Mocha Latte
-Kitty
Chapter 1: Atelier
He woke disoriented and in pain, a hot, flashing, burning sort of pain that originated in his gut and pulsed outward in jagged, lightning sparks of agony. It took him many, many moments to conquer the pain, override it, and stuff it away to the back of his mind and take stock of his situation. At first, he was only aware of his body and his position, on his back, prone to attack and propped up against something soft and supportive. The textures against his skin were unnervingly foreign. When had he last felt a material so plush and supple? His breathing was shallow, it was difficult to intake air and each inhale was associated with a sharp, mind numbing throb. But slowly, very, very slowly, his other senses returned, bleary and warped at first, but growing in clarity and then, flooded with surprise.
The light around him was mellow and warm, bathing him and easy on his eyes. Gently flickering, round, blurry orbs sharpened to reveal a set of warmly scented candles, vanilla and cinnamon, that seemed to melt into him, giving him a sense of ease that had not been his for a very, very long time.
As his eyes sharpened and his sense of hearing returned, he came to the awareness that he was not alone. A soft tinkling, the sound of glass being struck rapidly, followed by a soft swirling against a smooth flat surface. A breath in that was not his, a creak as a body shifted, then a soft sigh. He turned his head slowly, his eyes seeking out the presence nearby, his body tensing as he tried to ascertain the potential threat. There was a long, draped sheet that obscured his view but through it, he could make out a silhouette. The figure was hunched over, clearly immersed in some activity. The head lifted, tilted to the side as the shadow stretched and then reach over to the side. Again the soft sound of tinkling glass followed by a swirling of a soft object against porcelain. Then the silhouette dipped down again, hunching over in concentration.
The pain had ebbed now, as his mind came fully awake. He cast his eyes about, taking in the details of this new environment in the dim light. He was unbound, which surprised him, and it afforded him the opportunity to slip away, if only he could find the exit.
Glancing down, he saw that he was reclined on an old, beat up mattress. Its owner's scent was embedded heavily into it and he wrinkled his nose slightly to note how it had rubbed off onto him. Nevermind the qualities in the scent that his sensitive nose could pick apart and read like a book, he didn't care. All that mattered at this particular moment was to escape.
The space was small and crammed. The floor was littered with papers and clothing. Combined with the pain of his wound, the obstacle course would be a considerable challenge for his normally very capable stealth. He continued to take in the details surrounding him. There was an exit here, somewhere. His nose detected the scents out the outdoors and his ears could hear the sounds of traffic. Where was the escape route?
Suddenly, a scraping sound came from the other side of the sheet, the telltale sound of a chair being pushed back as the shadow stood. He watched with narrowed eyes as the silhouette raised stiff arms to stretch before appearing to turn toward him. His body was tense and his instinctive reaction to fight or flee flared up within him, forcing him to grit his teeth together to stuff it back down. The shadow approached the edge of the sheet, an arm reaching over to pull the barrier aside. He quickly tried to relax his buzzing muscles, closing his eyes and trying to take on a pose that resembled sleep. He tried not to flinch when he heard the sound of the sheet being pulled aside and soft, padded footsteps creeping closer. Should he lash out? Strike first before his captor could harm him? His mind whirled as he tried to decide on his next course of action and was completely unprepared for the smooth, female voice that spoke beside him.
"I know you're awake. And you don't need to be so stiff."
There was silence for a very long second before he cracked an eye open to witness the owner of the bed he lay in. Female. Young. Dark hair and wide, brown eyes. She was dressed in some sort of oversized jean overalls that hung over an obviously lean, fleshed out body. The warm, flickering candlelight reflected off her smooth skin and as he took in these observations of her physical appeared, her voice spoke out again, bright and clear like a bell.
"I won't ask any questions and you're welcome to stay until that wound heals."
He blinked. It was not the words or the tone he was expecting. The confusion and uncertainty have shown on his face because her eyes softened into a smile that was soft and welcoming, an expression that hadn't been directed at him in years.
"You should try to get some rest," she said, "Even your kind will take a while to heal from an injury like that."
He frowned, still suspicious, still confused. Was he hearing her correctly? Was this a trick? Her expression turned sympathetic and she sighed, still smiling.
"Are you hungry?" she asked, "I don't have much but there's some chicken soup you can have."
He kept his face closed and wary. He wasn't ready to accept anything from this enigmatic young woman. He maintained his suspicious stare, ready for anything, an attack, an insult. She saw this and sighed again, shifting to one foot and stuffing her hands in her giant pockets.
"Well, just let me know if you need anything," she said, before slipping back behind the sheet, tugging it further along to darken his side of the room. There was a shuffling and a collection of clanking and clattering, and then a liquid being poured, and then a velvety, noisy sip of a beverage that smelled like chocolate. The chair scraped against the floor again as the girl returned to her desk. Silence followed, punctuated by the sounds of tinkling glass and swirling shuffles and though his every instinct demanded he remain vigilant in these unfamiliar surroundings, he found himself drifting. Exhaustion from the events that led to the gaping hole in his abdomen and the effort his body expended to knit itself back together eventually overcame him and he succumbed to the blackness of a deep, dreamless sleep.
A/N: So… this one's probably going to be very sparsely updated and probably very serial in nature without any real plot…. just going to be written whenever inspiration randomly strikes.
