Being neighbors next to the ever infamous Sleepy Boi's Inc was quiet an experience. Not necessarily a bad one; the word interesting comes to mind instead.

Everyday was a new possibility. Would you wake up to your house being egged by the little blonde boy known as Tommy (only to see his dad chew him out and bake you cookies later to apologize.) Or would you be harshly jolted out of the realm of sleep to the sound of the blood god hacking away with his sword at a tree while simultaneously mining potatoes. He'd offer you a little wave from outside your window with a minuscule smile only to go back to his "training" like you were a shadow. As far as you had been living next to the three, you knew that they used to have a fourth inhabitant in their small wooden cottage that sat next to your own, but he had long since left with the promise to bring back fame and fortune to them all.

Wilbur hadn't been seen in years.

But from what you could remember, Wilbur was as charming as any man could get. Your most prominent memory of the tall brunnette was him offering you an orange rose on Christmas morning along with a warm smile and tip of his beanie. But they all were delightful.

Of course, living so near these widely known people had its ups and downs. One of the more negative points of the so called living area was at least once a month a trio of men would knock on your door and berate you with questions about anything and everything under the sun. The supposed leader of the group was always the most rude; with his ceramic mask and black pinpricks for eye holes. His little posse was also strange looking, with fire tattoos and big white goggles. But they'd leave conveniently after about a half hour of breaking and entering- which you would constantly point out and remind them that was illegal.

The family was always conveniently away when this would happen.