There is a jeering caw of a seagull above her before the sea bird descends and lands on the pier's deck. Lily stares at it, leopard tail lazily bobbing in the water under the pier, a possible enticement for nearby fish. At seeing no food present, the seagull ruffles its feathers, staring at her with soulless, googly eyes, uninterested. She remembers when as a kid a seagull swept down at her family's cookout and snatched a hot dog, then proceeded to try to swallow it in one bite like a hooker on a mission.
"You're a delightfully stupid creature," Lily says to it. It cocks its head. "I similarly happen to be a dumbass." She shifts back on the wood deck to rest her weight on her large, clawed hands. Her tail swishes, the saltwater rippling with the movement. The rugged texture of the planks presses ridges into her palms. "Wanna join my anarchy?"
The seagull begins to preen its wing, declining her offer. Rude. Instead, she now imagines it rotating on a spit over a fire. Because obviously, the price for denying her allegiance would be death. The daybreak sun peeks over the crest of the ocean's waves, seafoam kissing the docks with new tinges of orange and pink. And she enjoys the bird's company regardless of its disinterest in her existence. Lily's loneliness has reached a new low.
Flexing the muscles in her arms into a stretch, she stares up at the brightening sky. Misty, early summer morning air refreshes her skin. Her ears are high, pleased, and content, a surprisingly happy cat despite her growling stomach. At least she's outside and has a chance of finding food to eat. She can't lie, she thinks about possibly eating the seagull. But even though it makes no sense, she feels it's more barbaric to kill a bird than a fish— she doesn't think she can stomach the idea.
There's a nibble on the end of her tail and then a more finalized bite. Yes! It makes the fur on her tail and ears stand on end, but she's delighted that she's managed to bait a fish. Lobbing her tail up onto the wooden deck, the mackerel attached to the end thuds to the wood with a pitiful smack. Webbed feet dart across the dock, the seagull interested in snatching her catch. What a roach of a bird. She bares her teeth at it, swiping with her claws to defend her meal from the winged thief.
"Get out of here, you stupid sea chicken!" The seagull flies off, cawing at her in protest. Like he didn't start it.
Now without competition, the mackerel is a simple snack for Lily, unable to escape when it isn't underwater. She pins it beneath her clawed hands despite it beating its flukes to jerk away and get back into the ocean. With a swift motion, she snaps its neck, ending its life without suffering. Lily always hates the killing part, no matter the method.
Tearing back the scales with her teeth, she bites into the soft, white flesh beneath. It's so salty that the taste isn't great, but as she's starving it goes down with little fuss from her. Unfortunately, the skinny fish has little meat on its bones, so she only gets a few bites. Despite having a feline quirk, she never did like fish much. She eats them because it's a necessity these days.
Her father always did make fun of her for not liking seafood. Even though she had no desire to eat their catches, she did enjoy their fishing trips together. She thinks about how she would do anything to go on one more— to take the boat out to the deep ocean with dad and compete to see who gets the biggest catch.
Lily stares at the carcass of the eaten fish: its soulless eye and the bones that stick out where she had gnawed the flesh away. Sorry, little fella. If she had the luxury, she would rather take care of fish in a tank rather than have them for a meal.
She reels her arm back and tosses its remains into the waves beyond, where it will be swallowed up and fall to the bottom, its spirit reborn into the next fish. At least, she likes to think it works that way— and either way, that asshole seagull won't get it. Pulling the hood of her black hoodie over her head, her ears stick out of the holes she had cut in the fabric. Soon it will be too hot for her to snuggle up in extra layers, but near the water, the air is chilly these mornings. It would be wise of her to keep fishing to curb her appetite more, but she can't stand sitting on the hard deck any longer. She needs to get up and move.
Coming to her feet, she rubs her mouth on her sweatshirt sleeve and yawns, heading up the ramp that leads into her boat. The Driftwood Nautica— tethered to the dock and named by her grandfather—is a creaky wooden fishing boat, the only inheritance after her parent's tragic passing. She's been living in it alone for about three months now, keeping it tied to the docks of Fukuoka's pier since it's long since run out of gas.
The door swings closed behind her as she steps inside and swaps out her fishing waders with old sneakers. The soles have a hole in them that's been driving her crazy. It seems like soon she will have to swipe another pair to replace them, which may be a challenge since she has large, catlike feet. Sometimes she decides to go barefoot when she aimlessly wanders without a destination and doesn't need to look proper.
The waves lull beneath the boat, gently rocking it like a baby's crib. She tossed and turned all night in a nightmare, so the soothing sensation makes her want to snuggle back under her patchwork blanket and snooze a while longer. But she can't— now's the best time to go to the soup kitchen. The lines will be short as few people want to eat this early. Shoving her large hands in her pockets, she locks up the boat and leaves Fukuoka's pier to head downtown.
In spite of dawn barely breaking, people are already milling about on the sidewalks, most commuting to jobs and heading to train stations, dressed professionally for work. She keeps her head down and hugs the buildings, trying to stay out of people's way. It's lucky that the soup kitchen is close to the pier, only a ten-minute short walk. To be honest, she enjoys walking and sightseeing. It breaks up the boredom and with her quirk, if she doesn't get moving she starts to become twitchy and restless, despite her personality craving to lie down and sleep all day. Leopards are hunters and stalkers, and while they appreciate their sleep, they can't keep still forever.
She rounds a block corner, reaching the soup kitchen, and pushes the front door open. The ladies serving food at the front greet her kindly, smiling despite the fatigue that lies heavy on their shoulders. Steam rises from hot food in vats, and Lily grabs a tray, helping herself to bland pancakes and mushy eggs. She usually tries to avoid coming. Every time she arrives, she can't help thinking about her mom's homemade meals, or breakfasts— chocolate chip pancakes topped with cinnamon sugar were typical on lazy Sundays like today.
Another reason she abstains from showing up is because of the other destitute people that come to the kitchen. Most are friendly in demeanor, but others are bitter and have plain nasty personalities, yelling at the kitchen's volunteers despite their sweet natures. Lily hates conflict and especially hates feeling unsafe. The leers and stares that last too long haven't gone unnoticed. A lot of them are also regularly drunk and high, which makes their behavior more sporadic and unpredictable, and not in a fun or amusing way. It's more of a situation that makes you want to have some pepper spray to grip.
She sits down with her tray, chewing silently on her breakfast. It's not fish, so it tastes better than it probably should have by normal standards. Pathetically scraping at her eggs with her plastic spork, her ear twitches as she notices an older gruff man with two goons pointing at her, looking at her up and down. She recoils in disgust at their perverted mannerisms, ears flattening defensively against her head. How can they look at her with lust while she's wielding a plastic spork?
Lily lowers her eyes back to her meal, finishing it off before tossing out the styrofoam tray into the trash. She thanks the ladies up front and leaves the store, her anxiety leaping when the three men get up and head out as she does. Okay, maybe they just so happened to also finish their food at the same time. The bell chimes as the door closes behind her, and again as the men exit, following suit. She hopes she is just being paranoid but picks up the pace down the sidewalk, tail lowering so she has less of a chance of being grabbed.
To her dismay, Lily's instincts about these men were right. She yelps when a man grabs her by the shoulders, covering her mouth with a hand. With force, he drags her into the nearby alley, out of sight from pedestrians. The other two men from the kitchen are already there, the older one who was ogling her up and down staring into her narrowed eyes. She struggles against the man restraining her, testing to see how powerful he is. He must be the strongest of the three, he is the biggest in terms of stature.
"Hey there, pretty kitty," the man purrs. His pupils are dilated, so huge she can't even see the color of his eyes. His breath ranks, like a neglected garbage disposal and beer. Lily scrunches up her nose. "We just couldn't bear to see such a dame leave so soon." Damn, if you're going to ruin her life at least do it while supporting Colgate.
The man that is restraining her has his pelvis flesh against her backside, and she can feel his erection growing there. Gross. Seems she now has an idea what their nefarious plans are. They're the kind of men who deserve to have their dicks cut off. Lily's eyes dart to the other man that stands to the side of the leader, sizing him up so she can fully access the situation. She startles when the oldest man in front of her yanks her hood off her head, ears springing free, her brown curls falling into her face.
"So pretty..." he croons, rubbing a rough thumb over her freckled cheek. She wishes she could spit in his face. "Look at these spots she has around her eyes, aren't those neat?" He says to the man next to him, who agrees with a mindless nod. "So sexy... you'll look so nice with your mouth around my cock."
The men suddenly look to the left of her, and Lily notices the flash of color hovering there: a long, red feather. Her heart starts beating faster. Hawks, the number two hero must be patrolling— and now he knows a situation is brewing. While they panic at the sight, Lily makes her move.
It was a mistake for them to leave her legs free. Without warning, she chomps down hard on her restrainer's hand, fangs sinking deep into his knuckles. Blood fills her mouth and he screams, retracting his hand to cradle it on reflex. She then kicks her leg up hard at the leader in front of her between the legs. He goes down, losing consciousness at her force to such a tender area, and now she's free from restraint. But she needs to act fast.
The uninjured goon lunges for her, but Lily reacts swiftly and dodges, sweeping her foot under his in a low kick. Her retaliation knocks him flat onto his back. The man with the injured hand, now full of rage, attempts to grab her by the shoulders, but she moves behind him and slams his face into the brick wall of the alleyway, his nose giving off a satisfying crack. He slumps to the ground, the last goon able to fight finally getting to his feet. Watching him throw a punch, Lily twists his hand painfully and jumps, roundhouse kicking him in the temple. He goes out cold, the three men now lying piled up on the pavement.
Lily spits out the blood from when she bit the man's hand, red splattering on the ground. "Don't call me a kitten, fuckers. You messed with a leopard."
She straightens her clothes, trying to breathe in and out deeply to calm herself as she pulls her hood back over her ears. Her ears twitch up at the sound of shifting above her. The number two winged hero, Hawks, is perched on the rooftop of the building above them, watching her with steady, gold eyes, hair billowing away from his forehead in the wind. His feather that was hovering near the scene floats up and reattaches itself to his crimson wings that stretch impressively behind his back. He examines her over the lapel of his jacket, and it feels like his gaze bores right through her.
He's devastatingly handsome in person. Lily goes red in the face, nursing her bottom lip with a fang. She's too fragile right now to hold a conversation with her favorite pro hero: even though she just got a shot of adrenaline and kicked some ass. She can feel her tears brimming at the direness of what she just faced hitting her at the sight of Hawks, and crying in front of her idol and celebrity crush is not how she wants this day to get any worse.
Turning, she runs down the alleyway, sure Hawks will take care of the situation and turn into her assailants to the authorities. She will be kicking herself later for the missed opportunity to meet him, but she feels a panic attack building in her chest. Lily may have just held her own like a leopard, but she's ended up running away with her tail between her legs like the kitten the goons said she was.
Lily doesn't stop running until she makes it home to her boat, and she slams the door shut behind her while she hyperventilates. She's so frustrated that her tears refuse to fall and it's giving her a pounding headache. Heading down the narrow hallway from the kitchenette to her sleeping nook, she flops facedown on her bed, cradling her pillow under her head with her arms. And then she sobs, humiliated. Humiliated that human beings would treat her like that and that Hawks saw her abandon ship.
Her old, well-loved Hawks plushie sits close to the port-side window and she pulls it flesh against her cheek, hugging it as tightly as she can. She must look so pathetic, she's somehow embarrassed herself despite no one around to see her. The plush would be choking if it could breathe.
She realizes as she's breaking down into tears that this is the first time in a long time she's cried. It all comes out in a hard-to-choke-up ball of frustration. Her parents passing away, her loneliness, her struggles to survive, her weakness in front of Hawks, and now being assaulted. The pillowcase soaks up the moisture leaking from her eyes, and she curls her tail around herself as she curls into a ball, hugging the plush for dear life.
All at once, she realizes there's no way she can return to the soup kitchen. Her life was threatened today: and while she trusts Hawks to have those men be properly punished, she's afraid the law might not lock them away. What's she going to do? That kitchen is her main source of food. While she can survive on just fish alone, it sounds like a means of getting sick.
She's going to have to find a job, and fast. Hope in her chest diminishes as she starts to dwell on the fact that she's been looking for a job for months and she hasn't managed to get one— how is she going to be hired in such a short amount of time? And what kind of job does she have the skillset to do? While her mind is spinning, she absentmindedly kneads her plushie. Looks like she might have to be more assertive than she was in her previous attempts at job-searching.
Then she suddenly finds herself thinking about the fishery further down the docks. It was one of the first places she tried to get a job at months ago, but she was turned down by the owner because of her quirk— stating she was bound to temper with anything she caught because she's a feline. Racist nonsense. But it's a job she has the skills to succeed in. It looks like she'll have to swallow her pride and try to win over the owner once more. Having money and an income will be a life-changer for her. Her cries eventually taper off into soft sniffles with the promising idea, before the warmth of her bed and her exhaustion gives way to sleep.
When she cracks open her eyes again, it's mid-afternoon. After a groggy full-body stretch, she yawns, fangs flashing in her open mouth. Napping has always been one of her favorite pastimes, especially since she's been on her own. Sleep has become a means of escape from monotony, and also seems to reset her anxious brain. It feels like the events of that morning are now far in the past, despite not even a full day passing.
Standing up, and releasing the plushie she was cuddling in her sleep, she realizes she forgot to take her sneakers off earlier before getting in bed. She's never done that before— she must've been especially emotionally distressed. Kicking off her shoes, she decides to go barefoot, the tough skin of her paw pads on her toes and heel making walking around even on the rugged ground more comfortable. At feeling the midday heat now permeating into the boat, she peels off her sweatshirt, leaving her in a black tank top and her fitted multi-pocketed cargo pants.
Grabbing her key, she exits the Driftwood Nautica and locks the door. The wood planks under her feet are pleasantly warm, the vitamin D from the direct sunlight soaking into her rosette-spotted shoulders. Lily will never tire of living on the ocean— smelling the salty air soothes the ache of a wounded spirit. The smell is dipped in childhood nostalgia for her: memories of driving the boat out to Toyama Bay at the end of summer to see the firefly squid's blue bioluminescence lighting up the nighttime sea into a river of stars.
She walks down the boardwalk, hands in her pockets, rehearsing what to say to the owner to convince him to let her work there. First of all, he may have a greater need for employees now since some time has passed, so it's worth a shot to just ask. Before she knows it, she's standing in front of Emperor's Fishery, staring dumbly at the large, wooden storefront: nets, buckets, and fishing rods crowd the sides of the entrance. Hyping herself up at seeing the "help wanted" sign on the door, she heads inside.
Upon entering, she's blasted with frigid air conditioning, surprised she is unable to see her breath. The floorboards creak beneath her as she takes in the familiar sight of the front counter and a freezer display heaped with different types of fish, squid, and crab. Behind the register is Snow Cone, the owner with a peculiar nickname and an emperor penguin quirk. His beady eyes stare at her past his beak, seemingly recognizing her. Lily approaches him, steeling her nerves.
"Good afternoon, Snow Cone-san," Lily begins, too formally for her tastes. "It's good to see you." She examines the fresh catches in the display, noticing it looks more sparsely stocked since the last time she was here.
"Oi, you're back." He responds with his surprisingly deep voice. "The cat get a hankering for fish?" She tries to mask her eye from twitching at him referring to her feline tendencies straight away.
"No, actually, although that sounds great. I was just wondering if you have any more job openings, I know I asked a few months back but I'm still looking and thought I could be of some good use." Her tail swishes behind her, and Snow Cone looks at her somewhat wearily, his hardened exterior cracking. Does she scare him?
"Sorry, we're not hiring."
"Well, I saw the sign outside..."
"No opportunities for you, leopard. Buy something or scram!"
Damn, that's harsh. Her ears lower, her sensitive heart aching. She didn't think she is such a burden. Averting her eyes to the fish on ice, she nods, dejected. Lily turns on her heel and walks out of the fishery without a response, anger brewing in her chest. How could a penguin with a nickname like Snow Cone be such a dick?
As she heads back to her boat, she kicks at a stone so it skitters across the boardwalk. Looks like that idea failed, she'll have to come up with a new one. She keeps kicking at the stone with her foot until she accidentally kicks it too hard and it tumbles off the deck, plopping into the water below. Sighing to herself, she runs a hand stressfully through her hair. Wow, does she miss not being homeless more than ever.
Making it back, she plops down in the boat captain's chair and stares braindead at the dark navigation dashboard. If only she had some gas, she'd prove to that penguin she's too good of a fisherman to pass up. Her stomach growls and she almost screams at how sick she is of her body getting hungry over and over again and her being able to do little about it. Frustration clouds her and she stares at the expense of rippling sea through the windshield. Fist banging against the wheel, she hugs her knees to her chest. Lily's at her wit's end.
Twenty minutes later, she's at the Sunday farmer's market at the center of Fukuoka with a backpack slung over her shoulders. It's a strange, rural countryside setup in the middle of a city with towering skyscrapers and modern street shops. Her teeth gnash, jaw a closed bear trap as she stares at families with children mulling about, shopping at their leisure, buying fresh vegetables, meat, and poultry, talking to stall sellers amiably, and laughing. The meek, vengeful part of her wishes the market and everyone in it was on fire. The whole marketplace is cruel to witness.
What makes her beneath everyone else, less worthy of food? Oh yeah, money. In Japan, a poor person physically able to work is not eligible for help from the government. And with no family to help her, she's fucked with no one but herself to care. If she was back home in America, at least she could be issued food stamps. But her family just had to move here for a business opportunity... if they had stayed living in Maine, mom and dad wouldn't have died and she wouldn't be on the streets. What a horrible mistake.
She was brave enough for even leaving home after being jumped by those guys this morning— and now here she is, deciding to make rash decisions in her crisis. Scanning the stalls, her mouth waters at the smell of meat cooking nearby, but meat isn't easy to grab. She needs to swipe from a stall with food that she can easily hide and carry.
Her eyes land on a blackboard advertising baked goods. It's set up in front of a brown-painted stand lined with plastic-wrapped muffins, pies, and artisan loaves of bread. Lily frowns at herself considering stealing food. In a past life, she would have never done such a deed. But she's desperate, and her enhanced sense of smell is tempting her beyond what she can stifle.
Before approaching, she observes who is around her. Looks like it's just a bunch of civilians, no blatant heroes are within sight. Ears swiveling, she doesn't hear anyone moving or breathing that is out of her sight. Seems like the coast is clear. Stepping up to the stand, the woman behind the display grins at her, and Lily tries not to wince. This will be the person she will be deceiving. Wishing she would at least be able to steal from an asshole seems to have jinxed her.
"Hi! Are you looking for anything in particular?" The woman's eyes are smiling to match her lips, hair she has pulled back with a clawed clip bouncing as she leans forward.
"Not really, just browsing. These look so yummy," Lily compliments, examining the assortment of baked goods. "Guess I felt like torturing myself, I try to avoid sugar but I can't help looking and wondering what could be."
The saleswoman laughs, head throwing back, and Lily's stomach lurches— how has she turned into fake scum within a few hours? With her actions vying in opposition of her genuine nature, she realizes she's truly at a new low. Doing this is only going against herself and every moral she has made for herself to uphold. And to such a visibly kind stranger, too!
"I do the same thing, oh my gosh! I even work with these temptations. I must be a masochist," she babbles. Maybe Lily should revert back to Christianity. She feels dirty like she needs to repent somehow, even though she hasn't even done the deed yet.
"Anyways, let me know if you see anything you like!" She chimes. When the woman turns to look at her stock behind her and begins rearranging foodstuff to make it look more presentable, Lily slings her backpack off her shoulders near an apple pie. She takes a moment to pretend to dig around for her wallet with one hand, while her body shields from view her swiping the pie with the other and quickly shoving it in her bag.
"Oh shoot, I forgot my wallet!" Lily sulks, putting on her best facade despite the well of disappointment in herself overflowing. "Guess that forces me to be good and not buy anything. I can't believe I set out to the market and forgot my one means of paying."
"Oh, no!" The woman responds, shoving a pencil in her hair, "well, you can always run home real quick for it, or otherwise come back next week..."
"I'm very sorry, you seem very kind and I would've loved to have a cheat snack from you." Her apology is genuine, even if the reason for apologizing she gave her isn't. Lily zips up her bag casually and swings it back on her shoulders. "I'll make sure to come back next time."
The woman bows, and waves as Lily begins to walk away. "See you next time!" The weight of the swiped pie presses into her back like a stone. Dramatically, she imagines she is in place of the titan Atlas, holding the heavy world upon its back as punishment. If she finally lands a job, she'll make sure to give that woman a generous tip to make up for her disgusting action. Feeling sick to her stomach with guilt, she returns to her meager home once more. During that whole exchange, part of her wondered if Hawks would catch her and she'd be stuck victim to those piercing, all-knowing eyes again.
When she makes it back home, she shakily unzips the bag and pulls free the pie, placing it on her kitchenette's small counter. Tearing at the plastic wrap with her claws, the smell of apple and cinnamon baked in a sweet crust hits her nose. She pulls out a fork and digs it into the pie. Staring at the bite for a moment, she pushes it past her lips, and she moans at the taste. It's both the best and worst thing she's ever tasted.
'It's okay, mom and dad,' she thinks to herself. 'I refuse to die.'