Half the week, the sky was coated in dark clouds. That day was one of them. The local weather station promised rain, and the clouds seemed to agree, threatening to release their cargo on the city below.
There was a brief moment of time, promptly after dinner, that the clouds were thin and dry, enough to provide a cool temperature and protection from the sun. Larua sat in the lobby of the hotel, a worn book in her hands. Perching precariously on the edge of her seat, she kept her nose buried in the novel, which was entitled “The Woman in Black,” her unveiled-eye feverishly poring over each word.
“What are you reading?” Griffin asked suddenly, startling the chimera so badly she shrieked and tossed the book into the air. The wyvern managed to catch it mid-fall, and meeting Larua’s wide eye, he handed it back to her. “I did not mean to startle you.”
“I wasn’t scared,” she said hurriedly.
Confused, Griffin furrowed his brows. “I did not say you were.” She sighed. “Why are you sitting alone here? The rest of the club is in the casino.”
Larua delicately placed a bookmark between the pages and leaned forward. “I could ask you the same.”
He leaned against the nearest wall. “Gambling is not my ‘cup of tea.’”
“I feel ya.”
“But we have no reason to be cooped up indoors, do we?” Griffin asked, and when Larua opened her mouth to answer, he continued. “Come, take a walk. We can visit some local shops or...”
“Get some ice cream or whatever they have here. If... if that’s alright.”
Griffin smiled. “Of course. I shall pay for it.”
Reluctantly, she stood up, tucking her book into the inner pocket of her new jacket, courtesy of Akira. “Fine. Thank you.”
Outside, the sun had already set, and the stars were covered by the clouds that had yet to disperse. Larua and Griffin walked side by side, nearly a foot apart, through the streets. Most of the shops had closed already—why that hadn’t occurred to them already was a mystery—but luckily, the only ice cream shop within ten blocks was still open.
They each ordered, thankful the man behind the counter spoke enough English to understand them, and sat down at one of three tables indoors. Though it was a bit more expensive than the average, run-of-the-mill ice cream shop, they didn’t mind.
They ate in silence, devouring their delicious desserts in under ten minutes. After finishing, they continued walking, now filled with energy.
“I’ve never been to Germany,” Larua mused at one point, looking around herself at the buildings and few pedestrians that still dotted the sidewalks. “It’s nice.”
“Yes. I never made it to Munich before, but Germany in all is wonderful,” Griffin agreed, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Licking her lips, Larua paused. “Y’know, I never thought this club was a good idea. I thought it was, beg your pardon, stupid, joining together in a cancerous mass of”—her voice dropped an octave—“what we are. And even though I don’t completely agree that it was smart to come all the way to Germany for a single person,” she said, turning to smile at Griffin, “I’m glad we did. I ‘m glad I did.”
Returning her smile, Griffin opened his mouth to reply. But he didn’t get the chance.
Larua’s eyes widened, focused on something behind Griffin. Cold metal pressed itself against his temple, accompanied by a gruff voice that said only this: “Don’t struggle. Give us your money, and no one gets hurt.” It carried a thick, German accent, and the hold on the gun was steady.
Griffin tried to turn around to face his attacker, but the gun only cocked in return. He’d made it halfway, so he could no longer see Larua either. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Griffin, don’t do anything stupid,” Larua warned.
“Your lady friend is wise,” the man with the gun growled. “I’d listen to her.”
A new voice joined the first man’s. “Just give us your money, and I’ll lower the knife.”
Puzzled, Griffin asked, “What knife? Show yourself.”
Larua gulped. “Um, Griffin...” His eyes slid to her. Behind her, a man stood, his gleaming knife pressed against her throat. She swallowed before whispering, “What do we do?”
He paused for a moment. Then he grinned. “We fight like hell.”
His wings sprung from under his coat, slamming into the man’s chest and earning a pained “Oomph!”. A gunshot fired wildly into the air. Larua, in a matter of seconds, stripped her hands of gloves, unveiling her paw and talons, and thrust her arms back into the man’s stomach. He cried out, and though the blade left a shallow cut along her throat, the damage was minimal.
“Together!” Griffin barked, peeling off his jacket to allow his wings to catch the streetlight. The man with the gun was too stunned to react, and his gun had fallen closer to Griffin than to himself.
“W-what are you?” he stammered, scuttling back. Griffin threw his wings out to full width and grinned broader than ever.
“Something you should truly fear.”
Larua kicked the knife into the gutter and turned a fierce smirk on the men. “Boo.”
With a scream, they both stumbled to their feet and sprinted away. After exchanging a satisfied stare with one another, Griffin and Larua doubled over in laughter, high-fiving once they straightened.
“That was brilliant, Griffin,” Larua said, clapping him on the back.
“You are hurt, though,” he said, reaching for her throat after tugging a hankie from his pocket.
She stared at it, stiff, as he dabbed away the blood. “You seriously carry around a hankie? What is this, the 1920s?”
He ignored the comment and continued cleansing the wound as best he could. “I suppose that should be our cue to return to the hotel. That gunshot probably drew the attention of the police”—a siren wailed in the distance—“and you need to clean that scratch.”
With a sigh, Larua nodded. “Fine.” A few minutes later, she turned to Griffin again. “I’m not gonna lie. That was probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I joined the MCC—and the most fun.”
“‘Fun?’” Griffin asked in disbelief.
“Sure. What says fun more than a scrabble with some thugs?” she countered.
Griffin only shook his head. “Your idea of fun is terribly skewed.”
She shrugged. “Does it look like I care?”
“No.”
Smiling smugly, she turned her head so it faced forward once more. “Good. Oh, and Griffin?”
With a groan, he said, “Yes?”
“Thanks for the ice cream.”
