By: tatufreak
The second brilliant guest chapter - short, but most definitely sweet.
Nunzilla - The Perfect Mango
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The warm Parisian wind blew lightly, causing the new-fallen leaves in the cobblestone street to dance with the breeze. Tourists and locals alike strolled aimlessly about the walkways, enjoying the gentle weather. Parked near the classical buildings were stands: hat stands, clothing stands, watch stands, and several fruit stands. At one particularly cheery fruit stand, an elderly woman bent over and scanned for her startled pet.
"Come on you little devil," the old woman whispered, coaxing her little kitten out of its hiding place underneath the rickety fruit stand's wooden timbers.
"I've got food for you, kitty kitty." She held out a piece of mango and dangled it above the pure white ball of puff that was her hiding cat. Finally losing all its fear, it crept slowly out and sniffed the small offering.
“Mrrrow?” It questioned, and quickly nibbled at the orange edges.
“That’s a good kitty,” the lady coaxed, petting her tiny friend. In the distance, one young woman, and what appearing to be a young girl walked toward her. The sun overhead shined brightly over the merchant’s goods. It was good day for fruit, and the juicy morsels had been selling all afternoon. The two strangers continued to get closer. Her kitty licked his lips and stared curiously at the prospective customers.
“Oh, mangos!” Lena cried, stopping to pick one up and examine it. “That would be a perfect snack for lunch...”
Yulia, suddenly distracted, merely nodded but kept her eyes fixed on the kitten in the old woman’s arms. The kitten stared back, unwilling to back down, unafraid.
“I think he likes you,” the old woman spoke, her voice soft and friendly, “You can pet him if you’d like.” The cat almost instinctively began to wriggle from his owner’s arms. Yulia held her own arms out and scooped the little kitten up. Such a small thing, so fragile and innocent, unaware of her pain, uncorrupted by the dark aura of suffering that seemed to seep from within her.
“He’s very beautiful,” she whispered, almost choking on her words. One hand clinging gently to him, Yulia stroked its white fluffy fur, still gazing into the cat’s glowing honey colored eyes. Lena, having found her perfect mango, huffed quietly and reached into her purse, pulling out the necessary funds for her purchase. The lady took it and artfully produced the correct change, and a bag to put the delicious fruit in.
“Come on Yulia, we need to get back before dark,” she demanded, breaking Yulia’s trance; causing her to turn towards Lena, who merely shot a glance to the cat in the short haired assassin’s arms and back again. The young girl wore a look of pure felicity on her face, and the rareness of that look struck Lena hard. She flinched and motioned with her hand for the girl to come along.
Yulia took one last look at the kitten, and handed it back to the woman. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” she uttered tranquilly, “what is his name?”
“Noir.”
Yulia and Lena then departed, the old lady following them with her eyes as they made their way home. “What a strange pair those two were,” she mumbled, playing with her purring pet’s ears, “weren’t they kitty?”
Quickly, the cat squirmed from her grip and dashed out into the street.
“Come back Noir!” The old women cried, but her plea was lost in the scattered chatter of Paris’ pedestrians.
The white kitten padded onward, bent set on following his new-found friend.