katyafeline | (no subject)

(no subject)

She makes her way home from the bar through the Gloom, slipping through the shadows of the trees in the lane and the spaces between streetlights. She doesn't feel like going through the trouble of undoing her locks on the door one level into the Gloom, so she dips a bit further, letting the top level of light and humanity slip a little further away to where the door isn't locked, and she can come inside without trouble.

There are icy footprints leading from the front door to the kitchen, slowly melting in the heat of the building.

Kind of like how her hair is doing the same as she studies the pantry in bare feet and a dark cloud of unbound hair.

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Skellig vacates the couch while she's gone and ends up sitting once again on one of the giant bean bags which has been dragged to rest by the coffee table.

There is another one for her. It is only polite.

(And they are so much more comfortable for his wings to deal with.)

At the rate she is flirting with the boy, he may have to make an appearance at the door after all, wings regardless...

She's keeping a feeler out for his impatience, and manages to shoo the boy away before there's actually a scene. She brings back her spoils, letting him have first crack at the pizza while she gets herself one of the bottles of beer.

"I am glad you like pineapple," he says, fighting with a stubborn piece of wayward cheese that stretches from slice to pie as he pulls it free. "It is one of my favorites."

Especially in Chinese food.

He pushes the box towards her with one hand.

"And also this kind of hunting."

It is so much less work.

"Lazy." She pokes him, and then snags a slice, folding it carefully. "The next meal will be on the hoof."

Or she'll just get something from the market and put it in a knapsack before going for a run.

Either way. She can't let him be lazy!

"I prefer my hamburgers on a plate," he protests.

Besides, being lazy means more sleeping, and that means he can keep her in bed longer - there is nothing quite like fur to press your face into in the morning when it is cold outside.

(Thankfully she does not have fleas.)

Her smile is languid and utterly unforgiving. Now that she's got the idea, it's going to be hard to dislodge.

"If I am nice, I will, perhaps, not make you run." More of a hide-and-go-seek. With food.

"I can fly faster. More direct."

Belatedly, he realizes that may come across as a challenge.

Oops.

He reaches for a beer.

"Deal." One expects there's going to be a lot of dinnernappings and lunchnappings and maybe even breakfastnappings in the next few days.

Skellig might want to start guarding his food. With. Like. Sharp pointy objects.

But she is his sharp pointy object. Or at least, her claws and teeth function in that capacity.

This means war.

Totally. Or at least, this means making sure the pantry is locked. But for now, the pizza tastes less like blood and more like sweet pineapple and ham, which is a change she can definitely deal with.

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