While the shadows move quiet and soft

I've left out a lot of things, hung like trophies stolen in defeat.

The door of the Grease Trap closes behind her as Willow steps out into the plaza for a brief respite.  All the patrons had left the small cafe for the moment, so she allows herself to slip into the night for fresh air.  The air is still slightly warm, though growing colder with each passing moment.  The sun has seen itself to bed behind the horizon, and they were not late enough into Tanul for the heat of the day to remain.

The thin girl wraps her sweater about her more tightly as a sudden breeze passes by.  She turns her pale face up toward the sky, the neon lights reflected on the placid surface of her skin.  Night on the Plates truly was a spectacle.  The stars above glimmered with a gentle light, untouched by the strife and worries of the world below.  Such a view was not possible in the Drench below.  Either the view was obscured by the monolithic plates themselves, or if you found yourself in Neon Alley, the false lights practically blinded you.

And as such, in this quiet moment, Willow takes pleasure in the night sky.  She thinks back to laying down in the fields of Stistun, facing up at the stars much the same.  The memory is bittersweet, but she had been determined to come to the city and learn magic, had she not?

Life had different plans, it turns out.  Doesn't it always?

Sighing to herself, Willow heads back into the store.  Quietly, she begins picking up the table of the last patron to leave.  The cafe is dimly lit by thrifted lights above, all of different shapes and styles.  Overall, the atmosphere of the Trap is cozy.  The modest furniture and decorations well loved as much as they are well worn.

Piling the empty mugs and plates upon her tray, she heads back to the kitchen, placing the dishes beside the sink.  The dishwasher had stepped out as well, it seems - probably for a smoke break.  Everyone else had gone home for the day, and she herself would be headed back in an hour to make it home for curfew.

Stepping back out into the cafe, Willow leans against the bar and idly begins to wipe down the surface just to keep herself busy until closing.  She begins to hum a tune, soft and light to match her mood.

willow

I watch you wait for me.

background image by nine koepfer @ unsplash

@Isanti

Isanti

In the space between thought and wonder
Memory cannot pull you under

It's another of those days where his savant teacher has him running relatively late with some bullshit that, yes, was interesting, but no, wasn't that pressing. Morrocaw hates the trams more and more, that crowded daily ride up, that noisy daily ride down, but he can't leave her behind—doesn't dare to. She goes where he goes. It's the only way.

Kind of by accident he'd figured out a few days ago that a lot of her tram-hate seemed to stem from a long day of good behavior and stillness, and honestly, he can't blame her. She's a child of the sun and the wind, of the open plains and forests and foothills, not of this concrete-and-steel trap. Long hikes and playful races were traded for short walks and boring, idle days between four walls. No wonder she's unhappy.

So he's started taking her for a romp down among what little greenery there is in southern POSE after studying, and so far, she's been a bit easier to get back home.

But today his schedule is tits-up. The sky is already dark, star-studded, the light dim and weird, the shadows long and twisted, and as always, when he says it's time to go home, she looks so disappointed. Here, among the cultivated trees and carefully planned paths, she can forget for a moment where they are, and what little energy he has to spend on her is not enough.

She comes quietly, though. Nuzzles his hand. They set off. He's hungry. He knows some of the places along the Edge are affordable cheaper, and it seems to be quieting down. Maybe it'll be quiet enough that you can sneak a cheetah through the door.

He stops in front of one of the small cafes. It's still open. He looks over the door, very carefully, and the windows closest to it. There's no sign allowing cheetahs inside, but also, there's no sign explicitly banning cheetahs either. (He's not sure if he's gotten bolder, or if he's just stressed beyond the point of caring.) Carefully he pushes the door open. Morrocaw looks confused, then accepts the detour and steps inside. Her claws click on the floor, and Isanti hopes the girl behind the counter won't see the very-hard-to-miss yellow feline.

Like, all he fucking wants is a hot pastry to chase away the cold misery wrapped around his bones. Is that too much to ask for?

In the moment between breath and dying
You’re free, fearless, you’re flying

I've left out a lot of things, hung like trophies stolen in defeat.

The bell above the door chimes, announcing the arrival of a customer as Willow continues to wipe the counter.  "Welcome to the Grease Trap," she replies automatically, having long since been conditioned to say the phrase when hearing the ringing of the door.  Her hand pauses and her gaze moves upward to see a slender figure.

His features are sharp, with high cheek bones and full lips.  His skin is like porcelain and his hair even lighter somehow.  Deepset, bright blue eyes look at the world with intelligence and, quite noticeably, anxiety.

Willow offers a smile and then notices the light click on the wooden floors below.  Her eyes drift down and her smile turns into a confused frown.  The creature beside the new customer certainly resembled a cat, but not like one Willow had ever seen.  For one, the creature stood far too tall.  She easily met the stranger's knees, if not his thighs.  Her size was not the only noticeable feature, though.  A bright gold coat that might have been unusual but not unseen was decorated with the black spots and her face painted with delicate black lines.

Now, another employee at the Grease Trap might have been frightened, but the girl behind the counter was used to large animals.  Livestock tended to be even bigger, and while they may not have the sharp claws and teeth of a cat, they could kill you just as easily with brute force.

Willow takes a few moments to look from the cat to the man before finally shrugging.  As long as his pet? does not start breaking things, she could care less.

"What can I get for you?"

willow

I watch you wait for me.

background image by nine koepfer @ unsplash

Isanti

In the space between thought and wonder
Memory cannot pull you under

He's normally not impolite—but there's.. uh.. a lot going on right now. The entire day, for one. The past few hours. His hunger. The anxiety over bringing Morrocaw inside.

Actually, the entire past few weeks have just been one disaster after another. And it sits on his shoulders, heavy and crippling, whispering poison in his ears and egging on his heartbeat. He wants to smile, but doesn't really manage anything except a slight widening of his anxious eyes.

So he doesn't respond to her greeting. Just watches as her gaze drops to the feline. Waits... waits... waits....

It seems to take forever but it can't have been more than a few seconds. Morrocaw's dark nose is working overtime, and Isanti's stomach growls. He's not sure how he keeps from falling apart into a crying puddle at her words, but somehow, he does. Sure, his eyes are wet and shiny, and his voice runs into some problems, but he's not making a complete fool of himself.

"Thank you," he manages in a voice that is paper-thin until he coughs. "Thank you. I would, uhm, do you have any hot pastries?" His slender fingers fidget as he glances down at Morrocaw, who looks somewhat offended. "And maybe just some plain ham or something?"

In the moment between breath and dying
You’re free, fearless, you’re flying