Hamming it up and its variations win at 10:2:1.
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You need to do something. Fast. Your sister's eyes are wide, and only getting wider as half-seconds go by. You can hear her taking a deep breath to scream her tiny 12-year-old lungs out.
Act the hero. It should calm her down a bit. Hopefully.
In the fraction of a second you have to think, you come up with an absolutely
wonderful idea. You look the hero. Why not
act like one?
You straighten up further, plant your hands on your hips, and
grin. Logic would dictate that if your new power has changed you this much, a decent smile isn't too far out of its purview.
"There's nothing to fear citizen, because I, Greg, am here!" You rumble, and you
do rumble, your voice several octaves deeper than it was before. It also has the slightest rasp to it now, though whether that's an effect of your transformation or not drinking anything for 12 hours straight, you've no idea.
I said act the hero, not rip me off!
Your sister takes another step back, then she registers the name you used. Namely, yours. She frowns at you, and the breath that could have been a scream becomes an exasperated sigh.
"Goddammit, Greg..." She mumbles as she begins to rub her temples. You hear the click of a door at the other end of the hall, and Mary suddenly pales. She dashes into the bathroom, just managing to slap the lights off on her way in. The room goes dark in an instant, leaving you and her in pitch blackness, with the sound of a door creaking open at the other end of the hall.
So your name is Greg, hm? Greg, Greg... English? I'm... a long way from home, aren't I?
"... Hello? Who's there?" Your father calls out to whoever he thinks is there. "I-I'm armed!"
Yeah, with a shoe, probably.
Your sister waves at you to grab your attention. Once she has it, she mimes pulling the handle on the toilet. You nod and reach over to the brass handle on the side of the cistern. You gently push it down with your index finger, hoping that whatever dormant strength lays within you doesn't choose to manifest and snap the handle in two.
... What on earth are you two doing?
... What? It could happen.
Thankfully, it doesn't, and you manage to flush the toilet without any undue problems in the handle area. A second later Mary walks out, the picture of innocence. You watch her rub her eye with a tiny fist as she looks in your father's general direction.
"Mnh... Daddy? What's wrong?" She asks in the most childish way she can manage without overdoing it.
...
You can hear his heart softening from here.
"... Mary? What are you doing up this late?" He asks, disarmed by the lack of threat to shoe.
"I had to use the bathroom. Why are you up this late?" She shoots back, hiding behind a facade of childish curiosity. "And why are you holding a shoe?"
Redirect the question, then answer back with a question of your own, distracting them from their original line of questioning. She's a natural.
You hear your father stutter and stammer about something, before just giving up and telling your sister to go to sleep.
"Ok, daddy. Goodnight!"
"... Goodnight, sweetheart." Your dad says, and a moment later, you hear the click of a door closing. Your sister walks over to her bedroom door and closes it too. An instant later, her facade drops, and she wheels around to glare at you. She points to the stairwell, then flicks her finger down.
Oop. I think we're in trouble.
You get the gist of the gesture- 'Downstairs. Now.'
She storms off down the steps as quietly as she can, leaving you to follow. You take a step and leave the relative safety of the bathroom for the hall. The floor creaks under your new weight, leaving you wincing at every movement you make. Eventually, you make it to the stairs and begin making your way down them. You stay close to the edges, gently testing the carpet for the most silent place to step to. It took you a minute or so, but you manage to get downstairs without provoking your father into investigating again.
You make your way through to the living room, and then to the kitchen, where your sister's poured herself a glass of milk and a grabbed few cookies for her troubles.
She dips a cookie in her milk, chomps half of it in three bites, then turns to you.
"Mmf-" She sprays milk and cookie crumbs everywhere as she attempts to speak. She swallows, and tries again. "Greg. Start talking. Now."
Well?
[]Write-in
