[Locked to Those who Frequent the Tower]

[smithnjones]

((OOC: Feel free for your character to express their interest here and feel free to write a prose piece about them finding their kitten in this post as well. :) ))

It seems that there's been aWe have kittens. There are lots and lots of kittens, and they appeared in the Tower lobby. We've moved them to one of the conference rooms. There are signs

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[prose log]

[sophicsulphur]

Iris is... not in the most spirited of moods, when she arrives back at her room in the Kashtta. In fact, you could say she's downright deflated. Yesterday, she saw an angel almost die right before her eyes, brought in yet another confused Wanderer, and spent the better part of an hour cleaning the blood off herself while trying not to think too hard about how pretty it was. Today, she might have just possibly convinced Phoebe that she hates her, which couldn't be further from the truth, and she hasn't got a clue how to start sorting that mess out. And tomorrow, she's got to get up and go to work and put on her brightest smile, and any other day that'd be trivial and real, but the way things are going right now, she'll be faking it while trying not to get bad vibes in the coffee. She doesn't like that. The customers, and Millie, deserve better.

...And on top of that, seems she's left her door ajar. Or someone has, anyway.

She gives a small whimper of a sigh and presses her palm to her forehead as she prepares to face whatever devastation might await her within. She just hopes that if someone did break in, they at least failed to recognise the worth of most of what's here.

If they took her cauldron, she's taking the day off.

There's a tangible flood of relief when she opens the door and finds that, in fact, no one has taken her cauldron. The place does look a little more messy than she remembers leaving it, but nothing looks stolen, not even the obvious shiny crystal sitting in a water bath over the fire. Mostly, it's just a few jars displaced from her shelves, and none of them appear to have broken.

Still, it's a little disconcerting, because it's clear someone's been in here. In fact, it kind of feels like someone still is, though there's no one to be seen. She's picking up the scattered jars and checking around for any non-obvious losses when something moves to her right, just beyond her field of vision, almost making her drop the jar she's carrying.

"Huh?" She turns in the direction of the shadow and sees... a kitten. A small, perfectly black kitten, up on her storage shelves, trying to climb into one of the empty jars.

She's seen so much lately, she's almost not about to trust her eyes. She walks, cautiously, over to the kitten and puts a hand lightly on its back.

It feels like a kitten.

It mews like a kitten.

Okay, it's probably a kitten.

"Where... where did you come from?" she asks the little creature, scooping it up off her shelf. "Did I leave the door open? I guess you got in that way.... Mm, you really shouldn't play around on that shelf, though."

It's probably someone's lost kitten, and she'll probably have to look for its owner, but that-- that's something she can take care of tomorrow. Right now, she's tired, and there's a kitten, and she is going to curl up on her gods-damned bed with a gods-damned kitten and the world is going to feel like it's a marginally better place.

And maybe she'll open her journal and try and think of what to write to Phoebe.

Instead, she sees a message from Martha Jones.