Welcome to Gaia! ::

A few hours later, she wakes to a cold whisper in her ear.

I have to go. Business. I'll be back before long. There's food. There's water. I will come back before the next nightfall.

He drifts up through the intwerworkings of the clocktower, to the loft at the top, and sets Spura down in the light between the shadows cast by the numbers on the clockface.

He goes to his dresser, and pulls a jar out of his pocket. It's sealed, and inside is something twisted and black. He picks up a felt-tipped marker and marks the date on the jar, then sets up a light-table and some surgical instruments with which to perform a dissection.

Come here, Spura, I got something to show you.

It's the remains of a little animal, but none like she's ever seen before. It's black and twisted.

It looks like something that would dwell in the dark netherworlds of the subconscious.

He turns it, looking at it from all angles.

This is a vicious lil' b*****d. If you see one of these running around, let me know. I'm going to start a collection.

Just don't touch it...

He extracts samples from the creature, and then slides it back into the jar, and fills it with nostril-stinging formaldehyde.

He looks over his shoulder.

Did you get too close? Yeah, it's noxious, but it keeps it.

He works on it for a little while, and then turns the light off. He gets up, easing down to a seat by a broken place in the panoramic clockface.

He has an odd expression as he gazes out through the cracks in the glass.
Those things... they came from somewhere... something is in Crosshaven that badly needs killing.

Your little outfit there, it's not real warm. We'll need to get you some clothes for the winter. Some shoes.

Come here, by me.

He picks her up and sets her on his lap, and holding her head close to his so that their line of sight will be the same, he points to a thrift store down the way.

He speaks in sign:

We don't live the way most people live, Spura. That's why they are afraid of me and want to pity you. We live outside of their realm of normal. When they have needs, they go to a store and buy what they need. When we have needs, we lay quiet claim to them. You will find, if you haven't already, that the things you need present themselves to be claimed. Your wits have a way of leading you to the things you need, even when you can't have the things you want.

Now, we need a coat to keep Spura warm. Shoes to keep her from cutting her feet on glass.

You see that man loading in boxes? That is an opportunity.

I'll show you...

He eases back into the insubstantial without her, and she feels herself cradled and lowered to the ground as his body undoes itself beneath her. She sees him mterilize on the streets. He casts a shadow that stretches halfway down the block, while all other shadows of objects below are short and angled.

The man in the thrift store parking lot stops when he sees him, and sets down his box, hurrying inside to close and latch his door.

Hollow is like a scavenger. To him, it isn't stealing. It is simply taking advantage of peoples' fear and paranoia, preying on it, to a degree. He and the box disappear, and he drifts ghostlike through the glass of the clockface, coming back into the physical realm and dropping the box at her feet.

It's luck of the draw on this one.

He digs into the box, looking like a lion over a zebra.

As if fate had dropped it in their laps, there are things inside that will fit her. He leans back, his face framed in lights and shadows from the numbers on the clockface, and watches her go through the things.

He lights a cigarette, and smoke drifts over him, curling and finally diffusing out through the cracks in the window face.

Opportunities, they come up all the time. In all shapes and sizes. You just have to keep your eyes open for them. I'll teach you.

He chuckles, a deep and echoing sound. A halo of smoke circles his head before slipping out the window.

You a runway model, now?

He chucks the cigarette out the window and gets up, getting to the preparations for their dinner. He puts some chili on to simmer on the hotplate, and leaves it sit, reclaiming his spot and lighting his next smoke.

Later on, we'll go out into the world, and see if we can find some more opportunities.

His face is often a stage for twisted grins and dark smiles, but now it plays out a small content smile. The first of its kind in a long while. He closes his eyes, as asked.