WHO: Doyle and Clare WHEN: May 15, after closing WHERE: Midway-ish WARNINGS: None STATUS: in progresd
Balancing a plate from the dining hall, loaded with an obscene amount of food, and six pack of beer he had kept in a bucket of cold water behind his ring toss game, for emergencies, Doyle made his way towards the village. He enjoyed walking the long way around, passing the now mostly empty tents. This place had been home for nearly two decades now, so it hadn't been that long, but he quite liked it. There was never a dull moment, really, and that was exactly the way he preferred it. Nothing worse than boredom, the 1950s had bored him enough for at least another two centuries.
A movement to his right, just at the corner of a tent, caught his eye and he whipped around, not sure what to expect in a place full of ghosts and shifters and whatever else was crawling around. When he saw a small cat Doyle tilted his head back and laughed. :Look at you, giving old Doyle a near heart attack. Are you lost? If I were you I'd get un-lost real quick, a lot of us here eat things like you. Not me, mind, but. Others."
Of course it could have occurred to him that talking to a stray cat could be considered weird, but it didn't. And even if it had, he would have done it just the same because who cares? Life is too long to consider the opinion of others. Folding himself into half he began the rather complicated process of crouching down, gingerly putting down his beer and keeping his food out of reach of little kitties. He stretched out his now free hand to see if the cat was a timid one or not, he could live with a few minutes delay.