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" "Wh- what're you-" Amelia didn't have time to withdraw her foot when he grabbed her ankle in the iron grasp of one hand as he gently caressed it with the other. "Mmm, Sheriff," he purred, planting a passionate kiss straight into the arch of Amelia's foot. She gasped, but he paid no mind, continuing to pepper her hoof with playful smooches across the top. "Oh, Sheriff, please forgive me... I beseech you, I am a lowly nothing before you," biting his lip, he pressed her toes to his forehead, "I prostrate myself before your glory..." "Wh- hey! Shoo! Get off you me you oaf! Lummox!" She swatted the captain with her fan fruitlessly. Still clasping her foot, Tsharles looked up, insulted. "What? And go back on my word? Never!" Through a wide smile poked his gleefully-wetted tongue, which was sent weaving in between Amelia's toes. Eyes bugging out, she gasped even deeper. Tsharles' men were really losing it, leaning on each other to keep from tipping over for laughing too hard. The lad who. "No, please... leave it there. It suits you," Jill encouraged.She worked quickly as she sat on the stool, a large clipboard propped on her thighs. She carefully selected colors from her extensive assortment of oil pastels. She liked working in this medium actually; Craypas had the depth and durability of crayons with the translucence of pastels, and without the mess that ordinary chalk pastels created. She studied the man's face for several seconds. To her credit, Jill did have an unerring eye and the ability to faithfully reproduce the essence of things, and since studying at the institute, she had evolved from a rather sophomoric photographic rendering technique to a looser, more sophisticated one. Her quick sketches had a Matisse-like quality, and she was able to capture, at times, some facet of personality in an uncanny way. This ability set her apart from so many of the other portraitists who lined the sidewalks. Their work seemed to reproduce people who were stilted effigies of.
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"Watch it in your own room, Queen Bitch!" was all I could muster in retaliation.The lure of the 52 inch screen was powerful, and Erika tried to act like the pouting child that expected to get her way. My response was cutting, although not insulting.I said, "Well see how it goes AFTER you've finished the dishes!"The little brat stormed off to her own room rather than take orders from me, and that was fine.Later, after dad had re-emerged from his own room to go to the kitchen, he inquired where Erika was.I lied and said she had a headache and went to lie down. I don't know why I did that, but I guess I didn't want to place Erika in deeper shit than she already stood.Proving that no good deed goes unpunished, dad ordered me to cover for Erika and do the dishes. Well, they had soaked for so long, I knew they would be a snap, so I complied.After the ball game went off, dad got up to check on his daughter while I followed.What he saw was Erika watching the end of her show and demanding to.

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