#i love the idea of dust bunny gang warfare including musical numbers

[thenightfolknetwork]

Shortly after my 7th untimely demise, I came into a bit of money, and decided to spend it on a small 19th-century estate. It’s a gorgeous house, complete with turrets and everything. The turrets were, ah, fully collapsed when I first arrived, and the rest of the house wasn’t in much better shape, but I knew it was a fixer-upper and was confident I could handle it. And I was right! There were certainly some surprises along the way, but a few months ago, I was finally able to start moving in.

As often happens with these sorts of properties, there were some pre-existing tenants that weren’t listed on the contract. My bedroom has an enchanted mirror permanently bound to the wall, the stables house twin 11-year-old ghosts, the kitchen has a automatically-refilling bowl of perpetually fresh apples, and the library fireplace foretells visions of doom—not to mention Stain, the black cat (…I’m pretty sure she’s just a regular cat, but she’s still very much a figure of the property).

It’s. So. Much fun. I was worried I’d get lonely! But now, I can get ready for the day while having a lovely chat with the mirror, snag an apple from the kitchen, go read a book in the library and tell the fireplace that they’re looking particularly unnerving this afternoon, and then chop vegetables for dinner while supervising the kids’ potion-making—I usually don’t care for children, but these two are delightfully precocious, and it’s been a while since I’ve had apprentices. And Stain—she’s wrapped around my shoulders while I write this—she looks like she got hit by a car! She’s adorable.

We all have our spats, but the estate is big enough for us to have our own spaces, and we’re all doing our best to ~communicate~, as you like to say. It’s going swimmingly. Except.

Like most old properties, the house has collected a fair amount of dust over time. In this case, though, all those dust bunnies turned… sentient. Overall, they’re perfectly pleasant to the rest of us, but like to be left to their own devices and aren’t keen on doing what others want. I certainly won’t be judging them for it.

However, while the estate was left to fall into disrepair, the rifts that developed were—are—oh, how do I say this. Well. I probably shouldn’t beat around the bush. I’m having, er, dust bunny gang wars? In my house? And I am fed up with it! The mirror needs cleaning twice a day, the apples have to be washed before eating, Stain’s getting frankly concerning hairballs, and the twins—! Actually, they seem to be rather well-adjusted. I think they may be betting on the fights with the fireplace.

Anyway. As for me, in most of the house, the turf allotments are pretty stable. Not so for the room directly under my bedroom. Practically every other day in there’s a dust bath, and I just can’t sleep with all of the snapping and coordinated dancing and bloodcurdling screams going on.

I’d like to be able to finish moving in to my home. I was even hoping to set up my spinning wheel in that room, but I can’t expose all of those loose fibers to the dust. I am very literally losing sleep over this. What should I do?

Oh, reader. What a frustrating situation! I would like to commend you for your commitment to sharing your home with its previous occupants, and in your success at building a home together you can all enjoy. At least, most of the time.

I understand that the dust bunny population prefer to keep to themselves and enjoy their own autonomy. And I think you're right to respect that preference, to a degree. But their behaviour is now infringing unacceptably on the peace and comfort of your home's other residence. Enough is enough.

Your first step it to try and open lines of communication between yourself and the bunnies. A simple communication ritual should suffice. Set yourself up with a talking board and few candles, and see if you can encourage the bunnies to speak to you directly.

If you're thinking this sounds rather similar to methods used to contact the more antisocial members of the spirit community, you'd be correct. You are trying to speak to sentient dust, and statistically speaking, household dust is largely composed of dead skin cells. A little light necromancy should see you well on your way to negotiating a lasting peace.

As with any peace negotiation, there will be compromises. Before you start this process, think carefully about what you are and aren't willing to give up – and what it is, precisely, you're asking for.

Are you trying to claim the spare room as your own territory, or declaring it a no man's land? Do you intend to act as an intermediary between dust bunny factions, mediating for a broader peace, or are you simply trying to put limits on how these factions behave in the shared spaces of your home?

With clarity of purpose and a commitment to communication and compromise, I think you'll be able to find your way to a solution that works for everyone. If no solution is forthcoming, you might consider a small show of force to encourage co-operation. A new vacuum cleaner, featured in a prominent position in the contested territory, for example.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]