Fandom: Power Rangers Ninja Storm
Characters: Blake Bradley and Hunter Bradley
Prompt: 056. Breakfast.
Word Count: 604
Summary: Hunter didn’t believe in luck. He believed in karma, to a degree.
Hunter didn’t believe in luck. He believed in karma, to a degree.
It was contradictory, though, to believe in karma after the day he was having. He’d never done anything so hideous to deserve a day like this.
It had started off badly; his neighbour’s car had backfired and scared him awake. While he was still panting from the aftermath of the adrenaline, Dog had jumped on to his face – he’d never thought that cats actually did that until he’d gotten that little blob of fluffy claws. Six and a half minutes later he’d managed to score scratches to a good 65% of his face and hands, drop his toothbrush into the kitty litter tray, step on and ruin a perfectly good razor blade, stub his left big toe and discover he was all out of deodorant.
Blake had slept straight through the noise of the car. He slowly swam back to consciousness with an innocent-looking cat purring on his stomach and an angry brother cursing up a blue streak in their shared bathroom.
He stretched lazily, echoing the cat sprawled out on his bedspread. He managed to contort himself to look out the window, judging the time and whether or not he really needed to get up yet.
Hunter appeared in the doorway just in Blake’s peripheral vision.
Blake squirmed to send him a grin. “Good morning!”
Hunter growled at him. “I hate you.” He turned and stomped off towards the kitchen, probably in search of caffeine.
“Love you too honey!” Blake called after him.
Dog pawed at his pillows. Blake scratched him under the chin and was rewarded with a purr and a quick nuzzle before the tabby jumped off the bed in search of food.
Another curse came from the kitchen. Blake wrinkled his nose slightly as a rather chirpy beeping noise started – despite the almost musical pitch there was something ominous about that noise and his brother’s swearing in the same few seconds.
He rolled out of bed and casually padded down the hallway to the kitchen that was advertised as ‘fully functional’ but would be more accurately described as ‘the size of a small closet'.
Hunter was muttering and poking at their cheap knockoff coffee machine. One small red light flickered in time with the ominously cheerful beeping.
“We out of coffee?” Blake asked, stretching his arms above his head.
“It’s not frickin’ working,” Hunter muttered, poking it again.
Blake peered over Hunter’s shoulder. “Are you sure that-” he started, tentatively prodding the lid. With a gentle click it slid into place and the beeping and flashing stopped, replaced with a quiet hum. “-the lid’s on?” Blake finished lamely as Hunter turned his head to give him a death glare.
“I hate you,” Hunter repeated.
“Don’t hate the lucky ones,” Blake needled.
Hunter considered the slowly dripping coffee machine as Blake pulled out a box of cereal.
Three minutes later and Hunter eagerly pulled out third of a mug of coffee – only to find out on his first sip that Tori had been over.
Blake turned from his cornflakes when he heard Hunter spluttering. “It’s called swallowing, bro. People do it to eat and drink.”
Hunter clenched his teeth. Slowly and meticulously he poured the liquid out. “Tori came over yesterday, didn’t she?” he asked.
“Did she happen to have a cup of decaf?”
Hunter tipped the rest of the suspect coffee from the machine down the sink before moving towards the jar of regular, highly caffeinated coffee.
“It’s just not going to be your day, man, is it?” Blake asked sympathetically.
Hunter swore as he stubbed his toe.