[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

Paola hasn't settled. Since her arrival at the Typhoon, she'd spent a large majority of her time exploring the island's many nooks and crannies, bickering with its sole semi-sentient raccoon, and trying to tail Devland for something fun to do. She hasn't exactly found the time to find a place to sleep; instead, she often conked out on the beach, or on a tree, or on the roof of somebody's hut, and it's not like that's new for the teenager—she can't even remember how long she's spent sleeping under the stars... then again, that might just be the memory loss again.

The huts don't particularly appeal to her. They're cute, sure, but every time she tries to set foot in an empty one, she feels her pelt prickle with discomfort. The tavern isn't something she'd like to stay in, either. Sure, she loves the lively atmosphere, but even teenagers need some peace and quiet, and she trying to sleep in such a bustling place would drive her mad faster than she could even catch some shut-eye.

So she keeps searching, wandering, browsing her options. She thinks maybe she can just make a den in the jungle, a little nest between some twisted roots, and it's what she's after when she dives into the undergrowth one morning, desperate to find a place she can call home. It isn't long, however, until she stumbles across a large tree with gnarled roots tangled across the jungle floor—but that isn't what catches her attention.

Looking up, a cabin sits upon its many branches, with forgotten rope bridges linking it to several, smaller others. "What the fuck..?" She thinks there might have been a staircase spiraling around the trunk once, if the hanging bits of rope and planks are any indication, but it's clear they've since rotten away and fallen, resting instead on the soft earth. Not that it matters. Paola gives her rump a little wiggle before launching herself at the trunk, slowly clawing her way to the top.

When she reaches it, she finds a hole where the staircase would have ended, and she slips through it to reach to the deck surrounding the treehouse. For a moment, the wooden planks groan, warning that they might give way, but they hold under her weight after a breath or two, stilling from their complaint. Sighing with relief, Paola picks her way to the opening of the treehouse—door-less, like the rest.

"Whoa," she manages under her breath, looking around at the abandoned interior and marveling at the remains. A table, some couches, a bamboo swing facing a long window—how anybody had managed to bring it up, she isn't quite sure, but she's thankful nevertheless that they'd left it behind.

On the far wall, across from the doorway she'd entered, she finds something carved on the wall, partially obscured by a curtain of vines. She latches onto them, carefully pulling them away, pushing them to the side or tearing them down until she can see the rest of what's carved on the surface—a stylized V, etched into the wood. A pair of paw prints are painted on either side of it, canine from the looks of it, and a single black feather is taped underneath the point of the letter, collecting dust but miraculously intact.

"V? For Victory?" She rises up to her hindlegs, reaching for the painted pawprint but coming up short—whatever creature had left it must have had longer legs than her. "Visitors? Is this some old guesthouse?" Paola circles around, eyeing the other doorways, each one painted or decorated a different way. Each one looks about as empty and abandoned as the main room. "I wonder if I can move in here..."

[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

Paola startles at the sudden voice, letting out a soft yelp and whirling around, only to relax when she finds that it's Devland. "I think I saw my life flash before my eyes," she says with a choked sigh of relief, giving her bristling fur a shake to flatten them. She chides herself for being so jumpy—nobody has been in the treehouss for a long time since her, it's unlikely that its owner would return after it's fallen to such a state of disrepair.

"Yeah, or maybe the V stands for Vandalism, because this is some poor decor right here," she tosses back with a crinkle of a grin, returning his bump in kind by gently knocking her head against his shoulder. "Bro, I can't believe we're about to be haunted by a ghost with awful interior design skills. What's it gonna do, rearrange everything in the room two inches to the left?"

She cackles at that, falling away from Devland too and letting the laughter run its course. When she finally comes to, belly aching from the effort, she hears a voice and a new scent, and with a quick glace at Devland (a pleading look for him to come with her), she pads back over to the deck and peers over the edge, delighting at the other Typhoon members appearing.

"Hey, good day," the she-cat greets kindly. "Do you remember who lived here last? I think they might have had black wings, if it helps. Something to do with a V. Maybe Victoria?" Vivienne? Violet? If it's on the wall, it has to be a name—a testament to their presence, however fleeting. Didn't people often leave their names to prove that they have been there before?

At Michael's admission, Paola gains a thoughtful expression before getting back up on her paws. "Well, Dev, we better get down there," she says, tossing her friend a wink before backing up from the edge, counting to three, and running forward to launch herself at an opposite tree. She picks her way down, branch by branch, until she finds the lowest ond just above their heads and dangles from it upside-down, her tail wrapping around the limb securely. "Hi, Mr. Michael, sir. It's alright to be afraid of heights. I'm afraid of tight spaces, if that helps."

She flashes him a wide, encouraging grin before letting herself be distracted by Lucifer's unquestionably glorious form. "I'd be glad to live up there, if it's allowed," she answers. "It's open and has many windows, and it doesn't make my skin prickle like the other enclosed places do. Shame that it got left behind, though, it must have taken forever to build." She glances back at the treehouse complex, only to cock her head to the side when she think she sees a pair of green eyes staring at her from the foliage. It disappears after a blink, however, and Paola is left to wonder whether the treehouse really is haunted.

Not that it matters. She would never let some ghost chase her out of her new home.

[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]

There’s something off about Georgia, but Paola doesn’t know what might have led to it—she isn’t sure if she has any right to ask about it, either, but the she-cat offers her friend a wide, beaming grin anyway, hoping, at the very least, that it helps allay some of her worries. She can admit to herself that she likes the somali’s company; she enjoys the roughhousing and teasing they often do, and seeing Georgia so off-put by something only makes her want to help.

”Ah, see, that’s for—” And then Devland fills in the blank. ”Bingo!” The she-cat nods enthusiastically at his explanation, and then her expression brightens further at his suggestion. Paola peers at the other houses, perhaps a little self-conscious that if she’s going to be offering these places to anyone, she should at least fix some of the holes, but she decides that she’ll put off the whole “spring cleaning” thing until she knows someone will be moving in.

”I mean, no forcing anyone, and I could probably do something about the holes and the dust first,” Paola says sheepishly, her ears pressing to the back of her head only to spring forward when she realizes that they’re hot; she doesn’t quite understand why they’ve reached that temperature, but she figures it could very well be the humidity. ”But I’d love to have you as a neighbour! If you wanted to move, I mean. Hell, if anyone wants to claim one of those cabins, I’d be happy. It’s a cool place but a little creepy alone…”

Paola trails off, feigning a nonchalant shrug. ”If I’m gonna be haunted by a winged black ghost with poor taste in furniture, I might as well have someone to hide behind.” The grin returns on her face, as bright and gleaming as ever, although she won’t deny that there’s a hopeful chime to her words.