I turn, my annoyance crackling off me like lightning. Fear trembles at who I find leaning against the front door's entry. Anger has just gotten home and she looks ready for a challenge.
"Hello, Anger," I grit through clenched teeth.
"Hello, Muzzle," she purrs viciously.
I flinch at the barb. She is the aspect I repress the most. Her power to cut with words and icy demeanor are my least favorite defenses. I tend to lean on Fear in those situations when Anger's words claw to the surface. Fear always urges me to think of others and Disgust usually tosses in her two bits about following rules and exhibiting control. I often listen and Anger is then shoved back into the shadows, silenced.
But Disgust is MIA and Fear is cowering behind me, now huddling on the couch with Sadness, as Anger pushes off the door, sauntering over to inspect the scene.
She examines me narrowly, then tosses a glance to the couch, a feline grin stretching her mouth. "Looks like a party. Can I join?"
I take a step towards her, closing the distance. She is a couple inches taller than me, using all of the advantage to her benefit, pulling herself to full height and crossing her arms, strong and imposing. I can sense the tension, her eagerness to spar narrowing her gaze.
"Back off," I growl. "I don't have time for--"
"Time for what?" she smirks. "I'm not allowed in on your little tea party?"
"You're not invited."
"Ooo, scary," she scoffs, looking back at the other two behind me, leering. She attempts to move around me, but I block her.
"I won't repeat myself," I grind out. I'm running out of patience.
She pauses, then glares down her nose. "So the muzzle has grit after all," she sneers.
Annoyed, I push passed her, snatching up my mug from a side table as I go. "I'm done arguing with you," I toss over my shoulder, no longer caring what scheme she will unleash on the two in the living room.
I enter the kitchen, moving to the sink, yanking the facet knob up so the water runs quick and hot. I pour out the tepid tea, setting it aside. My hands grip the edge and lean against it, frustration building.
This was not how any of this was supposed to go, not at all. Sadness and I were to meet, build bridges and come to some sort of... I don't know... understanding? I shake my head, trying to clear the buzzing annoyance radiating off me. How did it go so wrong?
"Messing things up again, are we?" quips a tight, lightly accented voice.
I groan inwardly. Disgust is here. Great.
I straighten but do not turn around. "What do you want?"
"Oh, I thought I'd just come and see what all the hubbub was about. Sadness is blubbering on the couch, again. Was that your fault, too?"
I turn, slowly, fingers forming into fists at my side. "If all you are going to do is critique my actions, then leave. You know where the door is."
Disgust is leaning against the dining room table, examining her nails. Her appearance is immaculate. Not a hair out of place, glasses sparkling clean, no lint to be found. I still don't know how she achieves the latter. I assume magic elves are involved.
"Oh, Anger, darling!" she calls into the living room. "Are you stirring up trouble? Our dear Brianna seems to be all heated up about something." She focuses on me. I can feel her assessment of my appearance and bearing, like a PR representative gauging how to do damage control. Even without words, she has the power to make me feel small.
I sigh, suddenly tired. I run my hands through my hair and cross my arms. "If you're going to stay, then I'm going to need your help."
She quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head. "Me?"
I nod. "What do you know about these myths?"
Her smile dims a bit as she swallows. "If we're going to discuss this, we should wait for Joy."
"I'm done waiting," I respond stiffly and walk into the living room, not caring if she follows. "We're getting to the bottom of this."
Join me tomorrow to discover what all this cryptic talk of "myths" is really about.