A Witch & The Beast

Oryn is wiping the island counter down, cleaning away the last of Milo’s muddy-pawed assault. Really, that cat knew how to get on people’s nerves. Luckily for Realmly’s tonight, Oryn was the only one on staff (R is having a cat-nap until Oryn leaves), and he’s notoriously impossible to annoy—oftentimes, it’s Oryn who annoys other people. He’s persistent to the point of endearance, and then after endearance comes annoyance.

Oryn's shift is almost over—over whenever he wants, really, but everyone agreed that, to create the illusion of a job, there will be set hours. The job, really, was volunteer work at a sentient interdimensional cat cafe named Realmly’s. It likes collecting cats, and collecting the right people to tend to those cats. And R, Oryn’s lion-person boss, is there to make sure those right people know exactly how the cafe works.

While he is finishing up with the counter, Oryn sends out a pulse of magic to check on the state of the cafe. When the wave of magic echoes back it reads: the cat feeder isn’t broken, all the cats are in a cuddle pile, some of them aren’t asleep and are instead grooming each other, the lights are still on, Milo is still in his shame box for having tracked in mud, but he’s asleep now. “Must be tired from all his whining and negotiating,” Oryn figures.

Oryn sends out another pulse of magic, just to double-check and make sure the headcount is correct. All cats are still accounted for. Not like they could leave, though. None of them want to leave and so long as they don’t, Realmly’s won’t let them out.

Content with the state of things, Oryn hangs up his apron and grabs a piece of note paper and pencil from the counter. He makes sure to write a note for R: ‘Milo is in timeout’. R’s a reasonable man and a kid one. Oryn’s sure that R will coo and purr at Milo and tell him gently that he should be better behaved, even though everyone knows Milo won’t stop causing chaos.

Oryn makes his way to the front door, turning off the lights on the way. Without a day-night cycle within Realmly’s, toning down the brightness of the lights or shutting them down completely is the only way to mimic that. Out of habit, though, he turns to whisper a “Good night” towards the general direction of the cats and steps out.

Unexpectedly, Oryn doesn’t find himself stepping onto the old carpet of home. Instead, the floor beneath him is cold stone. Oryn doesn’t let go of the door and stands picture-perfect still. He sends out a pulse of a magic and it tells him: he’s in an alleyway, the door Realmly’s sent him through leads to an empty alleyway with a mess of glass shards and old booze on the floor, the apartments on either side of him are also empty, but furnished.

Briefly, Oryn wonders why he’s here. Realmly’s front door is a two-way passage, one end always being home. On the rare occasion, it’s to where you need to be. From the state of the things he can feel, he suspects that it might be related to why he needs to be here. He’ll have to figure it out himself, so he sends out an even stronger wave of magic. When it comes back he learns: as far as he can sense, every building is abandoned, but hasn’t been for long.

The strangest thing is that there isn’t a single living being within Oryn’s limits. Not a person, not a bug. This place (city, if all the tall buildings Oryn can sense are anything to go by) is quiet and desolate. Somewhere within Oryn’s senses, there are street lamps on, so the city still has electricity. “Maybe this place was evacuated”, Oryn thinks.

Realmly’s wouldn’t have left Oryn somewhere abandoned if there wasn’t a purpose, so without another moment wasted, Oryn leaves the alleyway and just picks a direction that feels right.

With every step, Oryn sends out a pulse of magic in front of himself and a weaker one behind to gauge what’s within his immediate senses. He keeps turning his head, trying to hear what his senses aren’t telling him. He can’t see, so his two best senses are sound and touch. Everything else he lacks is made up for with magic. He’s only a person-shaped heap of magic, and so he must extend his very soul to know the world.

It’s a skill that comes with its faults, because while his hearing is continuous, his echomagilocation only reads in waves. In between those waves, Oryn is blind to the world all over again. Anyone half as well-versed in magic as Oryn will be able to take advantage of these waves of blindness.

So when a loud sound clashes with the desolate quiet and Oryn tries to track it with magic, Oryn is surprised to find that nothing is there. Nothing except newly moved trash bins that were not moved the last time Oryn sensed them, and it isn’t windy enough for those to knock over on their own.

Oryn figures that one of a few things are happening:

One, those bins fell over naturally.

Two, whatever knocked down those bins simply cannot be sensed by Oryn no matter how hard he tries (which he’s sure is impossible).

Or three, whatever knocked down those bins knows how to avoid Oryn’s senses.

Of course, Three would mean that the Whatever Oryn is trying to track is quick enough to avoid being tracked, smart enough to do so quietly, and well-aware-enough of magic to know that Oryn has blind spots.

This strikes Oryn as curious. See, predators are great at this type of stuff. Dangerous people, too, yeah, but predators know how to evade effectively. It makes Oryn think of the cats back home. From a variety of domestic cats to tamed big cats, they all have an innate skill for sneaking and hunting. And “Ah,” Oryn realizes, “Realmly’s must have sent me out here to bring home a new cat”. Still curious, he tries to think of how the abandoned city and his purpose here are related (because they must be, there is no room for doubt about that now)—

But curiosity killed the cat—

In the trough of Oryn’s magic, something scratches him and catches him thoroughly off guard. He doesn’t bleed—can’t bleed as a self-contained fragmented universe (as a creature of pure magic and illusions)—but whatever just attacked him marked him straight to his soul and gouged it open for the world to see.

In a panic, Oryn puts his hands over his face and tries his best to stand in a defensive, yet non-threatening stance. In his panic, Oryn is losing his form while also trying to extend his senses to find his attacker. His arms are losing shape and he can feel the color in them fading away; his body is having a difficult time retaining a physical form, making it difficult to hear or feel the world.

So he focuses on mending himself—focuses on fixing his hearing, allowing him to catch the faint gallop of a heavy creature running away. He drives away his first thought, which is to hone in on the creature (which must be the cat Realmly’s is after), and instead he works extra hard on envisioning how he wants to look. He forces his soul back into shape and the magic to do its job, to put the pink back into his hair and the color into his eyes, and the clothes on his body.

When he’s ready, he rushes towards where he heard the cat run off. This time, his magic is pulsing out quicker (like a heartbeat if he had one) and he’s straining his whole body to be open to sound. He’s much more sensitive like this, but his feet hear the sound of thudding against the floor—the sound of Oryn running and the sound of something four-legged running as well.

It certainly is a cat, though ‘cat’ is a generous and loose label (as according to Realmly’s). When he finally has it in his senses, he finds that it certainly is cat-shaped, but Oryn gets an impression of smoke and wisps. So he comes to the logical conclusion that it is formless, which will prove to be troublesome.

When he corners it in a dead-end-alley, that is especially true as he realizes it grows in size, yet shrinks in density. “This must be a threat display,” he thinks, and is proven by a loud roar. It’d be ear-piercing if Oryn was just some normal, but Oryn hears it with his whole self—the tingle of the roar reverberating down to his soul, too. When Oryn doesn’t shirk away with fear and instead passes his magic over the cat as quickly as possible so as to not be blind to it, the cat crouches and seems ready for a lunge.

So Oryn decides that he should actually say something. “Hello,” he says, “My name is Oryn. It’s a pleasure to meet you, kitty, even though you scratched me.” He makes a point of laughing, and thankfully, it seems to reconsider attacking Oryn. He feels that it tilted its head at him, but he can’t tell what must be going through its mind. Is this the first time someone showed no aggression? Is it trying to understand what Oryn said? Is it curious? Is it wondering why Oryn isn’t intimidated?

It sticks one paw forward, though, and roars again, but shrinks noticeably. Now that he isn’t desperate to track it down and not lose it, Oryn can gently prod at it with his magic, finding it in the vague form of a lioness. But suddenly, it’s taking a step back and looking behind Oryn urgently, which is all the warning he gets to extend his senses behind him and dodge.

Had this city not been abandoned, Oryn would have expected someone to come looking into the roars of a big cat, but he is thoroughly surprised that anyone was even here. His fault for being too focused on the cat, he supposes. Oryn’s about to start talking when he hears the shuffling of clothes around him and the cat hissing,

He sends out a large pulse of magic to have a feel for what he’s facing. In doing so he finds: cloaked figures in the fire escape above the alleyway and a few hiding around the corner just outside the alley, all of them are armed, some with knives, some with swords, one with a bow.

He hears a few gasps and the clenching of fists. The person he dodged was one of the few who gasped, and he seemed to stumble over one word: “Witch!”

See, Oryn is capable of putting together the clues. These cloaked people are probably a cult, certainly an anti-magic one. Which means that they would have some qualms with the cat, which means they must be hunting it, which means they must’ve found it because of the roar. This cat is their quarry and Oryn feels the need to protect it, despite being unaware of the whole story. He is, however, wholly willing to trust Realmly’s—this cat is the one in danger, and Oryn must be here to save it.

“Hello!” Oryn cheerfully greets the person in front, despite the desire to take the cat and leave, “I don’t believe we’ve met—”

“Quiet, witch! Or you’ll die with the beast,” they tell him. Oryn doesn’t hear them trying to attack, so he sends out a strong burst of magic to get a read of what’s happening: everyone responds negatively to the use of magic and starts moving, only two are going to attack Oryn while the rest are aiming for the cat.

Whoever these people are, they are a threat, to both himself and the roaring cat behind him. Quickly, he dodges his human attackers out of the way and tries to keep focus on them and the cat. These people hate magic, yet are so attuned to it that they know when Oryn’s magic washes over them. They don’t seem intent on attacking Oryn, though, and the ones that are are clearly just trying to distract him.

Amidst the fight, Oryn backs up until he is closer to the cat, hoping it doesn’t attack him amidst this chaos. It doesn’t, thankfully, and instead charges passed him and towards the closest enemy. And well, he might as well join the fight instead of evading their attacks. He punches, kicks, pushes, scratches (tries to bite anyone who gets too close); he doesn’t care if he fights like he’s feral (he can’t be refined when part of the time he can’t even see who he’s swinging at).

He does his best not to do too much damage (the idea of leaving a world behind after causing too much trouble isn’t appealing), but when he senses an opening, he subtly directs the cat in its direction to escape.

When the cat runs, he does too, intent on staying with it until he can convince it to go back to Realmly’s with him. He also doesn’t want the cloaked people to get the cat. They seem like they’ll kill it the moment they can (if they can). The cat, however, starts up the same sort of chase as earlier, and if it weren’t for the fact that Oryn already had it within his magical hypersenses, he would’ve lost the cat entirely. He wonders if the cloaked people have a hard time even finding the cat.

When the cat realizes it can’t shake Oryn off and already lost the cloaked people, though, it turns around and tries to bite him. Oryn successfully dodges and steps back far enough, so that he can reach out his arm and offer his palm. It’s a gesture he does with every cat. It gives them a chance to accept the person who offered their hand. Oryn hopes this cat is cat enough to understand.

Which, he suspects it may be. He feels that it freezes, blinking blankly at the hand—seemingly surprised by a non-threatening choice. Oryn lets it stay that way for a bit, before slowly wiggling his fingers, which does seem to snap the cat out of its daze. He senses that it looks up at Oryn and then back at the hand.

He hears the wet sound of it opening its maw and it seems about ready to bite at Oryn's hand, testing the waters to see how friendly Oryn actually is. Tempted, Oryn almost wants to tell it no, but he lets its teeth touch his hand. That’s about as far as the cat goes, he feels it looking up at his face, searching and then deciding it was content with what it found. It pulls away, but not before licking an apology and an acceptance onto Oryn's hand.

“See,” he whispers, “I’m not so bad.”

The cat only chuffs at him in response and very quickly starts walking away. Oryn knows when he is expected to follow.

It walks with plain anxiety, each step cautious and quiet, each sound reserved (he’s only vaguely surprised he can barely hear it), and though he can’t see its eyes, he feels the slight shifting of its head, indicating it’s glancing in other directions. This is a cat who has been caught unaware too many times, and while there was acceptance, the ear it points backwards is clear in its meaning—Oryn is still not to be trusted.

He wonders, briefly, what sort of situation this cat has been stuck in and how long. It’s certainly not a typical cat, so it’s not a zoo escapee and Oryn can’t sense a forest, so it's not a wanderer. And its form is smoke-like, condensed for a physical form, but gaseous when it wants it to be.

“I wonder why anyone would want to hunt it down,” Oryn thinks. Regardless, he resolves to protect the cat and take it home, where a whole universe can pour infinite reservoirs of love onto it.

The cat eventually leads him to the part of the town that does seem populated (he briefly wonders why the rest of it was desolate). There are some people here (not many), he can sense them, but none of them appear to be outside. The streets are empty; there’s not a single person outside. Right now, it’s just him and this cat.

It’s another long while, going deeper into the populated city, before the cat shows any signs of stopping. From what Oryn can sense, they’re in front of an apartment complex, only three of the nine rooms are occupied. The nine rooms are empty, from what he can sense, and have been for a long time by this point.

Oryn senses the big cat going up to the front gate and pressing its head against some doorbell. Oryn rushes to be by its side, transforming from his typical human form into a small white cat in the process. He doesn’t want to lose the smokey cat, and he’ll doubt some stranger will be let into the apartments because a cat vouches for it.

Someone opens the gate, greeting the cat with a pat to its head and—“Oh! You’ve brought a new friend?” The man starts cooing and reaches down to pet Oryn. Oryn considers not letting it happen, but he rubs himself into the pat and meows a loud greeting. The man chuckles and lets them on their way up the stairs. Oryn hears the gate close a few seconds after.

The cat, out of sight of the man, makes note of Oryn's new form. Oryn whispers (so that the man downstairs doesn’t hear), “It’s still me, kitty, it’s okay.”

The cat huffs and then picks Oryn up by his scruff. Oryn isn’t exactly okay with it, but the feeling of teeth isn’t unpleasant, so he tolerates it. The cat knows where it's heading, and has maybe decided that Oryn will be easier to lead while in its mouth.

It takes him up another flight of stairs, sectioned off, but the cat ignores the blockade. It goes to an open room on the third floor, the only room on the whole floor. But Oryn’s senses say it’s fire-damaged, even though the integrity of the rest of the building is perfectly fine and not-fire-damaged. Oryn isn’t sure what happened, but this feels magic related. Contained too well to have been an accident or a case of arson.

Oryn is suddenly dropped to the floor as the cat lays down on a spring-mattress covered in a plethora of blankets. It’s obviously a new edition. Probably for the cat's sake, because it looks out of place in the charred space. The man, the apartment owner, most likely, must be fond of this cat (yet Realmly’s thinks the cat is better off at the cafe).

Oryn takes this as his chance to turn back into his human form, and sits on the floor across the bed. He knows better than to try to sit on the bed. Being allowed into the cat’s home is one thing, but he hasn’t been invited to the bed, a sanctuary for most creatures.

He stays there, and stays as still as a statue (thinking of the temple statue he would see when as a little kid). After an hour passes, the cat finally goes to sleep. Oryn doesn’t move the rest of the night.

Oryn does move, however, once he feels the warmth of the sun peering in through the windows. The cat’s still sleeping, but he hears someone coming up the steps. It’s the man, thankfully, so all Oryn does is transform into a cat again and curls up where he is. The man is bringing up some canned cat food. It’s a small can, so he wonders why the man thinks it’s enough for the cat.

When the man enters the apartment, he goes straight to the cat’s room, and stops in the doorway. Oryn realizes he isn’t there for the big cat very quickly, though.

“Ah, hello new friend,” the man whispers, mindful of the sleeping cat, but trying to catch Oryn's attention. Oryn only lifts his head and turns towards the man. “I’ve brought you some food. Our friend over there doesn’t eat, but I thought you might.”

“The cat doesn’t eat? Well, that’s news.” He wonders why it needs to sleep. Unless? ‘Ah,’ he realizes, ‘It pretends to sleep.’ His senses tell him it doesn’t breathe. It’s only mimicking the rise and fall of a chest taking in and releasing air.

The sound of the can opening brings Oryn to attention. He’s supposed to be a normal cat, unlike the actual cat in the room, so he feigns sudden interest and meows expectantly. When the man sets the chicken-flavored wet food down, Oryn eats it, thankful that he can’t taste anything. Though, he doesn’t actually need to eat, and his form is only magical. It’s almost wasted on him, as it dissolves within, but at least it gets converted into magical energy.

As he eats, the man pets him, so Oryn tries to realistically purr as he eats, mimicking the sound of the garbled purrs he’s heard from the cats at the cafe. The sound ultimately drowns out whatever the man is saying. Oryn tries to listen to the man, but when he realizes it’s just a bunch of baby-talking and nonsense-praising, he stops making an effort to pay attention.

After he’s left, Oryn smacks the can of cat food away and then transforms back. The smokey cat picks this moment to ‘wake up’. He hears rustling amidst the blankets and stretch. It knew everything that was going on, but Oryn supposes he’ll let it have this.

“Morning,” Oryn greets as he slowly stands up, mindful of the cat’s current temperament.

It yawns in response, seemingly unworried. Its ears perk towards Oryn's direction, though, giving away its lack of trust. Oryn yawns, too, to imply calm as well.

The cat considers this briefly, and Oryn can tell it’s watching him. It’s looking to see if it can determine Oryn's intent. Which Oryn supposes he’s earned points for not attacking it in its ‘sleep’. Content with whatever conclusion its come to, it stands up and walks towards Oryn, stopping only to sit in front of him.

“Rest well?” he whispers, slow-blinking at it. Oryn takes this moment to sense the cat—see all of it, prod at it with his magic and get a full read of it: The cat is gaseous, its appearance a cluster of wispy black smoke that mimics solidification.

Oryn is curious as to how the cat manages color. The white and black of it is a particular reflective gas that he doesn’t think exists in his world—in fact, most of the cat seems to be reflective. Oryn wonders how much control the cat has over its coloration. “Can it be other colors? Or is it stuck in the extremes of all or no color?” he wonders. Oryn won’t know until he is given a sense of it.

The cat seems to get bored of Oryn, though, and walks away, hopping onto a burnt counter to lounge on. Oryn smiles and stays where he is for a bit. The cat feels so very much like a cat (and friendly if the right person comes along), Oryn wonders how old it is and how long it’s been hunted. He wonders if this cat will give Realmly’s a shot.

(He knows he’ll have to stay as long as he needs to.)

“You’re kinda a freaky cat, kitty,” he hums, before being struck by an idea, “Freaky! Ha!, can I name you that?”

He feels the cat shift its weight and figures it’s looking at him. It takes a few moments to consider the name. but then it meows, and follows it up with the happiest chitter ever.

“Yeah? Glad you like it, Freaky,” he smiles, “Now. What say you about coming home with me?”