Quinn stared at the digitally-rendered image of the painting, almost entranced by the glossy iridescence of the cat's raven fur. 

She hadn't seen much art in her life. She hadn't seen many cats in her life. Scratch that, she'd [i]never[/i] seen a cat in her life outside of the censored internet that she'd been locked to for sixteen years. And she CERTAINLY hadn't seen much art of a cat, and nothing that looked like...like [i]this.[/i] She only half-listened to the words passing between the Derisas, enough to hear it but not enough to really understand any of it. She started to lift her hand as though to reach out into the screen and scratch her fingers along Truckstop's ears, or run them through his soft-looking fur.

Then the window into the sunset vanished as Sybil clicked her phone shut, and Quinn jolted slightly as she was torn from her momentary reverie into another world. She blinked dazedly a few times as though she'd been under some kind of spell that she'd just broken free of.

“[color=caffbf]Back me up, Quinn. Right? Didn’t you just want to reach out and squish Truckstop’s cheeks?[/color]”

Another few blinks and she turned to Cyril, meeting his eyes with her own; and then to Sybil, staring at her with an expression almost approaching something like reverence.

Her lips parted for a moment as though to agree with Cyril, or to call the painting beautiful, or...to do something relevant, really. Something that would make sense within and possibly further her relationship with the Derisas, her new colleagues (and friends, hopefully). But none of those would pass her lips, and what burst from her instead, filled with utmost conviction as she looked Sybil dead in the eyes:

"[color=ffe63d]I want a cat now.[/color]"

And then, with more vehemence: "[color=ffe63d]I want a cat [i]so bad[/i].[/color]"