Teeth vs Claw

Every night, burglars attempt to break into her apartment, and she can't fathom why. She always locks and secures the doors. She’s seen no one suspicious hanging about her building, either.
It’s not like it’s District 22.
Night after night, Wynona Becker, age 77, leaves her tiny apartment. It’s a quiet neighborhood made up of retired workers of the Government Faction within Clockworks City. She hobbles slowly to the lift, takes it down to Main Street, joining Glaydis and Pepper for their nightly game of Fuzzy Duck.
Hey, she’s old...not dead.
What Wynona doesn’t know is what transpires as her front door clicks shut...

“Rat Bastard!”
Leaping up onto the dining table, she purred, “That’s Rat Catcher to you, Kitty.”
“Don’t call me that,” Kitty the dog growled.
“That’s what the old bird named you, isn’t it?” Her head cocked to one side, examining the vertically challenged canine. “Would you prefer something that describes your personality? Perhaps butt-sniffer would be better. Or testicle-licker?”
The growling intensified. “Maybe it’s time we discover why she named you butter?” Taking another leap, Kitty snaps at the low-hanging tail. Unfortunately, his head hit the table leg, and he fell hard.
“Awww,” purred Butter, “did middle diadems fail down and go boom-boom?” She laughed her hissing laugh.
“That’s it!” Cried Kitty, flipping to his feet. With adrenaline surging through his veins, the pup bounded onto the ottoman, to the arm of Wynona’s favorite chair and did a small flip in the air. He landed up on top of the dining table.
Butter hissed and then screeched, jumping straight up as bare teeth snapped closed in her wake. Kitty slide across the table, paws tangling on the soft white doily, and flipped over the edge.
This was the nightly song and dance, night after night, canine versus feline. Each in their turn, taking swipes at one another, with no regard for the environment. Lamps overturned, curtains torn, scratches and scuffs across the prized wooden floors. Working late into the night, they would break dishes and dishevel pictures.
In the end, both forces of nature, enemies to their core, would retreat to their separate beds in exhaustion.
…just before the old woman would walk in after a night of drinking.
Nothing would be noticed. Nothing would be put into its proper place until the sun rose again.
That’s when the old woman would question what kind of night she’d had, that would cause her to come home in a drunken stupor and throw such a tantrum?
It just had to be burglars.

Fuzzy Duck

You should sit in a circle and take it in turns to say “Fuzzy Duck”, this goes on until someone says: “Does He”, at which point the order is reversed and you have to say “Ducky Fuzz” instead. If you mess up, then you have to drink. Easy. Or it is until you’re a few drinks down!

Conflict Type

Skirmish