Cats have Claws in Mirros City

"Hey Parks, I got a weird crank letter about that school you went to." Lizel says absently, pushing back her pale red hair and staring earnestly at her friend. 

The 205 building dining room was shared between Tattler, Gazette and smaller publishing offices. Barine Parkson wrinkles her nose at Lizel Gideon and takes a sip of tea before giving a dignified answer. The two slender girls huddled at a small round corner table, giving the eye to anyone who dared come close to their spot. The room ebbing and flowing with the staggered lunch breaks and drink breaks for other shifts. Serviceable scrubbed tables, slowly untufting chairs and vaguely recognisable food. 

"What's a crank letter? Why is it crank? Is it angry?" a soft and practiced speech, only a trace of her original stutter. 

"Crank as in, winding up the crank on something so it does what you want. Like a gnomish machine?" Lizel replies, incredulously. 

"Oh, that actually makes sense. I don't know why anyone would wind about Kittens - it's wonderful." And flicks her long sunny yellow hair back in response to the incredulity, giving a pretty stern look. "We've talked about it before, I'd still be living out of bins without it." 

"Yeah, I know - that's why I'm marking it as a wind up. It's pretty crazy stuff, did you want to tell Valerian?" and produces a copy of the strange letter. 

"Mmm, I'll drop it off. You know what it's like there, time for all but not worry." Parks says, avoiding lingering on the plurals and folds the copy into her pocket. "I've got to work late in typeset though, Jims put the headline in upside down on the first batch and boss'ss'.." 

A strong flush at her slip into stuttering and a clench of her jaw. 

"Boss is mad, huh?" Lizel saves her and smiles, squeezing her hand. Their pale skin almost identical from the days and nights inside pushing papers. It made Parks happy, to be similar - as they both ate their lunch hurriedly and returned the plates and cutlery and took their separate ways. It was nice to belong. Patting the letter in her twill coat pocket, she promised herself that she'd drop by and have a chat about it. 

Parks grits her teeth and explains for the unknowingly, last time. "So what you want to do is remember that this is being printed down so you have to place everything in reverse, not how you read it." and flips a few misplaced letters patiently, her nimble fingers stained with dark ink from tip to almost knuckle area. Still wearing her sedate uniform of a plain brown suit and nobbly tweed longcoat, honey blonde hair knotted up with some newspaper twine. 

Jims grins at her and then catches her wrist, holding onto it and giving her an expectant look. They stare at one another for two beats, entirely different expressions - before she yanks her arm away angrily. Clattering a stack of blocks to the floor. 

"What's your issue? I checked around, you aint seein' anyone." Jims says angrily, his pale brown hair tipped with ink - youthful face of freckles and an often smug grin. The relentless arrogance of youth. "Y'don't go anywhere but that bleedin' stupid Aca-dum-ey and your apartment." 

"YOU'VE BEEN FOLLOWING ME?" she shrieks, raising her hand at the much taller boy. Her slap is caught, she tries with the other hand and ends up grappled entirely. She considers her options and raises her knee to attack him right in the pride and joy. 

"What's going on here?" comes the deadly calm, low and cultured voice of their boss. Lord Shawville, slender and slight elven aristocrat - the brains and society mingler behind "The Upper Crust - Mirros' Most Delicious Details" a paper only for those with houses worth more than small towns. His deep auburn hair in a sleek low tail, faintly blue green eyes are icy. 

"Noffin' just Parks gettin angry like she gets. Women stuff." Jims says pushing her back by the arms and letting go at the last minute so she stumbles towards her boss. Feeling a steadying hand at her lower back, she calms immediately. 

"And if I were to say I have exceptional hearing and I know exactly what was said?" Shawville asks in the most dangerous of tones, ensuring his other hand is visible on her shoulder. The young man flushes, but doubles down on his angry expression. "You're fired. Your next pay will be delivered tomorrow with an extra hundred to stay away from Barine Parks and The Upper Crust for the remainder of your life." 

As Jims slams out of the building, ranting all the while about the wiles of women. Shawville cups Parks' cheek and gazes nose to nose with her after turning her around.
"We'll need another setter, maybe someone from that little school you went to. Someone like you." 

"Like me, sir?" she asks, confused and a little shaky still. 

"A 'lass', my talented little tulip. Not like you, like you. There's only one Barine Parks and that is the truth."