Luca & Yawa

(Some coversation has happened between him entering and the next scene but don't have permission to use them, I have permission from Yawa's writer to use those scenes)

The Ritz was nothing like the gritty back alleys and looming shadows of the Silent District. It was alive, buzzing with energy. A sanctuary—or so they said. But to Luca, every new space felt like a trap waiting to spring.

Standing just outside the heavy, doors, Luca hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides, the worn denim of his jacket creaking softly as he shifted his weight. He tilted his head, listening. The sounds from within were muffled but clear enough: laughter, the low hum of conversation, the occasional clink of glassware. Nothing alarming.

And yet, the wolf inside him growled softly, urging caution.

The warmth of the building radiated outward, a stark contrast to the cool, damp air outside. Luca adjusted the collar of his jacket, his amber eyes scanning the street behind him. The torches lining the cobbled roads flickered weakly, their light barely cutting through the misty RavenBlack night.

No one was following him. Not yet.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open one of the doors and stepped inside.

Luca:

The corner of The Ritz was perfect for watching but not being seen. It was shadowed, away from the warm golden glow of the chandeliers and flickering wall sconces. Tucked between two tall shelves of mismatched books and the edge of a crimson velvet booth, Luca sat with his back to the wall, his figure barely more than a silhouette. Only his eyes betrayed him. Golden-amber and faintly glowing, they reflected the light like a predator's in the dark. Every now and then, when the torchlight caught them just right, they seemed to flare—brief glimmers that vanished just as quickly, like a trick of the mind. It was enough to make a few heads turn uneasily, only to find nothing but shadows. He heard the words Christmas Market and his eyes, even without the light showed as he listened to what was to come. But it seemed a different kind of Market, they were talking about. Or at least he hoped so.

YAWA:

Sometimes they like to go out and wander. They like to walk. Like to skirt along the city, hugging along the lines that criss-cross from block to block, street to street, just to smell the air. Things pop up all over the place—funny things—strange things—things crawling out of the necropolis, resurrecting. Coming back from the dead. Or at least something like it. They're never sure. The shape of the city changes day by day and yet still stays exactly the same. Coming from such a walk, Yawa enters the scene. They drop into a chair beside Luca Feris Night. They look at him with eyes the colour of a scalpel half-hidden by lunette sunglasses, and they tell him, "It's rude to eavesdrop."

Not that Yawa cares, dear Reader, what's rude and what isn't. But sometimes you've got to say shit just to say shit. What can we say? Raison d'etre

Luca:

Luca tensed, his golden-amber eyes flicking up from the shadowy corner of The Ritz. Someone had slid into the seat beside him, silent as a ghost. "Eavesdropping is rude, you know," the stranger said, their voice smooth and amused. Luca froze, his jaw tightening. "I wasn't—"

Yawa

"At least be a little subtler about it," Yawa croaks across the smoky space, leaning in just a touch. "Sharks all around. You never know who might take offense to you listening in on a private conversation."

Luca:

He shifted slightly, tension still coiled in his shoulders as he looked at the woman. Luca's golden eyes narrowed. "Didn't realize quiet corners came with rules," he said evenly, his voice low and guarded.

YAWA:

"You're clearly not from around here." They light a cigarette. Scan him, foot-to-head, a quick sweep. Barely has any hair on his chin, the poor thing. "Welcome to RavenBlack City. Well." They make a wide arc at the dance floor. "The Ritz."

Luca:

"I..."Luca looks at the woman, his eyes scanning, now and again the room to see if others are watching. "Thank you" he says his voice unsure and guarded, just like his body, his voice holds confusion but also suspicion . Why was she talking to him? Was this a set up?

YAWA:

Yawa isn't a woman. Well—they are, when it pleases them. And they're a man when it suits them. But most of the time, they are neither or both. But of course Luca doesn't know that. Luca only sees Yawa, six feet tall and wiry—flat-chested, the way women who look like this usually are. Maybe Luca only sees the feline features, the avian slope of their cheekbones—their brow. It's fine. Above all things, Yawa is most comfortable being a projection. Smoke and mirrors. Shadow puppet theatre. "Careful out there, Wolfblood," they tell him, pushing off the chair like a raven taking flight. "The city's got teeth. Keep your nerve."

Exit, Yawa. Stage left.

Luca:

He wanted to say he had teeth as well,dangerous one, sharp ones, but the words never did come out as the woman left. He watched where she had left to for a while, his eyes still now and again, as the light caught them flared golden-amber. This had been new, was this how this city was?