COME LITTLE CHILDREN— —THE TIME’S COME TO PLAY!
HERE IN MY GARDEN OF SHADOWS.

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@ecriivain
COME LITTLE CHILDREN— —THE TIME’S COME TO PLAY!
HERE IN MY GARDEN OF SHADOWS.
“Hardly sounds like the sort of thing to call my office over. I work for the government, for one, and a rather… Selective department on top of that. I imagine that the local police would be better equipped to deal with that sort of thing. Unless…”
He pauses to take the glass of water offered to him and to consider asking another question. This man hadn’t proved himself too helpful as of yet. He probably wouldn’t know too much about said “loud dispute” aside from the fact that it was as cacophonous as he reputed it to be. Still, he was obligated by his paycheck to ask regardless.
”…Anything strange about their argument you might’ve noticed, sir?”
' strange, how? '
the writer shrugs, as though indifferent to the whole situation. even the look on his face is as blank and tired as before as he pours himself a cup of coffee -- with plenty of milk and sugar -- and leans back against the counter to face agent kent while bringing the mug up to his lips.
evaluating the man from where he stands, he smiles slightly.
' if you aren't enjoying yourself, you're welcome to leave any time. '
blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly.
WILL GRAHAM
"Really? Was it the clause that put you under contractual obligation to sacrifice your sanity if anything went wrong, because I can take that out, no problem.”
( does this feline good-for-nothing even know who he’s dealing with? well, no, not entirely anyway — that’s unknowable to all but cipher himself. but turning down a contract from the geometric monster is never a good plan. )
"I mean, if you’re sure! I mean, I can’t force you.” ( well, he can, but it’d be more trouble than it’s worth. ) “Just don’t come crying to me when you’re dying of lung cancer, too weak to even use your typewriter!” ( he hopes the author is clever enough to pick up on the significance of “when," as opposed to "if." )
' when? '
a sneer crawls over his lips, which curl back to reveal sharpened fangs. he does not know if he is able to harm this demon or not, but he won't risk angering a supernatural being even more than he evidently has. below his breath, he mutters, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.
' i'm not afraid of death, bill cipher. i'll embrace it when it greets me with open arms. '
long ago, my city’s luminous heart beat with the song of four thousand cats.
the cat piano
( ecriivain )
❜ i’ve read a great deal of your work, sir. and shall i just say you are quite talented. ❛
' -- really? '
understandably surprised, as he rarely ever gets approached in the street and complimented on his work, much less by someone who appeared human, he manages a weak little smile. clearing his throat, he nods curtly before he speaks again.
' thank you. '
“…Water is fine. I don’t want you to waste a whole cup of coffee or tea on me.”
Read: Kent didn’t trust this stranger to make any for him. Were he a pretty woman living in an airy apartment that existed in this same space, he would have gladly accepted his offer of tea. But writer types he saw as shifty and reclusive. His brow knotted together. The more he thought about it, the more he realized there was no reason for him to be here.
”Is there anyone you know who could have called, then? Anyone at all?”
and so, while the old coffee maker does its job, the writer cleans a glass until it shines and fills it with water from a water bottle. he turns around, handing it over to agent... kent? is that who the other introduced himself as? the writer can't remember clearly.
' the couple on the floor below me was having a rather, ah, loud disagreement earlier. perhaps someone called out of worry. though, you don't seem like the kind of person who handles petty marital disputes. '
the boy raised his eyebrows as high as the muscles of his head would permit. it was almost laughable, how much the character resembled himself; he just hoped their appearance was not all too similar to his as well.
❛ at least our names are pretty far from each other. ❜
' speaking of which, what is your name, if you don't mind me asking? '
he's naturally curious. the writer sticks his hand out in a friendly, welcoming manner. for someone as closed off as he, he's being generally open with the boy -- maybe it's some kind of fatherly instinct, like the feelings he has for each character he creates. and, he supposes, it wouldn't hurt to make a friend, right? but the interest has to come from both sides.
“Really? Well, what about.. gettin’ scratched behind the ears?”
' to that, i don't suppose i would object. '
"Oh? But, I thought cats liked being pet there.”
' you'd be surprised how one cat varies from another. '
☾✿☽
”A whole city of you…guys? I thought you might have just been in a mascot suit for a second there.” Bringing a hand up to rub nervously at her neck, Theresa shyly let her gaze fall back to the ground. Although she had avoided meeting his eyes, she did manage to return his smile. As strange as the situation had become in almost no time at all, she felt like he was genuinely interested in helping her. "I have to go back home, my parents are probably wigging out right now."
' getting you out of the city will be easy enough -- but will you be able to get back to your home once you're out? '
he's truly concerned when he asks that. he doesn't like leaving the city, so he will most likely have her go off on her own once they got to the outskirts. ears prick forward in curiosity, and he cants his head to one side.
❝ The best clothing makes a statement. I choose to make a loudone. ❞
' well, you've succeeded in gaining my attention. what sort of statement do you wish to make, if i may ask? '
☾✿☽
The situation felt safe enough, at least. Dangerous people were the ones who acted very friendly right from the beginning, and this man (?) seemed like he’d probably rather just do what he could to send Theresa back on her merry little way while he had his nice, quiet smoke. The thought of occupying too much of this gentleman’s time was, admittedly, a bit uncomfortable for her. She drew a breath to gather her words and responded, "Right. Well, I’ve kinda been wandering around for a while, and I don’t really know where I am anymore."
when he leans forward, she can more than likely smell his smoke-coated breath from where she stands. the writer gives the best smile he can muster, then nods.
' right. you're in a city of cats. '
he rumbles with a chuckling purr.
' do you need instructions on how to get out, or money for a hotel? '
Mmh.
[ Give him a moment. he’s actually considering it, surprisingly enough.
he’s wary of the other, mostly because of the fact that they had just met, but… he didn’t seem like a bad person. cat? he blinks for a moment, before nodding slightly.
kiyotaka ishimaru, your parents would be ashamed. ]
I… suppose I could.
the other seems almost hesitant to come along, but he supposes that kind of behavior is to be expected as well. especially from a young gentle- man that's so... well, uptight.
' then if you'd please, follow me. '
and he takes off in one direction with a slow stride, humming lowly in his throat. he's taking this boy to the very same club he first met le chat blanc--where he first saw her perform. it would bring back memories undoubtedly, but he does not care in that moment.
☾✿☽
“Um—oh.” She must not have noticed before approaching the man that he wasn’t exactly human. Being a student at Norrisville High, Theresa had come to expect some oddities here and there, but he actually looked like a…giant…cat. She considered how desperate her circumstance was and if talking to a possibly hallucinated feline was really her best course of action. "Oh…could you maybe…help me?"
' of course, if you'll only tell me what you need help with. '
his stub of a cigarette is dropped to the ground and crushed beneath the heel of his shiny black shoes. his voice is as kind as he can possibly get it right now, but he supposes it will be enough to encourage her to open up more.