Roll for distraction

Emily moved first.

With a grace that bordered on supernatural, she slithered out from under Jane’s heel, her tail swishing as she dropped to all fours and *pounced*—not at John, but at his mother. The older woman recoiled, but Emily was faster, nuzzling her face against Mrs. Henderson’s shin with a melodious purr. “Mrow?” Emily blinked up at her, pupils enormous, her bell jingling innocently as she rubbed her cheek against the woman’s calf.

John’s mother stared. “Wh—what?”

Jane seized the opportunity like a lifeline. “Cosplay!” she blurted, yanking the leash back with a frantic jerk. “We’re—uh—*practicing* for the anime convention! Emily’s a *catgirl*! Right, John? *Right?*” Her boot nudged his shin hard enough to bruise.

John choked. “Y-yeah! Total *nerd* stuff. Super lame.”

Emily, still pressed against Mrs. Henderson’s leg, let out a trill so perfectly feline it made the hairs on John’s neck stand up. His mother’s resolve wavered. Hesitantly, she reached down—and Emily practically *melted* into the touch, arching her back like a contented housecat. “Oh,” Mrs. Henderson murmured, fingers scratching absently behind Emily’s ears. “You’re… very *convincing*, dear.”

Jane’s shoulders sagged in relief. Too soon. Emily’s tail flicked, her purr deepening as she rubbed her face against Mrs. Henderson’s hand—then, with a sly glance back at John, she deliberately licked the woman’s palm.

Mrs. Henderson yelped. “She *licked* me!”

Jane’s smile was strained. “...*Method acting*?”

Mrs. Henderson narrowed her eyes, her foot tapping impatiently against the spilled pancakes. “Jane. *What* character?”

“Uhh—” Jane’s fingers twitched around the leash, her boots scuffing the carpet. “*Evil* queen?” She gestured vaguely at her corset. “Like… *sexier* Maleficent?”

John groaned louder, dragging his hands down his face. “Mom, *please*—”

“And *you*?” His mother whirled on him, her voice climbing into shrill disbelief. “Are you supposed to be *Prince Charming*?” Her gaze flicked pointedly to the leather pants and his obscene bulge

Emily, still crouched on all fours, let out a muffled *mrrow*—half-laugh, half-panic—before darting behind the throne and pressing her forehead to John’s knee, her tail lashing. Jane coughed. “*Technically*… he’s more of a *dark* prince. Think *vampire* aesthetics. But, uh, *PG-13*.” She kicked John’s ankle again. “*Right?*”

John wanted to die. “Yeah. *Totally* PG-13,” he croaked, acutely aware of Emily’s warm breath ghosting over his thigh.

Mrs. Henderson crossed her arms. “And why,” she enunciated slowly, “is Emily licking people?”

Jane grinned. “*Method acting.*”

Emily’s ears flattened. “*Mrow.*”

John’s mother exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Do you three," she enunciated, picking up the tray of spilled pancakes knuckles white around the tray, "think I was *born yesterday*? Downstairs. *Now.*"

Jane’s smirk was instantaneous—*feral*—her fingers twitching toward an unseen ****. "No, I don’t *think so*," she purred, snapping her fingers with theatrical flair.

Silence.

John’s mother quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Something wrong, *dear*?"

Jane’s grin faltered. She snapped again. Nothing. Emily’s tail puffed like a bottlebrush.

"Downstairs," Mrs. Henderson repeated. "*Now.* And Jane?" She leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "*Your mother wants to talk to you.*"

Jane’s face drained of color.

Emily hissed.

John’s mouth went dry.

SUMMARY^1: Jane’s attempt to wield her powers fails spectacularly under Mrs. Henderson’s withering stare, leaving the trio stranded without their supernatural escape. Emily’s panicked feline mannerisms and Jane’s floundering excuses collapse entirely when John’s mother delivers an ultimatum—downstairs immediately—and drops the bombshell that Jane’s mother is involved. The trio’s bravado evaporates, their fate now tied to parental intervention as reality reasserts control.

Mrs. Henderson strode out, leaving the trio frozen in place—until Emily frantically tapped John’s shoulder, eyes wide as saucers. "*Run?*" she whispered, her claws accidentally pricking his skin.

John shook his head, pulse hammering in his throat. Behind them, the bedroom door creaked shut on its own.

Jane let out a jagged laugh. "Ohhh, *shit*."

Then—**that voice**.

Smooth, and way way too Calm.

Unmistakably Jane’s mother’s—but layered with something *else*, a resonance that vibrated in their molars. "*John. Emily. Jane Elizabeth Smith.*" The walls hummed along with each syllable. "*Kindly join us downstairs.*"

The trio exchanged glances. Emily instinctively pressed into John’s side, her tail wrapping around his wrist like a vice. Jane swallowed hard.

They shuffled toward the stairs, the air thickening with every step. At the base, golden light spilled from the kitchen doorway, pooling across the hardwood like liquid sunlight.

Jane’s mother sat silhouetted at the head of the table, her usual cardigan replaced by a robe of shifting constellations. Her fingers drummed once—*tap*—and the china rattled.

John’s mother sat stiffly beside her, gripping her coffee cup with white knuckles. "*Explain,*" she said thinly, "*why you three are "cosplaying" *She air quoted* up in John's room."

Jane’s mother smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.

Emily whimpered.