(no subject)

[abyssum_invocat]

One early, early morning, Sinthia comes down to the bar in what most people would consider quite nice lingerie; petal-pink silk satin with lace at the edges, soft and delicate, wrapped in a soft robe. She's tucked into a chair by the cool fireplace with a little packet of stamped metal sheets soon enough, studying them as she listens to the quiet around the bar room. It's not properly five AM yet, but she works steadily through turning the punched steel sheets into a tiny globe-like carriage.

Someone has been reading fairy tale collections to pass the time she can't sleep.

Comments

[abyssum_invocat]

She smiles and lets the cat push into her hands, shifting over and letting the cat settle into her hands. "Pretty little ghost," she murmurs softly, comforted by the presence.

It's a good deal. "I wonder if you are a little ghost that belongs to someone?" There's no collar, no tag, no nothing, really to identify the animal with.

[mogget_cat]

The soft-furred cat shows no signs of ownership; it seems to go where its whims take it. It steps down lightly from the arm of her chair, a soft weight settling onto her lap with many purrs and relatively few answers.

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia looks down at the cat; she doesn't stop stroking the pristine, thick fur, finding a comfort in the repetitive motion that comes from precious little else.

She may even turn over one of the elegant oval paws to see the cat's toes. They look like little pink jellybeans nestled in fur.

It makes her huff out a soft breath, almost like a laugh. It would appear she's stuck now.