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HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread 
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Chocolate and Sabrina were both visiting whatever plane they were in because it makes for a better game of precognitive chess.

And the comment about being dead was only Chocolate referring to the game of chess, meaning that Sabrina didn't stand a chance of winning it by that point.

And the rest was just other talk that will end up making sense in the future when Valerio brings up whatever is going on between her and Fido.


That's my guess.

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Tue Jun 05, 2012 4:40 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
She's been a zombie since day one

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Tue Jun 05, 2012 4:47 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
RandomGeekNamedBrent wrote:
*smashes Val with a cartoony hammer*
you're lucky that I was actually only in the denial stage, or I'd be using my butcher knife.
So my first prediction was right. just a drill, and everyone outside was just acting.

valerio wrote:
4.
Astral Plane

“How does it feel, teacher?” Chocolate asked, while staring at the chessboard.
“How does it feel what?” the female black cat said, her golden eyes fixed on the chessboard as well. Tarot was right, after all: this plane allowed for a smoother game.
“To be dead,” the brown rat said.
Sabrina shrugged, the only move from her otherwise absolutely immobile body. “Well, you know how the saying goes: it hurts only once, if your conscience’s clean.”
“Yours is not.”
“Depends. I did the right thing with Fido. Nothing to regret. Check.”
“You’ll have to open about it. The longer you wait—“
“You are the student, you’re not supposed to be preaching. And you are trying to distract me.”
“Sorry. Prey species thing: you chose me because my kind appreciates…subterfuges. Your move.”
“I didn’t like being killed off that way, though. Check.”
“No one likes to die, teacher.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I must agree on that. Your move. Oh, and check.”
Sabrina frowned. “I am so going to choose another precognitive game, next time.”

now this confuses me even more than before.

Oh, no, that's easy: Sabrina was lamenting that, as 'character' in a simulation she had been killed off too easily. Also, she was commenting about death in general.
Dealing with supernatural entities on a regular basis will do that to your perspectives :mrgreen:

Also, hey, Raoul, stars!

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
6.
Rozen House, Lev. 16, Apt. 160, Terrace High

“Oh, hi Mom! I was wondering where everyone—“
“LIZZIE!” Constance Rozen pounced at her cat, before crushing her in a bear hug.
“Grik!”
“Oh, my poor little kitten, all alone here without Mommy!” the woman cooed, while petting Elizabeth –or, at least it looked so to Maximillion, trying to shave off her back with her hands. “Are you okay, kitten?”
“Mo-om!” Liz said, rolling her eyes. Max chuckled. “Yes, I’m fine. Where were you?” She looked around. “Where was everyone? When I woke up, the whole building was empty and the shops were closed.”
Constance’ eyes flashed. “Mom was busy playing a game, dear: sue the [censored] landlord.”
Max blushed heavily upon hearing such a word coming from the lips of the sweetest Mom in the world. Liz giggled. “That’s ten dollars for the jar.”
---
Conference NewsRoom, Level 1

Last time Raimund Radulph Gottschalk had stepped into this room, it had been to announce the birth of Terrace High and present an exhaustive list of all its services. The crowning jewel of modern architecture, the closest thing to a self-sustained system.
Only one aspect of that jewel had been kept hidden to the media. Until today.
Gottschalk sat down, facing a small sea of flashes, cameras, tape recorders and note pads. Each and every seat was filled, the attention complete. This was going to be one of those breaking news that captured the public’s imagination at home. Reporters were going to have a field day.
Perfect!
Gottschalk nodded at his audience. “Gentlemen, welcome to this ad-libbed conference.” Some laughs accompanied that greeting. Internet had started spreading the word the moment all communications had been brutally cut. The blogosphere and Facebook had gotten puzzled at first, as the individual users, including the e-shoppers, tried to understand by their own what was happening.
Within 10 minutes from shutdown, Terrace High had become a matter of general discussion.
Within 20 minutes, the media had decided this was big. By now, ‘terrorism’ was once again the top argument since 9/11.
Within 30 minutes, the CIA had to release a statement: Terrace High was undergoing a government-sponsored drill to test their nuclear shelter no one knew about. ‘Terrorism’ had been replaced by ‘Aliens’ and ‘Area 52’.
40 minutes after shutdown, a big pack of Newshounds (including the KPET staff) had gathered outside the complex, waiting until the drill would be over.
When the gates had been opened, the reporters had been led directly into the conference room. They would be free to interview the residents -after talking with the landlord.
“First question,” Gottschalk said. A forest of hands went up. He pointed at a blond, stocky woman. Murmurs of discontentment as all hands went down and she stood up.
“Christiane Herschel, Das Bild. Herr Gottschalk, is it true that, with the cooperation of the United States Government, you wanted to replicate the infamous Montaldo-Zimbardo Experiment?”
Straight for the throat. Admirable. TV loved these kind of questions, they fueled speculation, and speculation sold well.
Gottschalk smiled. It was strange to see him smiling, it was like a long-faced alien trying to mimic human emotions. He spoke to the reporter keeping his deep-blue eyes fixed on hers, as if the rest of the room didn’t even exist.
“To the benefit of your less-informed readers: the Montaldo-Zimbardo 1987 experiment was sponsored by the Bundeswehr of the BundesRepublik Deutschland, commonly known as ‘West Germany’. It wasn’t the first experiment of that kind, involving human volunteers, but this was the first the media could record to show the public the effect of life of a large group inside the most modern nuclear shelter.
“15 volunteers out of 135 applicants were chosen. Not one of them, and neither the media as a fact, that they were part of another kind of experiment: social dynamics inside a nuclear shelter in event of a full-scale nuclear war. In short, while believing they had to spent 30 days inside a shelter just to test it, they were led to believe that the world was collapsing around them. They were led to make a terrible choice: leave anyone they could help outside and stay inside, fighting their moral and their conscience.
“The experiment went awry: they started to fight. They were attacking each other, paranoia and mass hysteria had replaced rationality. It was determined never to repeat such an experiment, preferring to improve the quality of the shelters, and hope that the end of the world would never come.”
Gottschalk paused to let the words sink in. As expected, Christiane, still standing and scribbling like a demon had possessed her, asked, “And the difference between that experiment and yours?”
“Mine was not an experiment.” Murmurs, shaking of heads, doubt was thick like syrup in the air. Christiane was clearly trying not to laugh. “Should we believe it?”
Gotcha! like the American loved to say. “The MZ experiment was about pushing a group of people to the very limit of their physical and psychological resistance. They were guinea pigs for the sake of a mere, unrealistic research.” A screen lit up behind the founder of Terrace High.
The screen showed a wall of legalese text. The reporters were bending their heads like so many curious ostriches.
“That is an excerpt of the condominium regulations, Section 73, Point 18, paragraph VIII. For the optically impaired: ‘The Administration reserves the right to launch a surprise drill to test the premises’ emergency systems. Such drills shall not necessarily announced as such.’ I’d go further, but you will have a complete copy.”
“And… Isn’t a ‘test’ the same of an ‘experiment’?”
Gottschalk’s smile would have scared Kissinger, had he been a North Korean leader at the Paris treaties. “I consider my property much like a ship, ma’am. And like the good captain of a ship, I must make sure that the people under my guard know what to do and how to do it during the worst possible crisis. My residents read the regulations, they knew I would launch a drill. They simply did not expect it.”
“Are you saying it’s their fault?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not even implying it. I wanted it so. And they reacted quite admirably, considering they really believed the scenario. And, unlike the MZ experiment, the Kingpin has literally everything it needs to take care of them for up to ten years.” He gave a certain emphasis to the last two words. “And that, before starting to think about rationing resources.”
More murmurs, this time admiration was mixed to incredulity.
“Looks like a really nice place,” Christiane insisted. This wasn’t going in the scandalous direction she wanted to, and in insisting she was demeaning the whole category. Now the others were starting to give her the bad eye. “Then why not inform the residents?”
“Kobe.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Earthquake drills are part of the life of Japanese people. Since their childhood, they devote part of their time to learn what to do and how to do it during an earthquake. They know what to have at disposal in case of evacuation, they know who and when contact once the quake has passed. It would be safe to assume that they can cope with the most important natural plague of their country.
“Kobe’s earthquake proved them wrong. The local population weren’t nearly as prepared as they believed, the infrastructures, designed according to inadequate specifications, were the cause of major losses. It took the effort of millions of volunteers to give appropriate relief to the areas struck by the quake. Since then, safety measures and drill regulations have been improved, but, unlike them, I do not want my residents to be caught by surprise.” A grim determination had set into the man’s voice, it had a…hypnotic quality. There spoke a leader, not just a rich, eccentric man. His audience was pending from his lips now.
Up went another hand. Gottschalk nodded to him. Christiane sat down, the man stood up. “John Hurst, Los Angeles Times. Why didn’t you choose an earthquake scenario, opting for a full-scale nuclear war?”
And that question turned the tide. The scandal had spoken and had been outwitted. They’d have no other chances now. Gottschalk drank from a glass of water before answering. “USSR may be gone for good, but the nuclear threat is raising its ugly head once again, like it or not.
“Iran is working on a nuclear program. They call it civil, but should we believe that blindfolded? China is expanding and upgrading its military forces. India is expanding its nuclear arsenal, and that in turn is rising the political heat with Pakistan. And to this ugly equation, we must add the not-remote chance of nuclear terrorism, the worst of them all.
“So yes, gentlemen, I wanted to test my emergency systems for a Class-II scenario: the stuff our nightmares are made of. I needed the system to work at peak efficiency in the most stressful conditions, but always making sure that safety was ensured at all levels.”
Hurst sat down. Up went a third hand. “Guido Zucconi, La Repubblica. Your words suggest that the test was supposed to last longer than a few hours. What happened?”
Gottschalk drank another glass of water. Folding his long-fingered hands, he said, “We had a missing resident.” Murmurs. “Namely, one of our pets, due to a glitch in her tracking collar, wasn’t listed among the evacuated, all the while she was safe inside the Fulcrum. At that point, either we told her owner she was dead and thus causing a grave and unnecessary distress, or we called off the test. I opted for the second.”
Zucconi sat down. Up went a woman. “Mèlanie Belamì, Le Monde. How will you conduct the next drills?”
“By warning the residents beforehand. Even if this tests was essentially a failure, it doesn’t change the fact that from now on the residents know what are they expected to do. I can only hope they will learn to do it in their sleep if necessary. Which means that the next drill will be launched at the less expected moment and that I will expect the full cooperation. These drills will save human and animals lives one day, they are not a game.”
Down went the French woman. Up went…a dog. A female collie wearing a blue jacket. “Rochelle O’Shea from KPET. Speaking of animal lives, how are set the priorities regarding the safety procedures regarding your non-human residents?”
Someone among the humans chuckled. Gottschalk answered, “There are no ‘priorities’. All residents, regardless of the species, are treated with the same priority level. You will be given a comprehensive list of the resources and staff available to ensure the safety and welfare of all evacuated residents. To put it in other words, like here at the Fulcrum, inside the Kingpin everyone has equal rights.”
One of the reporters who had chuckled at Rochelle’s question tried to draw Gottschalk’s attention. In return, the landlord pointed at another reporter, blatantly ignoring the first –which meant that ten other reporters were lucky to stay there and watch in silence.
“Jerry Weaver, New York Post. Regardless of your good intentions, Sir, you did cause a certain amount of trauma among the residents. What will happen? Will the residents or their relatives press charges? Much money were lost in interrupted transactions, how will you repay the local business? And what about the privacy safety since the building was literally turned into a desert without even the security staff to watch over it?”
Gottschalk drank a third time. This guy was young and nervous, that must be his first important conference. The landlord would have to talk to Rupert about this bad choice…
“I am sorry, but no ‘trial of the century’ tomorrow, nor ever. True, many people and their pets were scared, a lot, but they will have the full assistance of the most qualified psychiatrist, even if the scare lasted a few hours. They will be compensated for any moral damages, and the same goes for any economic loss caused by the shutdown.
“As for the privacy, the most important matter of your questions,” and you better behave like an adult and not like a frightened child “shutdown means that every single data was saved inside the Kingpin’s servers before the Fulcrum’s systems were shut. All business were physically closed. Lastly, as you have seen, the Fulcrum itself was turned into a single shell without doors or windows. Unless a wizard decided to play hacker or thief, no one could enter or exit for the duration of the drill. And, anyway, we had the camera system on in case of someone was accidentally trapped in the Fulcrum. Other questions?”
---
Love for Life Social Club, Hexagon Park

“We spoke with an artificial intelligence?” Elliot asked. Already he was trying, like many other residents were doing, to tell his mind that the world was okay, that the nightmare had been just that, a very frightening but harmless experience. Now he had to accept that he had panicked over the fate of a software?!
Tobee nodded meekly, his ears flat on his skull. It was that rarest occasion during which he was so sorry that he was actually speaking in a normal fashion. “Eh, yes. Eh, the Landlord wanted to make sure the illusion was believable, so, well, you never spoke with the outside. ‘Peanut’ and ‘Grape’ were part of a program that responds to questions and adapts to the interlocutor…”
Listening to the minipinscher, Tegan tried to remember details of that conversation… “The kittens.”
Tobee nodded. “Database was not updated, so it took it more prodding to elaborate that data and add it into the conversation.” Then almost crying, “We’re sorry, guys, really. We never meant to scare you, I mean… It had to be done…” A paw on his shoulder silenced him before he burst into tears.
In a way, there was a trial going on at the clubhouse. And the defendants were the members who also worked in Security. The Gottschalk dogs had been invited to attend as well, but right now they had to attend their duties as bodyguards of their owner, back at the news conference.
Athena gently let Tobee at his seat in the row in front of the audience. The small dog sniffled as he sat down.
Clementia stood up, walked to the podium and said, “Guys, I won’t insult your intelligence here, because you did a good job enough of doing that already.” That earned her many one glare. “It was clearly written in the regulations, and you should thank T.J. and Zane for remembering that particular.”
“Well, sorry for not caring about a human thing like bureaucracy,” Saga scoffed from Samson’s head.
The Brazilian shorthair raised an eyebrow. “To an extent, I’d say your right,” she said to the tiny but loud mouse. The cat’s eyes scanned the crowd, some of them already trying to avoid her inquisitive gaze. She didn’t allow them to sidestep so easily. “Maximillion, bureaucracy is an important part in your Mom’s life since like all medics even a good-faith mistake could put her in legal trouble. Didn’t you boast about your ability to read through the tiny lines to help her?
“Samson, I do remember that one thing an actor should be good to, other than acting, is reading a contract to strike a good deal. Your words, right?”
“Told you to shut up!” the St. Bernard said to his own resident. Saga snapped. “I was trying to help, okay big brute?”
Shadow didn’t take it on Chocolate, because he knew that, unless the situation called for it – and at that point it would mean things were going really ugly – she was supposed to be part of the picture. Even if it meant keeping the truth for her.
Clementia’s eyes fixed on Butch and Drake. “And either you two are more detached from your parents’ business than we all thought, or you too—“
The Persian cat raised his paws with an annoyed look. “Okay, okay, so we knew, and our humans knew too, all right? We read the regs and we knew there would be a drill someday. And no, we sworn ourselves to secrecy because Gottschalk would skin us if we spoiled the first drill.”
---
“How will be managed the next drills? Other than the mandatory forewarning you mentioned, I mean.”
Gottschalk nodded. “We will cover an extent of disaster scenarios: chemical attack, outbreak, sabotage, earthquake, Yellowstone eruption, terrorism, hostages, taxes.” This caused a load roar of laughter to erupt. The landlord let them vent, then a Washington Post newswoman stood up. After introducing herself, she said, “Why all the differentiation, if you’re all going to hole up anyway?”
“Because for all the scenarios, two factors are given most consideration: forewarning and response. The preparedness to react in an orderly fashion and the adaptability to a forced confinement are what this administration seeks in our residents. Panic and rush are the first killers in a mass evacuation. That is why I chose a nuclear war scenario for this first and only unannounced drill: thirty minutes of forewarning gave the people time to evacuate and follow instructions and not get hurt.”
Alejandro Llamaa, El Pais. Earlier, you mentioned a full-scale nuclear war as a Class-II crisis scenario. What’s your idea of a Class-I, if I may ask?”
Gottschalk let the question sink in before saying, “End of the world.”
---
Jasmine had seen her own nightmare coming true. During all the years she had devoted to taking care of Clarice, she had been a brave bunny, she had never allowed despair to sink in. Modern technologies allowed even such a sick child to lead a long and happy life. With some luck, the girl could grow and outlive her best friend. Jasmine couldn’t ask for better a miracle.
Although the drill had been a fiction, and to her merit Jasmine knew how to handle stress, once again those nagging doubts about the fate of her protégée had reared up their ugly heads.
Technologies were wonderful, but the world was not a nice place. Anytime, anywhere, a crisis unleashed by a single madman could destroy innocent lives, turn the blue earth into a hostile place with no hope for the innocents.
Jasmine looked at Clarice, and wondered.
Was this a life worth living?
---
“For how dramatic a nuclear war might be, like all armed conflicts its purpose is to defeat a given enemy and its allies, not destroying the world. Almost all of the southern hemisphere, and many countries in the northern, will be spared for the simple reason that those places will have the only available space and resources both to take care of the survivors and to rebuild the world. It will be dire, hostile scenario, but in the end human life will go on. Hope wlll turn into a new existence. And perhaps we all will learn something about our previous follies.
“But, ironically, and to our disgrace, nature is neither cruel nor kind: the impact of a K-T asteroid is a remote possibility but not an impossibility. Such an event will turn the world into a wasteland, from Greenland to Antarctica. Over 70% of life forms will be extinguished. And, evolved as we may be, we still must eat and drink to survive –a simple feat we can’t perform if the food chain is utterly destroyed from the very bottom.”
The audience had fell so silent that one could hear the dust settle.
“This is a scenario no drill can cover. Long-term effects are not calculable. Our resources, in such case, would be stressed to the very limits and severe loss figures are to be expected. Cannibalism is a possibility. If I tried to simulate something like that, it would be rightfully considered as a heinous crime.”
---
“I think we should do it again,” Tegan said.
That draw all attention to her –that kind of hostile attention not even a politician would want. The Maine Coon stood her ground by the podium. “It sounds crazy, I know it. Especially now that we’re recovering from the most organized scare of our lives since our first Haloween.” Hesitant chuckles. “But that shelter may be our only safety from the end of the world as we know it, Hannibal is right.” She nodded to the Alsatian who returned the gesture. “We must learn to be more independent, we just cannot count on the humans to take care of us in the event of a catastrophe. Even if the Kingpin is a protected environment, it is not a playground.
“So, I want you to reflect about it, take your time and come with an unanimous decision on this. We can’t vote on a majority. We must involve as many pets as possible, even each and every one of us, so that when the next drill or worse come, we will be ready to do our part.
“I think it is time we started to grow up.”
---
Gottschalk House, Lev. 50

It was well past 10pm when the landlord walked into his nest. If he was tired from the much eventful day, he didn’t show it…
A Japanese woman, dressed in a severe grey suit, greeted him with a curtsy. “He is here, Sir,” she just said in a flawless English.
Gottschalk turned to his dogs. “Please start having dinner without me. I will join you soon.” He then ruffled their head tufts before walking toward the room.
Curie and Gauss didn’t say a word. They knew how father held routine into consideration, and meals with his dogs was the one he had never broken. Once, he had invited the US President to join him at lunch so that the family could eat together…
The dogs went for the dinner room.

The door hissed closed, and Gottschalk took care of locking it himself.
“I think you did a great PR job there,” said the man sitting on the couch. He was smoking a Behike cigar, a glass of Macallan scotch laying on the table. “Excellent stuff by the way. You know how to treat your guests.”
Gottschalk sat down on the couch in front of the man. His expression was hard as ice. “I wasted a drill, I will pay millions in damages, I had to lie through my teeth to half the world and I have broken a strict privacy agreement, all in order to cover your tracks. I confide your search produced the desired results.”
The man smirked. “Straight to the point, eh? But yes, it worked perfectly: we have the names of all the General’s associates inside the Fulcrum. Here, have a look.” He handed Gottschalk a flash card. “And please, don’t be too hard on us. The government, too, took some mud with all the accusations of human experimentations.”
The landlord took the card. “They’re used to that.”
“Ouch. Touché.”
Gottschalk inserted the card into his smartphone –or rather, the backup device he used to read data without fear of being hacked. Then he opened the files.
His interlocutor wasn’t happy about that. This was an international investigation, a very delicate one at that. The less civilians were involved the better…
But this Gottschalk had many friends in very high places. He was bound to discover everything, sooner than later, and the Interpol inspector preferred to keep in touch personally with this man rather than having him hovering over his head like a shadow…
Gottschalk turned off the phone and handed the card back to his guest. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’re sure of your information.”
Which meant ‘you better be sure about this load of the bad smelling stuff or your career and that of your offspring’s goes belly up’. The Interpol inspector nodded. “No mistakes, I’m sorry.”
Gottschalk poured some scotch in a glass. “You know, I must still decide if I am upset or admired about this. They were really good at covering their tracks.”
“Their secret is working like terrorists.”
“Isolated cells.”
“Correct. They know about each other, but nothing about their numbers and names. Not even torture could help that.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that, Inspector Li,” Gottschalk said, looking at the phone screen, occupied by the image of one of the General’s associates.
Hector Garcia.


SEASON III
EPISODE 15
FIN

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Wed Jun 06, 2012 9:42 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
My predictions had failed, but I still loved this.

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Wed Jun 06, 2012 11:26 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
You amazed me with providing a hidden reason to this plot. ;)

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this sucked :|

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Wed Jun 06, 2012 7:33 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
EvanAierkan wrote:
this sucked :|

what sucked?

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
... Somehow, I thought this would happen. I was like, "Hector and the General are from similar areas, could he be... nah"
I believe Hector is being set up. He better be being set up.

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Angst stages again? :mrgreen:

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
no, they were grief stages. angst has no stages.
and no. I'm not as attached to Hector as I am to the Housepets! universe still looking like the Housepets! universe.

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Thu Jun 07, 2012 1:05 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Well. I'd agree that this was a bit of an anticlimax, though that didn't exactly surprise me. The business with Hector, though ... plot twist ahoy! No matter what happens with that, I have not doubt it'll be interesting indeed...

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
… Could someone tell me where, exactly, Hector was introduced? I can't remember who he is. :oops:


Thu Jun 07, 2012 3:50 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Hector Garcia and Alandra were created by Lightwolf and first appeared during a backstory of Light and Keith (characters in the POP saga). They used to live in Colombia, a very poor family. Alandra used to be really sick because of a chronicle liver problem Hector couldn't pay the medical treatement and surgery for (she needed a transplant).
Hector became desperate, eventually, and considered robbing a bank, but that day his path crossed with Light and Keith, who were busy in an operation against a local criminal cartel. The duo operation went fine, but a close friend of Alandra died in the result. Since his help had been instrumental in the success of the operation, and moved by Hector's will of helping his daughter, Keith paid the man to help him move to America, where Hector could operate ALandra and move both of them to Terrace High.

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Or you could just link them to chapter four of Volume I of PoP. XP

http://www.housepetscomic.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=94894#p94894

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES
Season III
Episode 16 – Aaand...Action!
By VALERIO

1.
Watkins House, Lev. 41, Apt. 414, the Fulcrum, Terrace High

Bruce Watkins woke up at the sound of the alarm. He groaned loudly, while his hand fumbled in search of the ‘off’ button –never liked them voice-activated traps, those were good for old, retired people…
6am? He asked himself, while trying to remember why in the world did he anticipate of an hour his wake-up call. Perhaps I am getting old, after all… He woke up at seven, took on his jogging routine for an hour. By 8:20 he was in the shower, then breakfast at 8:40. Finally, at 9am, sharp, he opened the Powerhouse Fitness Center, ready to add his daily contribution to society’s healthy—
He heard Samson’s powerful voice singing Yanni’s Aria. Samson would do that when he showered.
When they showered together. Though dogs and cats couldn’t shower daily, Bruce had made sure he and his son could shower together at least once every two weeks after their jogging. The big brute was following his Dad’s footsteps like a follower his deity. Bruce knew he’d leave his activity to his son, just in case…
So why Samson was showering alone? And why did his voice have such a merry quality to it?
Bruce facepalmed, chuckling. Yes, he was getting old. He sat up, and yawned.
Today was Sam’s first audition for the next movie with Primo. Bruce had decided to give him a ride to the studios before going to his own business. Someone could think it was really early an hour, but Bruce knew by experience, after working in three commercials – one of which for his fitness center – that half of the time on the backstage was precious to understand the environment. And Samson, despite the appearances, could become nervous like a pup before a camera. It had taken 17 shots to get him just to pose without saying a word, all the while Samson had squirmed and giggled and given his best Bambi-eyes to say he was sorry for delaying the shots. The Producer wanted to adopt him. The Director wanted to strangle him.
“DAD!” came the booming voice. Bruce could swear it made the walls tremble! “NEED A HAND OVER HERE WITH MY FUR!”
Oh, yes, and there was that, too. “Coming, Sam.”
Towel, brush and talc later, they were having a quick breakfast in the kitchen. “So? What’s this movie about?” Bruce teased the hulking Saint Bernard.
Samson’s idea of breakfast was a couple of Dagwood sandwiches. The man genuinely envied his son for being able to cram about 1kg worth of the most various foods between eight thick slices of grilled Neapolitan bread. If he tried to mix cheese, ham, bologna, tomato, mayo, wieners, pickles, fontina, taleggio, raw grinded meat, hard-boiled eggs, ketchup and Worcester sauce, he’d be dead within two bites of the stuff.
As it was, Sam downed his second sandwich in two bear chomps and proceeded to slurp his fingers clean. “You know I can’t tell, Dad. Copyright and the stuff…not to mention they didn’t tell me yet.”
“Aren’t you worried it could be a script you don’t like--*eep!*” the latter came after seeing the sudden and unsettling wide grin Sam produced, his pupils two black plates.
“I’ll be playing with Primo, Dad! How could I mind any script?”
“I think I see your point, boy. Just turn off your teeth, please.”
“Sorry.”
“And hand me some cheese, while you’re at it!” said a new voice…coming from his thick tuft of head fur. “Do you think I live on osmosis?”
Sam tore a bit of taleggio and handed it to the minuscule grey-furred paw sticking out. “I thought cheese was a cartoon stereotype,” the Saint Bernard said.
The tiny female mouse started eating her fill. After a few bites, she said, “I have no problems with stereotypes. I have problems with Weight Watchers: anyone believing that keeping off food is healthy for you should be sentenced for crimes against life!” On those words, she and Sam bumped fists. “What?” she added, looking at Bruce, who in turn was giving her a puzzled glance.
“You were there all the time?” the man asked.
“Hey, a lady must take her beauty shower too! What, are you against personal hygiene?”
Bruce looked at Samson. “Boy, I don’t remember you mentioning a…feral living with us.”
Sam didn’t dare to meet his Dad’s stern eyes. He just fiddled with his fingers. “Uhh, well, I sort of met her by chance and I decided I like her…”
“Sam, you know what are the rules concerning—ack! No, don’t you dare!” That came when Samson flattened his ears and gave him the best ‘begging puppy look’ a dog could produce! A weapons of mass cuteness which, coming from that big brute, was even more effective. It was like the Medusa gaze, only it melted hearts instead of petrifying bodies.
“But she’s so tiny and helpless and cute,” Samson said/whimpered. His pupils were almost filling his eyes. “Pleeeease!”
The human was trying at the same time to look away and keep his ears covered, but he knew it was a lost battle. His dog could keep that mode for a week, 24/7. And he knew how to strike the right chords.
To his merit, Samson used his WMC only when he really wanted something. It made Bruce understand he meant business…
Eventually, Bruce turned his head, daring to peek…and when he saw the big puppy face again, he knew he had lost. He sighed. “All right, you can keep her—“
“YAY!” Samson hugged his Dad. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”
Bruce ruffled the thick scruff. “But at one condition: she becomes a pet, and that means today.”
“Right after I’m back from the audition?”
Bruce sighed. “I’ll start filling the forms. Name and age, lady?”
“Saga Booke, 14. Allergic to trash. Anything else o mighty human?”
“Saga!” Sam scolded her.
“Nevermind, boy. She’s no worse than that rabid chipmunk you elected as your best friend."
"Hey, Romeo!" Saga said, giving a tiny punch to the big floppy ear. "You have some explaining to do!"
Sam whimpered.
Bruce shook his head. "Anyway, are you done with your breakfast—“ they rang at the door. “I’ll get it.” He left the kitchen, while his son was giving him the OK and downing a pint of milk.
“’Who can it be now?’” Bruce hummed as he walked the corridor. Like the majority of the residents, given the overall friendly atmosphere, and the latest in security systems, he rarely used his standard videophone. It made him feel paranoid.
Bruce pushed a button and the door hissed open…on yet another display of fanged smiles. For a second there, the man felt as if he was going to be today’s choice of breakfast. “Ah, may I help you?” he asked, recognizing Pawdrick, Maximillion, T.J., Butch, Linus, Isaac, Elliot, Tegan and Elpis. “Guys, what are you doing here, at this hour?”
“GROUPIES!” the pets shouted merrily –all but Butch. The sturdy boxer lifted up a big sign reading PRIMO TERRACE HIGH’S #1 FAN GROUP.
Bruce sighed. He turned and saw Samson, a backpack strapped up his back, coming in. “Hey, guys! Ready to meet our hero?”
“YAY!” went the others, as Butch turned his sign, showing the same exclamation.
The man facepalmed. “Sam, is there anything else I need to know before we go?”
This time, it was the dog who looked at him as if the human’s IQ had dropped a few numbers. “We’re taking the bus. There’s not enough room on your jeep. I left you a sticky note, remember?”
In answer, Bruce put his hand inside his pet’s collar. The big dog squirmed and chuckled at the tickling sensation, then flushed with embarrassment when the man pulled out said sticky note –the note Sam had put in his ‘safe place’ so he’d remember not to lose it.
Samson shuffled his feet. “Err…sorry?”
Bruce crumpled the note. “Never mind. And don’t worry, I’m gonna register Saga anyway: lady,” he asked the tiny mouse. “Anything you need for your comfort, since we’re at it?”
She waved. “Nah, I’m good. Just make sure you got some chestnut honey to go with the cheese, speaking of which I’d love a round of Parmigiano Reggiano, 90 months-seasoned, thank you.”
“See ya in a week, Dad!” Samson said and going out before hearing what the man had to say about the matter. Once the door closed, they walked toward the elevator.

After walking into the cabin, Elliot said, “When will you join us, Teg?”
The cat was almost jumping on her feet. She had an excited, intense expression that the dogs found…unsettling. Okay, they all were fanpups on a mission, but she looked as if she was going to meet a deity. Her teeth were biting into her lower lips, as if she could barely contain her voice. She was holding herself and her fur was all ruffled up with joy.
“..Tegan?”

For a moment, all of the activities inside the Fulcrum came to a halt, as a joyful shout made the whole structure tremble.
“KITTENS!!”

When the elevator’s doors opened, nine dogs staggered out of the cabin like so many drunkards after a night at an Irish Pub. Their eyes were swirling and they were positive their eardrums had shattered.
Only Tegan came out hopping and almost dancing with each step, humming a song and little hearts bubbling like a stream behind her. “I’m gonna see Grape’s litter, I’m gonna see Grape’s litter, lalalala…”
“Lad,” Pawdrick said to Elliot, “ye better ask yer parents to pay a visit to the Charm, or you won’t hear the end of it.”

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Mon Jun 11, 2012 6:59 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
I still say we need fanart of Grape's litter.

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Mon Jun 11, 2012 9:56 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Would be funny if someone mentioned "Akita with a number 1 tag" since there is another one if you remember what I mean.

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Mon Jun 11, 2012 5:50 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
2.
The bus driver called out the names of his passengers lined up in front of the door. “Samson Watkins?”
“A large order of beef ready to go!” barked the St. Bernard. The man passed a scanner near the collar, registering the data, then motioned the dog to get aboard.
Samson did so. And when he was inside the bus, he frowned at the passengers already waiting on her seat. “Hey, Tsuki! Glad to see you made it!” he sat down at the front seat. “We feared you couldn’t join us.”
“I was there since 6am. You’re late,” was the emotionless answer from the white-furred Shiba Inu.
“Sorry. Got distracted. Dad found out about Saga and—“ at that moment, T.J. came aboard. The black Labrador showed his patented all-white smile. “Yo, Tsuki-san! Glad you could make it.”
“I was already here. You’re late.”
Pawdrick came a moment later. “Tsuki, flower of my garden! Feared ye didn’t make it.”
“Was already—“
“Nice of you to show up,” Linus said. “Thought you didn’t want to come.”
“I was—“
When it was Butch’s turn to show up, she put up a sign NOT A WRITTEN WORD!
Elpis sat in the seat near Samson’s. “Thank you for the invitation, Sam! I never hoped I could smell Primo in the flesh! All I got from him so far are scratch’n’sniff cards.”
Sigmund reached out from the seat behind the Australian Terrier’s and patted him. “’s long as you won’t sniff his butt, I guess he’ll be okay.”
“You’re already thinking you’ll be the next superstar, boyo?” Linus, sitting next to the Weimaraner, nudged him.
Sigmund produced a small mirror and flashed his best playboy grin at it. “Rowr! His agent’s so gonna put a contract in my paws soon as he sees this beauty me!”
“Nah,” Pawdrick said from the seat behind. “Them Hollywood types are looking out for experience, lad! Not to mention I can pretty remember each line of a script and am extremely disciplined.”
“I’d be content enough to feature in one of their Bollywood movies,” T.J. said. He had his trusty guitar on his lap. “But first, I could make them listen to an audition of Summer Nights.” And he actually started singing that song, managing to go from a deep male voice to a more feminine one.
The bus driver was doing his best not to laugh as he started the vehicle. Samson was trying to hide himself into the seat. “Guys, this is supposed to be a favor the production is doing, not an assault to the stagecoach,” he whined, his beefy arms covering his head.
“Relax,” said Isaac from the opposite line. “I am going to be a good fanpup. Just the good ol’ autographed picture of Primo and I will do. The Treat will increase its clientele tenfold.” All of a sudden, his polite smile gave way to a bestial, snorting grin. “And those snobs at the Watering Hole with their vegetarian menus will lose all their customers, nghehehehe!”
Samson quietly stood up and went where Maximillion and Butch were sitting. “Ah, guys,” he said, peeking behind his shoulder while Isaac was maniacally talking to himself about taking over the whole commercial area. “Please, tell me you’re going to behave—“ he found himself staring at a Finnish lapphund now wearing big glasses, a thick moustache and holding a big cigar in his fingers, while the mute Boxer was wearing a worn jacket, a blond curly wig and was holding an enormous harp in his paws.
“Dear, we in the industry know that behind every successful screenwriter stands a woman. And behind her stands his dog: Moi.”
The Saint Bernards facepawlmed. “If any of you now zips his fur down and reveals a Bigglesworth inside, I swear, I’d find that normal.”
Sam’s cell rang at that moment. The dog took it. “Hello?”
“You rang?” asked 11 feline voices.
Smason whimpered.
Butch shook his head, then started playing the harp –he was good, Sam had to admit it.
---
Roberts House, Babylon Gardens

“Primo, come on! You’re gonna be late!” The black German shepherd knocked again at the bathroom’s door.
A powerful retching sound came as answer, making the black dog shiver with disgust. Then came a long moan, not dissimilar from a mourning soul. “I hate you, Spike. I so hate you.”
Spike shrugged. “Don’t try to blame it on me, now. You said you liked Italian ice cream! And I too ate a king-size bucket.”
“You cheated! You have an iron-cast stomach!”
Spike crossed his arms in an indignant posture. “Please! It is you who forgot that I lived off the street for some time, while your delicate tummy never dealt with anything stronger than the wrong brand of chow!”
The door opened, ever so slowly, letting out a whiff of stench that made the black dog’s stomach churn. A moment later, a red-furred Akita inu walked out, still holding his stomach. His eyes were much like a zombie’s. “I hate you, Spike. I so hate you.”
Spike, holding his breath, leaned to peer in the bathroom. The white part of his face turned an unhealthy green. He slammed the door shut. “Primo, do you realize we are so going to use the garden as restroom for years to come?”
Primo staggered toward the kitchen. Right now, his first worry was to get rehydrated after offering his body liquids to the sewers’ chthonic deities.
Spike, wearing a gas mask, finished putting red ‘biohazard’ tape over the door. “So you’re going to miss the audition?”
Primo downed a glass of water. “Do I look like I am in the condition to go to the set? Do me a favor, call production and my agent. Tell the first that I love them, and the second that I will commit seppuku to redeem my honor.” He groaned and buried his face over the table top.
“Tsk!” Spike took a seat and went to one of the wall cupboards. “As if I’m going to allow you to ruin this day,” he said, rummaging among the various herbals and pulling out several tins which he tossed over the counter. “If I heard you right, yesterday, you said that you’re going to evaluate a dog from Terrace High, right?”
His arm laying on the table, Primo nodded with a thumb-up.
Spike closed the cupboard and hopped down the chair. He was smiling, as he approached Primo. He leaned over his friend and housemate. “You don’t want to give a delusion to your fan and future co-worker, believe me.”
“Abegrumpf?”
Spike nodded. “Because you too watched that news report on TV, a couple of weeks ago, and I’ll bet your agent did too, that’s why he chose that dog among the many candidates. Have you seen that underground shelter? Bet your firetruck-colored hide that they are already drooling at the idea of shooting a movie down there! I mean, it’s simply fantastic!”
Primo saw the sparkles shining in his friend’s eyes, just like Spike has seen them in his own when he had told Primo he was Japanese and not Italian.
[quote="_Stu_"]Image
“Fantastic?”
Spike turned and went to the counter. He hopped back onto the seat and took a boiler. He filled it and put it on the fire. Then he started mixing herbs into a bowl. “The whole Terrace High, up and down, is a prefabricated set! Production will save gazillions if they get the permission to work there. And what better impression than showing all the goodwill toward one of their beloved pets?” He took a boiler. “Man, even a History Channel documentary would earn an Oscar!”
Primo sighed. “Samson was chosen for his talent long before that drill thing… And what are you doing with those herbs?” he cautiously sniffed at the mix Spike had put in front of him.
Spike smiled proudly. “Mongolian decoction. Back when I was human and would get really sick, stomach-wise, mom would make me drink a cup of it. She said Mongol hordes drank it to prepare themselves to battle.” He seemed to think twice about that. “Actually, I think that is one of the reasons I ran from home, but at least it worked.” He batted his chest with a fist.
Primo was beginning to fear for his life, but before he could say anything, both dogs froze at the menacing roars and hisses coming from behind them.
“Spike, please tell me you didn’t put the fire at max.”
The black GSD grinned apologetically. “Whoopsie?”

The Rising Dragon Force effect tore through Roberts’ house rooftop in a roaring column of vapor.

Every wooden furniture piece was creaking and bending after that vapor bath. Primo was aghast.
Spike brought the boiler to the table, using asbestos gloves. “What’s with that face? They say it works miracles against thermites.” He poured the water into the cup with the herbs, which dissolved instantaneously, giving the water an intense red color.
Primo tried to abandon his seat. “Err, I think I feel really better now and I am ready to go. Honest?”
Spike held him at his place, gently but firmly. Primo tended to forget how strong his friend could be. “Come on, you know you need to rebuild your strength. Just a sip, and you’ll feel reborn to a new life.”
Did Primo detect something evil in the soothing voice of Spike? His attention was focused on the liquid in front of him, It wasn’t boiling, it wasn’t even steaming. It lay in the bowl, quiet…waiting…
Primo gulped but took the bowl. My fans, know that I died a hero! And he downed the content in two gulps.

This time, the Galaxian Explosion effect shook the whole house and created a mile-wide devastation radius around it.

Spike bent down and patted the Akita. “See? Your coat looks even shinier now. Get up and let’s go to the set: your loyal fans, and the glory, await us!”
“Hate…you…” croaked the rigid form on the pavement, all fluffed up in shock.

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Last edited by valerio on Sat Sep 07, 2013 11:37 am, edited 1 time in total.



Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:56 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
due credits are due...

SPIKE AND PRIMO appear for the first time, courtesy of the great STU, author of Housepets 1X!

Thank you STU, hope I'm doing it right :D

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 2:21 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
believe it or not, i had 5 minutes before the exam and i already read this. great job as always! :D

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 2:37 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
huh. I always thought Spike was a husky. *shrugs*

you have a lot of German Shepherds in your fic.

on another note: Your fic dragged me away from watching Doctor Who. bravo.

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 2:38 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
RandomGeekNamedBrent wrote:
huh. I always thought Spike was a husky. *shrugs*

you have a lot of German Shepherds in your fic.

on another note: Your fic dragged me away from watching Doctor Who. bravo.

I thought that too: then i took a look at the cast page after Spike telling Primo about those Japanese origins... 8-)
Uh? What makes you think that GSD is my all-favorite breed? Uh? :?
And YAY! i beat the Doc! :D

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
even better, he was with Shakespeare at the time, so you beat him too :lol:

and lets see: Sasha, Mizar, Ralph, an entire island of with a large town GSDs in your RP: now where could I have gotten that idea: I used too many colons in this line

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 3:00 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
And I thought Spike was just a stray dog.
Great update.

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
3.
Sandwich House, Babylon Gardens

“Son, do you realize you’re married and father of a litter?”
“Of course!” Peanut Butter Sandwich answered, while sitting on the porch of their house. The brown-and-cinnamon colored dog kept looking at the road, waiting for the bus from Terrace High to come… “Why are you asking?”
The dog sitting next to him was the living proof that genetic was thicker than water. Aside from a sturdier build, a reflection of what Peanut would become with time and training, Budweiser Sandwich was his son’s spitting image. He also wore the same red collar model. “Because you look like you’re waiting for your long-lost girlfriend.”
Peanut blushed. “Aw, papa! Tegan is my best female friend together with Tarot. We lived such an adventure, together! And I can’t wait to show her my litter!” he wagged. “Perhaps it will help Elliot decide to adopt, after all.”
Bud nodded, without having the heart to remind Peanut that such decisions were not left to the pets, but to their owners and their regulations. Even if he was sure Elliot’s owners were good people, a condominium wasn’t the right place to expand one’s family, unlike Babylon Gardens. Peanut should not take his luck for granted, Bud would tell himself, but his son deserved –no, he had earned a better life. And his papa wouldn’t crush his spirits over formalities…
The dogs’ floppy ears flicked up at the sound of a distant vehicle… A vehicle coming their way!
Peanut stood up. “She’s here!”
Bud stood up as well. Despite his considerations, he too cherished a deep admiration for Tegan. What Peanut called ‘a great adventure’, as if it was a game of sort, had been a tough test, and both he and that cat had passed it with shining colors. Indeed, Grape couldn’t have more suitable mate…
The bus came, and even before it stopped, an orange-furred figure ran out of the vehicle. Bud’s eyes widened with fear as he realized, too late, that she was on a collision course—
Peanut had just the time to say, “Hi there, Teg—“
“Kittens!” Tegan said, passing over Bud with a sound of crunching bones and ruffling Peanut’s fur with the draft. The dog winced when he heard the loud sound of cracking wood. When he turned, he saw the Maine coon-shaped hole in the door.

Inside the bus, Elliot’s brow displayed a big drop of sweat crossing his worried expression.
“Shall we wait for her?” the bus driver asked. The dog numbly shook his head. “I’ll go with her. You guys have fun at the set. Don’t worry about being late: Tegan will want to spend all the time possible with the litter. Wish me luck.”

The door to Peanut and Grape’s room opened slowly. Tegan’s head peered in. “Hellooo? Is someone really, really cute hooome?” Then her smile faded, as she saw the room was empty.
A room different since last time she had seen it: instead of the big double-basket, now there was a regular bed at the center of the room –a soft, round model with cushioned edges, it looked like a giant cookie.
Tegan walked in, big question marks popping over her head. “Grape? Kittens? Are you here?” her eyes darted to and fro. They better has to be home, or else..! She had called, she had made sure everyone was here, and she wouldn’t be denied! she had seen pictures, but Grape hadn’t even allowed her precious to be shown in a video chat. Tegan’s maternal instincts were crying out like a tormented soul. Tegan NO denied!
“Ah, you wanna play, eh? Think that Aunt Tegan can’t play, too?” she went on all fours and started moving like a panther, hackles slightly up and tail lashing with excitement. She distinguished each scent of the family that lived here, and it was…intoxicating. She could almost trace their tussles, their little activities together and individual, their loving… Bad Teggie! She admonished herself.
And that room made her think of how her own room would smell if she had a litter and Elliot moved to live with her… Grape, girl, if you knew how much you are lucky..— “ACK!” She felt something hitting her from behind, clinging to her back and tail and legs! In a moment, she was pushed down and belly up.
And whatever thought of amused panic Tegan could have nurtured, it melted at the sight of the five small shapes pinning her down –of course her eyes were first attracted by blue-eyed Dayshaun, a cat whose fur pattern reflected down to the single hair that of his canine father. He was proudly sitting on her chest. “Gotcha!” he said, with that same happy smile Grape had learnt to love in her dog.
Then her green eyes moved to the second kitten: Since seeing the first pictures, Tegan couldn’t stop thinking about that perfectly round, white spot in the otherwise spotless lavender fur head-to-tailtip as a third eye in the middle of her brow. ‘Third eye’, heh –had to be expected by a female called Tarot.
The third little one was candidate to be troublemaker, the brawler of the family. For sure, Parnok with his white fur and lavender tail was doing his best to pin down the adult cat. “Any last wish?”
“Yeah, any last wish?” Louise and Nutella Sandwich said, together…then looked at each other, pouting. “I said it first!” exclaimed Louise who, like her twin sister, had earned the same dark shade of Peanut’s fur and blue eyes.
“No, I said it first!”
“No, I!”
“No, I!”
Tegan laughed. “Oh dear! Kittens, please! There’s enough of aunt Teg for everyone here. And I will not give up without a fight.” She growled jokingly.
Dayshaun and Parnok exchanged a mischievous glance. “See?” Parnok said. “So long for your peace offering!”
“Aw, but we outnumber her!” ‘Shaun protested. “It’s not fair!”
“Uncle Maxie says a real hunter does not know ‘fair’, and so…” He flashed a grin that could have come straight from the mouth of Maxwell. Louise and Nutella, who were slave to the leading influence of their brother, returned the grin as they got ready to pounce…
“Kits,” a voice interrupted them from the door. “What did I tell you about being nice to our guests?”
“Ma-ama!” five voices mewed. Then, Parnok, “We never get to sacrifice a prey to the Dark Dragon!”
Grape walked in. She went on all fours herself and picked up the rowdy male by the scruff of his neck. “You got to sacrifice grandpa Bud last week.” She deposited him at a safe distance, while the others, meekly, let go of their prey. “Now apologize to aunt Tegan.”
“…Sorry,” Parnok said, his flicking short tail belying his words.
Tegan stood up. “Aw, Grape, really. I couldn’t have enough of them. Did you buy an altar, you little rascals?” she asked the kittens, winking at them.
“I am designing it!” Dayshaun said proudly, then, correcting himself as he fiddled his fingers. “We-ell, papa is helping me designing it.”
“That’s cuz your art stinks!” Louise raspberried him.
“Does not!” the still stubby appendage puffed up. Tegan had still a problem not imagining a puppy instead of a kitten –a puppy with inflatable tail. She giggled.
“Does do!” Nutella intervened, making Shaun turning his head.
“Have they always been doing the twin thing?” Tegan asked Grape, remembering Antares’ and Aldebaran’s way to mess up with other people’s attention.
Grape sighed. “Actually, they learnt that from Naos and Rigel, who in turn learnt from Antares and Aldebaran… Tegan, are you all right?”
The Maine coon’s eyes were shining again with motherly desire. “Are the puppies coming as well?” she asked with a mother-hen voice.
“They’re already here, dear,” said a new voice from the door.
Tegan turned and met a female white German shepherd, holding two restless bundles of white fur –except for their brown snouts and ears. Like their father, they had eyes of an intense grey, shining with curiosity and seriousness at the same time. Their mother would often joke that Naos and Rigel Foster were borne housebroken.
Oh, dog! They are so adorable too! How can I choose?” she opened her arms to welcome them in a hug, but the first thing they did was to sniff her prudently.
“They took that from aunt Celestia,” Mizar said, shaking her head.
“I don’t care who they did take that from, they remain adorable!” She quickly grabbed them and squeezed them. “Hmm, still smell like mommy milk.”
The kittens, even Dayshaun, were laughing themselves silly at those words. The pups blushed furiously and protested as they tried to squirm away from the furry vise.
Unlike in the Sandwich household, the twins of Mizar were being raised in quite an extended family –for pets standard. Aside from having a cat for raising father, they were surrounded by the attention of their uncles Antares and Aldebaran, and by the she-wolf Celestia, who, as member of the pack felt her duty to help raising the new lives.
And when the pups were out of Foster Mansion, they were busy with the Sandwich kittens and…
Tegan looked around. “Where is Bosco?” Bosco Byron, son of the (in)famous Bino and Sasha. The most unlikely couple, when it came to romance, had produced an offspring and, if the rumors were true, Bino was being one seriously devoted father to his pup, even if Bosco had to live with Sasha at the house of Bino’s brother Fido.
Naos and Rigel managed to slip away. They sniffed at their bodies as if fearing to be contaminated by the cat scent. “Bosco is down with aunt Sasha, waiting for you and the others.” And before Tegan could reply, out they went, trotting on their short puppy legs.
Mizar sighed. “I’m so sorry, Teg. Since they started hanging out with Bosco, they started listening to Bino as well.”
“They are becoming bubblies!” Tarot said.
“It’s bullies,” Dayshaun corrected her. But mostly, it’s Naos who’s being a bad pup. Rigel is kind with the others,” he added, wagging.
Tegan melted. “Daww, do my kitty sense detect a…romance in your little heart?”
Shaun blushed terribly and went to hide behind grape’s leg.
Grape picked up Louise and Nutella, while Tegan picked up Dayshaun and Tarot. Parnok squatted, his tongue tip sticking in concentration…and jumped, using Tegan’s back fur to climb up until he got up to her neck. All the while, the poor adult cat had to bite her lower lip to suppress the scream of pain. When the kitten was safely nested against her scruff, she said, “Good claws…”
Grape winked at her. “Doesn’t Peanut know it. Oh, there’s so much I must tell you about them… For example, have you ever seen Shaun waking his siblings like Peanut does with me..?”

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Last edited by valerio on Thu Nov 08, 2012 6:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Tue Jun 12, 2012 10:13 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Quick note: "No, I said it first!" is the way to say it, so it makes sense to continue with, "No, I!" "No, I!" But when we shorten it to just the two words, we always say, "No, me!"
Also: "Does not!" "Does too!" (My sister and I spent a little while deciding which one ("too" or "to") it was :lol: )

The little tykes are so adorable! :D I could never get enough of them!

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 11:13 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Obbl wrote:
Quick note: "No, I said it first!" is the way to say it, so it makes sense to continue with, "No, I!" "No, I!" But when we shorten it to just the two words, we always say, "No, me!"
Also: "Does not!" "Does too!" (My sister and I spent a little while deciding which one ("too" or "to") it was :lol: )

The little tykes are so adorable! :D I could never get enough of them!

counter-note (thank you anyway): the kits are 4 months old. They must still grow up into a fine grammar :lol:

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 11:44 am
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
The Son of Apocalypse has been trampled. Oh the irony. :lol:

Cute kids, they are.

Will Maxwell reveal his Earcut identity or will that remain an alternate story like Matt?

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:09 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
kavviyenta wrote:
The Son of Apocalypse has been trampled. Oh the irony. :lol:

Cute kids, they are.

Will Maxwell reveal his Earcut identity or will that remain an alternate story like Matt?

Truth be told, I have intention of taking certain parts of HP1X's universe only to use them as set/actors in my ficcie -something like Go Nagai and Osamu Tezuka used to do with their characters, transferring them from a universe to the other without continuity.
For example, I daresay that in 1X's universe Grape is Max's girlfriend and surely not married to Peanut. And what Pete is doing is preluding to important changes that would be incompatible with my setting.
By the same token, if Stu wanted to use my characters in his plots, I'd be okay with that. ;)

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:15 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Gotta love the kids.

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:42 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
one thing I can say about this update:
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Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:51 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
The level of cute in this episode suddenly skyrocketed. I approve. ^^

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 1:52 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
It's just too cute to be true. The kittens are just so cute :lol:

valerio wrote:
Truth be told, I have intention of taking certain parts of HP1X's universe only to use them as set/actors in my ficcie -something like Go Nagai and Osamu Tezuka used to do with their characters, transferring them from a universe to the other without continuity.
For example, I daresay that in 1X's universe Grape is Max's girlfriend and surely not married to Peanut. And what Pete is doing is preluding to important changes that would be incompatible with my setting.
By the same token, if Stu wanted to use my characters in his plots, I'd be okay with that. ;)

That's right, i was planning to use HP continuity into 1X. But some characters are just too interesting not to be used, like Volant with Pete, or Samson with Primo. I will have a lot of fun using and drawing them :lol:

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 2:12 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
*starts hearing a choir of angels singing*
The honor will be all mine!

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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
I love Shaun correcting Tarot. They're so helpful at that age. :lol:

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Last edited by Obbl on Wed Jun 13, 2012 12:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Tue Jun 12, 2012 4:36 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Ok, that was cute.

That just made up for almost making me want to stop reading when I thought you killed everyone in a nuclear war. Good job there.

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Tue Jun 12, 2012 5:18 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
4.
Applegate Studios, Locke’s County

“We’ve reached our destination, gentledogs,” the driver said as he maneuvered into the parking lot.
“YAY!” came from the ten dogs.
The man killed the engine. Samson stood up. “Guys, this is it. From now on you start acting in a disciplined fashion or I will kick you back into your apartments, one by one.”
“AW,” came from eight dogs.
Samson regarded Elpis, Isaac, Pawdrick, Linus, T.J., Butch, Maximillion and Sigmund, He didn’t even care to meet Tsuki’s impassible gaze, she was discipline made flesh. “Seriously. My career as actor depends on today: I know you can’t wait to meet Primo, but this is my first auction for his movie, not a fanboy fanfare—“
“There he is!” Sigmund pointed out.

Two stocky Doberman guards accompanied the Akita actor and the black German shepherd walking by his side.
“Why the sunglasses, Spike?” Primo asked his friend and housemate.
“We’re Hollywood stuff, man. Coolness is not an option.”
I don’t wear them, if you noticed.”
“That’s because you’d rather wear a ninja outfit. So ‘90sh.” Spike sounded like a Vogue fashion critic as he said that.
The red-furred dog sighed. “Just don’t do one of your tricks with my fans, like turning your eyes black or something. The idea is this day is supposed to go on smoothly… Oh, and yes,” he added, seeing Spike rotating his finger as if encouraging him to add something else. “Thank you for the decoction. It helped.”
Spike nodded. The bus stopped in the parking lot. “You’re welcome. Now, ready to meet your future colleague and backstabber?”
Primo huffed. “We’ve been through that already! Not all actors go for each other’s throat. Not everytime.”
Spike shook his head, then snickered. “So, Vanessa was an exception then?”
“…” Primo sulked toward the bus. “Nevermind. I studied the file about that Samson Watkins, and I am pretty sure he’s a nice guy, polite and disciplined—“
At that moment, the autobus tilted dangerously in their direction! Primo and Spike saw paws, 8 doggy panting faces and tongues flattened against the windows. For some reason, they reminded him of so many zombies hungry for brains.
A moment later, something dragged those dogs away from the windows. The bus started to shake & rock while a terrible roar and whimpers of pain came from it.
Primo was pupilless and completely sulking. Spike had removed his glasses and was nodding thoughtfully. “Yes. Smooth, man, really smooth.”
Primo sobbed. “Why me?”
The bus door opened. The first to come out was Samson. His mere presence caused an eclipse.
Spike’s jaw dropped. He knew about big dogs, and the file about Samson spoke volumes…but seeing those data made flesh was another thing entirely. The black dog felt dwarfed, that guy made look Brutus small. “Eh…” Spike attempted a trembling grin as he waved with his fingers. “Nice to meet you, Gargantua?”
Primo held out his paw. “Welcome to the Applegate Studios, Samson! Did you have a tough time coming?”
“Oh, not at all, thank you! It’s a real honor to meet you, Primo, Sir!”
The Akita chuckled. “Oh, please, it’s not that I’m your boss or something. We’re all equals under the thumb of the director. Now come, I’ll introduce you to the staff and then we’ll speak about the script. I think we have just the time to meet the fans.”
The Saint Bernard wagged. “They’d really love it, thank you.” He motioned to the bus. “Now you can come, guys!” he listed them as they came out. “Primo, meet Sigmund Follett…” The Weimaraner posed briefly like a statuesque Adonis, showing a row of pearly fangs. Samson decided he’d kill him later. “Linus Carter…” who gave Primo the ‘V’. “T.J. Cabana,” Who came out with his guitar strapped behind his back. “Maximillion Rozen…” The Finnish lapphund just bowed briefly. “Isaac ‘Bolt’ Piave…” Who was already holding an autograph book with pen in a paw. “Butch Warreck…” The Boxer waved. “Elpis Karahalios…” The Australian Terrier sniffed in Primo’s direction then waved, wagging really hard.
“They would make a great cast for that movie project I told you about,” Spike mumbled in Primo’s ears…but only now did he notice that the red dog’s attention had been completely catalyzed by something else. “Primo?” Spike first snapped his fingers in front of the other dog, then tried to wave his paw, but always to no avail. “Hello? What’s the matter with—Oh.”
The last fan to step out of the bus was a female –and what a girl! Pure, snow-white fur, only the black of her truffle and the intense crystal blue of her eyes breaking that spotless coat. Even her collar was classy: decorated with a wavy motif, and a petal of a delicate purple as tag. A Shiba Inu, as beautiful as a cloud.
Spike gulped. Okay, he knew he was a human with a very messed-up DNA, but he was positive his doggy side was telling him Ka-ching!
Samson, too, seemed unprepared by that sudden development. “And…err, this is Tsuki Miyugi.”
“You’re Japanese,” Primo finally said, still lost in his love spell, imagining her standing proudly with her katana in her paw, surrounded by a cascade of petals.
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He sounded as if Dog had decided to bless him personally. Then, all of a sudden, he snapped out of it and turned into the bold action-movie creature his fans had come to love! He walked to Tsuki and bowed deeply in front of her. “I am much honored to make your acquaintance, Tsuki-san. Please, allow me to be your escort in this tour—“ Something whizzed in front of him and made the white celestial female disappear. Primo, his eyes two dots, turned his head…then puzzlement turned into fiery indignation. “Spike! Don’t you dare to come between me and my destiny!”
The black dog had put Tsuki in line with the other fans. “You’ll have all the time to chat with her…once you’re done with your job, isn’t that right?”
Growling, Primo stepped toward the traitorous German shepherd…then bumped into a wall of thick fur and muscles.
“I’ll be very honored to work with you!” Samson said, barely containing his excitement, a constellation glittering in his eyes. He walked toward the complex, dragging the Akita by the arm. Primo was crying rivers, and was still crying out loud “WHY-Y-Y-Y?” as he disappeared behind a corner.
The group exchanged a nervous glance. Spike clapped his paws to draw their attention. “Oookay, groupies, time to gape is over. When lunch break comes, you’ll get to meet your hero at the mess hall. And try to remember: do not order their spaghetti, last time those things strangled a lights technician. Now let’s go, I’ll show you the backstage wonders of the movie industry.”
The group started following Spike. Sigmund asked, “How long have you been working here?”
“Actually, this is my first time as chaperon: I am doing Primo a favor because I owed him, and also because the guy who used to do the tour disappeared after protesting with Blaszczyk – that is the studios’ Polish cook. Oh, almost forgot: ask the kitchen staff if they did the DNA test on the ham. Precautionary measures and stuff, you know.”
“Do you know Primo very well?” Elpis asked.
“I live with him, actually,” the black dog started boasting…before realizing his mistake. He was immediately submerged by a flood of questions about their hero’s private life and flashes of phone cameras.
---
“Welcome to the Applegate Studios,” said a man, clasping Samson’s paw in his hands. He was a thin man, with a thin moustache, and he spoke like he moved: nervously. Your typical caffeine-addict. He looked nice enough, tough. “I am Seth, the Director of this gazillion money-maker! The title is A Dogland Odyssey. Action thriller. Dogs kidnapped and brought to Mexico for the infamous Pet Fight Club circuit. A valiant hero working undercover to rescue them.” His hands pointed at Primo, who assumed a heroic stance, thumbs up, fur ruffled by the wind and smashing sparky grin.
“Thank you, Jan,” Seth said.
“No prob, chief,” answered the tall man from maintenance before turning off the fan aimed at Primo.
Then Seth stuck his finger into Samson’s fur chest. “And you, the henchman of the vile ringleader. Bonebreaker, assigned to steal innocent lives and teach them discipline in the harshest way! BUT! You are not really evil. You shall know love. You will learn that justice can TRIUMPH! And you will end up working with Primo to put an end to this cruelty! People will cry. People will pay the ticket!” On those words, he actually looked and sounded much like the Joker. It was scary.
Samson raised a finger. “Uhh, Seth Sir?”
“Please, call me…” the man thought about that. “No, taken already. Tell me, boy. Any question, I’ll answer.”
“Were you inspired by the recent kidnapping at Babylon Gardens, for this movie?”
“No,” said a voice behind him. “He was inspired by our story.”
Samson turned, as Seth was saying, “Sam, my boy. Meet our consultants and co-writers of this masterwork.”
The ‘consultants’ were a female cat with nearly pure grey fur, save for a white spot on her abdomen and under her mouth, and a male husky with a dark fur, deep bluish that neared the black.
“They are Socks and Garr,” Seth was saying. “They used to belong to the PFC circuit, in the roles that you and Primo will cover. I asked for a cat, but Socks insisted she wanted a dog. No problem with me of course. Now, for the wonderful lady who’s gonna steal your canine hearts and redeem Bonebreaker…” the thin man turned around. “Where is Miss Froufrou? She said she’d be here to meet the new actor! Come on, guys! It was funny only the first time you closed her in the coffin!”
A blond woman came hurriedly. She was out of breath. “Bad news, boss: Miss is sick! Food poisoning!”
A big drop of sweat appeared on the director’s face. Then he covered his face. “Please, please, please! Someone tell me she didn’t steal a tuna can from the pantry again!
No one dared to answer, but several staff members started backpedaling, slowly.
Mr. Seth didn’t say a word. His face was an expressionless mask. Then he took a gun and aimed at itself. He was tackled and disarmed, but Primo’s Doberman bodyguards had a hard time holding him.
“My life is over! This movie is over! I’ll end up in a Calcutta sewer! Let me die with honor, heathens!”
“Perhaps it’s not over yet,” Primo said. That had the magic effect of stopping the Director’s seizures.
The red-furred Akita was showing a sly smile. “Perhaps I have just the perfect replacement for the female part…”

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Last edited by valerio on Mon Sep 02, 2013 3:56 am, edited 1 time in total.



Thu Jun 14, 2012 1:44 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Tsuki is going to be perfect for this... and Primo is always such a ladykiller u.u

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Thu Jun 14, 2012 2:58 pm
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Post Re: HOUSEPETS! THE SERIES Official Thread
Oh look. :3 Some of my more recent art.

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