in the parish of space dust

Tlantli Kimaris · 02-14-2012, 02:18 AM

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Tlantli is by me!

Tlantli did not have a particularly deep understanding of human culture. She was not capable of reading English; reading in Spanish was difficult enough. Books and other such snapshots of this long-dead culture were therefore entirely unfamiliar to her, and she peered curiously around the room, looking over the rotted remains of a couch. It had once been pretty, its cloth formerly some shade of pale blue. Now, it had fallen to pieces with the steady advance of years, and its pale blue was stained and streaked with darkness.

A box sat in another corner of the room, knobs and buttons to one side of a dusty center screen with a jagged crack through its middle. Tlantli looked at this for a moment, pondering its purpose. Perhaps she would have been amazed to know moving pictures were once broadcast on this device. More than likely, she would have given it momentary interest and dismissed it as a device of distraction. The yellow-haired woman looked to the roon's decor. In one corner, a pale rectangle on the wall indicated a wall-hanging, though where it had gone, Tlantli did not know. Frowning, the woman stepped past Salvia, moving slowly toward the wall.

Maybe someone has been here before us, she commented, seeing no sign of a hanging large enough to create such a shape. It had certainly hung here for years to keep this part of the wall looking newer than the surrounding sheetrock. Perhaps they were only after decoration, though, and we will still find something. Tlantli was optimistic, for little else seemed amiss in the house. A painting or hanging was a strange thing to take, she thought, but then again -- canines had all sorts of strange tastes, made even stranger by the influences of human technology and culture.

The pale coyote stepped into another room, passing from Salvia's vision. This room was small and had only one entryway. The walls were made of blue tile, a deep azure like the ocean for the bottom half of the room, with a paler sky color on the top half. A runner of white separated these colors, though the white had long gone to graying yellow. The surfaces of the room were sturdy and seemed to be constructed of some kind of stone, smooth and cold to the touch. Tlantli bent to open a cabinet, finding only moth-eaten towels and the shredded, melted remnants of what could have been paper.

She found nothing of value in the cabinets and was about to leave the room when she spied a metal bin in the corner of it. Moving forward, she picked it up, dumping the contents -- a disintegrating plastic bag and more shredded, feather-light paper garbage -- onto the ground. The hybrid inspected the container and, shiny stainless steel with a rounded lip on the wider open end. The body of the cylinder itself was ribbed, the occasional thin line raised from the otherwise smooth metal allowing for easy grip. Pleased with her find, Tlantli walked from the room and moved to set the re-purposed trash can by the door so she might take it when they were done.

Curious to see Salvia's progress, she moved after the coyote's scent, following it to the blonde woman's location. Did you find anything useful? she asked, still speaking in Spanish, as was her habit. Perhaps there was something that would require both women's strength to pull from the house.

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