Jake Manger
June 26, 2015 2:56 PM
Your boy Jake. by Jake Manger
The moment old Everest came flapping his heavy, silver wings, Jake knew his father had sent another “surprise”. He really couldn’t understand why Dad insisted on sending him stuff lately. The broom last year had been awesome and appreciated, but sending a new model this year was a little weird, especially since Jake hadn’t even played last year, simply riding the bench as the “just in case” player.When the large owl dropped today’s arrival in his hands, the package felt (obviously) a lot different than a broom. It was fairly square, although not perfectly so, and felt soft. Blue eyes focused quizzically on the brown paper as he began to untape it, careful not to rip anything in case it was something ridiculous he felt the need to send back. After all, Dad paid his child support like he was supposed to, and aside from maybe birthdays and holidays, Jake didn’t really expect too much from him.
He unfurled the contents and found himself in possession of a new robe, black and sleek, clean, with his name embroidered. It was a bit too long for him at the moment, but Jake was expecting a growth spurt any time now, and until then, he could either enchant the ends up or else hem it by hand. Most of the robes Jake owned now had once been Arnold’s, not out of financial necessity but out of practicality; they were hardly worn, ones his brother had needed and then immediately shot out of when his growth spurt had arrived.
During the opening, Everest had remained quiet in his hovering, but he hooted rather loudly to remind Jake that he was awaiting any sort of response. The Teppenpaw paused, then grabbed a quill and a scrap of parchment from his supplies, penning a quick but neat, Thank you for the robes. They’re wonderful. Love, your boy Jake. He tucked the message into Everest’s waiting talons, said a polite, “Thanks, buddy,” and watched the owl flap its way out.
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Jake Manger
Your boy Jake.
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