“What?! No!”
Autumn stared at Quinn, somewhat perplexed at his reaction. Her large childish eyes drooped down to their bottom corners as she gave it thought. It’s true the damsel in distress and then get hitched scenario is overdone.
“Then Barbie saves Optimus Prime and they become best friends.”
“Never!” Quinn barked.
Both of the children’s heads turned to the door that had begun to creek. The white translucent strings that outstretched and scattered all about the room from the girl's thin fingers dematerialized. Within that second all the standing toys, including a Barbie and eight-inch Optimus Prime, dropped to the floor.
“Hey, you’re being very loud Quinn. Be nice to your little sister,” their mother lectured as she fully opened the door. She looked at her daughter, who was standing on the bed with her hands in front of her. Mrs. Armstrong raised an eyebrow, the girl always seemed to be in that position when she came in. She waved it off, “Dinner’s ready, clean up now, alright? Remember your aunts are coming over.” Both Quinn and Autumn responded with a harmonized “’kay” as their mother left the room.
The two began uncovering the carpet hiding under their toys. Their mother had actually told them to start cleaning a couple hours ago, but when you’re putting away things that keep catching your interest it’s hard to stay focused on your task--especially boring tasks like tidying up. This procrastination habit was even more the case for Autumn and Quinn, since playtime for them was like Toy Story come to life. At this time Autumn only knew she could produce these magical strings that could animate her toys like puppets. Quinn was the only other person that knew about her strange gift.
“There they are!” “Oh my god, did they grow since our last visit?”
"Aaw, they look like -yin and yang balls, their heads side by side like that."
Autumn and Quinn came out to these clichéd greetings after stuffing their toys in their closets and under the bed. Their aunts were already here, they sat around the kitchen table while Mrs. Armstrong was preparing coffee. The family formality of hug exchange then took place. Mrs. Armstrong had three sisters, all older than her, all giving off an identical vibe she did not have. It was not just the elaborate way their aunts dressed or their strange yet familiar white hair strands, their mother just felt like the plain Jane amidst the eccentricity. After a short exchange of "How are you doing in school?" and "What's new?" the adults began to drift back into their own conversations.
"So how is the shop doing?" Mrs. Armstrong asked before taking a sip from her mug.
"Wonderful, we're still the top vendors on etsy," one of the aunts chimed.
"What do you think about joining now? We're more than financially stable."
"Mm, I don't think so..."
"Why not? It's not really a family company without you," the second aunt’s features began to shift into a frown.
"She wouldn't let the nickname seamstress sisters grow because you weren't there."
"You know why," Mrs. Armstrong placed her hand on her cheek and leaned her arm against the table. She glanced at her bored-looking children, she spoke a tone softer "I didn't inherit the gift. It’s not my forte.”
The aunt that was trying to convince her sighed, and reluctantly concurred with silence.
"Oh, that reminds me, we brought souvenirs for the munchkins."
Quinn's bored face immediately began to perk up, eyeing the aunt that had begun to shift through her tote bag. The spark in his eyes turned back off when she took out handmade clothes. He would have known what to expect, but it was only until the words "souvenirs for the munchkins" was outspoken that his attention was reactivated.
