// seventeen and bad, was the best you never had and you won't, sins you never said for yourself
seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. everybody got a name, everybody got a number //
seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. everybody got a name, everybody got a number //
A red brow raises at Nate’s insistence. Not lost a cat, but simply looking for one. Well, there’s tons of house cats hanging around the streets, easily bribed by pieces of fish from the docks. So he waits, confusion flickering in his amber gaze as he focuses on Nate, stroking the cat in his arms as it purrs wildly.
A sear cat? “Oy, why didn’tcha say so?” The cat in his arms disappears and Milo flashes Nate a wide grin. “Lookin’ for some storm predictin’?” He asks with a hum of a laugh slipping from his throat. But he’s moving past Nate now, slipping toward the docks where he’d last seen one, making those little kissy sounds that most cats enjoyed hearing. “Hopefully she's where she usually is.” He hums, glancing over his shoulder – sure the desperate man behind him would be following him.
He continues to make those little sounds while he walks through the edges of the docks until he stops nearby where the Ark sits when it’s in town, spying a fluffy grey striped tail. “Fluff, y’there?” He croons. “A 'course.” Comes the mrowr from inside, Milo leaning to rest against a post as the cat claws herself up from the bottom of a barrel.
A sear cat? “Oy, why didn’tcha say so?” The cat in his arms disappears and Milo flashes Nate a wide grin. “Lookin’ for some storm predictin’?” He asks with a hum of a laugh slipping from his throat. But he’s moving past Nate now, slipping toward the docks where he’d last seen one, making those little kissy sounds that most cats enjoyed hearing. “Hopefully she's where she usually is.” He hums, glancing over his shoulder – sure the desperate man behind him would be following him.
He continues to make those little sounds while he walks through the edges of the docks until he stops nearby where the Ark sits when it’s in town, spying a fluffy grey striped tail. “Fluff, y’there?” He croons. “A 'course.” Comes the mrowr from inside, Milo leaning to rest against a post as the cat claws herself up from the bottom of a barrel.
MILO
