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"There's a couple who are repeat purchasers, but I've only been on the site and selling maybe two years? I sell more at shows, I think, but its good to just have presence in as many locations as possible. "

Was complimenting a cat flirting with the cat? You could flirt with cats? It WAS true that one complimented a woman as part of flirting with her, so it wasn't bonkers that it would follow with a talking cat....maybe? Quenton blushed under the small cat-kiss to his neck. He really liked cat kisses, actually. He'd worked a long time as a kid with his cousin's family's cat, Diesel, to train it to give kisses whenever it wanted pets. When she mentioned the second part about the not giving of pets, he obliged his own desire, lifted a hand and tentatively rubbed under the cute little chin and along her cheek.

He looked nearby for a decent place to sit and spend a few moments. Luckily there were some small stone walls that retained elevated yards decoratively from the sidewalk and street. He set the bag down that was being peered at on the top of one of the walls and sat down himself to rummage out to the bottom. The cheesecake was extricated, and he took his Leatherman. It was thankfully precut with little papers between the slices for ease of busy single people, but there wasn't ready plates. He hadn't bought any plasticware, so the option left for polite dining was cutting the cardboard piece underneath the goods and use it also as plate. It took a moment, and a few fingerprints on the surrounding pieces, but the feat was managed and he set a slice of cheesecake aside on a pie-shaped cardboard for a plate to protect it from getting dirty. "Here, a piece fit for a queen. "

"No candied fruit, I'm afraid, just basic, thick, New York style cheesecake with graham crust. But I like basics. But its full creams in it, so it should be really rich."

"There's a couple places in the city that specialize in making crazy kinds that I bet are all delicious, but they're far too expensive for me to be shopping or eating at for groceries or dinner." Though how a cat would regularly eat cheesecake unless they lived in a bakery or had a really irresponsible owner he didn't know. He was relieved, really, to hear the little cat didn't have a habit of it.

It was surprising that she didn't hop down and figure-8, as most cats he knew did when food was offered. Her question was even more interesting. "I'd be worried I must have forgotten something, honestly. But we've only just met, so I can't begin to imagine what duty I missed. I'm curious, certainly. "

"I hope it doesn't involve rabbit holes."

"It is from alice..." Though he trailed off, intrigued that a cat had anything to do with real magic. Puss In Boots and Jellicle Cats both warred in his hindbrain for space.

At alakabizzle it all went away in favor of Bugs Bunny and a Vampire from a Chuck Jones piece and the phrases 'abraca-pocus' and 'walla walla washington.'

"What exactly....are they?" What did magical cats mean to create? They looked like they belonged in a tween-girl's bedroom on a vanity, that was for certain. Were they toys? A talking cat wouldn't make toys. Still, he reached out and picked up the nudged pen-thing.

The logical part of his mind, not too far divulged from the very well seated morality and law portions, scoffed intrinsically as soon as the term 'magical tool', and then the succeeding uses of 'magic' compounded the problem. The quiet, artistic Muse, however, argued back - this was a talking cat to begin with. The lines between the genius and sublime were crossed long ago. This was uncharted territory and if magic was the explanation, that was a beginning. Beginnings always had room after them for middles with explorations and explanations more fulfilling. The initiated need not have all answers to understand rote cause and effect.

He noted the words, quirking as he untangled himself from all other bags or carryings to stand holding the pen. "What's a Thraen?"

It was a odd phrase, but since she said that it was necessary to have passion and energy, he could give it. 'Casting' magic was an exciting proposition in the grand scheme of life, especially since it didn't exist. Though why one would pair up a henshin pen-wand wizard thing with a cellphone wasn't to be guessed at currently.

Quenton took a deep breath, closing his eyes. I want this to work— "Thraen Power, Make-up!"

Color and light bloomed out like a exploded prom dance hall, he felt himself move, and there was a disturbing amount of magical glitter. And he was very suddenly not in his clothes.

At all.
Wh-ha-haaaat am I wearing ?

"********* looked up at the cat, deeply, soulfully concerned. "Admittedly, that was some magic trick. "

"What just happened to me?"

"How can it be mine when I've never seen it before in my life?" he patted himself, or the petaled cincher, experimentally. "Sailor Thraen? You mean the 'terrorists' are just people running around with magic wand pens being told by cats that they're sailor-so-and-so-of whats-it-be, go run around and attack people for no reason? There must be a reason."

"I'm not a terrorist, " he pleaded, surely the magical cat woudl understand. It was no longer that magic was plainly, tangibly real that was the question in his mind. "How do I relate to this at all? Who's Thraen? I've never gardened in my life, how am I supposed to represent gardens?"

Of course, asking for a reason might be exactly what to avoid if he really wanted to avoid being involved. A good reason, one of duty and righteous necessity trumped youthful trepidation.

There were 'monsters' that magical, pen wielding terrorists fought with their talking can allies. Energy stealing monsters. It seemed hard to believe again. But then she kept on after nomming on the cake. It was a title. There was a world.

Worlds had people. Titles were protectors. Extinct. The Knight of Glinn was an extinct title, the last lord with no heir and passed. A who world dragged down? And somehow the heir to some title here. Protecting people here, from 'youma'. Medieval titles were often interchangeable with the name of the holder. Thraen, the world, the asteroid, was the title ...like the Marquess of Exeter, called just 'Exeter' from time to time. "I am supposed to use this magic to protect people? To fight youma. To prevent the extinction of this world, of this people?"

That much, even if the rest didn't, made sense to him. Connected with purpose and meaning. "I can try."
Try? That wasn't right. " I will."

While ********* ate, he took the opportunity to examine the odd get up and the strange pen. It didn't look particularly like it should be magical. And the clothing felt real enough. He was wearing it. The flowers in his hair were very much alive, somehow, smelled sweetly and seemed to just...renew if he picked them all out. By the time the cheesecake had met its final end, he hand an armful of flowers and was still himself decorated. Okay, it really is magic.

"Other than being covered in plants? Which admittedly, isn't much for protecting people unless this is a Captain Planet sort of situation. I don't like pollution as much as the next person, but I got the jist that all the people getting attacked was a little more serious than smog."

"How do I use magic?"

Thraen Annual Planting is my magic spell? I have to call that outloud? That's up there with Riddikulus. He'd have to try to remember that, regardless. It it was his only spell, and he was going to be using it to protect life, liberty and limb.

Questions, questions...did he have any? It was hard to come up with anything on the spot when his sole experience was now armful of weird flowers and some tight fitting fashion disaster.

"Yes, yes there is. How do I get out of this uniform?"