A Chance Meeting (Jet and Jensen)

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] Jensen's second night off duty was two weeks after he had moved into his home in the eastern quarter. Another week of tutorials, of learning what was what around the kingdom. They'd told him that he was unusually young to be accepted into the First Class of the Legionnaires, especially since he'd only just moved in from outside the kingdom, had never gone through apprenticeship or the traditional move through the ranks of the Imperial Military. But he'd given them no reason to doubt the fact that he was skilled with the blade that he wielded, trained under a master whom none of them had heard of. So they'd put him in First Class thanks to his prowess with a blade, and still they'd had to take him around the kingdom, showing him patrols, teaching him their codes and their ethics, training with him so he knew the techniques that the Legionnaires used on a daily basis. They guarded the royal family. They protected citizens. It sounded like the sort of job that he'd been looking for ever since he'd left his master to search for the hidden kingdom. He didn't know whether any of what they'd told him was true. He believed in their codes, in their honor and the duties that they said were now his to carry out. He liked the methods, he liked that he saw. He'd been able to help people, and bring justice to the criminals who had earned it, though the criminals he'd caught with his temporary superiors had been petty and small in these first few weeks. All he'd wanted was to do some good, and that, so far, was his job description. But.... The way that Charity Colt and the other Underclass tom (what had his name been... Leif? Jensen thought that was it) had treated him the week before, when he'd gotten his first break, had not matched how he'd hoped to act. They thought him pompous, flashy, corrupt in morals and lazy in method. Granted, they had judged him based on their own biases against the Legionnaires that they had encountered, and none of their encounters could have been very pleasant. Charity was a thief--he'd picked that up a little late, but still before she'd managed to swipe his brooch and pawn it off to the first black market trader she could find. The other tom... Jensen didn't know much about him, though he had caused quite a ruckus in the market, tumbling barrels off of rooftops to smash through the crowd until Jensen's on-duty fellows could restore order. But if that was how they viewed the Legionnaires, as cats with little honor and a tendency to turn the other way if they were bribed.... what did that mean for him? He had wanted to use his title, the influence that he would have after his orientation was finished, to help unfortunates in any way that he could. Were they that afraid of soldiers? Did the soldiers actually stand for what Jensen wanted to stand for? Shivering slightly, Jensen pulled his dark red cloak tighter around himself. Autumn had definitely set into the air. His breath made slight clouds of warmth as he walked down the path from his house, wandering as he had wandered on his first day off and hoping that he would not run into the same two that he had before. His ears twitched slightly at the call of a crow, startlingly close as it flew overhead. He knew that he was going to be cold this winter. Fire was the only way to warm a wooden hut and stay the bitter weather, but Jensen had already boarded up his own fireplace in his little empty house that lay next to the forest. He would carve the panels of wood later, try to turn them into something more than bars against his past. It would only be right. It had been awhile since he'd worn his cloak this tight, though when he had done it before it had not been because of the cold. He'd been ashamed of the scar that had carved its hairless path across his left side, creeping up his face and down his chest, spanning the area of his shoulder and sweeping down his back almost to his hips. He'd known that it was ugly, known that he didn't want any pity from those who had seen it. It was why he had bought his cloak in the first place. But his master had taught him not to live in shame, not to cover the ugly thing up in hatred (he'd gone so far as to say that she-cats secretly loved strong toms with scars, though it had been more a joke than a serious statement). So Jensen had stopped covering it up, letting cats think what they thought of him. But the bare skin, uncovered as it was by fur, was easily nipped by the tongues of cold air that greeted him that cloudy afternoon. So he had it pulled tight enough so barely any of the scar showed--just the bit that stretched up onto his cheek, next to his left eye. He kept the hood down. He didn't like wearing it. And now, it was almost as though he weren't a Legionnaire at all, just another cat out for a walk. His sword was tight against his hip and the cloak hid it from view--even though he wasn't on duty, he wanted to keep it close in case there was trouble. He'd help out his fellow Legionnaires in a crisis, even on a break day. But other than what lay underneath his cloak, he felt... normal. It was a good feeling, a relief after the weeks of being nothing more than another soldier. His paws were light in the grass as he walked beside the path. He liked the feeling of the whiskers of growth under his pads. He actually deviated from the path some, heading for a slightly open spot where he saw a few cats gathered. To be honest, he didn't know what to do with himself when not on-duty, as that had pretty much been his life since moving in. So he was willing to give anything a try.

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] The eastern streets. As Jet rummaged about in her home, she decided that would be the place she’d go today. She’s been spending so much time in the markets off to the North, trying to get a few coins from the richer cats for her dances. However, the walk there and back was long, and dangerous. She couldn’t shake remembering how she had nearly been mugged up there last month, and how if it wasn’t for a nearby soldier…well, she didn’t want to continue that train of thought. The truth of the matter was that she was weak; couldn’t fight, couldn’t help herself. The thought of always being looked after by the cats around her made her frown. She didn’t trust them, any of them actually, with the exception of a pitifully small handful of individuals. Maybe If I made more friends I wouldn’t feel like I need to stay close to home to be safe, she scowled herself mentally, but still felt no urge to so meet others. Snapping on her belt and jangles, she pushed her way out the door of her home. Around her were probably some of the quietest streets in all of Gweillan. She wasn’t going to get a whole lot done today, but it was always worth a try. Besides, even if she made nothing, she enjoyed dancing and seeing the elated faces of young ones walking by, surprised to see a cat doing things they didn’t know some cats could do, like giving a little twirl and a jump, and simply looking graceful. The bells always helped, too. Oh how she loved her bells. Glancing fondly down at her belt as she made her way along the old paths, she could see a faint reflection of her maw in the smooth brass. But plain bells didn’t offer any love back, and Jet actually smirked slightly at the thought. Alright, maybe that was for the better, but it didn’t change the underlining fact that she was surprisingly alone. Sure, cats talked to her a lot, some were almost a bit too friendly… but Jet still felt her only real friends were Misto and Zahara. She flicked her wrist dismissively as the thought of company seemed to creep back into her mind again; relationships can remain a mystery to her, she’s got work to do doesn’t require anyone else to get it done. Finding a nice spot off to the side of a little opening in the streets, she decided it would be a good place to dance and mentally picked the routine she’d do today. When she danced, she felt exhilarated. The normally soft-spoken girl would move and twirl and leap with complete confidence and ease, her bells jingling a song rather than noise thanks to the way she’d move and swing. Her paws scraped the streets below as she’d move, however the sokoke didn’t notice anymore nowadays. As a kit, they’d become scrapped and bleed from the amount of rough, practice sessions she’d go through constantly every day. They’d become scarred and rugged, not like the smooth beautiful paws of every other dancer you’d find out there. She was extremely self-conscious of her paws because of this. A memory fluttered behind her eyelids in that surreal way they do, only for a moment. It wouldn’t interrupt her dance, no, she didn’t need to think of this memory for long before every detail flooded back to her present mind. Snow, grabbing her paws and turning them over after noticing how careful she was to keep them at her sides when they walked. Scrutinising his gaze, and them smiling cheerfully, as If none of it really mattered. He didn’t judge her, and even if she hasn’t seen him in ages she thanked him for that. Swinging into a handstand, the dancer beamed; she loved this move, and although it was hard to hold before pushing off the ground into a flip, landing on her hinds and continuing the original dance moved, it was fun. It was comfortable as well, and a few cats seemed to have smiled over at her, watching her perform. The tinkle of bells tend to do that, catch attention. There was something about fun and happiness that was downright contagious if you asked Jet. Whenever she’d see others smiling and having the time of their lives, she couldn’t help but mirror their grin. She absentmindedly wondered if it was like that for the cats around her now, and whether of not the fun of her dance made them feel a little lighter, too. She mentally scoffed at the though; dances weren’t magic, they were just simple steps that some cats mastered and then glorified to the point of these steps being incredibly complicated and face paced. Nothing really special, and the sokoke girl would bet that even if she was a horrid dancer, she’d dance away anyways simply for the joy of it. Could it be like that for every job? Did blacksmiths feel joy as they crafted and forged weapons, did soldiers smile happily as they used them to help out the less fortunate? Jet guessed she’d never really know; she was a dancer, nothing more, nothing less, and that was good enough for her.

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] Jensen’s tufted ears picked up the sound of bells as he walked to the sparse cluster of cats. They were beautiful bells, singing their tuneless song that reached him through the air. He slipped between two citizens as he moved to get a better look at what was going on, stopping when he saw the lithe, graceful movements of the gray she-cat. The crowd loved it—they were laughing and clapping their paws together with the beat of her dance, oohing and aahing whenever she pulled off a particularly beautiful or difficult move. Their excitement seemed to crackle through the air, infecting all those who came to get a look at what was going on. Though the crowd was small compared to one that someone might find in the markets, it was a decent size for a performer who had set up in this quiet part of the kingdom. Mostly the watchers were families who lived in the area, or other cats happening to pass by and catching a glimpse of the dance. They stayed to watch a few moves, beaming, then went on their way with a little more vigor than when they had come. Only a few really stayed to watch for long periods of time—but no doubt this particular dancer had large crowds when dancing in an area where cats came specifically to watch the performers. Jensen stood, almost stunned, unaffected by the laughter and the adoration of the little gathering outside of the Eastern Quarter homes. As the cats he stood next to left, he stayed, watching her movements with a tight feeling in his chest, almost as though he couldn’t breathe. Of course there would be dancers here. He had known that there would be—it had been a sort of profession in the little cluster of houses that stood in the dense forest where humans rarely traveled—the place where he had been born and raised. They had been able to live as kingdom cats did, those few families that had set up houses outside of the kingdom. And since their lifestyles had been based off of those of kingdom cats, it was no surprise that the art of dancing had originated here as well. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see one performing, so naturally and gracefully that she made her stunts look easy. It was a profession—a way of life here in the cat kingdom. But the tightness in his chest remained even as he told himself that it was natural. It even seemed to increase, as he knew that as long as he lived here, there would be dancers performing. He’d caught glimpses of them on his tutorial rounds through the markets, seen the musicians that some of them preformed with, but he’d never gone close. He’d avoided taking paths that would lead him to come across one, and in all honesty it had been easy. He had to stay focused on his job while he was on duty, and it was easy to convince himself to pay no attention to them. But now, when he had no plan and no excuses, he was here watching one, letting all of the bittersweet memories flood back into his mind. He watched the sokoke perform, but it was a white cat who danced in his mind, her movements beautifully accurate, the red ribbon she held twirling around her downy fur as if it were a part of her own body. The memory was a happy one, a beautiful sight, but it made him sad as well, and the constricting hand on his chest seemed to tighten. I should leave, Jensen thought as he watched the gray dancer tumble through the air and across the ground, the bells jangling at her commands. He could see the discipline in her movements, even though they looked natural. He could see how hard she had worked to perfect these moves, how much effort she had put in while training to pull them off with such a natural air. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around him as he told himself, once again, that he should be on his way. But he didn’t move—he stayed longer than any other cat who dropped by to watch her act, perhaps laugh and applaud her, then continue with their day. He couldn’t seem to make himself move, so caught up in watching her movements and remembering another dancer who had been in his life for as long as he could remember and who had gone so suddenly from his own existence. His scar ached at the thought, all down his body where the flames had scorched away his fur and skin when he had been even younger than he was now. He could see Willa in every move that the dancer pulled off, even though many of them were moves that he had never before seen and which he doubted that Willa had been able to pull off. She’d been a good dancer, but she had been too young to have the skills that this bell-garbed sokoke possessed. So he watched her, the young tom with the sad green eyes, for what might have been hours but could have been mere minutes as others passed by. Even he wasn’t quite sure to make of what he was experiencing. He thought of Willa often, but he had never remembered so many details about his old life as he was at the moment. But even though it was thoughts of his beautiful, white dancer which occupied his mind, it was Jet that he was watching with such a vulnerable, almost lost expression. He watched the gray dancer tumble and twirl, her blue eyes shining as she cast them around at the cats passing by. It was when she flipped into a handstand that his eyes lit up, glowing like the light of a scribe lantern as he leaned forward slightly, silently praying for her to finish it flawlessly. And she did—of course she did, springing from her front paws into a perfect backflip and landing without a hitch before continuing to dance as if she had done nothing to warrant any rest. Jensen rocked back on his heels as he laughed, his usual smile back on his face as he clapped for her even if she hadn’t paused to see anyone’s reaction. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn that she didn’t know that anyone was watching her at all, and that she’d simply picked a day and place to let herself dance. After his mournful expression had cracked at her handstand backfip, Jensen was all smiles, a pure, sort of innocent enjoyment filling him as he watched the dancer practice the art that she had mastered. It was incredible to watch, to see a feline do things that probably should have been physically impossible. It was good to see someone do something well, something that she obviously enjoyed and could pull off so beautifully. He admired her discipline, and wondered why a dancer’s craft was held in such low esteem. To perform as she preformed, they had to put in probably as many hours into training as a warrior had to put into his sword skills. He found himself wondering how long she would perform, wondering if he could talk to her afterwards. He was hesitant, though. He didn’t know if she would feel threatened by a Legionnaire watching her show… though he supposed that she had no way to know his profession. Even if she did, he couldn’t imagine what threat she might see in him, but he knew that there were many citizens, especially Underclass, who were wary of the soldiers.

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] As she moved to the beat the spectators merrily encouraged, Jet could feel the air around her tense. Her bright blue gaze examining the expressions of the cats she passed in her dance, she caught the eye of a tom who wasn’t smiling like the rest. His hollow gaze unnerved her, but she was too lost in her own moments to dwell on the unsettling stare for more than a heartbeat. She wasn’t going to mess up these moves… she couldn’t mess up these moves. Mistake had been a potent word around the sokoke’s home growing up. Mistakes were not to be had, because errors were evidence of the untrained. She trained too long and too hard to look like a fool, and this thought propelled her to continue her practices even after her mother passed away. To some of the very few who know of Jet’s history, it baffles them still just how high in regards the dancer holds her mother. She worked her only daughter to the point of her paws bleeding and scarred, and yet Jet adored her. The girl wondered occasionally if it was all just childish idolizing, but couldn’t bring herself to come to terms with any of it. She was how she was, she was proud of who she was, and her mother made her who she was. She could feel it in the rhythm that she’d need to close off the dance, and when she did, she did it with grace and a slow halt which ended this routine in a calming feeling of closure rather than the explosive finally she occasionally attempted. It wasn’t her style today; even if the marbled, chocolate-furred cat lived for the stage, she was more than content living by on the sidelines, inquiring about others and hoping for nothing more than a good relationship with those she met. Not that she’d ever willingly seek them out. She kindly thanked the cats who had hung around to watch her ending, giving them a shy wave. This was no longer her element; her bells no longer tinkled when she paused her movements, and finding the rhythm in socialization was like trying to run underwater for Jet Marrow. She noticed in the corner of an icy eye that the brown-furred tom was still around. He had started smiling towards the end, and she shyly thanked him as well for having stuck around so long, with a very curt nod and a small smile. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t know this cat. And well, if she was to be completely honest with herself, that heartbeat of a glance she caught form him during her performance’s beginning had contained such a deep sadness and numbness, Jet felt uneasy at the sheer amount of grief. Could it have been her fault? It was impossible to deny her natural curiosity as to why in the world he might’ve looked at her that way, but she wasn’t going to hang around and find out. She turned, quietly staring to pad away and make her way along the streets. She wasn’t all that sure where she was heading, and she was clearly in no hurry with the speed of her movements. She felt more cheerful after having a nice dance, but despite the regular elation she wondered if maybe she should’ve said something to that cat. He had graced her with his presence for longer than the rest of the small shifting crowd, and all she did was shyly nod, hardly looking at him as if worried she’d catch another look like that in his eye. She hated when cats were sad; it was why the magic she practiced most was her Soothing Spell. She slowed her stride slightly, glancing over her shoulder behind her. Looking back had always been a habit of hers, and it was debatable at time whether it would be considered a good quality, or a bad one; she wasn’t focusing on where she was putting her paws, but if something was to happen, she wouldn’t want to miss it.

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] Jensen stopped dead in his tracks when he turned to look behind her, nearly marring his paws in his sudden skidding halt in on the dusty path. He suddenly feet very foolish as her ice blue eyes found him. The dragon li tilted his head just slightly and gave her a rather flustered, embarrassed smile as he realized that it probably looked as though he was following her--she'd seemed so shy after her dancing that he thought that he might startle her by running up to her after she had already left. She probably thought that he was stalking her, or waiting to mob her or something. "I'm sorry, miss!" he said apologetically, fiddling with the neckline of his red cloak. It had flown open as he had run over, exposing a bit more of his scar but nothing near the actual distance that is spanned his body. He'd been jogging after her down the path, but now he stepped more lightly, with the graceful movements of someone disciplined in some art but not so graceful that he might be a dancer, and held out his left paw, his dominant hand. Curved like a brown crescent moon on his pad was her earring. "You dropped this." He had watched her for a bit, his eyes on her as she walked away without a word to the crowd. He'd been surprised--he would have thought that, with the way she'd moved, she would move about her watchers the same way, talking to them easily, but her transformation into the shy she-cat had happened instead. She'd smiled and nodded to him before she'd left--she probably noticed that he'd been standing there for a long time, almost her whole performance. He'd toyed with the idea of approaching her to talk, even if just to ask her for her name and let her know how incredible her dance had been, but he hadn't gotten up the nerve before she'd started walking away. He almost hadn't noticed her earring lying in the flattened grass that she had claimed for her art, but just as he'd been about to leave himself he'd seen it lying abandoned in the grass. He had no doubt that it was hers, as he'd seen it dangling from her left ear through the first half of her dance. He supposed that it was an easy thing to accidentally fling it off during one of the more wild, spinning moves--any number of the ones she had done could have been enough to shake it loose. He was just glad that he'd found her before she'd gone too far.

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] At the voice, Jet paused in her steps and blinked around in surprise. It was the cat from earlier. Pondering what it could be that he wanted, she found herself distracted by his paws as they fiddled with clipping together his cloak again. It had opened in his rush…and exposed the scars. Her eyes widened in surprise, and then darkened instantly with guilt and she closed them swiftly, turning her head. She could only hope he hadn’t caught the flash in her gaze; she knew what it was like to have scars scrutinized. Jet felt like a hypocrite, always thinking less of people who’d judge her by her paws, but then she had the nerve to let her emotions dance in her gaze as she saw the lack of fur in the singed parts that traced along the soldier’s neck. She wanted to apologise in response to him, but kept her clenched jaw locked. Following his gaze to his outreached paw, she noticed the earring. “O-oh!” she exclaimed, instinctively reaching to her own ear and feeling that no, her earring was in fact laying in this tom’s paw. She let out a relieved breath at the thought of the torment she would’ve endured without it. She could foresee herself as being grumpy and closed minded, snapping at anyone who tried to consol her while she grieved for the last thing that connected her to her family…well, aside from her scars. And for some reason that made the earring all the more important. Taking it back graciously, the relief was thick in her voice, “Thank you, oh my gosh, thank you,” she smiled. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without it,” clipping it back to her ear, her gaze flitted to the floor again. What did she say to this cat? Deciding against taking her leave, she raised her gaze again and forced an uneasy smile. ”And no need to call me miss,” she purred with a small laugh, pleased with managing to sound light-hearted despite her unease, “My name’s Jet,” the dancer then offered. So many cats seemed to be going about in Gwellian these days with an alias, she felt her name had a certain importance to her. It was who she was, and she wasn’t going to stalk the streets concealing it. Her mind touched on the thought of Jet not being her real name. What if I gave a fake name to somebody who became a friend? How would I ever confess my true identity to them without shattering the trust that was built?[/i} This thought made the marbled feline very contented with the fact that she was one person. But this one cat was soft spoken in situations such as this one, and being social or trusting was something that came with great difficulty. Growing up, her world revolved around practicing, pleasing her mother, being the best she could at what she did. Her mom never pushed her out the door, telling her to go meet new friends or play in the streets with the other kids for a while. Jet’s probably never kicked a ball in her life! It came with no surprise that making friends was a bump in the road Jet was accustomed to walking alone, but she felt a need to try. Everyone in the streets always seemed to be mingling with somebody else, it made her feel out of place and brought almost a lingering loneliness. Well, maybe lonely was the wrong word; Jet didn’t get lonely. Sure, she became bored quite frequently, but never lonely. No matter which way she looked at it, knowing a few more cats could never hurt. She just hoped this tom wasn’t one of those cats without honest intentions. [ By the way Riv, that is a SEXY posting table ]

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] Jensen noticed Jet's expression when she saw his scar. How could he not? It was a grotesque thing for a cat, whose skin was never exposed and lay snug beneath their fur. He had borne the mark long enough to recognize and grow accustomed to the looks that the others shot him, other cats who met him for the first time or else just noticed it while passing by. He'd seen every reaction from open disgust to a genuine sympathy. He didn't like either--pity was almost as bad as disgust. Both looks reminded him that he was very different from other cats in outward appearance, and that he stood out among them. It was why he had bought the cape in the first place, back when he was only just recovering from the terrible burns. The healer who had nursed him back to health had told him that some of the fur would grow back, but he would have to live with this thing, what many cats probably saw as a deformity. Jensen had fled before he had even fully recovered, not wanting her pity or concern. He hadn't believed that he was the one who had deserved to come out of those fires alive, and with a bitter heart had bought his red cloak to cover up the wound and the memories. It was too extensive, really, to cover up entirely. In the end it hadn't been the scar that had driven him into his own exile. It wasn't the wound which had made him an outcast, but in fact had been the way he reacted to it. He'd covered himself with the cloak, wrapping it tightly about him and shading his marred face with the hood. He hadn't spoken to anyone. He'd hated the looks that they gave him when they realized what had happened to him. He'd hated their pity and their disgust. He'd been bitter for a long while before he'd found his master. Jensen accepted his scar now. It was no use trying to cover it, so he had learned to ignore it, to bear the first looks that his fellow felines gave him and know that it wasn't their fault, that it was just natural reaction to something extremely out of place. He wore his cloak as tightly as he did now because of the cold that nipped at the bare, unprotected skin, not because of the shame that had eaten him away and twisted him into something much darker than he had ever wanted to be. If he did perhaps still wear it to cover the extent of which the scar crossed his back, it was to save others from looking at it too much. He wasn't certain whether Jet's quick flicker of shock had been pity or disgust, but he reasoned that it was probably a good mix of both. He waited, giving her a small smile that told her that he knew what she was thinking, and that he knew it couldn't be helped. He was far beyond holding grudges or feeling incredibly self-conscious about it. He waited for her to take the earring from his hand, and frowned himself, just slightly, as he felt the roughness of her paws. It surprised him--dancers with all their beauty and grace, seemed soft and willowy, creatures whose paws should have been soft and seamless. The scars that he felt brush his own pads were like the callouses on his own paws, the tough skin that he had built up from handling his sword. But somehow, hers were in even worse shape than his had been. He didn't really hide his reaction the way she'd tried to hide hers, but his expression wasn't so much disgust, horror, or pity as it was curiosity. There was almost a bit of newfound respect his his eyes as he raised them again to her beautiful blue ones. She was a warrior in her own way, and she had the scars to show for it. The years she must have spent practicing her dances must have slashed at her paws and brought her terrible pain--that much he thought he could guess. He was goof at putting those sort of pieces together. So. A scar for a scar, now he supposed they were even as far as reactions went. And now... a name for a name would be just as appropriate. "It was no trouble, Jet," he told her. He liked the name. It was much better than the names that some cats used, names that were so clearly not their own that it was laughable. Titles aside, it was a name that truly formed trust between two souls. A name brought with it all of the feelings towards the cat who bore it. He had no way of knowing her train of thought, but his own matched what she was thinking now--he wasn't a fan of aliases. They seemed too much like lies to him--cats could lie about their lives, their names, even their pasts, but where could that get them, in all honesty? He trusted that the name was her own. The dragon li swept into a bow as he spoke. "Jensen Howle, First Class Legionnaire. I only moved to the kingdom a few weeks ago." He straightened, tilting his head slightly with another smile. This cat, this attitude that he had, was so different from the sad way that he had watched her dance. This was the true Jensen, the Jensen of the present and not the one still stuck in the past. He didn't avoid thinking about the past, but he tried not to dwell too much on it either. He had come to terms with his life, even though many thoughts still saddened him. Jensen's eyes lit slightly as he continued, forgetting for a moment that she had asked him not to call her miss. It was something that Jensen did mostly without thinking--he addressed cats with respect, because even a dancer had to work hard to get by in life. Perhaps even harder than many of the upper class. "I must say, miss, your act was enchanting. I had never thought one could move so beautifully."

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] Catching Jensen’s expression in reply to her own upon seeing his scars, she knew he noticed her acknowledgement of them. However, she wasn’t sure if he knew what she felt about them. She hoped he didn’t. Above all else, she hoped her didn’t know that when she saw them, she felt…relieved. Relieved that she wasn’t the only one out there with their history marked on their body. The ones who’s stories and pasts they need to hide using more measures than simple silence. This feeling of respect quickly morphed to guilt, horrible guilt that she’d ever feel the slightest bit of content towards somebody else’s pain. It was pure selfishness on her own part, not wanting to be the only one with scars. At least hers were easier to hide. Pushing this thought away while she had glanced back up, she noticed the curiosity in his gaze that he clearly made no attempt to hide. She felt her heart flutter and sink, in that swooping way it did whenever somebody noticed her paws. That dawning realization, like getting caught red-handed in a lie. Flustered, she lowered her ears ever so slightly. Guess all the cats were out of the bag now. Perhaps… maybe this made it easier to become fiends with this cat? She had shown Misto her scars weeks after they’d met, and he hadn’t ran off on her. Maybe this cat wouldn’t either…? He still stood there, didn’t he? Then again, it wasn’t all about her; for all she knew, he thought little of her, the dancer who flinched at his scars. Well, the guilt at her thoughts of his scars. Either way, it didn’t make her look like the best of companions. Despite all of that however, she couldn’t deny that Jensen didn’t look bad for a cat who’s left side was scarred beyond repair. His eyes seemed to be caught in a shade right between green and gold, and when she heard he was new here, she felt intrigued. Smirking sheepishly at the bow, she cocked her head to the side. “Oh? Well, welcome to Gweillan!” she exclaimed with a flick of her tail. Hopefully she didn’t seem too awkward; she wasn’t use to this thing that involved being friends. Hearing that he was a soldier, she felt another prick of curiosity. The only authorities cats she had met before was a simple soldier named Marshall, and then the Shade Kaiser, Mikhail. This tom was first class however, and Jet wondered how hard his job must be near the top of the imperial army. She wasn’t very aware of what went on in the Empire; she just focused on doing her best keeping out of the mix-ups that happened between the Empire and the Guilds. Things seemed to be quite complicated these days, perhaps it was smarter of her to step back and not to get involved. She shifted her weight, remembering how Mikhail had scrutinized her observantly, trying to figure out whether or not she was in one of the guilds. Was this Jensen character trying to figure her motives as well? She dismissed the idea; Jet doubted all soldiers ever had to worry about was who was sneaking around causing mischief and who wasn’t. Hearing him refer to her as miss again though, she couldn’t help but crack a slight smile despite the formality. Sometimes it felt like miss was just a verbal way of keeping cats more than arms reach away, but at the same time, the respect was something Jet had never before seen. Sure, Misto called her m’lady occasionally, but it was in a playful way that friends did. This was just…respectful. Few if any others had ever treated a dancer like herself with this kind of respect, and it filled Jet’s gaze with confusion and curiosity. She was just a member of the lower class, and one at that who seemed to fall prey to some of the most disrespectful cats she’s ever seen. But that was her own fault, having to work at Taverns to get a decent amount of money. The half-drunk cats were good there with their loose wallets, but at he same time, there was always the issues with the few who didn’t know the meaning of personal space. Jet hit the wall in her mental track again. She didn’t like thinking of the time she needed to spend dancing at the taverns; it felt like selling her soul for the entertainment of cats who couldn’t even stand upright. It made her think less of herself at times, and it was a fact she only ever brought up when cats noticed her at the tavern. And those conversations always felt a bit awkward; she didn’t enjoy it there. The marbled sokoke didn’t comment on how he called her miss though, and instead laughed cheerfully on the compliment of her dance. “Thanks,” she purred, scratching the back of her head slightly with a paw, “I noticed you had hung around for quite a while. I’m glad you liked it, it always leaves me feeling quite happy when others seem to enjoy it,” she smiled. “S’what I do.” It was really all she seemed to do, since she couldn’t fight of anything close to fighting. Well, she could climb trees like a squirrel, but guess she was just good with her paws. “If you don’t mind me asking…what is it you do? S-sorry, I’ve only ever met a soldier once before,” she admitted, unable to conceal the edge of innocent wondering in her tone. Maybe he got his scars in a battle? She pushed that silent question from her mind; she’d never ask that, the epitome of rudeness.

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] "Welcome?" Jensen asked, laughing just a little as she welcomed him to the Kingdom. "Thank you, Jet!" He shifted his weight just slightly into a more comfortable position, realizing that they were standing sort of in the middle of a road, on ground that probably wasn't suitable for having a conversation on. But he didn't really want to suggest that they go someplace more comfortable. After all, he had just come to return what belonged to her, and though he would like to stay and talk to the beautiful sokoke dancer, he was afraid that if he suggested they move somewhere else their conversation would suddenly come to a halt. After all, it was simply the fact that they were stopped here and meeting for the first time that they were talking at all, wasn't it? "You know..." Jensen continued thoughtfully, his ringed tail sweeping against the ground. "You're the first cat I've met who's actually said that." And it was true--everyone else that he'd met tended to be strictly on business. When he had approached the Legionnaire barracks after hearing that they were the law and order of the kingdom, he had told them that he had come from outside the kingdom and had been trained privately be a master. No welcomes, no how do you do's, just evaluation as he spent days proving his talent to the lords. And he had passed! He wasn't bitter about the fact no one had officially welcomed him, and in fact hadn't actually given it much thought until now. He'd been too busy with his duties, anyway, to really meet anyone else in his area. Charity and Leif had been the only two outside of the military that he had spoken to, and they were a bit too... shady, to be welcoming towards a soldier who would probably have to arrest them at some point or another. Jensen found that disheartening. She liked the dotted, short-tailed she-cat thief and the trickster with the blue eyes. It was a pity they were so distrustful to the Legionnaires. Well... perhaps not so distrusting. Charity, at least, seemed to become quite forward after she had first gotten over the initial fact that he was one of the cats whose sole duty was to lock her in irons and keep her from thieving--something that Jensen very much did not want to do. And Charity had picked right up on that. Jensen thought that perhaps she was taking advantage of his good nature, and she enjoyed flustering him with cheeky remarks and a pretty close proximity to his person. He had a hunch that she wanted to get close so that she could steal his brooch. At the thought, his paw reached up to check whether it was still there--and of course it was, securing his cloak in place. He lat a paw stroke over its smooth, carefully polished surface. Perhaps Jet's earring was something like this pendant was to him--something to remember someone by. A possession which held worth far beyond the price that it could be sold for at the market. But perhaps he was only imagining things. Jensen's ears tilted forward at Jet's question. Perhaps this conversation would not be so short after all. "What do I do?" he asked, smiling just a little as he tried to figure out what her question meant. Obviously she knew what a soldier did. Perhaps she was vague on the details of the classes. "First Class... I work a lot. One of the most elite warriors, I suppose you could call it, but you would not be able to tell right now. I'm still in my orientation, still learning the ropes of the kingdom way from the Legionnaires that have been around longer than I have. But..." Jensen swept a hand over the spikes on his hair, shifting his weight again as his smile took on more of an easy comfort. He hoped that he wasn't making her uncomfortable, talking to her like this. He sensed a bit of nervousness in her speech, her actions. "Legionnaires, especially First Class, are sworn to honor our morals and never stray from our duty. To help any less fortunate, to protect the citizens of the kingdom to those who might do them harm." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "But as I said, I'm still new to this. I've never lived in the kingdom up until a few weeks ago. If you were looking for something more exciting and detailed, I'm sorry to have disappointed you. Perhaps in a few weeks I will have better stories to tell." It wasn't quite a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. Jensen clearly did have a story to tell, just not one that had to do with his association with the Legionnaires. "And you, Jet?" he asked, his eyes kind as they fell on hers again. "You dance beautifully, of course, but there must be other ways you enjoy yourself."

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] Jet cocked her head to the side in surprise; were cats really so busy nowadays that they couldn’t even grace a new citizen with a welcome? As Jensen claimed that she was the first to welcome him, yet he said he got here a while ago, she felt a bit perturbed. Surely her fellow Gweillans were kind enough to make the newcomers feel welcome. Either way, the marbled cat couldn’t help but grin at the thought of having been the first. “I’m surprised nobody else mentioned anything,” she voiced her thoughts out loud, feeling the need to say something. Well, dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything, the least Jet could do was carry on the welcome for everyone that well, forgot. “Want me to show you around?” she smiled, but then halted, “Oh, er, right, you probably go one patrols and stuff; maybe you already know where everything is,” she let out a flustered laugh; she wasn’t very good at this. Not that her awkwardness was any mystery. Curious, she pricked her ears as Jensen started explaining in a bit more detail what his level of soldier did. So many cats seemed to watch the Empire’s helpers with wary, distrustful eyes. To be honest, they made Jet feel a bit safer. But only a bit… they didn’t always seem to be around when she needed them too, but at the same time she couldn’t blame them, since she tended to get herself into trouble far away from where help usually was. Nodding at what she said, she couldn’t help a prick of respect and slight…envy? Maybe it was envy. They were off, doing something great and helping others, while all she could really do was dance. Maybe she could be more helpful if she was more open. “But what happens when it’s the soldiers who need protecting from harm?” she wondered, then realize she had said it out loud and flushed slightly again. “Er, if soldiers ever need help, of course,” she added with a purr. His lie slipped y completely unnoticed by the marble feline, who was now racking her brain to explain what she did to entertain herself aside form dance. Aside from dancing? Dancing had become her everything, it was her way of life, her way of feeling close to her family, her way of meeting others and how she vented out any emotions she’d build up. It wasn’t very often you could find something to do that allowed you to put food no the table and vent out your frustrations at the same time. She shifted her weight, trying to think of something she did for well…fun. Truth be told, it’s been a while. “I…” she thought, then her ears pricked up and she beamed, “I love climbing trees!” The dancer flicked her tail, her bells tinkling in protest to the smooth movement. Realizing that sounded a bit odd, she swiftly elaborated; “I spend quite a bit of time in the forests and such, it’s a nice get away from the rough street dirt on the paws, y’know what I mean?” She mewed curiously. Jet wasn’t often the type to go around telling what she did in her past time, since her forest was sometimes her sanctuary, where she could go and count on the peaceful quiet of it all. But Jensen asked, and he seemed nice. She didn’t trust him though…perhaps because he was being so nice. Well, it made sense in Jet’s head anyways; the nice ones are sometimes the ones who were pretending. But she dismissed it as paranoia, and returned the question around at Jensen; “Surely you, too, have something you do other than…soldiering.” Realizing how un-intelligent that sounded, she let out a soft breath.

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] "That's perfectly alright," Jensen said dismissively. She seemed rather put-out, almost ashamed, that he hadn't yet gotten a formal welcome to the kingdom. To be honest, he'd mostly tried to integrate himself as quietly as possible. He liked the quiet, and the sanctuaries that it offered. He'd chosen the house closest to the woods that he could find while still being within jogging distance of the castle, should a need suddenly arise and he had to get to the royal family in a hurry. He didn't want to make a fuss, and he didn't want rumors to start spreading, if that was what cats might do should a newcomer suddenly arrive in the neighborhood. He hadn't met many other civilians either--most of his time had been spent within the Legion. "I've been working far too often to meet anyone friendly enough to carry on a casual conversation. Not... that the other Legionnaires aren't friendly of course." "But..." Jensen laughed when she asked to show him around, in a slightly nervous, awkward manner. He could tell that her intentions really were good, and that she truly wanted to make up for the fact that no one else had been casual to him so far. "Yes, I've been escorted around quite thoroughly by the Legion. I'm expected to know the ins and outs of the kingdom, all its isolated places, before they really let me do my duty." It was true, to most points. The places that he hasn't visited, he'd been told about extensively using maps, history lessons, and literal pointing-out from one of the castle towers. Though he hadn't by any means been everywhere in the kingdom, he had a pretty good sense of where it all was at. "But thank you for the offer!" he added quickly, giving her another smile. "I must admit, I haven't been able to dwell on many places to enjoy myself, though I suspect I could tell you the date each section was named and who has fought over it in the past." He wasn't sure that she'd get his joke. Obviously he probably didn't know everything there was to know about the places in the kingdom, but his point had been that he knew most of them by location or theory but had yet to find which of them were the hidden gems. "I wouldn't refuse a walk with you, Jet, especially if you could show me beauty in the kingdom beyond raw theory and tactics." He hoped that she didn't have anywhere to be, and that her offer to show him around had been genuine rather than simple politeness. He would love to know the places that she valued, or even those that he himself might be able to retreat to when he felt the need. So he walked with her, down the path away from where he had caught up to her in such a hurry. The afternoon sun was slowly slipping down the sky--not quite duck, or evening, but approaching that time when the shadows began to join together and fall towards the edge of the world. The night air was still crisp, though Jensen's thick fur kept him warm where it lay against his skin, and his cloak covered the bare scar tissue where his fur did not. Most cats were returning to his homes, or else to the more popular areas of the kingdom--the tavern, the markets, and other sites where they could spend the hours after dark fell. Jensen's nose picked up the smell of spice from where it wafted through the air from the market districts. Spice always seemed to flavor the afternoon on autumn nights such as this, mixing with that crisp scent that accompanied the season. "Of course, soldiers do need help sometimes," Jensen replied to her spoken musing, not realizing that she hadn't meant to voice the question out loud. "Often we face threats that we cannot overcome unscathed. I cannot speak for my fellows, but I at least would not shirk my duty even if I were outmatched." Realizing that the conversation had probably taken a rather darker turn, he smiled sideways at her to lighten the mood. "But of course, soldiers will always have each others' backs." He couldn't imagine dying anytime soon, and besides. Soldiers were trained well enough that they could scare off any common criminal or thug. He smiled slightly, almost as if he didn't realize that he was doing so, as she spoke of the woods. His ears lifted a bit when he heard her bells, as they jingled with each step that she took. It was a beautiful, if unformed, music that followed them with each step down the path. He liked the sound where otherwise there would have been only silence, other than the wind's low whistle as it wound through the leaves and boughs of the trees that framed the side of their path. He liked the way they sounded, the way they shed light on her movements. "I've never actually climbed a tree," he confessed at her question. He hadn't actually ever thought of it. When he was younger, he liked to swim in the rivers, play chase, maybe occasionally climb a hill or a large rock. But never a tree. "Though I must say, the idea is intriguing! perhaps I will try it." He scratched his left paw with his right, a habit that he'd gotten into whenever he wanted to carve. It was a literal itch that gripped him, an irritation at the lack of movement and precision that the skill lent to him. "I admit that 'soldering' takes up a good portion of my time." He hadn't been able to carve for quite a long time--he was often too tired when he returned home to start working on the illustrations that he was decorating into the interior walls of his house, and he usually wasn't sitting idly enough to be able to pick up a piece of raw material to shape without thinking. "When I have spare time, I like to carve. Or play music, when I am alone." They were odd hobbies for a soldier, though he didn't really know it. It made a lot of sense in his mind, or at least the way that his master ha described it, while the old cat was pulling him out of his bitter months after his burn. 'You must not forget the arts,' the siamese had told him. 'You must balance them with your fighting.' It had helped, and more than Jensen had thought that it would.

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] The marbled feline nodded curtly; right, of course he’d been shown around. How was he supposed to help the citizens if he was busy running around in circles getting lost? That’s what Jet used to do, anyways. She remembered how scary everything seemed, and how scary it still is, despite her best efforts covering up. And in cases like these, she did quite a good job. Her bright blue gaze was gifted at lighting up merrily, even if she was down. However, it only worked when she tried, and trying to seem happy when you’re upset is more frustrating sometimes than simply dealing with the questions the others might ask. Wasn’t worth the effort half the time, but she didn’t have nearly as much difficulty smiling now. Jensen seemed pretty nice so far, even if her eyes still narrowed warily form time to time. Her grin faltered slightly; he wanted her to show him some of her favourite spots? Her ears burned when the first place that came to mind was the tavern; no way she was dragging him to that damned place. Far form her favourite area, she spent more time than she preferred in the grimy place; all the more dainty dancers didn’t seem as quick to hop onto the bar, which in a few ways, made Jet one of a kind. She wasn’t proud of it, far from it actually as she flushed for only a half a heartbeat. Her mind never rested in one place too long. There was always the place, too. You know, that place. Hmm, but she’s never brought anyone there. She frowned mentally at the thought of showing anyone that place, especially someone she’d just met. Dropping the paranoia, she let the image of her favourite location slip into her mind. The beautiful tree curved gracefully upwards into the sky, far from the tallest of it’s neighbours but something about it made it stand apart. The thickness of the limbs made for an easy climb, unless you ever dared to try to go higher, to the thinnest points where every breeze left you swaying but your eyes never glinted with fear; they’d be too busy fixating on the scenery. Yes, the view was gorgeous, but after falling out of it before, she had grown vary wary of the higher branches. If she hadn’t of caught herself on one of the lower branches before hitting the ground…well, that wasn’t the prettiest thought trains, and she changed tracks swiftly. Nobody was ever around to catch her, hah! She hadn’t shown the tree to anyone, buried deep in the forest. Cats must pass by it all the time, but Jet doubted anyone else really paused and noticed it’s perfection the way she did; perfect place to slouch, sing, even dance if she was feeling a bit more daring on the middle branches. Never the high ones, even Jet wasn’t that rash! But surely Jensen didn’t want to be dragged out into the woods. Where else? Hmm. The sokoke raked her brain, and truth be told, she didn’t get out very often. Embarrassed, she didn’t want him to know that. But the dusk light and night chill was great for covering falters in her emotion as she walked along the path, skipping. The skip in her step was childish, but it just kept everything a touch more upbeat, as well as helped shake the cold. “Well, there’s a few places,” The girl murmured thoughtfully, “but it really comes down to what type of things you might enjoy, too. Some of the places I go aren’t the safest this time of night,” she admitted, her voice dropping down to a mere mumble into her chest, her head low with a clearly forced smile. Trees in the night were dangerous, and the tavern didn’t really need any reminding of why it wasn’t the best of ideas at this time. Rowdy drunktards, she scowled inwardly. Her ears then pricked; of, there was somewhere else they could possibly go! “Well, there is this really nice pool farther up north, it’s a bit of a walk but it’s pretty cool,” she chided with a more heartfelt smile, “You might not have gone there yet, too! It’s up in the woods a little bit, away from the towns and such,” she added with a flick of her tail. She paused in her cheery ramble though to blink in horror. “Y-you….y…never?” she exclaimed, not unkindly but in utter shock that anyone could’ve gone their entire life without ever climbing a tree. “With all due respect sir, that’s just wrong,” she meowed playfully with a laugh, “Trees are fantastic! You can see everything, hear everything, and you can lean against the warm trunk, close your eyes and just forget anything or think about everything. Especially if you carve,” she pointed out, nodding towards him as he mentioned his hobbies. “No pressure or anything, but you should definatly consider climbing a tree in the near future,” she chided, tipping her head proudly as if the idea was so fantastic, and that it was all hers too. As odd as it was that he’d never climbed a tree though, she did enjoy chatting with him. He seemed very…different. Not bad different, just not the same as the other cats she’s met; it was kind of nice to learn more about somebody like that. She wondered if he found her just as strange or if she was just being overly curious again and prodding in an annoying fashion again.

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] On the contrary, Jensen didn't find her annoying at all. He thought her slight flustered manner of speaking, her little hints of awkwardness that showed through, were quite charming. He wasn't annoyed or even alienated by it. It hinted a sort of truth to her character, something that showed through from an emotion that others might be more likely to attempt to conceal--and he could relate to social awkwardness, if anything. He never really had a hidden motive, and those who did (his thoughts turned once again to the spotted brown thief he had met not too long before) could usually pick right up on that. Charity, for one, enjoyed making him uncomfortable. Jensen played along with it--what else was he to do, but show respect even to those who were determined to beguile him? But he saw none of that in Jet. Though he could be completely blind to motive in many cases and awkwardly clueless to subtlety, he was clever when he actually paid attention to that sort of detail. Her open honesty, her flusteredness, was almost kit-like--though Jensen immediately felt guilty at the thought. Jet had proven herself to be anything but a kit. The very opposite in fact. Mature enough to go out on her own, to dance for the crowds with that confidence and perfection that he could relate to, and know that it took a great amount of time to achieve. Dancing must be a rather dangerous profession, he realized. A different sort of danger from what he faced as a soldier. He had trained for danger--it was his profession, and he was prepared for it. A dancer's predicament was more subtle, more of a looming threat. Their art dealt with beauty and movement, not strength. So many cats watched their performances, he felt that the uncertainty would prickle at his fur. Never knowing which eyes might follow you home at night to fight you for the Schillings you had earned. He found that he was glad he was trained in a few weapons, and that he had a profession that always allowed him to have one on hand. If not for his own protection, then even for those who could not protect themselves. That was a LEgionnaire's life, wasn't it? They'd taken the oaths, and the words didn't change just because they weren't on patrols. They were words that he was glad to take as a way to live his life. So yes, talking to Jet was refreshing, and not annoying at all. He liked the sound of the pool, even if the walk might take them a bit of time. Lights shone in the kingdom all night now, thanks to the Hallows Eve festival that had been going on for some time. It was a wonderful time to first move into Gweillan, his favorite season, and the excitement to stir the air around the cats who lived there. His paws ached from the hours he had spent carving the figures in his float--he'd had to do it on such short notice and he had to shape the stone furiously straight through many sleepless nights to make up for the time that was lost while he was working--and that time that he'd lost before he'd come to the Kingdom. And he had finished. Just in time. He was rather fond of how it had turned out. "No, I can't say I've ever been there!" He told the dancer with a sincere interest. He didn't have to fake it--he'd asked her to show him a place that she liked, and he wasn't about to go back on that. He put a paw on one hip, the hip opposite his sword, in a stance that was very... knightly. That was the only way to describe it, really--everything that Jensen had done had been knightly. If it was a ruse, then it was a very good one, but it was pretty to tell that it was no ruse at all. Jensen had a pretty noble nature, one that usually never existed, or at least never showed itself, in most cats. "Lead the way then, before it gets too dark." He knew the dangers that the streets could sometimes offer at night, and though most were fairly safe during the festival, there was always some risk. Jensen was more worried about what nights might be like after it was over, when the winter drew the Underclass to desperation. I've been hanging around far too many noble cats, Jensen thought as he chuckled at Jet's exclamation. 'Sir,' she had called him. 'With all due respect, sir...' It was refreshing to meet a cat like this, a cat who was peculiar in the way that she expressed herself. The cats at the palace were all about procedure, appearance, conversation for conversations sake. Though Jensen didn't condone any of those things, he didn't think that they should be the morals and important themes to base one's life around. And she made him laugh--probably not intending to, but she did nonetheless. Jensen liked laughing. "I must try it, then," he replied to her. The way she'd described it, it did sound very appealing. A place of quiet sanctuary, a place to think and to forget. Some place to carve, after he'd worked out the soreness in his paws from his massive, short-time undertaking. He smiled in a way that sort of lit his face from within. "Although I can't say I like my chances of survival. Maybe it's just me, but trees seem very... high." He glanced up at them, the trees, as they started walking from the Eastern Streets into the more isolated areas of the kingdom. It was there areas, the ones where there really was nothing much, that he knew the least about. Those unnamed, those only traveled regularly by the cats who had discovered their secrets.

[Kitsani]

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[atrb=background,http://i1138.photobucket.com/albums/n533/KitsaniCat/JETPTMIDDLE.png] “Alright! Off we go then!” she chided eagerly, giving his wrist a slight tug and picking up her skip of a walk towards the lake at his inquiry of never having seen it. She released his wrist when she was sure he was following, smiling slightly to herself that maybe Jensen wasn’t so bad after all. Of course though, her smile was also to cover up the quiet concentration it had taken to make super not to brush actual paws with his; he didn’t need to know of her scars if he hadn’t already noticed. They weren’t the hardest things to miss, but sometimes it was simply too hard to pretend they didn’t exist. Padding along the barren road, she glanced over her shoulder and slowed so it was easier to talk with the soldier. “Psh, I’m sure you’d be fine,” she scoffed merrily at the concept of him dying from a tree. Of course trees were high! And Jet’s fallen out of them a few times before, and couldn’t deny that they could be dangerous to the more clumsy of felines. But those were the type of cats who probably shouldn’t climb to the top, anyways, she reasoned mentally. A bit of silence seemed to had fallen along their walk, and the sokoke was alright with it for the most part. She wasn’t the very outspoken kind of girl, and could appreciate a bit of peace when she wasn’t in the mood to run around and be naïve, which tended to only happen when she was around cats she knew better. The bells around her belt tinkled softly, and she glanced over at Jensen again. He was clearly a lot stronger than herself, although maybe not as fast. She assumed he must’ve been a pretty good soldier, not just by his build but the fact that he was already in first class, and that the Empire trusted him even if he had just moved to Gwellian. “Have any family? Like, relatives who moved to Gwellian with you, or no?” She mused, “If you don’t mind me asking, o-of course.” Jet’s own family had passed away a long while ago, and she was too upbeat of a person to mope around about her losses. Instead of being sad about the parts of them that weren’t around anymore, she devoted herself to being happy about the parts that still were. How her fur looked so much like her dad’s, and how the way she moved seemed so much like her mother’s. She wasn’t heartless, and of course suffered some aching when she felt particularly lonely, or when a thunderstorm was going on outside, and she’d be stuck curling up in her bed and remembering when she would’ve crawled over to hide under her parents when she was younger. But there was no bitter edge to the sweetness of her memories; she was better with them than that. However, she didn’t know that much about Jensen, and hoped she hadn’t seemed as if she was prying into matter that clearly had nothing to do with her. But she’d rather suffer his scowling than continue the silence. She knew firsthand how much silence can sometimes make it easy for a cat to get lost in their thoughts, thoughts that weren’t always that great. Talking made things easier. It involved addressing problems as real, which was always quite hard, but at least you got to know others better. Maybe Jensen ha d a little sibling or something, and she couldn’t deny being curious as she tried to piece together who this tom was. She found it easier to trust others who were already trusted by different cats. Because surely a cat who was really family oriented would be kind towards others, right? Dismissing this logic as immature, she continued to walk along, nearing the lake as the sun neared the edge of the horizon, and forcing their shadows to grow very long. [ Short post is short ]

[Riv]

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[atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/MDv4p.png] Jensen felt her paw brush his arm, and he followed her with a sort of amused look on his face. She was enthusiastic--he once again had that refreshing feeling, like he'd met someone very real. The type of cat his company he hadn't known for quite some time. Or maybe never--Jet was an interesting character, maybe not like others he had met at all. He noticed how careful she was not to let their paws actually touch. Was it because of her scars? Jensen didn't glance down to see if he could see them--he could almost feel them over his fur. The sort of detection that came from already knowing that they were there. But he gave no sign that he was even thinking about them--to be honest he didn't see anything wrong with having scarred pads. It meant that they worked hard. A mark of character, rather than someone spoiled who had everything in life handed to them. Jensen had calluses on his own paws from his sword training, though they were nowhere near as bad as hers. And of course... there was his scar... But he didn't dwell on that either. At least, not until she asked about his family. Jensen's steps faltered for a moment, looking stunned for just a second. Of course she would ask about his family, wouldn't she? It wasn't a very odd question to ask in conversation like this, where two cats were getting to know each other better. He might have wondered the same about her, had the bitterness still not been a threat deep inside of him, a ward around his heart even though the rest of him had gone back to his old good nature. It was as though he were thawing from the outside in, and her words hammered at that one last hint of ice that so carefully surrounded his heart. Of course she would ask about that. To know what kind of cat he was. But she'd be disappointed in his answer, to be sure--whatever true answer he might give her. And he'd even given himself away just by pausing with the frozen expression that had crossed his face, the wounded eyes coming back. I'm not usually like this, he told himself firmly. What's the matter with me? This was twice that he'd shown her that he was damaged, or had been in the past. It was obvious from his scar, at least, that something terrible had happened to him... but he never let it show through in conversations, in his personality or reactions. He never even had to fight it back, usually--there was always sadness, but there was too much in the world to be happy about. Too much beauty to see for him to live his life stuck with the ugliness of the past. But now, for a moment, that was all he could see. The fire licking the wood that had sheltered he and his family. The acrid stench that filled the air, the black smoke which clung to his pelt and swept into his lungs like water, drowning him in its darkness. The heat that burned him everywhere, no matter which way he turned his face. The smell of burning wood, burning paper, burning cats. The screams as his family burned, as his neighbors burned, as Willa burned... As he burned. Jensen snapped out of it after a few moments of staring at her sort of dumbly, his mouth opening slightly like he wanted to say something but didn't know what to say. He swallowed, and the expression faded from his face as his unconscious smile started to creep back on. "Aah... I..." What was he supposed to say? He couldn't lie about it, could he? Or... pretend that it wasn't as bad as it was? She'd see right through that for sure, and lying always made him feel sick to his stomach. He just sort of stood awkwardly, his mind reeling as he tried to come up with something to say but not his mind blanking. He should have figured out already, what to say if someone asked him about it. It had just... never occured to him. He'd always thought that he could move on. That's what they'd told him, wasn't it? 'Move on, Jensen. The past is the past.' "I'm sorry," he told her, shaking his head as he realized he was sort of leaving her hanging. "I... just haven't seen my parents for some time."