they move on tracks of never ending light

The hems of his jeans dragged with every step he took, accumulating muck and dirty water and god knew what else; his sneakers, once a clean, pristine white, were a blurry mess of brown and gray from all the puddles he'd accidentally stepped in, and the laces flopped like dying fish. With his hands tucked into the kangaroo pouch of his equally dirty hoodie, and his oversized knock-off brand name headphones wrapped over messy dark blond hair and clamped securely over once-pierced ears, Boston blended in so well it was almost frightening, considering his roots. Bass thudded from the circular pads of plastic and foamy cushion set on either side of his head, loud enough one could hear it from even a few steps away. Around his feet flocked three different cats, one of which was in the process of fluffing up as though to scare the others off.

"Knock it off, Pudding," the kid said through a yawn, and kicked a scummy sneaker halfheartedly the bigger cat's way. This action was dodged easily enough; normally, Boston might be a bit faster, but after a full eight-hour shift at work, he was pretty beat. A plastic bag dangled from one arm, containing his dinner (leftovers from work, per usual) as well as a few treats for the kitties that constantly dogged his every step. One of the strays, a wiry gray thing with half its tail missing, leaned against his leg with a purr, inciting another growl from Pudding. "So possessive," Boston commented, upping his pace to a trot. All three cats followed immediately, ears perked and tails high as though to convey their excitement. They liked being out and about, after all, and with a human protector it meant they didn't have to worry about having things thrown at them or stray dogs attacking.

Though he'd lived in Midtown for quite a while, it was easy to get lost in the madness of Times Square. Feeling overwhelmed, Boston made his way over to a spot where the traffic wasn't quite so high. Some girl lounged there, smiling at nothing. As he watched, she blew a bubble. The urge to dash over and pop it was almost overwhelming, but he contained himself (barely). As it was, he contended himself with sliding closer and giving her a wide, look-I'm-friendly-and-not-a-rapist smile. "Do you have the time?" Not his best opening, not by far, but whatever. The cats bustled around his feet, Pudding stepping purposefully on his boy's sneakers to look more important. The Maine Coon stared up at the girl with an air of confidence as though to mimic his master; maybe another cat might have been like omgvampire, but Pudding never really was the sharpest crayon in the box.

He was still smiling that big, stupid grin when she turned to him -- and pointed to a nearby sign. The boy's amber eyes slid sideways, tracking where her finger pointed, and then narrowed, squinting to read what the digital numbers said. "Oh," he said after a moment, the smile fading into something that was more of a frown. "Uh. Thanks."

Wow. Cockblocked by technology -- or, well, something. Lifting a hand, he resettled his headphones around his neck, where they continued to blare awful music. The puddle of cats around his feet tangled and then emitted brief sounds of violence as the two strays momentarily fought over the right to sit it one certain spot. They were quieted by quick blows from Pudding, who growled at them and then turned his attention to the girl. His lynx-like ears perked forward, and his thick brush of a tail whisked behind him, striking the gray tabby directly in the face. Intelligently, he said, "meow."

Boston glanced down, then back up. The rueful expression he'd worn for a second there slid away and the grin came back up, ready for round two. "Ain't you kind of young to be out here by yourself so late?" He glanced around as if searching for her guardian, but saw no one. No one except... yet another cat, who eyed him from around the corner of the building with a triumphant expression. Jesus Christ. Hurriedly, he said, "Do you want me to call your dad, or something?" The prepaid phone in his pocket was a malfunctioning piece of shit, but he could occasionally manage an outbound call on it.

Wait, shit. What if this chick was one of them underage hookers? Boston eyed her intently, curiosity keeping him in place. Oh, man. He'd never met one of those before.

Boston's hand twitched, eyes narrowing as he zeroed in on the next bubble she blew. The cats on his feet did the same. The resulting pop made one of them meow in astonishment. He could see himself reflected in her big-ass sunglasses, yet another skinny teenage vagabond of the NYC streets. Oh man, was his hair really that messy? Playing it smooth, he quickly pulled a hand over his shaggy mop in an attempt to calm it down some.

His question was turned back on him at lightning speed, and the werecat blinked, taken aback. "Er, me?" He pointed at himself, as though that wasn't obviously what she was asking. "I'm independent," he told her, not quite bragging but tone still laced with pride. "I live on my own an' stuff." He thought quickly, and added, "I'm just older than I look."

Good one, Boston. The newcomer cat came trotting up at that point, some mangy pure black thing with half an ear missing. Affectionately, it rubbed against the girl's legs, probably figuring they were friends. Boston made a face. "Sorry," he muttered. "They're kind of annoying, huh?" Argh, but also soooo cute. It wasn't like he could just send them away, or anything. To the girl, he said, in a bright, optimistic tone, "I'm Boston!" Looking pleased with himself for getting the introduction out of the way, he stuck his hand out for her to shake. Or... or not shake, depending on how she did things.

She accepted his handshake, and then turned it around yet again in her favor. What... did she want him to kiss it?? Well, shit, he wasn't no prince charming. Mouth quirked, his expression solemn, he instead placed his other hand on top of hers, like that game little kids used to play. What was that, again? Not patty-cake, but that one where you made a hand pile, and constantly tried to top the other. What a great lesson for later in life, right?

"Nice to meetcha, Mildred," he said, since she oh-so-pointedly hadn't. Neatly, he withdrew both of his hands from hers; one dived into his kangaroo pouch to remove his mp3 player, which he briefly held in front of him so he could turn down his volume. The little device was plastered in cat stickers.

"You're new around here, huh?" Ugh, damn him and his curiosity. Still, he couldn't help himself, and really, did a little conversation ever hurt anybody? "At the very least, I haven't seen you around ever before." The pile of fur at his feet chimed in saying they (as in, the cats, he assumed) hadn't seen her either, but they had seen her kind. Unsure as to what, exactly, that meant -- her kind? as in, jailbait prostitutes? oh no -- Boston tried to push those thoughts away, at least for the time being.

Gosh, this Mildred was a difficult one, wasn't she?

She brought up a very good point, and Boston balked, shifting from foot to foot as he thought up an answer. "Well - " he finally said, obviously caught off guard. One of the cats put a paw on his leg as though to steady him. "What I mean, is..." He paused for a moment, squinting at her, wheels in his head turning.

"Are you a mind-reader?" His tone held some awe in it, but also some skepticism. No way she'd come up with a little jibe like that right after he'd been thinking much the same. He'd only been asking because he usually came by this way after work around the same time every night, and he'd never seen her before. He'd assume he would remember those sunglasses anyway, because there was only one reason someone would wear their stunner glasses at night, and she didn't seem like she fit that sort of profile.

Never knew, though. Not in New York City. He stared at her with almost too-yellow amber eyes, thinking. Abruptly, he seemed to remember the bag on his arm, and he sort of held it out to her with a smile. "Want some sushi? Ah, it's just leftover stuff, but I got plenty."

His feline entourage immediately perked up, all of them clamoring that they wanted some, too. At least, he assumed that's what all their meowing was about. Anyway, he was sure he had this Mildred now. Who turned down free sushi? No one, that's who.

He perked one eyebrow, watching her face. "Sushi," he confirmed. "No catch. I work at Kirino's, so sometimes I get the, y'know, mess-ups or whatever, after they close." Shaking the bag lightly, he said, "Today, there were a lot of mess ups." And oh, man, a shitton of dirty dishes. Ah, well. Job's a job, as his father used to say.

"Only real catch is you have to sit and eat it with me." He gave her a challenging grin, like, what now? One of the cats cried their disbelief. They probably didn't want to share, but oh well. Too bad, so sad. This chick was cute. Also, he was probably saving her from the ill-intentions of, like, a thousand older men, or something. Even if she wasn't some underage sex worker, there was no way she'd just be left alone, not this time of night. At the very least, he could fight off any intruders -- sure, he wasn't no weretiger, but he had his abilities, even if they were mostly the type one used to get away safely rather than anything actually useful when it came to defending oneself. And maybe by mostly, he actually meant completely, because in reality Boston couldn't do shit. Perhaps he could summon forth some sort of cat army? Hmm.

The teenager slid down against the wall and sat, cross-legged on the ground. His pants were already dirty as anything, so what the hell, right? It didn't occur to him that the girl might not want to get her own much cleaner clothes messy. Busily, he got into the plastic bag and made a show of opening the styrofoam container within in the most dramatic way possible. "Mmmm, sushi," he said, and brushed a cat off his knee. "Pudding, keep your friends back, 'kay?" The fat orange cat gave him a glare as though to say, friends? Really? Even a blind man could see Pudding didn't like those other posers hanging all over his boy, like groupies with some recently-famous rock band. Yuck. If he had his way, they would be home by then and sharing the sushi alone, sans strays and undead things.

It took her like ten hours, but finally she settled down beside him, albeit in a more lady-like fashion. With that same amount of pickiness, she chose a piece and ate it. Boston watched her for a moment to make sure she didn't have any plans of, say, taking the whole box and running off with it, then took a piece for himself. Ahh, salmon. He sighed happily over the taste, the soft, fatty texture practically melting over his tongue. At some whining from the cat's, he shared a few pieces with them, as well, then grimly eyed the scant remains of what was going to be his dinner. Ah, well. That's what he got for sharing. Maybe he had some tuna at home, or something.

"Our cooks don't mess up," he told her, still on a raw-salmon-high. "It's more like the customers don't understand what they're ordering and sometimes send food back because they thought they were getting something else. Cooks reuse what they can but sometimes all we can do is throw it away." He plucked up another piece and chomped it slowly, expression blithe. "Or... you know, sneak it home in a doggy bag."

Pudding helped himself to a mouthful of fish eggs, ignoring the rice underneath them. Boston scowled at him. The cat had no manners whatsoever. "Yeah, Pudding, 'cause he's so fat." Pudding eyed him like he had murder on the mind, and Boston glared back. "He'll eat anything, I swear."

The boy's slightly-too-yellow eyes drifted back to Mildred, and his expression cleared. "So," he chirped, "Mildred. Do you go to school around here?"