Chapter Text
1
The highway sign read: Coastal Cliffs, 500 Meters Ahead. A blue jeep roared past it, its cabin crammed with boxes and bags that slid and tumbled with every turn — like sailors on a storm-tossed deck. The driver could have sworn he heard something shatter during one of those maneuvers, but he couldn't bring himself to care much. The flop-eared dog caught the fresh wind in his face from the open window, sifting through a new spectrum of scents. The salt of the sea was the first thing he clearly picked out — he'd never smelled anything quite like it.
As he drove deeper into the suburban sprawl, where low brick townhouses in pastel shades lined the streets, his nose took in a wider array of smells, and his ears, like radars, caught a flood of sounds: fresh bread, the bitterness of chicory, radio static drifting from an open window, motorcycles with sawed-off mufflers somewhere downtown. And somewhere nearby, a sewer line had broken — rank miasma made his muzzle wrinkle for a second, cutting through everything else. It threw him off. Back in his hometown, he'd used these very details as a natural compass; he could tell which way to turn just by following a scent. He'd trained hard to focus on a single thread of smell. But in this ocean of aromas, he was lost.
He decided to pull over at the nearest corner store — part of a local chain called «25/8» — to grab some water and stretch his legs after the long drive.
Stepping out of the jeep, he turned his chest toward the sun, letting the warmth wash over him. The amber sun pendant hanging from his thick collar caught the light and seemed to glow on its own. He rummaged in the pockets of his shorts and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. Playcare 1006. B. Bubbaphant. Check-in at two. Shame he hadn't thought to charge his phone. Now he couldn't call anyone, let alone pull up a map. But since he was out to get water anyway, he figured he could ask for directions.
He was about to walk into the store when a jogger crashed right into him. The collision — more the surprise of it than the force — sent him flailing. He threw his hands up to catch his balance, but still ended up on the ground, tail thumping against the pavement.
«Arf…» he let out a muffled sound.
«Whoop, my bad!» The jogger's voice was quick and sincere. «You popped up outta nowhere, didn't have time to react.» She crouched and offered him a hand.
«Thanks.» He took it, and she pulled him to his feet in one swift motion. «It's fine. Tail's not broken, I think.» He glanced back, gave his tail a wiggle to check.
Turning to face her, he finally got a good look. A green rabbit in black sports shorts and a matching top. Her fur was mint-green, darker in patches, a little scruffy from her run. Her ears, long and slightly bent from the wind, stuck straight up like two exclamation points. On her left wrist was a fitness tracker, and clipped to its small ring was a tiny golden lightning bolt. He inhaled — and the sharp scent of peppermint flooded his nose, cutting through every other smell and jolting him with a sudden rush of alertness.
While he was busy sizing up the cause of his tumble, she glanced down at the pavement and spotted the paper that had fallen from his paw when she'd helped him up.
«Hey, you dropped this.» She picked it up and, before handing it over, read the address. One eyebrow went up in confusion. Then both shot up in surprise. «'Playcare 1006'… Wait — your name wouldn't happen to be DogDay, would it?»
«Uh, yeah… How did you—?»
«Ahaaa! Man, did I ever run into the right guy!» She started bouncing in place, hopping in a little circle of pure glee. DogDay couldn't help but note: even if he tried his hardest, he couldn't jump that high. Once she'd burned off the extra energy, she grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. «I'm Hoppy Hopscotch! But Hopp works! Super-duper nice to meet you! Bubba told us about you — I've been dying to see what you're like! He never said when you'd show up or what you looked like, so I've been guessing. And you look pretty much exactly how I pictured!»
«Hehe, nice to meet you too.» His tail wagged happily. «But, uh — could you loosen your grip? My paw's starting to ache.»
«Oops, sorry.» She let go. «I'm just really, really excited! I love meeting new people.»
«Oh, I felt that.» He shook his paw a little. «So, Hoppy, right?»
«Yup.»
«Honestly? This worked out great.» He said it with that upbeat tone of his, tail sweeping behind him. «I was just about to ask someone how to get to Playcare. Phone's dead — no GPS, no nothing.»
«Lucky bump, huh.» She snorted, rubbing her chin. «Alright! I'll get you there. But first — quick detour. Gotta grab someone.»
«Sounds good. Hop in — you can show me the way.» He headed back to his jeep, gesturing for her to follow. «Cab's a bit packed, but there's room.»
«Whoa…» She bounced over to the passenger side. «Sweet ride! Man, that's a lot of boxes. Moving in for real, huh?» She hopped into the seat.
«Yeah,» he said, buckling up and starting the engine. «At least till school's done. Maybe longer, if I find work after. Alright, Captain — where to?»
«Aye! Hard to starboard and straight on till the corner of Ludiga and Sawyer!»
DogDay nodded, chuckling at her enthusiasm. The jeep's cabin filled with the scent of mint, charging him up for whatever adventure she had in mind. He pulled out of the lot and followed her directions. The scenery shifted — cozy brick townhouses gave way to taller apartment blocks painted in bright, bold colors over stucco. The hues were rich in the sunlight, even where cracks showed. The city takes care of its buildings, DogDay thought.
Hoppy pointed out landmarks as they drove.
«That's the Yarnaby Building.» She aimed a finger at a rainbow-colored modernist structure, its seven hues twisting into a whimsical spiral. «Very… extra- extra-… ugh, I can't say it. Extra-va-gant. Yeah, that's it. No idea who the architect was — some lion, I think. But the guy knew color.»
DogDay stole quick glances at the scenery between keeping his eyes on the road. Colonial-style buildings mingled with modernism and splashes of vivid color, giving the city a lively, layered feel.
Gradually, the buildings shifted to faded white structures crowded with equally washed-out signs and neon tubing. The sun was high now, bleaching the district in a desert-like haze. The air smelled of heat and stillness.
«Retro Row,» Hoppy said, leaning back. «Looks better at night. Turn left in a block, then pull into the parking lot at the Night Owls gas station, over by the car wash. That dude's definitely there.»
«Got it.»
The Night Owls sat at a fork in the road, almost like the center of a traffic circle. It was a big operation — diner, gas pumps, car wash, and garage all in one. The air was thick with overlapping smells: fresh pancakes and reheated coffee, spilled motor oil and foamy soap, all underlaid by the dizzying fume of gasoline. White walls, faded red trim along the roof edge and foundation, wide windows. Under the broad awning stood six angled pumps — one of them yellow, probably diesel, DogDay guessed, sniffing. From the wooden garage doors came the scent of suds and rinse water. Workers were hosing down a lineup of dusty cars: mean-looking Mustangs, retro Cadillacs, modern SUVs.
DogDay pulled smoothly into the lot. Hoppy was already out of the jeep before it had fully stopped.
«C'mon, hurry!»
«Hold on, lemme park!» Restless, he thought. Either she didn't believe in obstacles, or she really, really wanted him to meet someone.
Engine off, jeep locked, he followed her silhouette and her scent. She must've used some strong deodorant. But another smell cut through — heady, a little synthetic, definitely not natural. Ylang-ylang.
Hoppy bounced over to a red convertible with the top down, parked in partial shade. The polished hood gleamed so brightly you could see the sky in it. Beside it stood its owner, buffing a chrome headlight. The ylang-ylang scent came from him.
«Kicken! Bro!»
«Oh?» He turned, spotted her, and straightened up. «Hoppy! Sis!»
They bumped fists and clasped hands with a shared grin.
«Yo, what winds blew you here? Thought you'd be on your classic morning city marathon by now,» the rooster said.
«I was! Just about to start my second loop when fate smacked me right into this guy.» She stepped aside, revealing DogDay with a theatrical wave. «Meet our new neighbor! DogDay!»
«Hey,» the dog said, tail wagging.
Now that he'd caught up and Hoppy wasn't blocking the view, DogDay could get a proper look. The rooster wore orange-tinted shades with star-shaped lenses perched on his orange beak. Over a white tee hung an open pink Hawaiian shirt with a wavy pattern — one shade paler, one deeper. Knee-length shorts covered his bird legs. He pushed his shades up onto his forehead, squinted a little, and smiled.
«Kicken Chicken. Call me Kick.» He held out a hand. His yellow feathers were slightly ruffled.
«Nice to meet you.» DogDay shook it.
«Likewise. Your name suits you, by the way.» Kick circled the dog, making a frame with his fingers and peering through it from different angles. «Sunny, warm, soft like a sunbeam. Heh. How'd you miss him on your run, Hopp?»
«Dunno,» she shrugged. «Zoned out, and there he was in my path. Anyway, reason we swung by: he needs someone to show him the way home. Figured we'd grab you. Coming?»
«Sure. But why didn't you just drive straight there?» Kick asked DogDay.
«Phone died. Was gonna ask for directions when we literally ran into each other.»
«Hah! Hopp, you're a regular deus ex machina.» Kick chuckled at the absurd luck of it all. «Feels like we're in some cheap fanfic, the way this played out. Hop in the passenger seat. Day — you mind if I call you Day? You're in your ride?»
«Yeah.»
«Then follow us.»
Hoppy vaulted into the convertible without opening the door. Kick climbed in more carefully, though his expression said he'd have done the same if not for the steering wheel. DogDay jogged back to his jeep, slid behind the wheel, and got ready.
The convertible pulled out with a smooth exhaust rumble, heading down the sloping road toward the coast. DogDay's jeep followed.
From here, the view opened up: the sea glittering below, rooftops spreading out toward the water. Somewhere among them was his new home. And he still had no idea what — or who — was waiting for him there.
2
After driving a good halfway across the city, they emerged onto the coastal road. To the left: the sea and the promenade. Palm trees leaned at an angle over the dark wooden pier on stilts, contrasting sharply with the white sand. To the right: an arcade of columns and arches supporting a pedestrian platform above, while creating a sheltered overhang for parked cars below. Everything felt harmonious, as if the architects had poured meaning into every detail. The buildings here weren't as brightly painted as those in the upper districts, but the warm brown and crimson brickwork had its own charm, its own patterns, showing off the skill of the masons.
The convertible turned in under one of the arches, and the jeep followed. The air beneath the arcade was cooler, thick with the scent of damp stone and sea salt settled into the brick. DogDay inhaled deeply, letting the new smell settle in his memory. He parked to the left of a small off-road quad bike — its tires caked in fresh mud, he could smell it — and a massive beige BMW. The car was so enormous it seemed cramped even here.
«We're here!» Kick called out, climbing from the convertible. «This is our parking spot. No fees, and the cars stay dry.» He watched the convertible's folding roof close before stepping away.
«Hmm. Alister's out early today,» Hoppy noted, pointing at the quad bike. Then her gaze shifted to the BMW. «And Simon hasn't left yet. Perfect timing — you'll get to meet everyone.»
«Yeah,» Kick agreed, turning to DogDay. «Day, leave your bags. We'll help you haul everything up tonight. Come on — introductions await.»
«Coming!»
He followed them through the door into the building's front hall. The staircase was wide, flooded with sunlight streaming through tall windows and a light well at the very top, bathing everything in a pleasant golden hue. The banisters were wrought iron, shaped into leafy patterns that wove together into the letters B and C. Right beside the stairs stood brass elevator doors.
«Oooh,» DogDay breathed, eyes shining. «It's cozy. And beautiful.»
«Tell me about it,» Hoppy agreed. «I've gone up and down these stairs a hundred times, and I still can't get over it. Even on gloomy days, it's got atmosphere.»
«Elevator,» Kick announced.
They rode up to the eighth floor and stepped out onto a spacious landing. Patterned tile covered the floor and climbed halfway up the walls. The light from the central well seemed even brighter here. Directly across from the elevator stood a single set of large double doors, made of heavy, bright-brown wood. In front of them lay a doormat: Home Sweet Home. Before approaching the door, DogDay peered over the railing, down into the wide gap between the stair flights. High up, he thought.
Hoppy pushed the doors open with ease.
«Welcome to our humble abode! Playcare, that is. We'll give you the grand tour.»
The apartment walls were painted a pastel red — warm and enveloping, like sunset light made solid. It contrasted beautifully with the white ceiling and the dark wood parquet laid along the floor. The brightly lit hallway greeted him with the aroma of frying onions, simmering soup, and a blend of spices and citrus.
«Mmm~ what smells so amazing?» DogDay asked.
«Piggy's cooking. Come on, I'll show you.» Kick led the way.
The kitchen entrance was just past the foyer, through a wide archway on the left. Next to the dark brown cabinetry and white stone countertops, the floor was laid with ceramic tile. In the center stood a matching kitchen island with bar stools topped in blue cushions. The walls were hung with knives, utensils, ladles, bronze pots, and pans. On a shelf near the stove, among jars of salts and pepper blends, a small red radio — a little beat-up — played FM 108.7. Electronic dance music pulsed softly. DogDay found his tail starting to tap along without thinking. In the middle of it all, like a conductor, a pink pig moved in a whirlwind. She was dicing vegetables with rapid precision, tossing them into a skillet and a pot, then grabbing a ladle with one hoof while shaking the skillet with the other. The sleeves of her checkered shirt were rolled to her elbows, a bandana hung around her neck, and she wore denim overalls — one strap dangling loose at her side. Without looking up from her work, she addressed the group:
«Kicken, Hoppy — if you're here to taste the soup early again, I'll break your fingers.» She punctuated the threat by squeezing half a lemon into the pot with deliberate force.
«Chill, sis. We just wanted to introduce the new arrival,» Kick replied.
«Huh?» She turned her head for a split second. DogDay noticed the apple-shaped pin on her chest — red paint chipped, revealing the brass underneath. «Ooh, you're DogDay?» She turned back to the stove. «Bubba's been muttering about you for two weeks. 'When's he getting here?' Whatever. I'll be brief. Name's Picky Piggy. I handle the cooking around here. Fifteen mouths to feed, counting myself — sixteen as of today — so please don't distract me. If you've got food requests, spit 'em out. Straight. None of that 'molecular gastronomy' nonsense, or whatever you city folk call those… culinary perversions.»
«Got it.» The dog approached the island, sniffing the air. The soup smelled rich and hearty — sage leaves, allspice, bright notes of fresh-squeezed lemon and maybe lime and orange. Citrus, in a word. «Smells wonderful.»
«I know. Now shoo. You're throwing off my rhythm.»
The trio exited the kitchen and entered the living room through another identical archway. A beige sofa with blankets and pillows on a wooden frame. A wooden rocking chair. A pristine, unlit fireplace — though the faint smell of old smoke lingered. Beside the fireplace stood a white door engraved with a lightbulb; within the spiral of the design, two letter B's faced each other, one mirrored. Across from the sofa, a small balcony overlooked the sea. The blue of the sky and the blue of the water merged into one, divided only by the shimmer of reflected light on the waves.
«Getting lost in the view?» Hoppy asked.
«Mm-hm.»
«You can stare later. Day's not over. Come on.»
They led him down a hallway that curved to the right at its end. DogDay had noticed another hallway near the entrance, curving left. The bedrooms were arranged along the outer walls, creating a ring-shaped corridor. In the center of this «doughnut» were rooms that didn't need natural light — a library, maybe… or a darkroom? That would be cool. He could stage noir detective scenes.
Paintings lined the hallway walls, each lit by its own lamp. One landscape was composed entirely of tiny dots, the image emerging only when you stepped back. Another was built from sharp geometric shapes — angles and planes intersecting like cut crystal. A third blazed with intense, clashing colors and simple forms; it looked almost savage compared to the others, wild and untamed. But what stood out across all of them was the prevalence of red: red shades, red objects, red light. One painting showed a figure in a white dress standing in a field of crimson roses, gazing toward a sunset sky.
«Very… unusual,» DogDay managed. «Are these bought?»
«Nah, we've got our own in-house artist,» Hoppy said. «She's an interesting one — loves painting. But for some reason, she's obsessed with red. Mixes endless shades of it. Sometimes paints only with it.»
«No idea why red,» Kick added, «but she's got a real knack for it. Kind of her signature. Her room's the corner one. This way.»
They stepped through an open door. The area around the handle was smudged with dried paint. The room's walls matched the hallway, and the floor flowed seamlessly in. In the center, near an open window, an easel stood on a white tarp, a new composition beginning to take shape. In the corner nearest the door was a bed, currently buried under sketchbooks. Beside it, a desk cluttered with jars of paint, brushes in cups, assorted busts and figurines. In another corner, canvases leaned on a wooden rack — some covered with cloth or turned to the wall, others bearing finished or half-finished works. The space was clearly an artist's studio, yet it harmonized with the rest of the apartment.
Behind the easel stood the artist herself, laying down broad strokes. Black trousers, a white shirt with teal sleeve-guards, a brown apron. Her sky-blue mane was woven into a single braid. At its end, a hair tie held a wooden flower with five petals and a yellow center. Jasmine blossoms were threaded along the braid's entire length.
«Knock-knock, Crafty.» Kick rapped on the doorframe. «Not interrupting?»
She turned. In her grasp, she held a wooden palette smeared with several shades of red, and a brush. But DogDay's attention was caught by the horn on her forehead, rising from the blue mane. His tail, wagging steadily before, suddenly stilled — then picked up again, faster.
«Whoa!» he said, genuinely awed. «A unicorn? I've never met one in person.»
CraftyCorn shyly averted her gaze.
«Oh — no, that was a compliment! I just really… um…» The dog fumbled, worried he'd offended her.
«It's alright,» she said quietly. «Usually people notice the paintings first. Then the painter.» She set down her brush and palette on the table beside the easel and faced them fully. Her apron pockets bristled with brushes and palette knives. «I'm CraftyCorn. I came from the north.»
«The snow lands?»
«Yes,» she nodded. «I imagine you've already noticed my… hobby. If… if you'd like, you could pose for me sometime. Or paint together. I'm always looking for new inspiration. Avant-garde ideas.»
«I'd like that.» He nodded warmly.
«Alright, we'll let you get back to work,» Hoppy said. «He's still got a lot of house to see.»
«Oh, okay. Do come by again.»
«Absolutely!»
The trio left, and CraftyCorn picked up her brush once more. She was painting a bouquet in a vase: lemon grass, mint, ylang-ylang. At the moment, she was deeply focused on a rose.
«Hmm… should I add a sunflower? Or vanilla? Maybe both? No… that would be too many focal points. Just the vanilla, then.»
Meanwhile, the others showed him the remaining rooms, eventually arriving at the bathroom, which adjoined a small laundry. The walls here were pastel blue, with white tile wainscoting. The sink was broad, flanked by sets of shelves — four on each side. One set stood empty.
«And here's the bathroom,» Hoppy announced, punctuating the statement with an inexplicable little hop. «Sink, tub, toilet — there's another small one on the other side — washer, dryer. And a clothesline over the tub for delicates. That's your shelf.» She pointed to the empty space.
DogDay moved toward the cabinet to inspect it, but his foot caught on something. He tripped. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing to plant his face into the tile. Not the kind of close acquaintance with the house I was expecting. But Hoppy reacted instantly, catching him a split second before impact. He kept his eyes clenched shut as she hauled him upright.
«Haaa…» she exhaled. «Sorry, forgot to warn you. We've just learned to step over his tail automatically. He doesn't do it on purpose — it's just really long.»
«T-tail?» DogDay opened his eyes and looked down. Sure enough, stretched across the warm tile floor was a purple, fluffy tail, twitching and curling lazily. Following it to its source, he found its owner… inside a laundry basket full of dry, unfolded clothes.
«Ugh, there he goes again,» Hoppy said, more amused than annoyed. She stepped over and nudged the basket with her long foot. «Yo, Kitty Cat! Get your sleepy face out here and meet our new neighbor!»
The pile of soft, lavender-scented fabric — DogDay was certain — began to rise. First, a pair of triangular ears emerged, scanning. Then a purple feline face appeared. Half-lidded eyes, whiskers sticking every which way, a contented purr. A typical cat, entirely unbothered by the intrusion. He lazily opened one eye.
«Mrrrrow~»
«This is CatNap,» Hoppy said, jerking a thumb at him. «Our resident sleep guru… in the most unexpected places, sometimes.» She rolled her eyes, then crouched beside the basket. «You gonna get out on your own?»
«Meow~» Two hoodie-clad arms extended from the pile.
«Hah… lazybones.»
She didn't scold him further. Instead, she reached into the basket, wrapped her arms around his torso — he grabbed onto her back — and pulled him out. The cat's long body unspooled with boneless relaxation, making it even more baffling how he'd fit in there.
«Wow,» DogDay said. «He's really tall.»
«Nah, just flexible and stretchy.»
Hoppy set the cat on the floor like a plush toy. Indeed, he wasn't as tall as he'd seemed — only a couple heads above Hoppy — but it was still remarkable how his body had occupied only half the basket, like a blanket someone had tossed in. His long tail slowly retracted toward him, wagging lazily. The lamplight glinted off a moon-shaped brooch pinned to his hoodie.
«He doesn't talk much,» Hoppy explained. «We mostly read his face…» She grabbed his cheeks and started stretching them. «…this adorable face. Wake. Up. And. Say. Hi.»
The cat merely purred louder.
«Hopp, you know he's doing it on purpose to mess with you, right?» Kick observed from the doorway.
«Obviously.» She finally stopped squishing him.
The cat seemed to actually wake up — or at least pretended to. He approached DogDay, sniffed him, and then began rubbing his cheek against the top of the dog's head. The scent of lavender clung to his fur — the same lavender as the laundry. As if he were part of that basket himself: warm, soft, soothing.
«Oh? Heheh — cat stuff?» DogDay laughed at the unexpected affection.
«Congratulations. You're officially his friend now,» Kick declared. «Hey, now that you're up, NapNap — those two still up in the greenhouse?»
The cat nodded.
«Thought so.»
«There's a greenhouse on the roof?» DogDay asked.
«Yep. Bubba said his granddad built it. It's part of why he lives on the eighth floor,» Kick explained. «Access is through the front landing. Come on — Bear Cub and Elephant should be up there.»
Stepping out onto the landing, DogDay noticed the staircase leading to the roof. From the street, you'd never guess the building had a usable rooftop, let alone a greenhouse. He was intrigued. Kick climbed ahead and pushed open the metal door. A cool sea breeze rushed in.
The wind carried the salt smell, tickling his nose. The roof itself was ordinary enough — a chimney stack, a few vents, a stunning view of the ocean. On the right side (facing west toward the sea) stood a structure of white beams and blue-tinted glass panels: the greenhouse. It was modest — no bigger than two and a half rooms — but packed to bursting with flowers.
From inside came the sounds of pots being moved and voices in discussion.
«…those roses. Move them over there, please,» said a low voice.
«Here?»
«Yes. Thank you, Bobby. Hm? Touille, you've been checking those crates and pots for two years now. Surely you've extracted everything of value by now?»
«Oh, Bubba, I've told you — any piece of junk has a story. Even a garden gnome with a cracked hat,» came a higher voice — Touille's. «Besides, I'm not up here every day. And yet…» There was the sound of wooden crates shifting. «…look! A folding mirror! Cracked, though. Why's it attached to this box? There are compartments in here…»
«Hmm… interesting,» Bubba said. «I believe this was my grandmother's old makeup case. Yes — jewelry went here, and judging by these pigments, face powder was there.»
«Oh, I probably brought it up here by accident,» Bobby said. «It looked like the other boxes, so I just grabbed it.»
«Still an awesome find! Crafty and I'll fix it up — good as new!»
«Yo — not interrupting the symposium, am I?» Kick asked, stepping into the greenhouse. «Bubba, you talked the most about DogDay arriving, but Hopp and I ended up giving the tour.»
«Hm?» The elephant glanced at a clock hanging from one of the beams, then pulled a blue notebook from his pocket — a lightbulb embossed on its cover. «According to the schedule, the meeting was to occur in one hour and thirty-seven minutes. I would have had ample time to finish with the flowers and change into more formal attire.»
«Dude, as long as you're not greeting him in your underwear, you're fine. Go say hi to your tenant.»
«Ooh~ the new resident?» Touille asked.
Kick stepped aside, and out of the greenhouse came a blue elephant in a yellow Hawaiian shirt covered with palm fronds, and shorts. His notebook was clutched in his trunk. Compared to Kick, the Hawaiian shirt on the elephant looked genuinely out of place, DogDay thought. But it was probably practical — warm even with the sea breeze. And he smelled pleasantly of lemon grass.
Behind him emerged a red, plush-looking bear, slightly shorter than the elephant. She wore a skirt and a pink gauze blouse. A heart-shaped locket hung from a black cord around her neck. She smelled of roses — not quite natural; probably perfume.
«Glad to finally meet you in person, DogDay,» the elephant said warmly, shaking his paw. «I see your journey was uneventful.»
«Yeah, left early to beat the traffic.»
«A practical approach,» Bubba noted approvingly.
«Ohh, you look so huggable!» Bobby exclaimed with delight, and immediately wrapped him in a crushing embrace. The scent of roses flooded his senses.
«Oof — you've got… quite the… grip…» DogDay wheezed, the bear's powerful arms accidentally compressing his diaphragm.
«Bobby, you're suffocating him,» the elephant said.
«Oops, pardon!» She released him abruptly, and he gasped.
«Whew… thanks.»
«Don't worry — at least your bones are solid,» Kick clapped him on the shoulder, then whispered, «Imagine how scared I was with my hollow bird bones?»
«Hee-hee, I heard that,» Bobby said, turning back to DogDay. «Bobby BearHug. Nice to meet you.»
«…I noticed. That was quite the bear hug,» DogDay joked, rubbing his back.
Catching his breath, DogDay looked toward the greenhouse. The fierce hug had momentarily scrambled his thoughts — he'd heard three voices. Sniffing, he glanced left and saw a young rat, barely over a meter and a half tall. Big ears — one torn — a twitching pink nose, grey fur, and curious eyes. He wore a scuffed vest and equally worn jeans. Around his neck hung a sky-blue ceramic pendant shaped like a fish skeleton. In his hands was the object they'd been discussing: a makeup case that looked like a dark brown wooden box.
«Hey — you must be Touille?» DogDay asked, tail wagging.
«It's Two-ee, actually. But yeah, that's me.» He set the box down and approached. «Hm. You look pretty much how I imagined. I figured you'd be a retriever or a lab, though. Cocker spaniels are funny too — especially the ears. Oh, and that sun on your collar — is it amber? Looks like it. I've found stones like that, but I think they were just frosted glass…»
The words poured out in a stream. They made sense individually, but the overall thread kept slipping away from DogDay. The flow was abruptly halted when CatNap — who had followed them up — suddenly scooped Touille up and held him close.
«Hey — what's that for?» the rat asked.
«Purrrr. You talk too much,» the cat purred, rubbing his cheek against him before setting him down. «Why don't you… introduce DogDay to the sixth-floor residents?»
«Oh. Uh. Right. Okay.»
Touille blinked, thrown by the sudden shift, and seemed momentarily lost.
«By the way,» the elephant said, checking his notebook. «You two are here — would you mind helping Bobby and me? Nothing difficult. Extra hands would speed things up considerably.»
«No prob,» Kick said quickly, and he and Hoppy disappeared into the greenhouse with Bobby, swallowed by the green leaves.
Bubba turned to DogDay. «We'll discuss the rest of the details this evening. Go with Touille for now. I think you'll like our neighbors downstairs.»
«Alright. See you soon,» the dog confirmed.
He headed toward the roof door. Before stepping back inside, he glanced left — at the houses that, due to the hillside terrain, rose above one another in a cascading stack, none taller than eight or nine stories. The view was layered, almost theatrical. Then he descended back into the front hall, where Touille was waiting.
And new faces.
3
He and Touille descended the sunlit stairwell, passing a tall window that faced the city.
«So, Touille—»
«Yeah?»
«How old are you? Don't take it wrong — you're just, well, small.»
«Happens. You're not the first to ask.» He adjusted the box in his hands. «I just turned eighteen, actually. But does it matter?»
«Just wanted to know.»
They reached the seventh floor. Like the eighth, there was only a single door — this one of pale wood. Touille walked right past it without stopping, but DogDay found it suspiciously empty. He paused in front of it, tilting his head so his ears flopped comically to one side, listening and sniffing. Nothing. No one in the whole building but the wind — and only here in the stairwell.
Touille, already halfway down the next flight, glanced back up.
«No one lives there. That estate's been empty longer than I've been alive — at least, that's what Poe and Bubba told me.»
«Estate?» The dog's ears perked with questions, and he hurried after Touille.
«Yep. Bubba said a bunch of rich families couldn't agree on how to split the land, so his great-grandma proposed building one big building and giving each family a floor to do with as they pleased. Poe's family agreed, and boom» — he gestured with his free hand, ears twitching — «this place was built. Course, who knows where most of the owners are now. Poe only owns the sixth floor. Bubba technically owns the whole building — his family proposed it — but he only has full access to the eighth floor. The rest is his responsibility, though: the building's exterior, the utilities, all that landlord stuff. Anyway, we're here.»
He really is a chatterbox, DogDay thought.
His gaze fell on the sixth-floor door. Massive. Black as a crow's feather. Heavy, like it didn't want to be opened. Touille leaned into it, and the door groaned open reluctantly. The rat slipped through the gap; the dog followed.
The sixth-floor «estate» was, compared to the eighth, far more aristocratic. Neo-Gothic, if he had to guess. Tall boiserie panels with carved pilasters in the color of storm clouds lined the walls. The floor was cold, matte granite under his paws. The furniture was bulky and dark. The ceiling's coffered panels were barely visible in the gloom — only the one window in the living room, its heavy curtains not fully drawn, let in enough light to see them. The layout mirrored the eighth floor, except the kitchen wasn't walled off; only the tile marked the cooking area. It smelled only of tea and coffee, as if no one had used it in months. By the entrance, an armoire with coat hooks held a couple of fishing rods and tackle, and in a stand rested a long black umbrella-cane. Its metal handle was embossed with a storm cloud.
Touille darted into a room near the one with the fireplace.
«Just gonna put this away. Look around!» And he disappeared through the door.
The dog wandered slowly through the cold estate. The air was stale — dust, recently steeped tea, and sandalwood. Only the open window cut through the stagnation with a thread of fresh air. He approached it. A narrow shaft of sunlight spilled across the floor, and the sound of the sea drifted in.
«Mmm… could you move? You're blocking the view.»
The voice behind him was lazy, viscous, rough.
DogDay's ears snapped up and he turned. Sprawled on his stomach along a leather couch was an alligator in a fishing vest and camouflage pants, staring out the window with utter blankness. On the coffee table lay a bucket hat decorated with fishing hooks and a small carved charm of crossed bones.
«Pardon — my bad.» The dog stepped aside, and the alligator grunted. Thanks.
DogDay watched him for a moment, tail wagging, hoping for conversation. But the wagging slowed with each second of silence. The cold-blooded reptile seemed entirely indifferent to his presence.
«I'm… DogDay. What's your name?» he asked, his bright voice cutting through the wind's murmur.
«Mmmmm…» The alligator reluctantly shifted his gaze to the dog, stared for a long moment, then looked back out the window. «Alister.»
«And… that's it?» The dog tilted his head.
«Yes. No tricks.»
DogDay waited for more. Nothing. The gator's eyes returned to the window. Deduction: Alister came back early from fishing, caught nothing, and isn't in a talking mood.
«Heeheehee… well, well, well, well, weeell.» A laugh drifted down from the ceiling. «Look what the tide dragged in.»
DogDay looked up. A white cocoon wrapped in pink wings clung to the ceiling. Sharp ears. Two eyes studying him like a magpie eyeing a gold coin. The bat spread her wings, detached, and glided down to him. She wore a skirt, a blouse, and a corset around her waist — all cut to accommodate her wings. In one hand she held a phone in a pink case with a blood-drop charm.
«I'm Rabie. Rabie Baby. Don't bother introducing yourself — I've already heard all about you.»
«And don't tell her anything else,» Alister grunted. «She'll have everything out of you before you know what happened.»
«Hmph! Ali!» She puffed her cheeks, blew a bubble of bubblegum-scented air, then leaned in to whisper to DogDay. «He does nothing all day but lie around looking gloomy. Sometimes he goes fishing. But I've heard him splashing in the bathtub late at night. Like a little kid.»
«Because I sleep in it. I'm an alligator. Don't take things out of context.»
«Hmph.» She crossed her winged arms.
Despite the invasion of personal space, DogDay chuckled softly at her reactions. Her ears swiveled toward the room Touille had vanished into seven minutes ago.
«Hm. He's really into that makeup case. Sounds like he got the lid off and pried out the mirror… interesting… he's muttering about it being a birthday gift for Bobby next month.»
«Just don't tell her,» Alister muttered.
«No promises.»
Touille emerged from his room carrying a small bag of trash and broken glass.
«Oh — I see you've met Ali and Rabie. Hope she didn't spin you any tales?» He shot her a look as he tossed the bag into a bin.
«Nah. Nothing interesting.» I should think of a gift for Bobby, DogDay thought.
«Hm. Riiight,» Touille said, suspicious. «Come on — let's meet the rest.»
He headed down the hallway. Before following, DogDay winked at Rabie. She grinned.
Touille led him to a room at the far end. The sounds of arguing and button-mashing spilled out.
«Icky, we've been playing this game for three weeks and you still can't learn a basic combo.»
«Shut up, you overgrown lizard!» a high, irritated voice shot back. «You just— uh—»
«Just a professional?» the other voice said, smug.
«No! You just picked that spiky character again and stacked reflect damage!»
«Dude, I'm playing a glass cannon. She's got like two hit points.»
«You two playing Infinity Kombat 11?» Touille interrupted, poking his head through the door.
The dragon and the frog halted their «who's right, who's wrong» debate and turned.
«Yo, little man! What brings you here? Shouldn't you be digging in the dirt with the elephant?» the dragon asked, hitting pause.
«Hey, we weren't done!» Icky protested.
«You can finish later,» Touille said. «We've got a new arrival! DogDay, come in.»
The dog stepped inside and nearly reeled at the whiplash change in decor. On the eighth floor, every room — except the bathroom — shared the same flooring and wall color. Each bedroom had its own furniture and personality, but all harmonized with the apartment's overall design. Here, the Neo-Gothic hallway gave way abruptly to medieval stone wall panels (probably stick-on), tapestries, and a tournament lance stand holding a weapon taller than the dog himself. The air smelled of burnt wood. Only the desk held something incongruous: a modern figurine of a thermal generator labeled Smoke Mk1. The space felt like it had been empty, then seized and reshaped to its occupant's whim, with zero regard for the house or its owner.
In a throne-like chair sat the dragon — clearly the ruler of this domain. White shirt. Crimson scales. One leg crossed over the other in beige slacks. He ran a hand through his burgundy mane, smoothing it back between golden horns that gleamed like sunset. Two small gold rings glinted in his ears. Against his white collarbone hung a gold dollar on a matching chain — like he thought rapper bling was still fashionable, though if you looked close, you could see uneven dents and warping, as if the gold had melted right against his skin. His gaze was appraising, bold. He owned this room — and acted like he owned the whole building.
On the bed nearby sprawled a frog in a black hoodie and athletic shorts, a large red-and-black biohazard symbol on his back. His coloration matched caution tape: black and yellow in irregular patches. DogDay's fur prickled instinctively — whether from the bitter coffee scent or something deeper, he couldn't tell.
The dragon noticed the dog's attention wandering and frowned, reclaiming the conversation.
«A new face in the house?» He stood, spreading the wings behind his back. «Hm. Not from the north. Eastern plains, more likely.»
«Uh, yeah — how did you—»
«Fur's not as thick. Which means you probably don't know who I am.» He extended his hand with the casual arrogance of Adam reaching toward God, and shook. «Simon Smoke. Heir to SmokeCo.» He jerked a thumb toward the frog. «And that little embarrassment who refuses to admit he can't play is Icky. But I'm sure you heard.»
«I can play!» Icky yelped, jumping off the bed. «He just abuses that one reflect-damage setup!»
Touille and Simon rolled their eyes, but DogDay was still a little tense. He knew from zoology class that frogs from the southeastern marshlands weren't truly poisonous — their toxins were dietary, excreted in musk. And Icky probably ate normally. But still. You never know.
«Hm?» Touille noticed the dog's twitching nose. «Relax. He's not toxic.» He rose on his toes and whispered toward DogDay's ear, «…his behavior, on the other hand.»
«I'm not that bad,» Icky shot back. «I just haven't reached my full potential yet.»
«Hah. And you say that in front of me?» Simon laughed. «I've never seen you do a thing to improve. I, unlike you, am like a flag in the wind — constantly growing.»
«Or just blowing whichever way it gusts.» Icky shoved a controller into the dragon's hand. «But the wind's dying down, and I'm about to beat you.»
«Let's go,» Touille said to DogDay. «They won't stop until one of them gets tired of proving himself.» He slipped out.
DogDay followed. The atmosphere — mostly thanks to the frog (and it wasn't just instinct anymore) — was grating.
«Are they always like that?»
«Mostly Icky. Simon's a braggart, sure, but I'll give him this: he doesn't lie about himself. Inflates, yes. Lies, no.» The rat spoke lightly. «He'll study something for hours, and sometimes he gets this look — like it's still not enough. The library's just down the hall. Poe should be there this time of day.»
Touille led DogDay through the dim corridor to a tall, dark oak double door, its carved ornament barely visible. The rat shoved it open with his shoulder and darted inside; the dog slipped after him.
The library seemed to stretch upward endlessly. In the low light, the ceiling was invisible, making the chandelier appear to float. The air smelled of book dust — glue, old paper, leather bindings — and cinnamon, from freshly brewed tea. By a bookshelf near the fireplace, beneath a large portrait of two crows (Poe's parents, DogDay guessed) in a style he found rather gloomy, framed in heavy dark wood, stood a crow. His beak was buried in a book. His dark eyes were unblinking, intently studying the page. He was hard to make out — his feathers blended with the shadows; only the white shirt and gleaming grey waistcoat gave him shape. The scent of cinnamon clung to him even more strongly than to the tea.
«Poe!» Touille called, running up to him. «Are we interrupting? The new resident's here! Do you want to meet him now, or should we come back later for tea?»
Poe seemed not to register Touille's stream of words at first. He simply waited for the rat to finish, then ruffled the top of his head.
«Peace, dear Touille. Of course I shall meet our newcomer. Allow me only…» He lifted his gaze to DogDay.
The dog, out of friendly habit, moved to shake his hand — but stopped short, reading the crow's expression. The corner of Poe's beak curled in unmistakable skepticism and displeasure. His look held a mixture of suspicion and distaste, though it was unclear what exactly irritated him more: the dog himself, or his attire. Poe was clearly a creature of refined taste. Either way, he was not pleased that this would be living under the same roof — even on a different floor. DogDay, out of respect, assumed the crow wasn't in the mood and prepared to excuse himself, when Poe exhaled heavily and spoke.
«Ahem… forgive my unbecoming conduct upon our introduction. It is merely that your appearance… catches my eye.» He said it on a strained breath, extending his hand. There was a pause — a hesitation — but he followed through. The feathers along his fingers were long, making his digits seem unnaturally elongated and sharp. «My name is Poe Edgar Crow. But please, in polite conversation, simply Poe will suffice. No need for superfluous words.» His tone carried a resigned, joyless acceptance of the dog as a fact of life.
DogDay shook his hand quickly, tempering his usual enthusiasm. The feathers were soft, dense, but the flesh beneath felt cold, and there was no grip to speak of.
«Likewise. Pleased to meet you.» The dog let go promptly, sensing the crow was in no mood for a longer exchange, trying to meet him where he was. Poe withdrew his hand and wiped it against his trousers. Touille looked a little crestfallen, glancing between them as if he'd hoped for better.
«We've probably interrupted your reading,» DogDay said quickly. «Maybe we could get acquainted properly another time? Over tea, perhaps. I should really start unloading the boxes from my jeep anyway.» He wasn't actually in a hurry to unload, but he wanted to give Poe an escape route if he desired one.
«Hm… that would be… amenable.» Relief colored Poe's voice. «But in the spirit of hospitality… young Touille, would you be so kind as to offer our new tenant some of those delightful soft Faranese pastries? You must be hungry.»
«I won't deny it.»
«Excellent. I shall remain here and finish this passage.»
«Oh — uh — okay!» the rat said brightly.
Before they left, Poe ruffled his head once more. DogDay and Touille departed, leaving the crow alone in the dark, and headed for the kitchen.
«Don't think badly of him,» Touille said. «He's not always like that. Just not always in the mood. He can be really kind and gentle! And sometimes pretty rude… b-but in an intellectual way! According to him, even making a mess should be done with proper etiquette.»
«Heh. Don't worry. When the time's right, I'll find a way to talk to him.»
They emerged back into the main hall near the entrance — they'd basically looped the entire estate. Alister still lay on the couch, still staring out the window. The slant of sunlight had only grown longer, creeping closer to him. Rabie had apparently flown out to the roof through the window. But the kitchen was noisy with crunching and munching.
A tall blue figure in a beige wraparound dress — tied in a side bow, patterned with waves — and a matching top was devouring the Faranese pastries with obvious relish. Looking closer, DogDay spotted a fin on the back of her head, and a large tail with fins of its own. Southern islands, he thought. A foreigner.
«Maaaggieee, you're gonna eat all of them!» Touille cried, though his tone suggested he already knew it was futile.
Maggie, still chewing, looked their way. Around her neck, on a black cord, hung a shark tooth — larger than her own. When she saw the dog, her eyes lit up with a childlike, adoring glee, as if she'd never seen anything cuter in her life. She swallowed quickly, then rushed over — swift as a shark in water — and scooped them both into a hug. The sharp scent of chocolate filled DogDay's nose as he found himself pressed against unexpectedly smooth scales. She was tall enough to lift him right off the ground.
«Eee! Touille! Who's your adorable friend?» Is she really as young as she acts? the dog wondered, sinking into surprisingly soft arms. «Mmm… he smells like vanilla ice cream!»
«Should I take that as a compliment or an assessment of me as a food product?» DogDay asked Touille, who was also trapped in the shark's grip.
«The first one, probably. She does this all the time. Mags, this is DogDay. He's staying with Bubbaphant.»
«Heehee. Doggy-Doggy-Doggy~ cutie.» She finally released them and immediately pressed a couple of Faranese pastries into their paws. They had the soft, airy texture of ladyfingers. «Eat! Or I really will finish them all. I'm Maggie Mako, pup. If you ever want a snack, just find me.» And without warning, she produced a chocolate bar from thin air — like a magician's flourish. She bit into it and offered him a piece. «Want some?»
«Mm… is it made from cacao beans? I've got a taurine intolerance.»
«Nope. Milk chocolate.»
«Then sure.»
She handed him a piece and happily continued devouring the rest.
Despite the warm welcome from the shark, DogDay felt a prickling sensation — the distinct feeling of being watched. Not surprising, really. This floor operated under some special dimmer switch; shadowy corners were everywhere. But now, from one of them, a pair of eyes was fixed on him. Where?
Scanning the room, he caught her presence in the shadow of the nearest interior corner. Two tired eyes, underlined by dark circles on pale skin, yet piercing. Black wool blended into the darkness, deepening her concealment; her black skirt and corset-vest acted as further camouflage. Only the white shirt and a faint glint from the skull clip in her wool gave her away. DogDay opened his mouth to speak, but she moved — silent as a chess queen — gliding into the main hallway and vanishing through a door, leaving behind a ghostly trail of anise.
«Who was that?»
«Oh. You caught Baba's attention,» the shark said through another mouthful of chocolate. «She's a shut-in, like Poe. Rare to see her outside her room.»
«It's full of dolls in there. They look just like us,» Touille added. «Pretty cute, actually. She probably heard you were here and wanted to get a look at you. To make another one.»
DogDay stared after her, head tilted with curiosity. She was fast. Nearly invisible. Easy to lose sight of, but impossible to forget. This one's going to be a tough puzzle to solve.
4
And just like that, the day slipped away. But it had been productive. He'd made it to his new home. Exchanged pleasantries with everyone. And now, as promised, Kicken and Hoppy were hauling boxes and bags into his new room — situated between CatNap's and CraftyCorn's, facing east toward the city. The walls and floor matched the rest of the apartment, but the room was bare. Temporary. Tomorrow or the day after, a truck would arrive with the furniture that hadn't fit in the jeep.
While the rooster and rabbit wrestled the last of the boxes, Bubba — now dressed in a knitted checkered vest, button-up shirt, and slacks — discussed the move with DogDay.
«So. First impressions?» the elephant asked. His voice reverberated slightly off the empty walls, making them both flatten their ears. «I hope you don't mind sharing an apartment with the others?»
«Nah, it's cool!» The dog's tail wagged. «It's like a dorm, but premium. And for a steal, too.» His tail paused, and he looked down. «Just gotta find a job so I can actually pay rent…»
«You needn't worry about that. Rent isn't a priority for me — there's no pressing need. But establishing your own financial footing is a sacred and primary task.» The elephant flipped through his notebook. «If you need help with a résumé or finding a suitable position, let me know. I can devise a clear and realistic plan of action. Besides, it wouldn't hurt for me to acquaint myself with the city's job market as well.»
«Huh? Don't you work to maintain the whole building? It must cost a fortune.»
«Oh, that's unnecessary,» the elephant said, folding his hands behind his back and moving to the window. His reflection gazed back at DogDay, but his eyes were fixed on the upper cascades of the city. «Young Touille has already informed you that I own the building. But I also manage my grandmother's foundation. She taught me how to invest properly in the city — how to cultivate funds into profit. It seems like simple mathematics, a game of numbers, yet it's remarkable how easily it resolves so many concerns.» He turned to face the dog. «Of course, there are downturns. Uncollected revenues. Embezzlement. Initial shortfalls. Life is simple, but it hides behind a multitude of small details. Yet if you envision it as a thousand-piece puzzle concealing an answer, you begin to see how the pieces connect into one breathtaking truth.»
«Whoa.» DogDay blinked. «That's… inspiring.»
«I merely expressed my perspective. Hm… judging by your expression and the rhythm of your tail, you're pondering something. A dilemma?»
«Huh?» His tail stilled. «Nah. Just… making plans. The next year or so.»
«Understood.» The elephant's ears perked toward the hallway. «Piggy has brewed tea, and those two are about to annoy her again. Care to join us?»
«In a bit.»
The elephant departed. DogDay glanced at the pile of boxes. For now, he had a puzzle to solve: where to put everything before he could unpack it all.
The boxes.
And the Creatures.