./ FLOATING

Without meaning to, a dry chuckle escaped Nic. “Hardly,” he replied. “I make enough but I’m afraid that art isn’t as appreciated as it once was.” Fortunately, he had about five-hundred years worth of investments and savings that made it so money was the least of his concerns. He didn’t even have to lie about being born rich because he was. “Can do, ma’am,” he said, lips curving with a smile.

“I am always late on principle,” the mer began as he approached the table, removing his gloves finger by finger. “The principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.” Ilyas slid in the booth, brown eyes daring Emilia to question him. “Have you ordered yet?”

@emfrye

“Technically it doesn’t make you a pirate, it’s just called piracy. I think it’s because it can be international,” he replied and then shrugged. “It just annoys me because people think they aren’t doing something when they are and then put up a fight about it when they’re wrong. If you’re going to fight about something, you should at least have all the facts.”

"Then why call it piracy?”, she uttered, the confusion written on her face. “Why not just call it ‘illegally watching or possessing movies’, sounds much better!” She laughed, shaking her head. “It does sound annoying, though. But you can’t help it. It’s just the fault of parents not raising their children correctly. Need something to cheer you up?” 

Laurel shrugged slightly. “I mean any of the calories I eat today, I’ll probably just dance off later.”

“It’s not just the calories that make it so unhealthy.” A chuckle escaped her lips, she should put her teacher-self aside and stop lecturing the girl. “But I get your point. Dance off? Do you have big plans for tonight?” 

“I’m fine, thanks,” Sawyer assured her. He offered her a small smile, acknowledging her joke, before his, too, faded. At her words, he clenched his jaw, slowly nodding in agreement. “It sucks. You know, sometimes I wonder if it’s happening anywhere else, or if Anchorage is just particularly horrible.”

“I don’t know much about other cities, but from what i’ve heard the death toll in some United States’ big cities is even worse than here.” She looked around, making sure her following words were not heard by the wrong people. “But for beings like us, Anchorage is just particularly horrible.” Emilia didn’t know what exactly the boy in front of her was, but of one thing she was perfectly sure: he wasn’t a normal human being. “By the way, i believe we haven’t introduced ourselves yet. I’m Emilia.” 

Sawyer quietly groaned. How had he not seen her, even before he looked away? Even that was just for a split second. “Sorry,” he apologized, pushing himself up and holding a hand out, offering to help her to her feet. “Are you alright?” As she requested he never do that again, he shook his head, chuckling breathily. “I don’t plan to,” he assured her, his tone lighthearted. “I’m sorry. Again. I guess I was really in my head,” as he spoke, he took out the earbuds he realized he still had in, shoving them in his pocket. He’d regret that later.

“It’s okay.” She offered the stranger a smile before taking his hand to get up. “Thank you.” No, stranger was not quite the right word. Emilia had seen the boy often around town, though they had never exchanged a word. “I am alright. Are you?” Her gaze wandered quickly up and down his body, checking for any visible injuries, even if the collision wasn’t that forceful. “Well, i’m glad.” She said jokingly before the smile on her face disappeared. “Again, it’s okay. These days, everybody is kind of distracted. After all these murders. Fearing who the next victim will be.” 

“Oh, yeah — mine either, actually. I know guy’s do that in all the movies,” he started, trailing off as he just realized a female might not have been the one to buy him a drink. “But that’s kinda presumptuous and bloody bold, way too bold for me.” Benji finished his ramble and gave the stranger a small smile, appreciating her kindness. “Thats… thanks, but I think I’m okay. Anyway, sorry for bothering you. I could have sworn the bartender was trying to tell me it was you.” Generally, the werewolf wouldn’t have just come up to a stranger the way he did. But after getting in his own head about his lack of a social life outside of work and his pack, he was trying to be more social. “I’m Benji, by the way.”

“Artist,” he replied. “Painting ever since I could hold a brush though I hope none of those scribbles still exist.” Fortunately, the likelihood of that was nil – not that he was going to advertise that. Far from a red flag for being supernatural, it was still safer that way right now. Not that he had much concern over the deaths. “Very possible. The coloring and anatomy is similar to that, though it could also be done in that style at a later time. Suppose I could look into it.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, a lie so rehearsed for months, something Laurel has learned to get used to. “Just a little shaken. You know, not every year people in the town you grew up in start getting murdered.” She picked up the cup, moving a piece of stray blonde hair from her ponytail behind her ear. “What was it you had again, I’ll make you a new one right away.”

Emilia took a quick gaze at the newspaper article. “It is horrible, indeed. Do you think it is just one person doing the killings? I do not see why someone would do such a thing. And seemingly so ... random ? Makes me wonder who the next victim will be. Unfortunately, it’s only a matter of time.” She offered the girl a soft smile. “Cappuccino, please. If it’s not too much of a hassle. But maybe you take a break, calm down, drink something yourself?”

The appreciation in her voice was clear to his ears. That was something that was quickly fading from this world, whether among supernaturals or humans. As much as Nic was an intellect, unendingly curious about the facets of the world and universe he lived in, he was also an artist and saw the value in a painting as much as a book. “Indeed,” he replied. The colors were soft – pastels and earth tones, nothing hard, nothing that lit a fire in your soul. Tranquility was just as good, sometimes better, than a painting like that. “Whoever did this didn’t date it, from what I can see, but it’s pre-modern style.”