#ofhvmpty

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY K! 

“Are you wearing anything under that?” There’s mischief in how his eyes curve into half-moons with the grin that parts his lips, roving eyes lingering for a moment on the figure clad in seemingly nothing but a dark silk robe. “Kind of risque Henrik, don’t you think? Didn’t pin you for the type, but hey, I don’t judge.”

Technically, he’s trespassing here—breaking and entering if you will, something definitely categorized as a crime in most polite and impolite societies, even the barely civilized ones like Wonderland—and in light of this, perhaps he shouldn’t be making his presence known so brazenly to the homeowner. But this is hardly the first time he’s let himself into the manor uninvited via an unlocked window or a picked open door, and it surely will not be the last.

At least he leaves his shoes in the foyer before traipsing into the kitchen, looking for his unwitting host.

It’s not uncommon for stragglers to come stumbling into the shop at unnatural time stamps of the day—some lost, most simply too early or too late, very few on time. It’s much less common for him to receive a delivery at odd hours of the night—usually a good indication of what type of ingredient can be expected, and significantly narrowing the list of potential visitors to have tea ready for.

He’s waiting at the back door, small cluster of sleepy rabbits at his feet, when the footsteps and vague shadows finally give way to form a recognizable silhouette.

“Scrawny, isn’t he?” this about the companion his guest shows up towing. It’s hard to judge in the dark, but the man can’t be more than 150lbs at most. No matter; he’ll find a way to put every part to use somehow. “Well, bring him in. Mind the rabbits.”

The kitchen island is cleared for this occasion, a rare glimpse at smooth wood finish usually obscured by jars and pots and bowls. He leaves Henrik to hoist the parcel into place, busying himself with pouring the tea instead.

“I take it you haven’t heard then?”

He doesn’t look up from where he’s elbow-deep in a jar of what might pass for red gelatin if not for the sheen, the smell. the way the gelatinous matter clings to his skin when he pulls his hand back. “If I had, I doubt you’d be here asking.”

They’ve known each other too long for him to play Kanta’s games, something the Cat already realizes, yet insists on testing each time he stops in. A familiar shadow shifts closer to overlap with his own, both now leaning over the jar to observe its contents.

“True. Then again, if you had, you wouldn’t be here talking to me.”

An interesting choice of words, and it has the desired effect. He finally straightens, lifting his hand out of the jar entirely and lifting his head to meet with that same ever-shifting grin, an unsettling smile that only grows wider as the wearer revels in having his undivided attention at last.

“This is the day you’ve been waiting for. There is retribution to be had at last, and if you hurry, you might get to catch the last of the pyre before it burns out.”

The rag he’d been cleaning with freezes midway up his arm. The Cat’s grin has taken on a predatory note.

“Oh, and lest I forget, he’s there right now, your favorite orphan.”