contentedness.

The perfect hiding place.

Here I must be safe.

There’s a distant buzzy beep.

A knock at the door.

My heart hammers a moment.

It cant be them.

They wont have found me that quickly.

Relaxing I smile and open the door.

The beeps grow louder. And someone’s shouting.

Its worse than that.

Much worse.

Its her.

She found me.

I step back in panic.

The beeps grow louder and faster, mimicking my heartbeat.

She grins at me, her slightly pointed, perfect white teeth glint in the dim light;

and takes a step forward. Her eyes sparkling in the half-light.

“DELIA!” Catkin half screams.

I hear the old stiff window being dragged open and the bleeping fades into the distance.

The window snaps shut.

The dream fades.

Shaking I pull the coves over my head.

What was that?

It felt so real.

But its not.

I have never been that far north.

I am here in Texas with Cat and Tash.

“D?” Cat calls “sorry Delia. Im not a morning peep. I’m like this ‘till about 10am at least. Short temper…”

I shrugged, dizzy with confusion.

“Breakfast?” she asks changing tactics.

I shot out of bed.

Breakfast I can do.

Food takes your mind off everything… except food.

I scrawled Tasha a quick note then raced Catkin to breakfast.

“Beans?” I looked around shocked. Half the hot plates contained baked beans…. Yucky….

Cat muttered something about stereotypes. Looking at the sea of cowboy hats, I silently agreed.

“Beans.” Who could eat all those beans…. Well maybe if they had toast…?

“yes… beans. What about beans? asked Catkin

I point at the little tubs of butter.

“still not getting you D.”

I swear we’re tuned to different wavelengths sometimes…. How could she not notice the distinct lack of Toast?!

I point it out to her. She doesn’t grasp the severity of the problem because she only just managed to suppress a laugh.

Picking my breakfast (distinctly lacing in both beans and toast) we sit down at the stereotypical table. Don’t these people have any imagination?!

Suddenly a priestly looking man yelled. At Catkin. I was perfectly willing to let her ride this one out on her own, as somehow me and the clergy didn’t get on well.

“Delia! Help!” she stage whispered.

“That there light haired child be her accomplice! Let us cleanse their souls!”

The whole breakfast room was looking at us.

Everyone was looking.



Our plates clatter to the floor in true dramatic style.

Tipping up the odd table for good measure, we dashed for the door.

Falling out on to an empty street we manage to crash into the only obstacle:

A fruit cart.

Who leaves fruit carts lying around?

I mean granted most people wont steal from it, but still!

The fruit rolled around dramatically, making a mess as we leaped trough it.


All set for a cheap western.

Now where’s the get away car?

Right on que, I spotted the old rust bucket.

Pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to drive fast enough to out run an old man, I scrambled in to the passenger seat.

And wondered:




To the last one, lets hope so.