#mooncatte

(TW?: talkin’ bout poop)

Hair, face, pits, chest, belly, bits & bobs, legs, feet.  Back, tail, arsehole.  Corwynn never could quite figure out whether to wash that first or last, bein’ it the dirtiest thing on a body n’ all, but at some point in his boyhood he’d settled on last and it stuck. When he first started training with the archers in Gridania, cycles and cycles ago, he’d honed his shower into an uber-efficient construct of cleanliness, and to this day he was still shaving and brushing his teeth at the same time he was soaping up.

“Ugh, gods,” groaned Corwynn against his toothbrush, the quiet complaint rebounding off the porcelain in his bathroom.  He spat the white foam onto the shower floor and watched it wash away for a moment before closing his eyes.  “I should not have had that raptor scale salsa wif me eggs last night.”  His belly agreed audibly, rolling and grinding even over the sound of the water spray, then he decided having his eyes closed was a bad idea.

“Nah, mate,” came the reply, only a second and a half before the easily identifiable sound of a stream of urine hitting a bowl of water.  “I fink it was the uh… what was ‘em meatball fings?”

Corwynn blinked, only half remembering that Jacke hadn’t gone home last night.  They wound up drunk as monkeys and passed out on the living room floor beside a table full of takeout from… well, from a few different restaurants.  The memory of the meal, not to mention the ghastly amount of ale they drank, sent his stomach bubbling again.  Corwynn groaned.  “Mate, c’moonnnn.

He laughed, though he wasn’t faring much better than the moon catte, wobbling a little as he finished peeing.  “Ehhh, just shit it out and wash it down the drain.”  He flushed the toilet then, sending a spike of scalding water through the shower head, enough to make Corwynn hiss.

“Wait, what?”  He yanked the curtain back just enough to poke his head out and stare at the fool.  “In here??”

“You know, Grey,” began the blonde Elezen Corwynn was lunching with.  He’d just taken a bite of a chicken wing, and was chewing slowly, thoughtfully.  Corwynn wondered momentarily if it was simply a particular gene that Elezen possessed which made them elegant even when eating and talking at the same time.  Tomas might be Gridanian instead of Ishgardian, but damned if he didn’t carry himself an awful lot like Raven did.

”I can always tell when you’re interested in someone - you know, really interested, like, not just for a roll in the hay - whenever you act like this.”  He licked his lips and nodded to himself, then cleaned the rest of the meat off the bone.

“Act like what?” asked Corwynn.  His eyes glanced quickly to the side, scouting out the waitress who’d been waiting on the tables across the room.  He knew as soon as he did it, though, that Tomas saw.

“Like that.”  Tomas pointed his chicken bone accusingly at Corwynn.  “You can’t keep your eyes off her, I dare say, and it’s not the first time.”  He grinned just a touch, a little lopsidedly.  “I mean, I can’t blame you, really.  She’s pretty.”

“Lotsa pretty girls ‘round here,” Corwynn replied carelessly.  He sunk his spoon down into the beef stew he’d ordered and took a careful bite.

Tomas lifted an eyebrow at Corwynn’s genteel manner with his lunch, and he realized then why he’d only ordered one bowl of stew instead of two.  “True enough, but apparently only one pretty enough to make Bottomless Pit Corwynn Grey only order one bowl of stew for lunch.”  He picked up another chicken wing and pointed at Corwynn’s spoon.  “And make you eat like you actually have manners.”

“Oi!”  Corwynn’s eyebrows drew together underneath his mop of blonde hair, and he scowled across the table.  “I had a big breakfast, awright?”

Tomas chuckled through a mouth full of chicken.  “Just ask her out!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Just because!”  Corwynn was getting tired of the questioning, honestly irritated at this point.  Tomas Bouvreuil might be handsome and elegant, yes, but something about his needling manner made him leagues more annoying than Raven.  Or… was it just that he was hitting a nerve?

After placing the now-bare chicken bone onto his plate, Tomas leaned back in his chair and wiped his hands thoroughly on his napkin.  “Because you’re a coward, that’s why.  You’re scared she’ll say no.”

In lieu of slammed hands on the table or another scornful gaze, instead of another exclamation or some stammering defence, Corwynn simply met the Elezen’s gaze with a dark but otherwise blank expression.  He held his eyes for a few long moments in silence before finally putting his spoon down on the table and pushing his chair back.

“Ah, look, Corwynn, I… I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry.”  Tomas had never quite seen his friend switch off like that.  His normally fun-loving and jovial demeanor tended to make one think Corwynn never got mad at all.  Never had a bad day, was never sad or upset or angry.  But apparently that assessment was wrong, and good job, Tomas, for figuring it out like this.