Fiona spent her initial stay protected, Jerome erected a wood divider, holes big enough for a nose to sniff at the curious cat. Toilet training could be problematic, Ziva had to wait, the cats occupied with food, hunting, or sleeping upstairs. The regular swapping of bedding stimulated strong opinions, Asher growled at the new scent, Patches scrambled at the wood separating her from the potential playmate. Scratches grew insistent, both puppy and cat eager to rush through the introduction process and meet on the other side. Ziva took her time, seeing Asher tolerated by Patches, this new member needed to feel welcome. Neither cat seemed bothered when the boards came down, Fiona took a few tentative steps into the cat’s territory, she had enjoyed this freedom by herself but stared at by two fluffy creatures twice her size unnerved her.
Puppy paws were clumsy, staking a claimed on a bed or food bowl came with a territorial Asher, Fiona bounced, her playful nature met by a swiping paw. They had some common interests, basking in the sun, the cat’s favourite pastime, Fiona copied them, rolling on her back, stomach to the sky, paws padding the air or curled tight, her nose to tail, Ziva knew when she was pretending, the tail had a mind of its own, wagging when Ziva moved nearby.
Ziva wanted to get back to another love, checking the DJs at the Von Haunts Estate, she laughed when she saw the headline act, DJ Squid Fishlips, the mind boggled at how they created these names if nothing else it was memorable. The problem, age, Ziva found she tired more easily, her feet swelled in heels and calves ached, dancing called to her as she reconciled the name with the pounding heavy beats and sweet hypnotic melody. Mornings used to beckon, the rising sun had been a sight to behold, walking through the maze with her friends, alcohol buzzing in their system. She crumpled, sinking into satin sheets, firm mattress and quilt hugging her, relieved they had a room available, the honeymoon suite, irony lost in her sleepy state.
Singles nights were a thing, Ziva found the attendees were desperate, chatting, flirting, failing to connect, but trying anyway. Happy in life and work, Ziva wanted to put herself on the market, however, finding that special someone never a priority. The Bowling Alley in Newcrest, Rylan suggested she attended the Alien night, he believed it would be a collection of sci-fi geeks in costumes. Instead, Ziva had her mind opened, pale green skin, bald head, carbon fibre outfits, with what looked like LED lights or luminescent fluid curving the suits grey panels. Her ears struggled to adjust, their voices resonated, a metallic edge, and she realised, gawping at them, they were real, aliens inhabited their planet.
Curiosity took over, Ziva approached, eager to communicate with these humanoid beings, hypnotised by their eyes. At a distance they were black, looking closer, stars swirled, green, purple, or white galaxies. She learned Sixam their home, was dark, their eyes evolved to cope, the variants allowed for light emitted by luminescent plants and the stars above. Their suits designed to help purebred aliens maintain their biological systems when visiting a foreign planet. Enjoying the bowling came with rumours circulating, these alien nights were them scouting for hosts, a human who can carry an offspring. Men were the main targets of these abductions, easier to hide the pregnancy, belief that it was extra weight gain. Ziva shrugged at the notion, when combined with the other rumours, mind-melding, memory-erasing, and transmutation, it all seemed extreme. On the other hand, these concepts might be worth noting, Rylan was looking for material, maybe she might get credit for being a muse.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 