Nyrun woke just after sunrise, startled to find the square of window light on the wrong side of the room and lower than it ought to be, and her room transformed into ultraviolet outlines and shapes, barely familiar. She was wedged up in the corner by the ceiling again, facing the door, which opened to Kika blinking up at her with cyan fluorescing eyes until she snapped back into common sight. The broken glass clinking sound of her laugh filling her head before the moth composed herself to address her, “Just like old times, eh?” And when she didn’t reply, “What? Are you stuck?”

“It’s not like I can fly. I just woke up and this is not where I recall tucking myself in.” 

“Scitter on down and meet me in the kitchen or I won’t help you with a trade for the Western Pack,” her words clattered inside Nyrun’s head, like a dried thistle in a shaken tin. She was glad to see her in a good mood and that she’d left a laundry basket of freshly washed black t-shirts and cutoffs behind. Kika would argue they were more rag than apparel, but her wardrobe choices meant minimal effort. 

She dropped down onto the floor and pulled on the first pair of shorts and shirt from the basket. See–if you stick to one color each item you have works with every other. Colors require planning and the portion of her brain allotted for strategizing was full of keeping up the appearance of normalcy: Tuor was coming back, nothing was amiss, soldier on handling odd jobs for the various Obscure communities until the boss returns with better guidance. 

Looking at herself in the dresser mirror she leaned in for a closer look at her teeth. A normal amount of them, she supposed. Only a bit pointier than usual, but not as prominent as the powerful jaws of a laelaps like Hilde from the dairy farm or that nice gorgon that has an art studio near the good coffee place. There is only so much the protective veil covering the Obscure can do with those less humanoid than others, and she was certainly not complaining about any help it would give her. She clasped her hands together and raised them to her forehead in gratitude for the good fortune to not have to worry about accidentally whacking an unsuspecting member of the Obvious with a tail like Hilde’s nonstop wagging plume of fur. 

Satisfied with her current connection to Obscurity and its protections, she headed down to the kitchen thankful that she had the hospitality expertise of a kikamora to consult on best practices for visiting the Western Pack. Every region has some form of house spirit, but Kika was a rarity in this part of the world. She is a creature of sanctuary; the physical sanctum of a home and the internal refuge of the mind. If you catch the attention of one, they will take up residence in yours, becoming the embodiment of your hearth and bringing you luck. The type of luck depends on your continuing efforts not to anger them. A well-cared-for home requires less and less work to upkeep, never falls into disrepair, and is safeguarded from true danger the longer you remain in their good graces. Provoke them to your own detriment; no peace or comfort in your shelter, nor sleep. She was also ace at etiquette for visitors, and a whiz at all things domestic–home repair, cleaning, and even budgeting as she is not one to allow her efforts bestowing good fortune to be wasted by poor math skills and decisions. (And conjuring fire which has historically been an excellent method of cleaning up mistakes.)

“How much do you suppose a job posting costs these days?” she asked the empty kitchen, as she fiddled about making her morning tea in a pale green cup circled with tiny handpainted locusts in grasses growing from its base. (It had been given to Tuor as a thank you from a follower of Despoina, an ancient mystery cult that, true to the label, remained hidden, and whose members occasionally stopped by to see if Tuor had any new information on the others.) The room filled with Kika’s smokey haze before she solidified next to her, eyes closed, one pinkish finger’s claw tapping her lip in thought before giving it a quick point skyward. “There’s a tin of peanut butter cookies in the pantry unless you found them already and didn’t write it on the list,” her words scratching across her brain like it was made of slate. 

“I would never. When have I ever?” she protested. “Have I ever?”

Two compound eyes squinted at this odd confusion—a movement that would be surprising if she wasn’t accustomed to her more human-like adaptations. Kika added this to her internal list of Nyrun’s latest strangeness, before confirming the tin was indeed full, and set it on the counter.