I’m cold and tired and, honestly, still feeling better about myself than I have for a long while. I had forgotten what it was like to be so… free. To be uncomfortable because of a terrible decision I made, as opposed to something that just happens around me.
I like this: walking down the street with soggy shoes and a too thin sweater. Fingers curling and uncurling in an attempt to stave off numbness, eyelids blinking frequently in a parody of sleep. I like not having to avert my eyes from my father’s gaze, not having to hold still as my mother inspects my facial features like a show dog. I like that the world around me, as dangerous as it may be, is loud and bright and alive.
Most of the shops are closed, their doors locked and windows dark. Some of them even have trashcans out front for early morning pick up, meaning I have to weave around and through terrible smells. But there are taxis in the road, and other pedestrians on the sidewalks. And there’s a cat.
A really fat cat. Too fat and clean to be a stray–and plus, it’s got a collar on.
“Oh, here kitty,” I croon, clicking my tongue a few times and crouching down to hold my hand out. The cat considers me for a moment, before rubbing its face into my offered hand. Then it jumps into my lap–forcing me to hold it or risk it falling to the ground as I stand.
This is no hardship. Cats, when affectionate, are wonderful–and this one is excellent to hug. It does not hurt that the cat is so warm.
“Where did you come from? Let me see your collar,” The tag says its name, her name, is Dandelion. “Queen Dandelion,” I say, pleased at the sound of that, “Let’s return you to your kingdom.”
The address on her tag isn’t too far. It’s on the same street as the one I’ve been walking for the past hour, but the number indicates its further down. When I get there, I can only stand dumbly outside, hesitating, and stroking Dandelion’s fur in a fit of nervous fidgeting. She purrs in response, the vibrations calming against my chest.
I know this place.
I mean, I’ve never been inside. But I know of it.
This is the Cat’s Meow. It’s… well. Something of a scandal. It’s a bar, strip club, and alleged (but not proven) brothel.
Of course, it doesn’t exactly look it from the outside, all neat wooden panelling and green awnings. It looks like a generic restaurant. It’s pretty much the only thing open right now. It’s very cold outside.
“Queen Dandelion how could you do this to me?” I murmur.
Above the main club are apartments, which would explain the brothel allegations. One of the lights are on, oh god one of the windows are opening.
“Hello!” A boy with extremely fluffy looking hair yells down at me cheerfully, he’s shirtless but wearing bright orange suspenders and a black tie. “You found Dandelion! I’ll be right down,” Then he closes the window before I can object.
I consider just dropping Dandelion and running, but I’m reluctant to put her down. She’s so warm and she’s begun grooming my hairline which is strangely soothing.
The door to Cat’s Meow opens, conversation and low sultry music making it’s way into the street. Thankfully the boy from the window is wearing pants. Unfortunately, the pants are striped green and purple.
“Hey there,” He greets, holding the door open by a red sneaker adorned foot. “Welcome to the Cat’s Meow. Thanks for bringing Dandelion back! She disappeared this morning, but we had to stop searching after a few hours. We were hoping she’d make her way back to us.”
Said cat meows back, as if trying to engage in the conversation. I guess I should do the same.
“I…” The thing is, I think I recognize this boy. But I’m not sure how exactly, and I don’t want to embarrass the both of us by not remembering how or assuming and it not being true.
“Would you like to come in? It’s pretty cold out, I can get you a drink as thanks. Dandelion is our mascot, so I’m sure the others would like to thank you as well,” He doesn’t make any movement towards me, which I’m thankful for. No pressure, even if he must be even colder than I am, with the whole lack of a shirt thing.
Dandelion doesn’t make any move to escape my hold, but she keeps looking at me then the club almost expectingly.
Outside in the cold or inside the warm but scandalous bar/strip joint/(alleged) brothel… My parents definitely would not approve of this place.
I walk in.
~
A/N: I HAVE NO IDEA.
[Now sort of continued here!]
JackSGreyson Says 