Chapter Text
“Mrow.”
From under the worn barstool, a small, furred thing materialized. Orange, that of a fire’s lining, and white patterning, shooting from its forehead to the similarly pale tail.
“Mrow.”
“Bee. You can’t let him out here. You saw the sign on the door, didn’t you?”
Bee frowned, blinked like it was obvious. She picked him up, hugging him when he squirmed in her arms. “He’s a cat. You can’t keep him in a satchel.”
“It’s enchanted for a reason.” Evi sighed, then leaned over her mug of cider like it was hard whiskey. “Besides, he’s not really a cat.”
“He looks like one! Don’t tell me what to think.”
“He’s not—“
The door to the tavern opened, gusts of winter chill entering the otherwise stuffy atmosphere. Evi shivered, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “Fine, give him to me. He’s warm, at least.”
Bee squeezed him tighter. “No, not after what you said. He’s mine.”
Evi frowned now, and grabbed the culprit satchel. It was a good satchel— or rather, it was at one point; the gold buckles and woven leather were at the point of deterioration, and some form of fungi or such occupied the bottom. Even so, they kept it for the enchantment— the pocket of infinite space it held, a spell so archaic neither of them could even guess at its origins. It adorned the portal hole in wisps of gold and yellow magick, the subtle kind no mortal eye could see. Evi reached inside, pulling out the cat plush they kept for moments like these. “Here kitty, kitty, go back inside the sack.”
Bee gasped, moved to cover the cat with her embroidered cloak in a vampire-esque style. “No! How dare you! Don’t look there, kitty, don’t listen to her!”
The cat continued to wriggle in her arms, less concerned with the emergence of bait than the sudden blanket of cloth. It mewed once, before renewing its fight and squirming out of Bee’s cloak. She gasped, surprise overtaking her face, before extending her arms in an attempt to overtake his escape. Panicked, she reached across the table, balance tipping over the mugs, dishes, and the satchel before…
“Agh!” Crash! Forks, spoons and cider leapt up, and the entire retinue threatened to tip over before Bee took hold of the sides and steadied the table. “Evi! Catch him!”
Evi dropped the plush next to the now-stained satchel, brushing off bits of fallen ceramic while scrambling to her feet. She ran, chasing the blur of orange weaving its way past table legs and boots to the still-open door. No! “Come back here, you…!” She dove forward as the cat cleared the tables, feeling the brush of his tail. Her heart leapt in triumph… before both it and her thudded on the floor, feline-free. From behind her, Bee called out, not for her felled partner but the guilty cat. There was no justice here.
The cat in question dodged an incoming heel, escape close to fulfillment but for just one more human. He sped forward in anticipation, some otherworldly part of him rising forward like fire as his eyes glowed dark, darker. Not really a cat, indeed. His teeth sharpened, claws lengthening in unnatural growth, preparing to finally be free of his captors, before…
”Hey, is this yours?”
Bee ran forward, tavern patrons parting as she frantically ran to their pet— now a normal size and shade of feline. “Kitty! You’re okay!” She ran forward, hands outstretched in eager reunion. “Thank you…” She spared a glance at the cat-rescuer before her blood ran cold. She recoiled in realization: only one other race could restrain their cat so easily.
”My name is Phantas, and… you’re welcome.” The newcomer’s face was shaded by a black hat, face clothed in darkness but for the ghost of a smile and dark, red-ringed— conspicuously not human— eyes. “I think you owe me for this.”
From behind them, Evi stood up. “We don’t consort with the likes of you.” She reached for the potions lining her belt, the ones glowing dark green and bloodred— signs of magick that this time, anyone could see. She stepped forward, and Bee stepped back, a wooden staff veined in poisonous shades of purple and gold materializing in her hands. “Demon.”
In the blink of an eye, the entire tavern darkened, every patron aware of who stood in the doorway. Phantas only laughed, an imitation of human oration, before pulling the cap low below his eyes. “If you say so. Sorry for what happens next.”
Bee aimed her staff at him. She wouldn’t let him harm anyone here, not if she could help it. She powered the weapon, preparing to lunge.
“I think we should calm down for a second.” Someone stepped between them, and Bee lowered her staff in disbelief. It was the tavern keeper, Lupina.
“I don’t think you guys understand the… risk it would be to start a fight here.” She kept her hands in the folds of her black, flowing pants, a look of unperturbed calm on her face despite the sunken hostility around her. “Look around you. It just wouldn’t be smart.”
Phantas turned his head, glimpsing the faces of each and every patron. Mercenaries, bounty hunters, elves, dwarves, and the woman in front of them— the red-haired keeper— stared at him in quiet readiness. He was outmatched here. Phantas turned on his heels, feeling something akin to fear as he threw the cat over his shoulder heartlessly. Evi shouted, leaning forward to catch it, and when she looked up the demon was gone.
“I better not see you bring that cat in here again,” Lupina said, looking back at them. “You saw the sign on the door— ‘No pets allowed’.”
“We won’t,” Bee said quickly, eyeing the way the patrons leaned closer to them. “No cat.”
Lupina strolled back, jumping the bar counter smoothly. “Well then, why not grab another drink?”
Evi took a step forward to reciprocate, before Bee grabbed her wrist. She felt the jolt of contact before swiftly letting go. There was still spilled cider on her hands, that was all.
“…We’re good, thanks. I think we’ve had enough cider for one night.”
Evi frowned. “But—“
“No, no… we’re going now. Thanks, Lupina!”
“Any time!” She called back.
Outside, the cool, night air blew Bee’s curls across her face. Evi admired them for a second, wishing she could wind each one around her fingers.
“Give me the cat.”
Evi blinked, looking down to see the ball of fur sleeping in her arms. It appeared that the fugitive life was all too tiring. “No, it’s asleep.”
“I know, that’s why I want it.”
“No, it’s my cat.”
“It’s ours.”
“Mine.”
“Ours.”
“Mrow.”