Fusion and Iron

21. My Sistuh from the Same Mothuh

A particular household exuded a warm, inviting ambiance. Soft sunlight filtered through the heavenly curtains by the front door, glowing up the room on the well-worn wooden floors. Adorned with vintage and cozy furniture, a plush yet overstuffed sofa took center stage right beside the door. A patchwork quilt sat on top right in the middle headrest, the name 'Lincoln' sewn in a rugged cursive made simply out of love from its crafter. Snug in the corners on the left and the right were pillows particularly puffed so that no wrinkles would be present. Just recently, the entire sofa was dusted and vacuumed much like the rest of the room around it.

The coffee table in between it and the TV had a small pile of old magazines just for design, including a brown leatherback book sitting next to it. What lied inside its pages was a mystery, waiting to be explored by the first person who opened it. Underneath the table was a large, ornate rug strung out just to add to the comfort.

Shelves on the wall had various baubles and books lying on them, from fiction novels about stories to unique vacation souvenirs collected over the years. The walls were painted in a soothing shade of khaki brown, making it almost like a living pair of pants.
Against one wall stood a sturdy fireplace, the mantel pretty plain except for the flat-screen television in the center. Beside it prominently displayed was a cherished family photo, two young sisters and their easy-going parents huddled together with a half-fake half-earnest smile. They were dressed in loose, light summer clothing beside a beach. The ocean waves crashed up against the shore behind them, the sun just out of the lighting to make it the perfect picture. Somehow, with the vast history of the girl's clash, this was a rare photo where both of them were happy together. Likely forced by their parents to, it might have explained why they were slightly uncomfortable with it.
Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln appeared to have a shared tired look, a mixture of camera light and makeup doing their best to hide the wrinkles and bags. Still, they both seemed to be quite happy beside each other, at least one hand on both of the girls sitting in front of them. Perhaps this truly was a better time in their lives, or maybe just a once-a-year vacation well deserved.

A tall and curvy woman had her back and butt pressed up against the front door, one hand pressed on it as well while the other held a cellphone. Her long, naturally black hair had been hung up in dreadlocks though still somehow covered her eyes slightly. She had a plain white t-shirt tightly hugging her chest, and a pair of baggy jeans equipped with a holstered pistol hidden in one of her pockets. Very carefully a hand was inching toward the grip of it, slightly trembling in her socks.

"Abigail I swear I'll-"

The call she held on the phone ended, leaving her in silence to reflect on the conversation that just happened. The woman breathed in and out, rubbing the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"Younger siblings, always getting away with everything in this house."

An older, more mature voice called out from another room. It was loud, though gentle at the same time. "Cree! Who is it at the door? Is that Abigail?"

She lifted her head, stammering to come up with an answer for her mother. How was she going to tell her that a fusion of that dork Hoagie showed up on their front step? There wasn't enough time to think and at this point, it was far too late to go back now.

"Uh, it's her little boyfriend Hoagie!"

An older woman peered from around the wall, her slightly greying black hair tied up in a long and puffy ponytail in the back. Her neck was covered by a pink sash, adding to her pink sweater. She smiled widely, "Well let him on in then! She should be back home soon here this evening, right?"

"B-But mom-" Cree stammered, struggling to find an excuse. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything. "We haven't dusted! The house is a mess!"

Mrs. Lincoln blinked once, "Cree, I just did that yesterday. This house is practically spotless, no thanks to you or Abby who forgot by the way. Let that boy in, now."

The woman nodded her head, turned around at the door and took a deep breath. There was no point in continuing to fight it, as otherwise, it would turn out messier than this already was going to be. Cree just shoved the phone in her pocket and took her hand off the pistol, taking a deep breath and preparing herself. With a weathered look, she replied, "Yes, mom."

Her hand twisted the knob of the front door, stepping back and pulling it wide open. More sunlight stretched into the back living room, causing her to struggle to get a good look at him.
Dressed in his regular outfit–a familiar blue button-up, khaki shorts, his iconic pilot's cap, and goggles pulled over his head– he looked every bit like the lovable dork he always had been. Hoagie stood on the front porch with a radiating wide smile, almost unnerving with his sense of enthusiasm. His school backpack, bulging slightly out his back and bloated with crammed contents, hung from his shoulders. His hands gripped the straps as if a clear sign he was ready for the next adventure anywhere.

Cree gave him a judgmental look, eyeing him up and down. His appearance was flawless, his skin perfectly normal, far from any telltale sign of his true nature. She felt a knot of tension twist in her stomach, causing her to put a hand over her exposed belly. Her little sister's warning somehow made this much more stressful than any typical visit.

Underneath his goggles, dark black pupils swirled ominously. He had his vision dead set on the woman in front of him, almost near murderous tendencies in the back of his mind.

"Hiya, Cree! Looking great like always!"