[h2][color=#FF6600]Percival[/color]/[color=#9999FF]Indigo[/color] [color=#FF6600]Pela[/color][color=#9999FF]cour[/color][/h2]

They called it the “Whimsy Moth Eatery”. 

It was hard to say [i]what[/i], exactly, a “whimsy moth” was. The twins swore up and down that it was an incredibly beautiful creature when anyone bothered to ask. That it only appears somewhere deep within the heart of the forest, under a blood moon, and if you feed it one of your sweetest dreams then you would be blessed with good luck and merry days for years to come. Regardless of whether whimsy moths existed or not, however, the bistro was anything [i]but[/i] “incredibly beautiful” in its appearance. They had recently covered the walls of the place with an array of [b]HELP WANTED[/b] posters, and, rather than dampen down the garishness of the decor some, it only made it worse.

It likely didn’t help that every flyer had its own unique coloration. Or that they were placed in such a way that it appeared like a storm had pinned them all against the wall, leaving them in bizarre and downright incomprehensible positions (one in particular was dangling feebly from the roof’s shingles, and turned completely upside-down, making it near impossible to tell what it was trying to convey). 

Inside the chaotic mess of the building’s walls was a surprisingly well-decorated bistro, and inside the well-decorated bistro was the chaotic mess that made up the Tweedle twins. Percival sat at one of the tables, feet kicked up onto the chair beside his and hands filled with fourteen ounces of rich ebony violin. He was deftly rosining up the strings, occasionally taking a break to slip the bow over them before wincing and continuing his work. Indigo was just as preoccupied, bustling about with a thin layer of flour coating the front of her shirt. The scent of dough and soup was heavy in the air.

[color=#FF6600]“Y’know,”[/color] Percival began, plucking out a few choice notes, [color=#FF6600]“I think we should get a harp one of these days. Got enough cash for it.”[/color] His sister came out of the kitchen after a few moments, absently patting off the worst of the mess from herself as she joined him at the table. 

[color=#9999FF]“Didn’t know you were into classical all the sudden,”[/color] she said. Indigo paused, sweeping a patch of flour from her knee. [color=#9999FF]“And where would we even [i]keep[/i] the thing, anyway? Not really the smallest bit of work out there.”[/color]

Percival shrugged. [color=#FF6600]“Just thought it might class up my act some. Add some flair and whatnot. ‘Sides, we could just keep it where we keep the piano.”[/color]

[color=#9999FF]“Sure, sure, ‘cept that the spot we’re keeping the piano is being used [i]by[/i] the piano.”[/color]


[color=#FF6600]“Could just scootch it over a little.”[/color]

[color=#9999FF]“How about you try scootching the piano over a little, then tell me how that works out for you, yeah?”[/color]

While the sign on the door read “closed” in large, bold font, warm light trickled from the windows and onto the streets beneath.