> "Good evening," the light says. "What is your greatest wish? What would you give for it?" Hans can't find their words. They fiddle with their hands... *paws*... a bit, trying to find *anything* in their stupid noggin. It feels like they're a little old for this question, maybe. *I've... already got what I wished for.* Hans signs, slowly, their short tail flicking about in thought. *Happy family, happy husband, happy friends. Winning record for the Blades, happy players. My kid's going to college early, too.* ... Why are their paws shaking so damn much? Why do their ribs feel like they're cracking? Hans exhales loudly, closes their eyes before speaking. **"I wish I was content with it. I don't know what I'd give, but I just wish I was *happy*."** --- > "What do you think it means— to be alive?" Hans sets down their mug, startled. **"Isn't it a bit early for existential questions, kitty-cat?"** They wince at themself—*kitty-cat*? Is that even appropriate to call a cat that, even if they are a cute kitten? Hans sighs, flicking their ears. *Still* not used to it. They watch as others try to answer the little cat, fascinated. Hans leans on their paw as they speak their piece to Maya. **"*You* look alive to me, if that's what you want to know. Talkin' and walkin' around."** **"And *I'm* alive because..."** The tom hums a little, tapping their chin. **"Because I'm my own self, I guess. I've got my own thoughts and needs. Different from yours. That a good answer?"** ... That magic monster question was oddly specific, but Hans doesn't dwell on it much. --- > chili nose tries to steal Hans' drink and wrestle with them Hans lets Chili Nose take their mug. It’s half empty—half _full_, Hans reminds themself—of a sour and bitter ale. Something like kombucha, but with a distinct hops flavor. **‘You’re not gonna like it, kid.’** ‘I used to roughhouse a lot with my teammates and get into fights, but that’s like, twenty years ago.’ Hans reminisces, their eyes focused elsewhere as they sign. They chuckle when they remember their first on-ice fist-fight against another goalie… Hans looks at their cute, dinky little paws, then back at Chili Nose. **‘I’ll have to turn down your offer for now, sorry. Still getting used to this whole cat thing.’** > chili nose thinks the drink tastes like meds and asks what disease Hans has. she pounces! **'I have every disease in the world, unfortunately.'** Hans signs, dryly. They see Chili Nose winding up her pounce from a mile away. Hans catches her easily with one paw, stopping her mid-air like a routine puck save. **'I need some rest. Because of my several diseases.'** Trying to hold back a smile, Hans sets her back on the ground gently. 'Later. I promise, okay?' --- > baskara likes video games Hans watches as Baskara signs, highly amused. His demeanor reminds Hans of their own kid, Kari, signing rapidly and excitedly whenever something cool happened at school. (Shit, wasn’t there a PTA meeting? Whatever.) The abandoned building part is slightly concerning, but honestly it’s probably nothing to worry about. Hans asks about the video games instead. **‘What kind of games do you like? You strike me as a real-time strategy kind of cat.’** --- > maya doesn't know what they did for fun **‘That’s okay. Seems like a lot of us have lost memories when crossing over.’** Hans signs, their expression gentle. They remember Maya as the poor cat with existential dread, asking others what it means to be alive. ‘I like cooking and baking and making new recipes. I play guitar, but not very well. And sometimes I paint things. Maybe you also like one of those things?’ --- > directrix says he doesn't do fun Hans tilts their head, curious. **'Really? *Nothing*? You don't do fun?'** They hum, thinking. His foot tapping catches their eye. Nervous? Impatient? Hans shrugs. **'At least *nothing* is better than, like, arson, I suppose.'** > directrix: do i LOOK like i have fun >:( **'Hey, never judge a book by its cover.'** Hans holds their paws up, offering an apologetic smile. **'Maybe I just caught you on a bad day. Sorry, bubba.'** --- > aurelius talks about being a knight, then teases hans about their sloppy posture: were they raised in a dungeon?! **'So, like people-watching? Cool.'** Hans flicks their ears in mild interest as they sign. What kind of world was this guy from? Some medieval knight kind of deal? They laugh when he comments on their slouched posture. **'Dungeon? I was raised in Oakland. Same thing, really.'** Hans leans forward when Aurelius mentions a *lady*. So it's like a feudal system? Perhaps he's a mercenary. They wonder if there's like, a knight worker's union. Hans studies Aurelius' face for a little bit before asking him a question. **'Does your... *lady*... treat you well? Fairly, I mean.'** --- > Which weapon? Hans takes a moment to gather themself. They’ve had weirder dreams. Just be happy it’s not a nightmare. Go with it, dammit. They walk along the weapon racks, their paw briefly touching each handle before moving to the next. It reminds them of the stick rack behind the bench, each of their players having a couple in reserve in case one breaks. By the end of the rack, their mind is still wandering. Their hand—no, their *paw*—scrapes against a familiar texture. Not leather, wood, or metal. It’s worn cloth tape, with a layer of wax on top. As they turn to look, they freeze. Yes, it’s their goalie stick. It’s *undeniably theirs*, with their name and jersey number printed on the side, with… With their *blood* on it, staining the once-white paint and tape, the branding barely readable. At least it matches the Blades team colors. It looks unbelievably huge, still human-sized. They’re not sure if their kitty-self can handle it, but… they lift the stick with ease. Hans even tries swinging it around a bit, like a big sword. They sigh and let the large paddle rest on their shoulder, rather satisfied. “…Holy *shit*, I’m Cloud Strife.” Hans mumbles, glossing over the whole blood thing. --- > associated emojis! 🤎🐐🤟🏽… and 🩸 :) --- > dog breed spitz mutt or sharpei ___ > Choose one... Hans is drawn to the arrow, recognizing the power of the phoenix feather. The other items meant nothing to them, but they knew that the feather could bring back the dead. They've seen it work. They take it, and hope they don't need to use it any time soon. ___ > the shrike or the thorn? How cryptic. Hans hums, flexes their claws as they imagine a stout bird piercing a small lizard upon a thorn. “The hunter or their weapon?” Hans mumbles back. They shake their head at Caspian and laugh, a little bitterly. “Neither, I’m the prey.” ___ > Feelings on being an eidolon? The novelty of becoming a cat and gaining magic powers has worn off, and Hans is now deeply annoyed about being an eidolon. They wish they could go home, but they’ve also convinced themself that the only way out is through. And they want that one wish, dammit. Hans doesn’t want to be an eidolon. Hans wants their old life back, they want to do it all over again, they wish it never happened. Stubbornly stuck in the past, as usual. ___ > *You're dreaming again.* Hans leans closer to their twin, checking their own scars, their own marks. They’ve seen their cat-self in the mirror, yeah, but having a clone right in front of them… Is that really what they look like? An ugly, half-dead wildcat? Hans refuses to believe that this is them. They huff and lean back, tail twitching as they sign their old name sign at their mirror-self, rather bitterly. “*Hana*.” > Your mirror's image leans in to examine you in turn, tilting its head this way and that as it looks you over. > > Hana seems delighted to have been named, though their answering sign comes off as rather mocking. > > They pause for a moment, holding up one paw and stuffing the other into their own jacket's pocket. They reveal what seems to be a key, bronzey in color and crackling with static. > > They hold it out to you, a placid smile on their otherwise-blank face. You feel compelled to reach for it, but your will is your own. Though their claws flutter, Hans resists the urge to grab the key. “You want me to unlock something?” Hans asks, eyes narrowing. Their paw hovers over Hana’s, hesitant.