Bastien
Given the cat's absence, Bastien had moved onto sketching the bars patrons again, the half-finished drawing of the cat occupying a corner of the page sectioned off from the rest by a decorated line, doodled on with little stars and curves. Not expecting to see the cat again he had begun a study of a patron at the bar: some farmer, a sturdy man with a red face and rough hands, gesturing wildly as he drunk and spoke.When he saw the flash of orange again he looked up with a 'hm?', the smile on his face at seeing the cat swiftly turning to one of faint disgust. "Oh, a meal! Well, congratulations piccolo gatto, but please eat it away from me." He understood the cycles of life, was not easily squeamish...but that didn't mean he wanted mouse guts on his pants.
Let's pick the truth that we believe in
like a bad religion
