Chapter 5

We meet the Rogers.

It was already raining when Narixia arrived in Mt. Washington, but it wasn't late enough; it was only four o'clock, so she landed in a tiny, dry cubby-hole in an old, cracking wall on an abandoned building. Narixia was quite exhausted, and decided to take a little nap. Tucking her head under her wing, Narixia slipped into a dreamless sleep.
A particularly loud clap of thunder jolted Narixia into the waking world. Outside, the storm had only worsened tenfold. There was no moon, the world only lit by the often occurring flashes of lightning, accompanied by deafening claps of thunder.
This was ideal weather for Narixia's plan.
She took off, and, from the first second, was completely drenched. Fighting to keep from crashing, she made a shaky but successful landing. She quickly morphed into a small little girl, about five years old, slightly chubby, with bright blond hair and twinkling blue eyes. She rummaged silently through a couple garbage cans, until she came up with an outfit; a burlap sack dress.

She walked down a sidewalk for a few minutes, until she found a house that, unlike the other houses, still had on the lights. Peeking in the window, Narixia saw a fire in a living room. A woman was sitting on a chair, knitting something, and a man was sitting on the couch, reading a book. Next to him was a young girl, probably about twelve, with brown hair, jeans, and a T-shirt. She was tossing a baseball up and down and catching it in a large, brown glove.
Perfect, Narixia thought.
She mussed up her hair, hid in the bushes under the window, and began to cry.
Meanwhile, the family inside are called the Rogers. Mrs. Rogers was knitting a pair of socks for the girl, her daughter, Alexandria, nicknamed Alex. Mr. Rogers was reading Moby Dick, and Alex was playing with her baseball, practicing for tomorrow's game.
A noise from the window attracted their attention. It was a crying sort of sound.
"Go see what it is, Harry." Mrs. Rogers said to her husband, brushing some of her long honey-blond hair back into its bun. "It's probably some poor dog caught out in that horrendous storm." Mr. Rogers heaved himself out of his comfortable seat, pushing his glasses farther on his nose. Taking an umbrella from the umbrella holder, he popped it open and walked outside, trying not to get too wet. Running his hand through his brown hair, he stepped outside.
"Hello? Anybody there?" he called, his voice affected by an English accent. He poked around the bushes, while Narixia kept totally silent, curling up in a ball and closing her eyes, as if she was unconscious.  "What the-" The man muttered. He had found Narixia. "Dearest!" he shouted into the house. "There's a kid out here, hiding in your rose-bush!"
"What?" Mrs. Rogers poked her head out. "Well, bring it in, for Pete's sake, Harry! It's probably chilled to death." Narixia kept acting unresponsive and limp as she felt herself being scooped up and carried inside to a warm room and set down gently on some cushions, probably the couch.

"Is it dead?"  Her ball abandoned, Alex poked Narixia curiously.

"Alex!" Mrs. Rogers scolded, pulling Alex's hand away. "It's a little girl, not an 'it'." They were silent for a moment.
Mr. Rogers finally broke the silence. "Well," he scratched his head. "I guess I'll call the orphanage." He walked over to the phone on the wall and picked it up off the hook. Flipping open the phone book, his finger traveled down the page, then stopped at a number. He dialed, and listened.

"Lovey," he hung up the phone. "The phone is out. Bloody storm must've tweaked it. I'll have to get the phone bloke tomorrow."
"Oh, dear. Now what?" Mrs. Rogers looked worriedly at Narixia.
"We could keep her." Alex suggested.
"What a cack suggestion!" Mr. Rogers scoffed. "Ruffians in the house!? Never!"
"Oh, Harry! I think it's a great idea!" Mrs. Rogers exclaimed. "She could stay in the guest bedroom! Alex, go and get one of your old pairs of pajamas. We'll call the orphanage tomorrow. Is that all right, darling?"
"Well-" Mr. Rogers started.
"Wonderful. Thanks, sweetheart. Love you." Mrs. Rogers scooped up Narixia and hurried down the hall. "Alex! Where are those pajamas?"
Left alone in the room, Mr. Rogers scratched his head. Looking around for a minute, he looked rather lost.
"Dash it all!" he muttered, and resumed his reading.

Author's Note

Tell me if you thought Mr. Rogers's accent was too stereotypical.

Reviews

[CrimsonBlaze]

I LOVED THE ACCENT! -jumps all around all ecstatic just by hearing British accents all day long- (You can see I'm a clear fan of em'.) Narixia strikes again tricking yet another set of humans making them think she's an adorable little girl with nowhere to go. Up until now, I never knew how shape-shifting could become so handy! :) Mr. Roger's accent didn't seem too stereotypical. I mean, if I were to write a character speaking with that accent I would include the words you used.. :)

[Kvetina]

Wow, cool way to keep the plot moving. The Jane-take-over had great description, too!!