It was common for Cosimo to get from A to B by walking. He liked to walk. A brisk walk, to use up some of his excess energy. He still felt relatively new to the city, and walking helped him to discover all its different nooks and crannies. All its different parks and playgrounds. He liked playgrounds. He wished that they made more for adults, sometimes. The Italian liked to let go and pretend he was a kid again, sometimes.
But it would not really be socially proper to go running around in children’s playgrounds in the middle of the night. Not if he wanted, in some shape or form, to be taken seriously. So he bottled that urge, and just walked, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat (in Canada, is seemed it was rarely ever warm, and the Mystic did not think he would ever acclimatize).
Until, that is, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something small and grey. Too big to be a rat, but too small to be a dog. It had darted into the mouth of an alleyway that Cosimo was striding toward. He slowed down as he reached the entrance, glancing down inside. The dark didn’t scare the vampire. In fact, he could see near perfectly, with the dim light of the streetlamp guiding his way. With soft steps, he went in search of the grey shape. Curiosity got the better of him. Curiosity always got the better of him.
When he got close to the trashcan out the back of a Vietnamese take-away, there was a clatter and crash of the lit falling to the ground. The shape—a cat, Cosimo now realised—darted past him again and back toward the street.
And he realised, too, that this was near where he’d first met Esmeralda.
And he realised that he recognised that cat. The one that had run away when he had fed from its owner. The owner would still be alive, somewhere. But the cat had not gone home. Or maybe this was a different cat and it was a massive coincidence. Whatever the case, the cat was hairless. And it was cold. And it looked like a badass, with its huge eyes and big ears. Cosimo trotted after the animal, which still had that lead trailing behind it. Poor thing.
Car’s tires screeched upon the slightly-wet road as Cosimo crossed without looking. Crossed into the park. He laughed and waved the car away, nodding his whole body in apology. But continued on into the park. Slightly red eyes looked out at him from beneath a bush, and Cosimo dropped to his haunches. Held out his hand.
”Hey, gattino,” he called softly.
”Hey, piccolo cosa, poverina… Avanti piccolo gattino…”
Why he switched to his native tongue to coo at the animal, no one would be able to say. But he hoped it would work none the less. It would be better if he had some food, he supposed…
But it would not really be socially proper to go running around in children’s playgrounds in the middle of the night. Not if he wanted, in some shape or form, to be taken seriously. So he bottled that urge, and just walked, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat (in Canada, is seemed it was rarely ever warm, and the Mystic did not think he would ever acclimatize).
Until, that is, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something small and grey. Too big to be a rat, but too small to be a dog. It had darted into the mouth of an alleyway that Cosimo was striding toward. He slowed down as he reached the entrance, glancing down inside. The dark didn’t scare the vampire. In fact, he could see near perfectly, with the dim light of the streetlamp guiding his way. With soft steps, he went in search of the grey shape. Curiosity got the better of him. Curiosity always got the better of him.
When he got close to the trashcan out the back of a Vietnamese take-away, there was a clatter and crash of the lit falling to the ground. The shape—a cat, Cosimo now realised—darted past him again and back toward the street.
And he realised, too, that this was near where he’d first met Esmeralda.
And he realised that he recognised that cat. The one that had run away when he had fed from its owner. The owner would still be alive, somewhere. But the cat had not gone home. Or maybe this was a different cat and it was a massive coincidence. Whatever the case, the cat was hairless. And it was cold. And it looked like a badass, with its huge eyes and big ears. Cosimo trotted after the animal, which still had that lead trailing behind it. Poor thing.
Car’s tires screeched upon the slightly-wet road as Cosimo crossed without looking. Crossed into the park. He laughed and waved the car away, nodding his whole body in apology. But continued on into the park. Slightly red eyes looked out at him from beneath a bush, and Cosimo dropped to his haunches. Held out his hand.
”Hey, gattino,” he called softly.
”Hey, piccolo cosa, poverina… Avanti piccolo gattino…”
Why he switched to his native tongue to coo at the animal, no one would be able to say. But he hoped it would work none the less. It would be better if he had some food, he supposed…
