There was one day a week where I didn't work one of my legitimate jobs. Working at the office, even though occasionally free-lance, didn't do me a whole lot of justice, and wasn't incredibly interesting for the most part. While language was a skill, maybe even a gift, I didn't care much for the suites, the attitudes, and the pompous nature of working in an office building. Okay, maybe I kind of liked the suits... Working at the shop? That was a different story. I ended up working there most nights when I wasn't working late at the office, but weekends were pretty different. I was able to slink into the shop in jeans or a grease-stained t-shirt and the owner didn't care. I was talented enough that it really didn't bother him what I looked like, as long as the craft was taken care of and immaculate. Sundays, though, I usually had no obligations and spent way too much of my day at my home with Church, the very skeptical black cat who had taken up residence. I don't know where he came from, but he decided that he was actually the landlord of my building, and more particularly my abode. Church was gracious enough to let me live there, to feed him and pet him and generally treat him as the Lord and Master and Alpha Omega he was.

The owner had called me in, talking about a mess that one of the other employees had made as well as a shipment I had been waiting on's arrival. The arrival of new antiques I had bought to work on had come from the majestic markets of Morocco, where I had visited my last trip home to South Africa. The market had an intense selection of heirlooms, relics, and artifacts that were awfully interesting, at least to me. I was sure witches had done work on them before, making my very skin crawl with excitement to have them in my hands once I had made my way into the darker "black" alley. The boxes were strewn outside the shop since it was closed on Sundays, which was fucked up. All that money, sitting in cardboard squares just behind the shop, where the employee entrance was. I had a slow swagger to my walk, feeling a little hungover from the night before where I had wound up in a bar after a particularly nasty job that I'd been given by one of the fuckers from the office, who had neglected to tell me there was a vampire involved and I had nearly become dinner. The hangover settled my nerves, but made the sun a little too bright.

Sunglasses dropped on my face, I almost thought I was hallucinating when I saw a head pop out of one of the larger boxes. The artifacts from inside were strewn outside the box, but fortunately none were visibly broken. Stranger was the half eaten fish sitting beside a particularly ornate knife, narrated by a strange purring sound emanating from the box.

Now, I'm really not one to judge (okay, that's a big fat juicy lie) but it was unfathomable that this was something I would expect to see outside of a weapons shop. The person in the box was visibly happy with their discovery, and clearly not all that human. Animalistic behaviors were really common in this city, but usually when cloaked in human skin, they were diluted. This one? The purring had me laugh to myself, and I threw the cigarette I'd been smoking aside. Out of amusement, I reached into the bag I had brought with me to pull out a small, but delightfully crinkly, ball that Church had put in my bag. The strangely omniscient feline that lived with me generally liked to make sure I had entertainment, be it a toy or some half eaten kibbles. You get used to that kind of shit.

" I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume this is going to be very intruiging..." I started to say, clearly amused and with a generally pleasant tone. I opened the box farthest from him, figuring he was probably skittish, and took the large vase out before fluffing up the packing peanuts. I raised the ball, crinkling it a little so he'd hear it, and maybe peak his interest. Honestly, half of me felt derogatory and almost bad because hey... I might like cats... But either way, I flicked the crinkly ball into the newly opened box, finding myself almost concerned that he might not find it as interesting as I hoped.