"Do you think," He paused, treading on thin ice seemed to be a hobby of his now, "we should tell Lostkit about it?"

Mumblestar flinched lightly at that idea. She didn't speak, no, but her eyes told the tale for Bluespots. Shock, horror, fear, but melted into concern. When she gets the words to speak the other is already completely ready to be shut down. "Why are we the ones talking about this?"

The two, fresh scars she had, only slightly covered by her long fur, was displayed fully for him to see. Patrols didn't seem to be so kind towards her. Their condition was less than ideal, she had received both only after their only apothecary's passing and all she had was the very basic knowledge of what were and weren't deadly and the scraps of Honeyrose's belongings which still remained.

It kind of hurts to say his name.

"He was a higher rank, and... they didn't have anyone else besides their son--- We're the only people left to have this discussion."

Mumblestar peered outside of camp and then back to him, "Oh," she said softly. "That's saying no one else has spilled it to him yet."

Bluespots wanted to say something about that, he wanted to reject that possibility as quick as it left her mouth, but he couldn't, sucks for him. the two-colored cat sighed, maybe as loud as an elderly cat could snore. "We'll tell him later."

She nodded, and that was that. Later. Who knew how much later they could go until he found out himself, but not now. That was their only hope for keeping his kithood happy.

There’s a small machine which shared classical and elegant music all across the room perched on the center of a tea table, a table cloth weaved with matching patterns of the seat cushions. A book rests underneath the machine as if it needed to be hidden in plain sight, the pages crinkle when Deimos picks it up, delicate with the book as if any movement his fingers make to the weathered cardboard cover could snap it in half. There’s letters imprinted with gold ink onto the front, he reads it out in his head but the words don’t make sense until he realizes what was now a ‘c’ is supposed to be an ‘e.’ A children’s book of 100 bedtime stories.

He reads over the title again and then once more for good measure, almost if he forgot he could read the contents inside. His left thumb trails over the embedded gold foil of it as ey felt the indented text, this was only supposed to be an activity for kids before bed but it has him captivated too. Maybe for all of the wrong reasons, the auburnet thought just for a second, but he continued and found himself sitting in the corner of a small tea and books shop reading stories about twins named names that were the gender-reverse of the other’s.

For every few stories he gets through he looks to the surroundings around him. The recently repairs in contrast to the maybe-century-old roads on the main capital, buildings made of bricks and woods he would never see at home, covered in moss and vines which clinged to every wall like… well, he doesn’t know much like it, the webs from spiders to iron fences of houses abandoned for years? Amber-tinted class to the windows of every house down the main city? Nothing really clung on to each other in Mars, people too, they all worked on their own and the only reason to be stuck besides another was that they had properties that you needed, or vice versa. Besides the usual relationships and relatives, alliances are only made if you can’t do something yourself.

Deimos would have read that book in one sitting or had been lost in his thoughts forever if it weren’t for the sudden noise of clacking dress shoes and the smoothening of wrinkled coats.