Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

(9) -Ritz on the Fritz-

Laos stretched on for miles along the ivory coast of the Fragilli Sea. The rickety carriage hobbled along the sole road toward the city, passing the hills of the second wall until all that laid before them were the smooth fields of swaying sea grass. The placid turquoise of the ocean against the emerald of the land, blazed under the noon day's sun, a rare gem Abby was glad to see.

Pillars of eroded sandstone erupted from the ground forming most of the old city's skyscape. They stood as the last remnants of a bygone era erected to worship the many gods, skeleton hands outstretched and begging to the heavens not to be forgotten.

The city was a marvel, a mix of weathered traditions and modernized ideals, pickled in the briny scented sea air that rolled in off the coast, attracting sailors and scholars alike. Steel wove its way through sandstone, serpents bent on squeezing the life from Laos' many chapels and worship houses.

As Abby stared at the city before her, a breeze tousled her hair. She smiled; she couldn't wait to get out of the carriage and stretch her legs.

Laos, the city of chaos, was home.

"Three minutes to the inner gate." A metallic voice crackled over the loosely hanging speaker above Abby's head.

"Thanks, Ritz," she said, addressing the body-less AI carriage operator as though it was a real person. It very well could have been, considering the other more robotic company Abby was keeping in the back car.

Crum sat next to her on the two person seat, his knobby knee brushing against her bare hand. He grimaced as he continued plucking balls of maroon velvet off his trousers that had stuck to him like honey. He'd, very loudly, voiced his disdain for the well-worn carriage when they'd first got in, but Abby'd silenced him by threatening to unleash Henrich on his ears.

Speaking of the Mayweather's only son, he sat across from Crum, sandwiched between his sisters, brow dripping with sweat, yellow pit stains gaining in size across his white tunic. He leaned over, a pained expression on his face, opening and closing his mouth, like a fish that'd been beached. Polly kept her gaze hinged outside, watching as miles of ocean raced past.

Poppy sat furthest away, the others placed between her and Abby as a protective human shield to prevent any more altercations between the two. Abby thought it a bit much. However, truth be told, had Abby snuck a second pastry into her coat pocket—she hadn't, but the idea had crossed her mind—there'd have been a decent chance said pastry would have been smashed against Poppy's smug, freckled face once more.

In all honesty, more pastry might do her face well, Abby thought as she took a sideways glance at the girl.

With Poppy's fattened cheeks and black smudges under her eyes, she looked like a dead raccoon, one that'd been run over and left to roast under the sun. It was ironic. Two out of the three Mayweathers now resembled dying, smelly rodents.

Full-blooded Mayweasels.

Abby felt a nip on her hand and glanced down. Lucy was curled on her lap, looking annoyed that she had stopped petting his head.

"Sorry, Lucy," she whispered, itching a favorite spot of his behind his ears. Crum sneezed and gave the cat a glare.

"Did you have to bring them?" he spat, wiping a sleeve under his nose.

Abby paid him no mind. Instead, she turned her attention to the seat opposite her where perched on the bench's back was Sebbi, lying with his front paws tucked under him, eyes closed. He looked like a summer sausage that'd fallen on the floor and collected lint. She didn't know why the mostly feral cat had decided to come, but she was happy all the same.