≈ phoebe’s apartment. with @doctornilaybailey
Growing up in poverty meant growing up embarrassed of where you lived, unfortunately. Phoebe had always dreaded having friends over who lived in the nicer areas of Blue Harbor. It was a feeling that never really went away, even though her apartment in Cardinal Hill was a decent part of the downtown area, and she put her entire soul in decorating it with personal touches to whatever limitations her landlord had set for her.
Still, it was still an anxiety gnawing on her when she invited Nilay over; the anthropologist having a free moment of time, deciding to utilize that by properly meeting Misty. The cat hadn’t come out to attack the latest guest yet, though from the distant scratching noises, Phoebe knew she was close by when she welcomed Nilay in, instructing her to sit as she made them drinks, keeping her worries at bay by keeping busy. “So, just a word of warning!” She called from the kitchen, searching cabinet after cabinet — wondering where the fuck Foster housed the sugar nowadays — pulling a face at the $10 Earthwave branded garlic powder whose sole existence was the mock her, slamming the cupboard door closed. “If she approaches, just like, cross your arms over yourself. She’ll do that dopey thing where she’ll throw herself on her back and expose her tummy — it’s a trap to latch on!” Finally finding the sugar, she gave her own drink a generous spoonful and a quick mix, picking up the mugs and carrying them through, still talking about how to defend oneself best against Misty. “And if she jumps up on you just freeze, play dead, just don’t move because she will —”
Pausing at the sight before her, Phoebe’s jaw fell open. Misty, the demon cat who regularly drew blood from both her parents, was purring loudly in Nilay’s open lap, big eyes blinking slowly at the curator, only tilting her head to offer the intern a smug side-eye. If cats were capable of smirking, Phoebe would bet her entire savings on Misty doing that right now. “What the fuck?”
