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Arts and Crafts

Eliot lay upon his pallet holding up his latest masterpiece,he thought back to the intern that brought him the small ream of paper,and the little bag of oil pastels, it was very kind of him,and foolish, for a carefully folded piece of paper can make a very sharp knife indeed.

but still he promised to be good and so he shall,

he looked again at the picture he just completed, a tall figure glowing white,and golden, white wings spread, stained at the edges and dripping blood.

upon its head was a golden Militia Helmet glowing like a sun the rays obscuring the face, in its right hand it held a wolfs head and in its left a Militia captains Badge held aloft like a shield.

and all around at her feet, a veritable sea of dead Rabbits.

he sat up and set the painting down on a small pile of others “there, another masterpiece in praise of my Lady, my Guardian, my Angel,”

the cat rose and walked to his cell door and called out for an intern who opened the viewing slot ” what do you want?”

Eliot passed the sheaf of papers through the slot ‘ be a good man and take these to Mr Wright, so that he may deliver them to Captain Hienrichs, and thank you for your time and kindness in their conveyance “

the intern a befuddled look on his face slid closed the viewing door and walked off paging through the papers a growing look of revulsion on his face,

the Moreau turned away from the door and giggled ‘ im sure she’ll love them”

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  1. John Wright John Wright December 13, 2015

    Mr Wright sat in his office the rather disturbing images spread out on his desk, a look of utter shock on his face.

    “And he asked you to give these to me?” The wolf said looking over the orderly who had brought Mr Eliot’s artwork down to his office.

    “That he did sir.” The man replied.

    Wright closed his eyes tightly and rubbed his temples before reaching for a bottle of whiskey and quickly draining a good third of it, much to the shock of the other man.

    “Good lord, that Cat’s mad as a hatter.” he muttered as he leaned back in his chair, whiskey bottle clutched tightly tabout the neck and held close to his vest.

    “At least he’s not been violent.” The wolf sighed, at least there was that one small concession, even if the inner workings of the cat’s mind were still as twisted as a screw.

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