↬ paristrays

[eltonn]

oh, what's this? seedio is trying to write again?

yes
its true
seed is going to try to write again

*collective gasp*
hopefully i'll be able to not give up this time c':

oh yeah also do not post here qwq
fanclub/discussion | ask the cast

[eltonn]

it's not exactly simple.
then again, nothing is.

paris.
many hear the word and their minds go to the eiffel tower, five star cafes, or romantic movie sets.
few of them ever think of Ilk.
Broam is one who does.

raised by a mysterious owl in the ways of his ancestors, Broam knows that he is destined for something important, and it has to do with the job that has been passed down to him- protecting the people of paris from exposure to the Ilk. tracking down the mysterious beast begins to lead him down a path that he isn't exactly sure he wants to tread- and with shadows able to turn at any moment, who can the young tomcat trust?

Crescent's lived lazily, lounging in a bakery, snatching bits of bread when she can, and chasing off pesky rodents. her life is perfect- or so she thinks. after mistakenly running into a strange siamese cat who speaks of monsters, Crescent doesn't know what to believe anymore. and when she starts uncovering things about her past that she never wanted to know, she gets pulled into an adventure that she could have never imagined...

in a city known for its light, it's shocking how much shadow fills it.

[eltonn]

Prologue
in which a kit is given life
small warning; sadness ahead

↬ The brown shecat slid through the catflap, her breath coming in short, heated bursts. Her yellow eyes were wider than dinnerplates as they reflected the quarter moon's light. The night air was neither warm nor cold, but a strange in-between that simultaneously made you shiver and sweat. The shecat gritted her teeth to stave off a growl of pain. "Hold on, kittens, just a few more minutes..." An owl hooted in the distance, and the shecat flinched, flattening her ears. Maybe this was a bad idea... Maybe I should have stayed inside. Inside it was warm and safe and... No. I promised Harley.

The alley narrowed as the shecat neared the end. A small cardboard box lay on its side, resting in the soft soil that broke through the cracked pavement. "Almost there, kittens..." the shecat murmured, nosing the flap of the box to the side and proceeding to curl inside. She realized she had been holding her breath, and exhaled slowly. The owl hooted again, and the cat flicked her eyes upward before settling back down in her cardboard nest. Here, it was safe. Here, her kits could come in peace.

--

The brown shecat lapped at her three kits, grief paining her gaze. A small patch of disturbed dirt a few pawlengths away held the fourth. Flake had been stillborn, and it hit the queen hard. Dasin and Rudy snuggled in her belly fur, but their movements were small and halfhearted. The shecat knew they wouldn't last the night. The last kit, a black shekit, curled sleepily next to her two living brothers. Her breathing was shallow, and the shecat had little hope for her survival. She tilted her head up to the taunting quarter moon, her gaze stone cold. First, her mate had gone. Now, her kits. What am I being punished for? The silent wail rose in her head. The queen snuggled her kits close, tears dotting her lashes as she did her best to cherish what little time she had left with them.

Dasin and Rudy grew cold, and soon they too joined their deceased sister in the soil. Only the black kit lingered. The brown shecat curled tighter around her daughter, despair rising in her chest. "I can't lose you, too!" She gasped out softly.

A dark cloud slid over the moon, casting a shadow over the queen and her daughter. An ink-colored fog entered the alleyway, and the hair on the brown shecat's neck rose. A small patch of fog broke off and began to float towards the pair. The queen set her jaw, preparing to protect the only family she had left, but then realized that it would be pointless. The kit would die anyway. She sighed in dismay and settled back down, her gaze never leaving the fog. "Ilk." It was a short word, but it made all the difference.

A single purple eye snapped towards the queen, its searchlight glow surrounding her and her kit. "Yes?"

A thought struck the queen. There was a chance. "You could save her."

The fog, Ilk, considered for a moment, weighing its options. It blinked, and the glow temporarily subsided. The monster did its own equivalent of a frown. "It comes at a cost."

"I'll do anything."

--

A human stumbled out of the back of his shop, a yell raising from his throat. "Capsaicin!" Panic bubbled in his eyes, and he began to dash around frantically, pushing crates to the side and scattering papers. The human took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Pausing, he listened. A small mew met his ears, and the human dashed towards the noise. He came upon a small cardboard box. Falling to his knees, the human picked up the brown shecat, cradling her in his arms. "Oh, Capsaicin..." A tear rolled down his cheek. His shoulders shook.

The small mew sounded again, and the human's head shot up. He peered inside the box. A single, black kitten flailed her legs, wailing pitifully for milk. The human wiped his eyes, picking up the kit gently and shushing her quietly. "Ssh, ssh... it's okay, it's okay..." Standing slowly, the human began the short walk back to his bakery, sheltering the shekit in his hands. "You're okay now..."

[eltonn]

Chapter One
in which broam discovers an unusual shecat

↬ Broam crept behind the shadowy mass, his whiskers trembling as he stemmed down mews of panic. It was doglike: long, spindly legs, docked ears, a short tail, slobbering jaws...and its pelt was pitch black. Not a speck of color shattered the monotony of the monster's wispy fur, except for the pupiless, purple eyes. Broam couldn't see the dog's face from his hiding spot, but he knew that there would be telltale pink streaks in its insect-like gaze. There always was.

The dog made a huffing sound, lifting its head to scent the air. Broam froze. Please don't scent me, please don't scent me, please don't scent me... The dog lowered its thin skull back to the ground, sniffing at the pavement. His fur flattening, Broam allowed himself a breath of relief. The dog paused. Slowly, it turned its massive head, drool dripping from its fangs as a growl rose from its throat. Ice began to solidify in Broam's chest as the creature's colorful gaze settled on him. Just as he suspected, pink lines tinged its purple irises. "N-nice...doggy...?"

With a roar, the beast lunged. Broam bolted, tail between his legs. He could feel hot breath on his haunches, and smell the rancid meat--probably a rotten carcass of some sort--that it had consumed earlier that day. His heart hammered against his ribcage, threatening to burst out at any moment. Broam's legs pumped, propelling him over the ground. Fear surged through his pelt, adrenaline giving strength to his muscles. The tom dashed ahead and leaped onto a pile of construction pipes. Slipping inside of a dank tube, he edged backwards, hoping that the monster wouldn't be able to reach him inside the pipe. His back paw made contact with something warm and fuzzy, and a loud hiss greeted the contact. "Get your own hiding place, you uneducated pachyderm!"

Broam flinched, but didn't dare leave the pipe. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but right now we have a bigger problem than that."

The dog chose that moment to leap up and shove its head into the pipe as far as it could, snapping its jaws with a metallic screech. The two cats yowled, huddling at the back of the pipe, all thoughts of insults forgotten. The other creature in the pipe--a black shecat--squeezed her bright orange eyes shut, pushing herself as far away from the beast as she could. She hissed again, her ears pressed flat against her head. Broam's eyes rounded as his brain searched for something, anything, from his training that he could use.

That's it! It wasn't his strong suit, but Broam knew the trick well enough to pull it off. The tom pushed down his panic and took in a deep breath. And then Broam hooted. Not just a catlike, rumbling purr, but an actual hoot. The dog froze, confusion apparent on its monstrous dark face. Courage swelling in his chest, Broam hooted again, advancing forwards towards the beast. It shook its head, whined, then spun and fled. The tomcat grinned. Of course the Ilk would be scared--they probably heard hooting all too often. He lashed his tail once in satisfaction, then remembered he wasn't alone in the pipe. Turning, he looked sheepishly at the shecat.

"That. Was. Amazing!" She gasped. "How did you do that?" Broam shrugged, glancing at his paws. "I've never seen a cat hoot before, the black cat couldn't hold back her shock. "Like, you totally scared that dog away!" The shecat waved her tail in greeting, "I'm Crescent, by the way. Who are you?"

"My name is Broam."

"Broam, huh? Who's your master? Mine is the bakery owner- he's really nice!" The shecat, Crescent, seemed to have done a complete 180 turn in the past four minutes, and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Baker...? There must be at least 150 different bakeries in Paris...is she expecting me to know which one!?

Broam shuffled his front paws self-consciously. "I- uh, I'm a street cat. I don't have a master."

Crescent's eyes widened. "Whoa, really?! Cool! So are you, like, super fierce and--what am I saying, you just chased off a dog, of course you are." Crescent jabbered quickly, her orange eyes glowing with excitement.

"It wasn't a dog..." Broam murmured softly.

Crescent's ears snapped to attention. "Well if it wasn't a dog, what was it?" She stood, lifting her head. Being the average height of someone her age, Crescent bumped her head on the top of the pipe. Before she continued speaking, she paused to rub the patch she had rammed into the ceiling, and sat back down. "It looked like a dog, smelled like a dog, acted like a dog; heck, it even barked like a dog. So my logical conclusion is that it was a dog. Bark bark." Crescent mocked the dog's deep growling in a high pitched voice.

Broam shook his head slowly, his voice somber. "Didn't you see its eyes? No dog has eyes like that."

Crescent snorted. "You didn't answer my question," she pointed out impudently.

The tomcat sighed. "It's a long story, and I have to get going. Just... if you see that monster again, run. Don't stick around. It's dangerous." Broam stood up, the tips of his ears just brushing the top of the pipe. For once, the tom was grateful for his short stature. He turned to go, but Crescent called him back.

"Wait! It's, uh...It's getting dark, and, well, you said you don't have a Master..." She paused, her orange gaze centered on Broam. Something about those eyes sent a chill down his spine, but he couldn't quite put his paw on what. "You could... uh, you could come to the bakery and stay there for the night. I'm sure I could find something to make you a nest in..."

Broam studied the shecat for a moment. She looked... almost lonely, in a way. It was painful to look at. The tom took a small breath. He knew Gardehaunt would be expecting him back at the roost, but...maybe he would understand? Besides...he still couldn't shake the shecat's eyes. Surely that was reason to investigate? Slowly, he nodded.

Crescent brightened up immediately, shooting to her paws. "Great, follow me!" The shecat darted out of the pipe without checking to see if the dog was still around. Broam shuddered. He could already tell that this shecat was too brash for her own good. Goodness, what have I gotten myself into?



The lamppost in front of the bakery gave off a cheery glow as the cats neared Crescent's home. Broam tilted his head back, trying to find the top of the building. It was quite tall, and the tom assumed that Crescent's Master lived above the shop. "Almost there!" Crescent chirruped, her tail raised. "It's just back here--the catflap, that is." The alleyway to the back of the building wasn't as dirty as Broam had expected, and after a moment of thought, the tom decided that the area wasn't half bad. Of course, he preferred Gardehaunt's attic, but he wasn't complaining. A quick turn to the left and he spotted a wooden door atop a small concrete porch. A white catflap was centered a few inches from the bottom. Crescent waved her tail cheerfully, smiling brightly at Broam before leaping through. Broam gulped, nearing the flap. He prodded it with a paw, and after reassuring himself that there wasn't a huge pit on the other side, he joined his friend inside the bakery.

The scent of warm bread washed over the flame-point siamese, and he couldn't help but feel as if Crescent's cheer was starting to infect him as well. "This is my bed," Crescent explained, prodding a soft grey pillow. The shecat blinked, looking around sheepishly. "Uh... here!" She dashed over to a pile of folded newspapers, snagging one in her fangs and tugging it next to her sleeping area. "You can sleep on this if you want."

Broam nodded thankfully, trotting over and curling up on the papers. It wasn't too uncomfortable, and at that moment the tom realized how tired he was. Now that the adrenaline was out of his system, weariness took over. Broam rested his head on his paws, sleep threatening to close his eyelids.

But, of course, Crescent wouldn't let that happen. "Hey, look what I've got!"

Broam snapped his eyes open. Sleep dashed out of his mind, cackling about lost opportunities and broken dreams. The tom forced air out of his nose, staring at the strange object clamped in Crescent's jaws. "...is that... a croissant?"

"Yup!" Crescent chirped, swinging the baked treat in front of her and settling an armlength away from Broam. "Sometimes Master will drop them on 'accident.' I think he knows I like them." The shecat stabbed her thin, curved teeth into the pastry, peeling off a chunk of flaky dough. She chewed it in sharp bites, her tongue flicking out to prevent the overly large chunk from falling to the ground. After swallowing, the black cat noticed Broam's blue eyes following her every motion, and she guiltily remembered that the tom was probably just as famished as she was. She used her muzzle to push the croissant to Broam. "Here, try some. It's a bit strange, but I think you'll like it."

Broam hooked the flaky bit of bread with a claw, dragging it closer to his watering mouth. It was sweeter than he expected. Bits of the bread sloughed off where he applied even the smallest amount of pressure, and the tom found that lapping them up was almost as enjoyable as ripping it off. While he chewed on bits of pastry, Crescent adjusted her position to make herself more comfortable. "So, uh..." she started, her voice trailing off as she tried to figure out how to word her question, "It...wasn't a dog?"

The tom lifted his gaze from his meal. Pausing in his consumption of the croissant, he responded simply before returning to his feast. "No, not a dog."

"You have an annoying habit of not answering questions the way they should be answered," Crescent complained.

Broam rolled his eyes. "It was an Ilk." The tom explained through bites of bread. When Crescent replied with a blank stare, Broam realized just how clueless she actually was. He thought for a moment. "An Ilk is a monster that feeds off of doubts and fears...they usually appear in places where people are losing hope. They can project themselves in multiple places at once, and are notorious shapeshifters. Ilk live only to cause havoc and chaos for humanity. Paris only has one Ilk, but it's a huge troublemaker."

"So, then... why was it after us?" Crescent wondered. Broam took another bite of the croissant, and then passed it back to Crescent, who dug into it eagerly.

"Well... either you did something to annoy it, or you were in its way. Actually, it's entirely possible that it thought hurting you would hurt your master."

Crescent wrinkled her nose. "If it wanted to hurt Master, why didn't it come here? If I was an Ilk, that's what I'd do."

"Not exactly. Ilk hate humans, but they can't psychically hurt humans. Because of that, they're always looking for ways to-" Broam snapped his jaws shut as a mouse with a torn ear scrambled over to the pair, its eyes clamped shut. The rodent tugged off a strand of croissant before retreating a few feet away to celebrate its victory. Broam stared incredulously at it, then to Crescent, then back to the rodent. "Err...Aren't you...a mouser...?"

Crescent blinked, glancing at the mouse with little concern. "Uh, yeah."

"If you haven't noticed, that is most definitely a mouse." The mouse in question twitched its whiskers at Broam, its eyes still tightly shut.

The black shecat took a moment to swallow her mouthful of flaky pastry. "Oh, yeah, I am, but that's just Reginold. He's my friend. Say hi, Reginold."

The mouse wiggled his ears, pausing from nibbling his croissant flakes to greet Broam. "Hello, stranger!"

Broam recoiled slightly. It was... unnatural for a mouse to act so comfortable around its predators. The tom's feelings of security fell away, and he couldn't help but feel on edge with the rodent nearby. "Um... why are your eyes closed, R-reginold?" He didn't like the way he felt when talking to the rodent. It felt wrong. Cats shouldn't talk to their prey. It's not like you would ever see a cat willingly converse with a dog. Although I wouldn't be surprised if Crescent did that, too...

"He's blind," Crescent jumped in before Reginold could speak for himself. "He doesn't like people staring, so he keeps them shut." Her gaze shifted to the rodent, and then the black shecat leaned closer to Broam to whisper in his ear. "That, and... well, it's kinda weird to have blind eyes directed at you, knowing they can't see anything."

Reginold twitched his nose, obviously able to hear the hushed words. The blind rodent didn't seem to care. "Yes, thank you, Crescent. I'm sorry for interrupting your conversation--please do continue. Pretend I'm not even here."

Broam found it very difficult to pretend Reginold wasn't there. He fumbled over his words, trying to pick up the loose threads of conversation that he had dropped when the mouse had entered. "Ah, um... as I was saying, they're always looking for ways to hurt humans emotionally, because they can't hurt them physically. Your Master is close to you I assume, and, er... the Ilk could sense and know that if you were hurt or... or killed, it would hurt your Master, too." The siamese shuffled his paws, his eyes flickering to Reginold and back to Crescent.

Crescent nodded, taking in the information while Reginold simply listened. Discomfort pricked at Broam's toes; he didn't want to talk to the strange rodent longer than he had to. A plan edged into the back of Broam's mind, and he decided to put it into action. He was drowsy, so it worked out for the best. The tom let out a massive, fake yawn, blinking blearily. "I'm tired. Goodnight, Crescent. 'Night, Reginold."

"Goodnight, Broam," Crescent mewed. Broam turned to face the wall, his back to the other creatures in the room. He settled his head on his paws, closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep slumber.