Faith flopped down on the couch of her house, completely, utterly exhausted and drained of all possible energy.

Jake sauntered out of the kitchen, and gave her a look. Soon, a sadistic smile spread across his features.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, taking a bite of his dinner, a sandwich, that is.

“Shut up, Jake,” Faith mumbled, and hugged a pillow for comfort.

“What’s that white stuff on you?” he asked, and leaned forward to dust the residue off of Faith’s raven haired head.

“You don’t want to know…” she groaned, and allowed him to pat the flour away.

“Don’t tell me…this is flour?!” he laughed, an incredulous grin on his face.

“I don’t find it that funny,” she sighed, and sank lower into the couch, if possible.

“Well, I find it hilarious,” Jake said, and chuckled.

Faith’s jaw set into a straight line, and she threw a velvet pillow onto her brother.

Guided by the invisible hand of fate, it smacked him in the face.