if these wings could fly for the rest of our lives
Although tonight had been nothing short of terrifying, Abigail had scarcely even considered the notion of abandoning her companion. After all, she supposed that, really, that it wasn't as if people in general were all that willing to be snacks for a vampire. Arlo's kind did have a bit of a bad rep, or so she had discovered in her research. But he didn't seem so bad and...he hadn't tried to kill her....and the lady had survived in one piece with no worse for wear...so really, everything worked out in the end. Right? RIGHT?! That glimpse of glee she attempted to regard the man with, however, seemed accepted enough as he flopped back on the sofa, and yet, Abigail merely regarded him with some sense of curiosity as Arlo spoke of his eating preferences, the man's clear enthusiasm for the scent of one particular soul was wholly...vexing to her. Not because she didn't understand - of course she understood! She knew how the delicious smell of a freshly baked care could make her mouth water, or the hiss of a steak hitting a grill could make her excited. Rather, what so fascinated her was that simple realization that they smelled quite like food to him. It was silly really, she should have thought of it before and yet....she simply hadn't! Abigail couldn't help but to wonder what she smelled like. Hopefully she smelled kind of good. Like...a pie or something and not like a pickle. She didn't like pickles. She'd be sad if she smelled like a pickle.

In fact, she was further contemplating this pickle possibility when Arlo began to speak of the man who made him, her own ears perking ever so slightly at this newest conundrum. She had, also, failed to contemplate the whole process of being made. Abigail had always been what she was, she couldn't fathom a life in which she had started out something different and then had that change of species forced upon her. Still, he seemed to regard his maker with some care...so maybe he chose to be a vampire? Maybe it wasn't all that bad? She was glad Patrick and her Arlo had been good friends for each other....at least while the man had been within Arlo's life. It must have been rough, losing him, especially now that Arlo was on his own. Abigail might have lost her mother but she still had her father....sort of...when he decided to be around. But hey! Now they had each other and that was always good right?! She'd make a point to come by more often than she had thus far - because they needed each other! Regardless of what he might have otherwise said had he known those thoughts within her little panda head.

Her attention refocused at the mention of weres, that fact that he didn't mind her kind nearly immediately brought a gleeful chirp to her lips. Wait. Oops. She didn't mean to be so excited that he liked to eat her but....HA! She didn't smell like a pickle! Maybe she smelled like....um....a week old cupcake. You know...not very smelly but...hey...it's there....and she'd definitely eat a week old cupcake. Uh...duhhh! Her excitement, however, was thwarted only by a singular question - the mention of fae. Her head tilted to the side inquisitively, those small hazel eyes simply blinking at him in curiosity. She'd never even known of the existence of fae before that very moment - at least, not beyond those fairy tales. Her knowledge of the other species decidedly limited, though, the young girl was learning from her time within that spiraling metropolis. For better or for worse, she was learning. Her head shook from side to side ever so slightly. He hardly seemed inclined to question her on it further, his gaze instead shifting towards the tree to comment on what next year my hold for them, the notion alone entirely delightful enough to prompt Abigail to jump as gracefully as possible down from her perch and onto Arlo's belly, entirely content to make herself comfortable as those hazel eyes so stared up at him.

It was that very hue to her irises that, amongst those familiar with her kind, so gave her away. Her animal species was entirely dull in nature, often holding small eyes of a nearly blackish hue and yet, Abigail's alone were distinctly colored. Still, very few people so saw fit to comment on it, largely in part because her hometown knew her mostly as that enthusiastic sweet girl from Europe down the street then that Red Panda form she exclusively chose for her undead companion. His observation on the hue of her irises, and that simple pet name, flustered her enough that, she could almost feel the heat to her cheeks beneath that russet fur. Her gaze turned elsewhere in an entirely bashful gesture, the man, in turn, hardly seemed to notice as he flipped on the television, shifting through the guide to discern what little entertainment was available for their Christmas eve. It was only the man's decision to allow her to choose that caused her gaze to turn back towards him, the names of even those classics wholly lost upon her. Still, in the end, it was with one carefully placed claw that Abigail chose a number, settling for an animated film on the spirit of Christmas. The girl was all too content to watch those characters across the screen with a sort of awe that only sure came from seeing such a movie the first time, so coaxing her to linger far longer than she had intended to. Still, she was hardly surprised when, hours and several movies later, she glanced upwards to find her companion hardly even moving beneath her.

A small frown crossed her features as she leaned forward to nudge him, the man deathly still and yet, Abigail slowly rose to her four paws, stretching out. Mr. Sleepy pants needed some rest - which was good, because she had a present to gift him. The girl hopped from the couch, waddling over towards the window only to tentatively peek her head out the sill to see the sun crossing the horizon. She was going to have to be very very careful to make sure her Arlo didn't get hurt with all that movement. Cautiously, the young woman stepped out onto that fire escape, her teeth grabbing that tissue paper wrapped package she'd left there. It took effort to drag it back into the living room and, in the process, ensure the curtains didn't move too much to bother him. It took her a moment to decide where she wanted it but, soon enough, that little present was placed in the middle of the bottom of Christmas tree - all ready and perfect for him! She hoped he would like it - that hoodie wrapped within had a fleece interior, something far more warm then he presently wore, the hood oversized in order to fit her form and his head in the process. See! She'd thought of everything. With a pleased chirp, Abigail waddled off back towards that window, carefully biting at the material of those curtains to ensure they were extra super duper closed in the wake of her departure before she pushed that window sill down with a gentle thud. In truth, Abigail had found herself enjoying those nights with the vampire far greater than those on her own - but her father would be calling her soon to wish her a Merry Christmas and so, she supposed, it was best to let the man sleep.