Punky Fu

The pounding on the door would not go away. If anything, it was getting louder, more insistent. In her dwelling, as it was, knocks on the door were never a good thing. Pounding was worse. More often than not, she would weather it through until it ceased. Today, would require more.

A glimpse through the window revealed a red-haired mutant Ogre, apparently too thick and loutish to understand being ignored. It tried the front of the dwelling. It moved to the back. It tried to scale the walls and bellowed impotently throughout. He caught the attention of the Witch to the North, who gleefully egged him on.

Lathica donned her battle armaments and opened the portal. There, putrid, sweat stained and red faced, the Ogre belched its rancid demands at Lathica, encroaching threateningly. Lathica, gentle by nature, released her Warrior side without hesitation and made it very clear that the Ogre should leave. Perhaps it was its relative youth. Perhaps it was Lathica’s tone. Or perhaps it had some dimly recessed instinct of self-preservation. But whatever the reason, it made the best decision of its pathetic life: to turn around and lumber away. A moment longer, and the Flying Monkeys would’ve had to carry its malodorous carcass away in a wheelbarrow.

Adrenaline surged in her veins like vinegar. Breathlessly, she closed the portal door and made her way to the kitchen galley. There, amidst the assorted dishes, Lathica found more home invaders - infantile insects seeking room and food. She quickly trapped the ones she could find and began the routing out of their kindred. When sleep-addled Starken arrived, he would find her waging her miniature war.

It was time again to go to the marketplace. Lathica checked and re-checked all the battlements about the dwelling. She gave stern warning to the neighborhood younglings - doing what was necessary to catch and hold their attentions: this was not a day for wandering about. The younglings reacted poorly and Lathica left with regret, her head pounding.