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Randal—soaked in sweat and muscles aching—flopped onto the tiny couch in the middle of his cramped living room.
As he sunk into the green felt cushions, Randal’s mind sluggishly rifled through the events of today’s hunt .
He grimaced.
What happened wasn’t a hunt, it was a job . Yes, Randal had snapped an animal’s neck with his hands, but that’s just how it was. Russell said that he and Carol had been doing this for years and they’re just fine. So if they weren’t bothered by it, Randal wouldn’t be either.
The young man tried to stretch, but his limbs screamed in protest. “ Right, still sore." he thought to himself.
Randal checked the cracked digital watch on his wrist, whose dark grey display read: 3:15 P.M., much to Randal’s surprise. He could’ve sworn that he was out hunting—working for much longer.
Still, this left him with plenty of time to unwind before he would have to get started on dinner.
Randal crossed his legs, dug his fingers between the cushions to retrieve the remote, and turned on the square television right across from him.
It was set to the TenToons channel—as usual—which was showing a rerun of a Serenis Chronicles episode.
As the battle between the righteous resistance and the unfeeling androids unfolded, Randal leaned as far forwards as his pained muscles would allow, completely enraptured.
The colors and sounds emanating from the TV blurred as they entered Randal’s mind; subtly enough so that he could still follow the story, and be lulled into a familiar half sleep at the same time.
Randal wished… for a lot of things, though at that very moment, and not for the first time, he yearned for Amber to have been sitting next to him.
He had thought that the show was nothing but childish nonsense. The schlockiest of background noise that was only ever elevated beyond the status of subpar by Randal’s fond memories of it.
Despite this, Amber’s enjoyment of the serialized sensation seemed genuine. During the first of her and Randal’s many marathons, Amber had gone out of her way to point out some of Serenis’ subtler aspects.
Like the compelling dynamic between the two leads, the ever present and oppressive presence of the antagonist and his armies, and the many, many, many inconsistencies with the show’s plot, worldbuilding, and characters.
So even though he had been mostly right about the series even after Amber’s essay worthy analysis, Randal had grown to appreciate it in a way he had never thought to before.
A smile rare as gold spread across Randal’s lips, and his lanky frame seemed to mold itself around the cushions of the couch.
CRUNCH
The noise sent a rattle through Randal’s body, and he lurched away from it, standing up as he did.
Sitting upside-down on the other end of the couch was a cat. Well, cat-person. Randal couldn’t remember what her species was called.
Isabelle’s black fur was sleek with care, and she was wearing a fresh purple tank top, and a new pair of ripped jeans. She must have gotten cleaned up after getting covered in monster viscera.
The humanoid feline’s legs were draped over the couch’s back pillows, back resting on the seat and head hanging off the side. Next to her head was an open bag of potato chips. A single crisp floated up and out of the package—its visual shape undulating and color pitched a vibrant purple—and was lowered into Isabelle’s open maw.
Randal watched as his co-worker loudly munched on the morsel; his own mouth slightly agape and brow furrowed into a confused glare.
Izzy’s half-lidded, lime green eyes lazily swiveled in their sockets to look at the human standing across from her. She acknowledged Randal with a small nod. “Sup.”
A scoff escaped Randal’s throat, and his brow furrowed further. “What—What’re you doing in my house?”
“Watching a crappy cartoon.” Isabelle replied, before willing another chip into her mouth. “Do you actually like this junk?” Crumbs flew out of her mouth as she spoke, and landed in the carpet.
Randal clenched his fists and seethed, at the remark, the mess, and at Izzy’s presence. “That’s not—How’d you even get in here?”
Isabelle grinned a small grin, and lifted her hands off her stomach to shake them, clawed fingers outstretched. “Magic!” said Izzy, her voice just louder than a whisper. Tiny waves of violet power radiated off her digits, creating ripples in the air.
The veins on Randal’s forehead threatened to burst, so he inhaled deeply through his nose, then half exhaled, half growled through his mouth.
“Right,” one of Randal’s hands shot up from his side to point towards the door, “now get out.” His voice cut through the air like a jagged knife through cloth.
Isabelle squinted, confused, before wriggling her back and waist so that she could face Randal more fully. “Why?”
Sparks flared in the depths of Randal’s stomach, though he managed to maintain his composure. “Because it’s my house.” Randal gestured to himself with both hands. “Did you think you could just come in here whenever you’d like?”
“Well,” drawled Isabelle, “I did save your life today.”
Randal opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Isabelle may very well have been correct. Randal didn’t know if he was able to survive having an entire tree thrown at his head, even with the suit on, but he was certainly glad that he didn’t have to find out.
“Sure, but…” Randal trailed off, forcing his brain to work a little harder than it liked to. “That’s just your job, it’s what you’re supposed to do. I saved your life day one, and you don’t see me breaking into your house.”
Isabelle scoffed as her eyes went wide with mock indignation. “ Just my job? For shame Randy!”
Randal rolled his eyes. “Yes, your job . And it’s Randal .”
“Oh right. My sincerest apologies, Randal .” Isabelle rolled the R as her usual gravelly voice morphed into something overly formal.
The still upside down feline put a hand on her chest as though she were reciting a speech from memory. “What you call a mere job is actually a calling of the highest order. Were I to retire from such a station, the poor people of this town would suffer.”
Isabelle’s fluffy tail slithered out from behind her, and poked Randal on the nose. “And that includes you, you simpleton.”
Randal swatted the appendage away. “Okay, I get it. Thanks for your service, or whatever. Now can you please—” His interjection was cut off by a jostling of the front door’s knob.
Mom was home. But, how could she? They haven’t been talking for that long, have they?
Regardless of her unexpected arrival, it was only then that Randal realized that Isabelle still looked like a cat. “Hey, you gotta—” he turned to face Isabelle, heart hammering in his chest.
But she was way ahead of him. The previously invisible Glamor runes painted on Isabelle’s arms and face began to glow, covering her body in a rainbow of muted colors before disappearing instantly.
Where once was a humanoid feline with fur black as night, was the image of a normal human girl. Her clothes remained unchanged, but she had pale skin, a head of short walnut colored hair, and black makeup on her lips and eyelids. Isabelle winked at Radnal, her eyes now a darkened blue.
Randal let loose a sigh of relief, but saw that Isabelle’s tail was still swaying to and fro against the back cushions. He pointed at it, prompting a quizzical look and subsequent groan from the costumed cat.
Isabelle positioned herself upright and tucked her tail into her pants just as Randal’s mother opened the door.
Hannah Harper looked a mess.
The woman’s dirty blonde hair was frazzled and partially matted to her head with sweat. The bags beneath her dark brown eyes were deeper than Randal had ever seen them. Her clothes weren’t fairing much better either.
Her dress shirt was wrinkled, jacket slipping off her shoulders, and a coffee stain was spread on one of her pants legs for all to see.
Yet still she managed a tired smile, which only grew wider when she saw Randal. “I’m home! I brought some—oh.” Hannah squinted out at Isabelle from between strands of messy hair. “Hello. Are you a friend of Randal’s?”
Randal went rigid, standing straight as a board and palms sweating profusely. “She—uh,”
“Yep,” chimed Isabelle. She sidled up next to Randal and leaned on him, resting her elbow on his shoulder despite him standing a full head taller than her. “Randy and I are pals.”
Isabelle extended her free hand towards Hannah. “I’m Isabelle, but you can call me Izzy.”
Hannah’s eyes lit up like a firework, and she put the grocery bag in the same hand that was holding her briefcase to accept Isabelle’s greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Izzy. When did you two meet?”
Randal swallowed, his voice strained. “We—”
“School,” interrupted Isabelle, “day after he got here. Poor Randy was sitting all alone, so I just had to keep him company.” False pity practically poured from her final words, but Randal’s mother didn’t seem to notice.
Hannah withdrew her hand to put it on her chest, tension rolling off her shoulders like water off a duck’s back. “That’s very kind of you dear. What do you two do for fun?”
Isabelle made a waving gesture with her hand. “Tons of stuff,” she forcibly nudged Randal, almost causing him to stagger, “tell her Randy.”
Randal’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time, filling his stomach and chest with a sickening steam that threatened to burst out of his mouth at any moment. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew what he ought to: that Isabelle had illegally entered their home, and that she wasn’t his friend, and that she should stop calling him Randy .
But all of the bitterness and rage that had built up inside evaporated almost immediately when he saw the anticipation on his mother’s face.
It was a genuine, familiar, priceless thing that made Hannah’s eyes sparkle like the newest model engine on Full Throttle Magazine.
The same way they did when he had introduced her to Amber.
Isabelle wasn’t Randal’s friend, they were barely even acquaintances. But for Hannah’s sake they would be; at least for right now.
“Randal?” It was his mother’s voice that cut through the noise inside his head.
The boy blinked, suddenly very aware that Isabelle’s elbow was digging into his shoulder. He made no effort to remove it.
“Right, uh…” Randal’s mind sputtered, spewing mental exhaust into the atmosphere. “We hang out at the diner sometimes,” or rather Isabelle had decided to sit at his booth—without asking—on two separate occasions, “the one next to the book store.”
Hannah hummed with polite intrigue. “Ooh, that sounds like fun. I might have to stop by when I get the chance.”
Randal nodded in response, staring intensely into space before turning to the girl at his side. “Well, Izzy, ” the abbreviation felt strange on his tongue, practically foreign, “thanks for stopping by, but I’ve gotta make dinner, so…”
Isabelle’s face soured, but Hannah waved a hand dismissively. “No need to worry about that. I’ll make dinner tonight, I just have to change first.”
“What?” choked Randal. He shrugged Isabelle away and took a step towards his mother. “You just got back from work. Aren’t you tired?”
Hannah shrugged. “A little, but I can manage.” She turned to face Isabelle. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”
The offer didn’t completely eliminate Isabelle’s slouch, but it was still the straightest Randal had ever seen her stand. “Free food? Yes please.”
Randal was caught in quicksand, and sinking fast. “What about your parents? Do they even know that you’re here?”
Everything seemed to pause for a moment, like a stutter on TV. Isabelle’s slouch returned, and even though her expression of neutral amusement hadn’t changed, Randal could imagine her ears flattening against her head behind the Glamor.
“They should be chill with it.” Isabelle pulled a flip phone out of her pocket and pushed past Randal and Hannah, not looking at either of them as she opened the front door. “Lemme give them a ring, just in case.”
The silence left in her wake gave Randal pause for thought. Who were Isabelle’s parents? He didn’t think to ask during orientation, and he hasn’t seen any other cat people walking around. Did they live out of town?
Before he could consider anything further, he realized that his mother was still holding a briefcase and a shopping bag. He cursed himself for being so inconsiderate, and gestured to the plastic. “Can I help you put stuff away at least?”
Hannah slightly dipped her whole body as she nodded before handing Randal the bag. “Of course honey. Thank you very much.”
Some of the kitchen’s loose tiles made a clinking sound under foot as they entered. Randal put the bag onto the little piece of counter they had that wasn’t occupied by a broken microwave, and opened the fridge to start unloading.
“Why’d you come home so early?” asked Randal.
“I didn’t?” replied Hannah. Randal could hear the question in her voice, and—somehow—on her face as well.
Randal slid a bottle of ketchup into its crusty cubby, screwing up his face as he did so. “But the time—” the green light of the oven clock caught his eye. 5:25 P.M. Randal looked down at his watch. 3:25 P.M. His heart sank.
Of course. It was still set to Honikur time.
The front door swung open, and in walked Isabelle. Her movements were slightly slower than before. “Just heard back, they said it was cool.”
Randal’s heart sank further as his mother clapped her hands excitedly.
“That’s wonderful dear!” said Hannah, before lightly pushing Randal out of the kitchen. “Now shoo! Go have fun with your friend.”
Randal couldn’t even muster a nod as he trudged back towards the couch on autopilot. Isabelle had beaten him to it, and had resumed sitting incorrectly, only with her legs draped over the arm of the couch instead of its back.
She gave Radnal a Cheshire grin as he flopped down next to her, resigning himself to stare at the screen rather than watching anything on it.
“Heeey, bestie!” Artificial sweetener poured onto Isabelle’s greeting till it became acidic.
A grunt was all that Randal could offer in response.
Muted cries and blaster fire continued to emit from the television as the episode’s conflict neared its end. Hannah would soon return from her bedroom to start cooking dinner, a meal that Randal would have to share… with Isabelle.
“Your mom’s pretty cool.” said Isabelle. She sounded like she meant it.
“...She is.” replied Randal.
The boy looked down at his hands, and began cracking his knuckles, one finger at a time. Was such a prospect really that unappealing to him? Job or not, she had saved his life.
Maybe they could be friends if he just put in a little effort.
Randal moved his neck around, popping its joints into place before glancing at Isabelle and pointing towards the TV with his thumb. “If you want we can watch something else—”
Isabelle cut him off without looking away from the screen. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Veins rose up along Randal’s arms as he clenched his fists and jaw. “...Yeah?” he asked through gritted teeth.
The fiendish feline arched her back off the couch, planting the top of her head on the seat. “Do you actually like this junk? This sucks, hard. ”
Randal caved, throwing his head back with a silent groan as his whole body collapsed onto the couch.
Or maybe they wouldn’t be friends. Ever.