ArchivedLogs:Scratch
| Scratch | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2015-11-04 "You might die for this. You happy with that?" |
| Location | |
The common room in the main lodge is rather warm today, for someone has a fire going. The curtains are drawn up tight, and in the background the radio can be heard, tuned to a generic rock and roll station. Shook me all night long, by AC DC, is just starting. And looking like they're enjoying the song is a rather new face on the island, a batty mutant by the name of Pedro, though he prefers Pete and has said so. He's currently moving to the beat by the pool table, peering over a selection of coloured balls, attempting to find a useful angle with which to sink some of them. A constant stream of clicks can be heard, definitely coming from him. From the kitchen, the common sight of the island's resident border collie comes 'round the corner, the click-click-click of nails on the floor not quite to the beat of the music that's taken over the main cabin. In the black and white dog's mouth is a long rawhide chew upon which plenty of tooth marks denote it's been worked on for some time now. Perked ears rotate not to the music, but to the clicks of the batty one. The dog pauses, head rising a couple of inches, and the rawhide dropped in the effort with a tilt of head accompanying it. Abandoning his treat, pace picks up again and quickens, the dog suddenly shrinking, reshaping slightly with muzzle shortening and whiskers lengthening until an orange tabby is in its place zeroing in on the table. When it leaps up onto the pool table, it's with a poise that very obviously threatens to bat a ball out of its spot, an orange paw hovering in the air above it. The young man gives a start as the cat appears seemingly out of no where, and he lets out a squeak, dropping the pool cue onto the ground. The clicks increase tenfold as he takes in the feline, his ears turned back and flattened to his head. "Geez kitty, you're going to give me a heart attack one day.", he mutters, the tone of clicks taking on a grumpy sounding quality. Whether the ball is batted or not doesn't seem to bother the batty one, though he bends down to pick up the pool cue. Pete peers critically at the end of the cue, and decides there must be more chalk. Which is applied with gusto and much squeaking of the chalk. There's a long "rrrowl" as the tabby replaces his paw on the border upon which he sits. The cat's tail sways back and forth, and the coughing sound it makes in response to Pete's comment is one could swear is a laugh of some non-feline sort. After a length of time that may seem as though it intends to just stare at the other brother, the tabby turns and abandons his seat for the sake of disappearing behind the otherside of the pool table. But instead of a cat meandering away, the dark-haired, light-eyed form of Killian stands from where the cat had landed. The transformation happening out of view, he's left only stretching an arm with the other across his chest, left now in a black tank and blacker jeans. "Ya' any good at this game? Haven't played in-" A considering pause, his expression slanted in an amused smirk, "Can't even remember." Pedro eyes the cat for a few moments, but soon goes back to pondering the ball positioning on the table. The clicks begin anew, and the bat lines up for a shot. He pauses then, looking up at Killian when he stands up. Snorting, he chuckles. "I'll send you an invoice for the clean pair of shorts you owe me.", he says quietly. In answer to the other man's question, he quickly lines up a shot, and with a crack, the five and seven balls head to opposite corners, both sinking with a solid THUNK. "Si. I am somewhat decent. I make a few bucks here and there in the city, in the places that let us play, that is. I am no master though." The bat's eyes squint. "So, Killian is it? One of the few names I didn't have a face for. I am Pedro, but please call me Pete." "Yo." Is Killian's returned greeting and pleasant enough, "Pete it is. Not gonna be the last if that spooked ya. Might wanna keep me on a tab." He leans over the table, palms flat on the border- and, fortunately, off the fabric this time. "Yea, that's me. Don't show this face all that much, and if I could talk with the fur on, might never." A laugh more human than the one the cat had produced is more a breathy chuckle, as his blue-green eyes watch the shot. A 'tsch' through his teeth that seems relatively approving comes next, "Not bad, bro. Can't promise much competition, but ya want a second?" Player, that is. "The dog heard that damn clicking mile a'way." An exaggeration, clearly, "What is it, echolocation?" Pedro smiles shyly at the man, nodding at the mention of a tab. "Well, I do know where you sleep. Sometimes. So if I reaaaally want revenge, I can scare the bejesus out of you too." He cants his head to one side, "You enjoy your animal form that much over your human one? I mean, I can see how the human form is limited compared to the two I know you can do. Better hearing, different eyesight, better sense smell, can turn on the charm to put people at ease..." The young man grins. "You can probably do a lot more. But what makes it so that you stay away from your human form?" He looks at the table, and back to the other man. "I'll rack, you can crack. And I've heard that one before, you know. Can't promise much competition, and next thing I know I'm out on the street with an empty wallet and no pants." Pedro chuckles ruefully, probably something close to the truth in that. "Yeah. Clicking is one half of echolocation. I've got a high pitched squeak that I do, it uh... it behaves differently than the clicks, it goes farther. I don't spam that one though, usually." Killian drums his fingers briefly on the edge of the table, his grin broadening unevenly, skewed to one side and lightening his eyes with lines beside them. The expression, however, doesn't match the suddenly serious tone his words take an edge of, "Spent a long fucking time with fur as a comfort blanket." He answers as he straightens and turns to take a pole from the wall. The metamorph lets it slide through his grip until he can spy the un-chalked end. "Prometheus was easier to take with teeth and claws. Got used to it." He notes with an off-handed air to it, but switches back to the confident, nigh arrogant pleasantness he'd had before with, "And that shit too." All those things Pete had listed, he implies, "Human just doesn't compare." A lopsided shrug accompanies that, as he rubs the chalk on the end and then tosses it back to where it'd come from. "Y'can keep your pants." He offers, a brow raised, "If it's that high pitched, can only say 'thank you' for that then." Pedro goes around the table, carefully, if awkwardly, pulling the balls from the pockets. He nods politely as he sets the balls into the triangular rack. "Oh. Erm, I didn't mean to poke at bad memories. But I can empathize with giving into your other forms as a means of dealing with ... all that was Prometheus." He lets out a low breath, and then smiles a wry smile. "I won't make the mistake of betting my pants. This time." There's a brief flurry of clicks, and he slowly pulls the rack away, leaving a perfect pyramid of coloured balls. "Yeah, I do that out of consideration for everyone involved. Only really need it for navigating at night, at height." Killian shakes his head, "If I didn't wanna answer, wouldn't answer, man. All good. 'Sides." He opens his hand just enough to let the pool pole drops the heavy end to the floor with a heavy thud, "Not so bad when the dog brain thinks everything is the best thing ever. All the time." As Pete finishes racking the balls, Killian draws the pole up into a decent enough position. Maybe not perfect form, but it does the trick. He doesn't take too much time of drawing it back and forth over a supportive finger touching the fabric of the tabletop before driving it forwards. The balls do nothing special besides separate chaotically, none making it into a pocket. The cue ball does, however, come quite close to dropping into the corner pocket nearest Pete. "This time, eh?" He asks as he steps back, eyeing the terrible layout. "What else can ya do?" Pedro nods silently, even his clicks stop while Killian is sizing up the ball. Once the cue ball has made contact, and the coloured ones separate wildly, the clicks start up once more. He follows the cue ball mostly, though he eyes a few interesting positions. "Not a bad split. Some good shots, and some impossible. Do you call your shots, or do you prefer to wing it?" The batty one smiles and shrugs. "I discovered soon after landing here in the US that I could indeed drink alcohol. It was a very rough introduction, but a very informative one." "Couldn't say what's good or bad." Killian remarks, a hand lifting to rub over the dark scruff along his chin. "Prefer? Don't prefer nothin. Whatever you do." A sort-of dismissive shrug comes with it, "Told you been awhile. Like back in th'day, ten years ago or some shit." He leans on the pole slightly as Pete shares that tidbit, "How long ago you get here?" The US, he means, not particularly the island. "Yeah..." The word is drawn out, fully agreeing, "Yeah, alcohol makes a lot'a things happen. Sounds like an entertaining night, at least." Pedro snorts. "It may have been, but I do not remember." He lines up the four, and after a few clicks, sinks it into the side pocket closest to Killian. "Just seeing if you had a preference. Always good to know the table's rules. You avoid ... trouble that way." His next shot is a bit of a dud, the three stopping just shy of the corner, while the cue ball sinks into another pocket. "Meh.", he says, clicking grouchily. "Uhm, let's see. Hmm. Almost two years now, give or take a few months. First winter was hard. The brotherhood found me afterwards, someone had seen me helping out fellow mutants. That fine for using your powers is bullshit." Pedro steps back from the table. "Your shot." "Proof in and of itself- terrible or amazing if y'can't remember." Killian's grin twitches slightly, "Can't get drunk m'self. Not easily anyway." He makes no comment of Pedro's shot, just slowly making his way to fishing out the cue ball from the pocket's basket and setting it back up. "Understatement." Follows the other brother's conclusion. "Everything humans do is utter bullshit." Leaning forwards, he makes his shot, which ricochets off the corner of a pocket and sends one of Pete's into a pocket. "They'll keep coming up with better and better crap too- like Register. Or else." His eyes flicker from their humanoid blue-green to edges of gold, the pupils reforming into slits before returning to their normal shape and hue as he utters another breathy chuckle. "Seen much trouble since comin' to the city?" Pedro looks to Killian curiously, and lets out a little breath. "Well. I dunno if I would call everything humans do, bullshit. I just don't know how to fix it, make it so people live peacefully together. But I've hardly suffered at the hands of them. I am pretty sure my viewpoint would be different if I had experienced even a small amount of what you have." He moves to line up a shot, a few crisp clicks going out before he aims at, and sinks, the seven. And he grumbles as the cueball sinks itself into a side pocket. Placing the cueball where Killian can easily reach it, he steps back a bit again. "For the most part, the trouble's been aimed at others. Cops tend to abuse their power when they need to clear a place of... undesirables. So I help as best I can." He holds up a wing, flexing it. "I can fly, and climb, into places out of reach of most people. So most of the time I can work undetected. Occasionally I've had to run though. And uhm... ran my luck out only once. But someone did me a good turn that day. Karma's only a bitch if you are." "If not everything, pretty damn close to it." Killian gives, but only just a bit. The confident boldness, just a half degree from being utterly smug, is turned down a few notches as he considers the table instead of the one talking. "They've made a habit of abusing it, if that's what you mean." Seriousness has wiped away his grin, and he takes a moment to line up his next move before speaking. With the cue ball replaced again in a convenient spot, this turn proves a good one for the shapeshifter. Or, it almost does. Struck with excessive force, two of his find pockets with a violent clatter, but the cue ball hits the end of the table with enough momentum to bounce up and off, hitting the cabin's floor and rolling away to finally rest against the far wall. "They've got a lot of karma waitin' to be given to 'em." Pedro nods to Killian, not really wanting to argue that point he makes. He winces at the shot, and goes chasing after the ball. Returning a few moments later, he sets the ball behind the line and ponders his next shot. "Just look at the good things that they have also done, and remember that we have sprung fully formed from them. We are capable of great things, perhaps greater than what our parents have done. But, like them, we seek to destroy what we fear, and right now, each side fears the other." The young man takes a deep breath, lets out a few clicks, and manages a sneaky shot that just barely sneaks one of his balls past one of Killian's and on into a corner pocket. "I don't see anything good coming of that, you know?" His next shot is crap, and not only does his sink the cueball, and the eleven, which is Killian's... the eight ball ends up on the precipice of a side pocket. "Whew. That was close." "What good things?" Killian's eyes have changed again, flickering to that gold and staying there this time, with the slitted pupils thinned, miotic. "They see you, they shoot first and ask later. They manage to fucking cage you, you're no better than some goddamn object to do as they please with you." Even though the turns roll around to his, he holds his pool pole with whitened knuckles. "A fucking thing, not a person. We just lost-" Killian stops, his other hand rising to lay his palm over his other fingers, holding them awkwardly, "There's enough of us risking necks, trying to make friends. And humans don't fucking play nice, so they can all go to hell." Pedro swallows noisily, and a thin, white eyelid slides over each eye. "As I said, I am certain my opinion would be different if I had experienced even a small amount of what you have gone through." A single click is emitted by him before he continues. "I won't make light of your experience, or demean it. And I don't want to argue with you. We're all on the same side here, si?" The young man rubs at the back of his neck, trying not to look awkward while doing so. Killian refocuses on the game, resetting the cue ball behind the line and throwing his strike. Although he sinks another of his, the ball nicks the edge of the eight ball, giving it just enough of a roll to teeter on the edge of the pocket. It hesitates on the cusp for a breath-holding moment, and then falls in. The shapeshifter is far too distracted with the conversation than with the scratch that happens to him. He doesn't even seem to notice /which/ ball was just pocketed. "Ain't got nothing to do with experience." Well, it does, but he doesn't appear to be in such a mood as to be entirely logical. "Why you here if you wanna make friends with them, yo? We got fuckin' chaos to make. Groups to take down, shit to do." There's a pause that stretches, his grip loosening on the pole but his eyes remaining the tiger-yellow. "Si, brother." He says flatly, and with a tension-lessening long inhale and longer exhale. Pedro and Killian are standing over the pool table, a game having just been ended by a scratch by Killian. It may appear that tensions are high, or that something edgy has just been said, their postures give that much away. Pedro starts to collect the balls from the pockets. "Man, tough luck on that last shot." He's quiet for a few moments as he concentrates on this task. The young man starts to slip the balls into the triangular rack. "Don't mistake me. I don't like the Registry or the ideas behind it. I don't like the bigotry. I know we got people to take down." He slips the rack away, and gestures for Killian to break. "I just don't think the average human on the street is our enemy. The vast majority of people that have to go are people in power, who see their power threatened, who don't understand why we all won't just come in for a chat, some hugs and a little waterboarding. The dude on the street wants what he has always wanted, to keep his family safe, fed and warm. Same sorta shit we want, really, yeah? I'll do what I am asked, what I am told, but I don't see myself going out of my way to hurt or kill some schmuck who ain't in my way, you know?" Killian remains so concentrated on apparently himself that it takes Pete's apologetic remark to make him take notice of the end of the first game. He moves as is gestured, wordlessly taking aim as the next game's breaker. His hands, though, as he attempts to poise the pole over stabilizing fingers are trembling slightly. Apparently it's more of a help than a hindrance as when he finally does break the racked balls, he sinks two- one being Pedro's, the other his own. But that took a lot more effort than it should have and he takes a step back, returning to holding the pole all-too-tightly with now both hands. "The media ain't no joke. They collectin' mutants on the wanted list for fuck knows what." He taps the pole on the ground once, diffusing some of the comment into the ground, "The fear shit is rising. Your average fuckin' Joe on the sidewalk will protect that family by killin' you before askin your name, or get you on the wanted list for some made up shit they think you might have done." "I've yet to run into a human that didn't want to shoot me in the face so I've yet to meet a human that I wouldn't gouge their eyes out," Anette says, her voice dark and eyes full of fury as she suddenly storms into the room from the dining room. Upon seeing Killian and Pedro, she suddenly stops, the anger quickly dissipating as she frowns slightly. "Owl ears...caught the last bit of your conversation. I...sorry," Anette begins to say, her voice cooling off before her eyes glaze over a bit as if distracted by her own thoughts. "Sorry, I'm...still not feeling well. Flu. My point still stands though." "My mama is human. And loves me still, despite my change. Despite the other villagers, including my father, driving me out of the place I called home for thirteen years. She would still hug me, and cry for me, and pray for me." He gives a start as Anette storms into the room, the white, nictitating eyelids closing once more, and a storm of clicks follow. "I'm here to fight, as I said, I'll do what is asked of me, what is commanded of me. But I've not given up on humanity." The young man takes a step or two more back from the pool table, eyeing both of them warily. Killian's golden eyes shift from Pete to Anette as she appears so suddenly, but only briefly as he starts his explanation. "There is the rare human that reaches out, but even half of those are fucking liars too." That seems incredibly pointed, as if driven by something particular and laced with a change of voice that doesn't fit his form. But the shapeshifter takes another breath, and shakes his head, staring at the table instead. "You'd throw your life away for somethin' you don't fully believe in? Or you think you can save some of 'em from themselves?" This, much less judgmental than his previous outraged points before an almost tired comment is his greeting to Anette, "You caught the shit too? Heard half the island coughin' lately." "Yeah. It's weird as hell though. Can't seem to shake it," Anette says, making her way over towards the table and standing a few yards away from the others. "I've just dealt with so much shit from..." her focus fades for a few seconds, "shit from humans. Even if I try to make nice, I...try to make nice it all goes to hell. Hell..." Anette groans and rubs her eyes gently with her talons as if trying to wake herself up. "I saved a cops life and took a bullet to the leg as a thank you. Nearly bleed to death. And not the first time that uh...that's happened. Almost bleeding to death because of a human." Pedro looks sideways at Killian, blinking a few times before emitting a couple of clicks. His ears move back and forth a few times in time to the clicks. "I can't sit around while mutants get hurt, jailed for no reason, and tortured. I've knocked over nearly a dozen cops the past year, helping fellow mutants out. But if my mama can still love me, even when everyone around her does not, then there is hope. Besides. Would killing all the scared humans change what was done to you?" He looks to Anette. "Or to you? And if we did do that? We'd be no better than they are. We'd become the real monsters, in the end." The young man looks back to Killian. "You can believe in a cause, and still disagree with decisions made. I can do as I'm told, and still argue for the least amount of harm done to others." "Sit down." Killian says towards Anette after taking her fading focus in for a few moments, his anger dissolving as rapidly as it'd come, eyes returning to the most human shape and hue. "Y'look terrible." Not nearly as flirtatious as his normal comments, they're plenty blunt though lacking any harshness. To Pete, "No, but it stops it from happening to any other of us. One of our brothers right now is in their hands. You think resistence to our.." He sets his pool pole against the wall, turning his back to walk away, "Existance, will ever cease?" He shrugs, though when his grin returns shortly, it's as a dark sneer, "You hesitate trying not to make collateral damage, you risk more than your own neck." Anette sighs and sits down...by jumping up onto the edge of the pool table. Technically sitting. "Always the charmer," she mumbles, though still loud enough to hear. "There's a war between humans and mutants whether you admit it or not. And regardless of what the world says, we didn't start it. If it takes us becoming monsters to go a day without one of our own being murdered, tortured, or god knows what else, than it's worth it. And if the ones doing the murdering and torturing get killed, even better." Pedro's ears flick a few times at Killian's comments, and he falls silent for a few moments, a number of clicks sounding before he replies. "Yes, resistance to our existing will cease. Whether it comes at our expense, or at our victory, I don't know. And again, I'll do as I'm asked, as I am commanded. But there's a different between collateral damage, here have a grenade, and collateral damage, I just destroyed a whole city block. That's all I'm saying." He glances to Anette and raises his hands to her. "As I told Killian, I am a product of my own experiences. I would have a different viewpoint than either of you. Not trying to make light of it or belittle your experiences. I guess I am just not as quick or eager to hurt or kill someone, you know?" "Y'probably shouldn't be out of bed, love. Worthy arguments or not. Don't think blood'll be shed tonight." Which makes it less exciting, of course. To Pete, Killian shakes his head a second time, this time rubbing his hands together as if the joints are sore. Flexing, extending the wrists almost rhythmically, he paces a couple steps away from the pair, maybe not all too stealthily creating distance from the diseased owl. "Not sure you see my meaning. Not sayin' to go hit up an orphanage. But want ya to fight for what you believe in, not just follow orders. Ain't no foot soldier. You might die for this. You happy with that?" "Mm, gonna carry me there yourself?" Anette responds, a playful tone coating her words. She raises a brow as Killian actively distances himself from her. "You act like you've never seen a cold before," she says, pressing her lips together slightly but otherwise lets it go. She does listening intently to what Killian says, "He's right, you know. Go big or go home. Whatever you do, do it for you. Not because you've been ordered, too." Pedro cracks a grin at Killian's last comment. "Dude. I came to America clinging to the outside of an a Airbus. Eight fucking hours, passing in and out of conciousness, freezing my ass off. I nearly died just trying to get to a better life. And that was my third attempt." He holds up his wings. "I'm here, ain't I? Joining the brotherhood isn't like joining the spa, and I know that. I could die out there doing something good, but I could also die just sitting here, if the government decided to attack. And if I want to leave? Probably get killed for that too. You'd not be looking at this face if I wasn't okay with the risk of death." Pedro looks to Anette and shrugs. "I will do it for the others, the one's we're fighting for, I don't need to do it for me. And well, until they fully train me up, it will be mostly following orders, won't it? I'm no soldier, yet." "I.. could." Killian replies, drawing out the latter word, the sneer shifting into his much more characteristic smirk towards Anette, "But I might not make it back out of that cabin. Little more of a challenge now." Not that he wouldn't rise to it, that tone says. "That sounds unpleasant." The shapeshifter then remarks on Pedro's method of entering the country. "Helluva choice to get here. Don't gotta be a death seeker, but you ain't far off in that assessment." To all of the above, particularly on leaving it seems. He scratches the back of his head roughly, messing up his otherwise nicely combed hair, expression scrunched at the rest of his words, "Family." He says finally, letting his hand drop heavily back to his side. "Not just soldiers. They're all I got, yo." "I've never seen you back down from a challenge," Anette retorts, almost forgetting about Pedro's existance as she continues to flirt with Killian. Almost. "Yeah, family. Complete with the awkard Thanksgiving dinners and drunk uncles. Really, the charm is lost once you're in," Anette says with a grin. "It's not the military. Everyone has a say and a choice. We're more like...a team." Pedro rubs at the back of his head with a hand-wing, looking down at his feet. "Yeah. Well. They took me in when I was close to freezing to death in some abandoned building's attic. Some of them are like family already." He looks between Killian and Anette for a moment. "A team.", the young man says quietly. "I'm here, for better or for worse." Pedro glances to Anette. "Erm, so, I am your new roomie." Killian sighs heavily, ending with the slow spread of a lopsided grin. "Awkward's one way of putting it." And he foregoes adding any more to the subject, riled up enough for one night minus changing. That counts as a win. "Perfect." He slams a fist into the opposite palm. "You're my way in, Pete." The chuckle is a dark one, obviously up to /something/. "Easier than I thought." Despite the glance over his shoulder that accompanies it, he raises a brow with a slight tilt of his head, "I'd hate for you to have to walk all the way back, Anette." "Such the gentleman," Anette says with a slight eyeroll though the playful grin never leaves her face. "I'm not sure I should trust whatever you're up to," she says, glancing back and forth between Pedro and a suspicious looking Killian. "You're our new roommate? Oh, you poor, poor child..." she says, not expanding on exactly what she means yet. "Welcome...welcome either way," she says, zoning out and mentally fading for a few seconds with that last sentence. Pedro looks at Killian oddly, and then at Anette. "I, er... are you two seeing each other or something? Or am I missing something?" He rubs at a cheek and lets out a breath. "I'm going to go and lay down for a bit. Feeling a little under the weather." The young man casts another glance to Killian, "It was good to be able to put a face to your name, finally. I'm sorry our first proper meeting went kind of awkward." The young man looks to Anette a moment, "I am sure we'll be getting to know each other better, whether we like it or not. I am quiet though, you won't have to worry about me making noise at odd hours and stuff. Anyway, talk to you two again later." He has obviously decided to get while the getting is good, before Killian's plan comes to fruition. Despite their flirting, Anette looks almost surprised when Pedro suggests she and Killian are a couple. "What? No, I, uh...Daken and I are. Hence the...the warnings," she says, trailing off that for once is not flu-related. She decides to keep her mouth shut before she stammers herself into any holes, offering a thin smile as Pedro dismisses himself. "Take care," she eventually says. "Looking forward to getting to know you." Once Pedro leaves, she turns to Killian. "He seems like a nice, um...like a nice kid." Killian answers none of Pedro's questions, watching Anette as she answers for them both with an odd smirk. As Pedro leaves them, he lifts a hand in a semblance of a wave with a "Night, bro." as the most appropriate of farewells. But, as Anette fades again, the narrowed, playfully dark gaze smoothes over into the closest thing he happens to have to concern. It looks almost awkward on him, and is swiftly replaced by a lighter smile or sorts. "Nice kid, yeah." He repeats her words, as he retracts the steps he'd taken away from the owl-mutant to pause a couple paces away. "Looks like more than a cold. Don't usually get sick m'self. The shit doesn't live past the different immune systems." The huff of a half-hearted laugh is short-lived. "Can give you a ride if y'want. With him goin' back, will just look like an escort if that keeps you- me- out of trouble." Is with, of course, a wink. Killian's concerned look doesn't go unnoticed. "I'm /fine/. Fine. I...I'm hardly ever sick myself, just have some catching up to do I guess," she says, fading a bit mid-way but trying to shake them off and refocus as quick as possible. To keep Killian from worrying perhaps? Or maybe she just doesn't like looking weak. One of the two. "How do you plan on giving me a ride? Not sure a border collie can carry me." His last sentence gets a smirk. "Well of course you're just an escort, what else would you be?" Killian allows the grin to broaden, but what should be human teeth rapidly become much larger. Fangs take the place of the boring dull human ones. Flesh-tone becomes golden orange, and stripes begin to course along his skin as if some invisible person has control of a sharpie. He falls to all fours, hands widening into likely somewhat familiar dish-plate sized paws, black-hewn claws stretching, grating very quietly on the cabin's floor. The massive tiger, one and the same as the one from their unfortunate incident before looks towards her with the brilliance of a great cat's eyes. A horse wouldn't fit through a door, but this surely would. He chuffs, that non-aggressive sound of certain large cats of greeting, black-back white-spotted ears twisting towards her before he turns slightly to expose his stripped back. Hopefully, though, not to talons this time. Anette watches curiously as Killian begins to shift, a grin growing across her face as she recognizes this form. A chuckles escapes as she shakes her head. "Fine...fine, yeah. I guess this'll work," she says, hopping off the pool table and making her way over. She pauses a moment, remembering his no petting rule and wondering whether this strays too close but barring any sudden reaction, she carefully climbs onto his back. "I am definitely dressing as Jasmine for Halloween next year," she says, leaning forward and gently gripping the scruff of his neck as she readies herself for movement. The tiger stands particularly still as she climbs on, a rumbling more felt than heard as what would likely have been a sarcastic remark to her costume comment. He doesn't seem to mind the grip of his scruff, the touch in general, but then again the stoic cat reacts to little. The movement is as smooth as one may expect as he crosses the length of the common room and out onto the front porch at a deliberately slow pace- one meant to not jostle. And, save any intervention or interruption, would take her as such back to her, as well as Daken and Pete's, cabin. Once they've reached the cabin, Anette hops off of the tiger, brushing cat hair off her jeans. "Thanks," she says, before leaning up against the wall. "So let's see, I've saved your life, you've saved mine, I've carried you, and you've carried me, and I'm /still/ not allowed to pet you? I'm almost beginning to take it personally," she teases, grinning cheekily as she looks over the tiger still lurking, or whatever form he happens to be now. The tiger does indeed lurk, standing where she leaves him with unmistakable predator's eyes that watch the owl-mutant as she leans on the wall. Her comments earn a flattening of those white-spotted ears, a curl of his heavily-whiskered lips that briefly displayed the slightly yellowed fangs against the stark white of his chin fur beneath. The giant cat looks away for a moment, as if assessing their surroundings- quiet as they may be at the hour that grows only later- and then moves forwards. He lifts one of those giant paws to bat at the door knob much like a house cat may. 'Open it', the animal cherades seems to say. "Alright! No need to get touchy, just saying..." Anette says, raising her hands in defeat as the tiger reacts to the mention of petting. She does raise an eyebrow and tilt her head as he begins knocking the door, asking to be let in. "You /do/ know who else lives here, right?" she warns. Still, she does turn around and open the door, stepping to the side to ensure room for a tiger.
"He's not here. Hasn't been for a while. Off on...god knows what mission or job," Anette says, closing the door behind her and leaning up against that. She looks over the tiger as he sits down, frowning slightly. "Alright, either you're going to have to turn human or start meowing in morse code," she says, crossing her arms over her chest as yellow eyes scan the tiger, trying to decode his intentions. Killian's left ear flicks and he rises back to all fours in that intimidating delibrance of the tiger's presence. But this time he goes straight for Anette, pausing within inches of her. With ears still tucked but hackles smoothed down, the giant feline butts his head up against her belly, probably hoping for hands to meet him there, rubbing his longish white-furred cheek and chin as any domestic cat may when demanding attention. Anette can't help but laugh as Killian butts his head into her. "Ah, so I'm only allowed to pet you in secret?" she teases, reaching down to scratch behind Killian's ears, her talons taking a typical head scratch to the next level. "This isn't another trick for me to help you change human again, is it?" The discontent to semi-content rumblings turn into motor-boat level purring with the additions of talons to the petting. Even those golden eyes close as the big head is tilted into the scratching. Her question receives a snort, and he pulls away, a shake of his head turning into a full-bodied shake from nose to tail tip. Orange darkens rapidly, the black of the stripes spreading until it over takes him. White belly becomes more prominent as the metamorph shrinks in form. Muzzle elongates, ears become more pointed and a touch more hairy. Furs lengthen until bushy better describes them over teh length of that tail of his. The border collie- for Killian may have decided that being /human/ in here is not an option- returns to Anette's side and shoves his head against the side of her knee- though this is apparently more pointedly trying to push her away from the wall. The purring is all the motivation Anette needs to continue her scritches, claws burried in orange fur. "My god, even when you're a cat, you're just a big puppy," she says, just before Killian begins to transform into his border collie self. As he nuzzles at her knee, she gives a quiet sigh. "Fine," is all she says, though it comes across as a bit light-headed before she finishes scratching and makes her way over to the couch in the center of the room. "You can either join me, sulk in the corner, or turn human and let yourself out. I'm not getting up to open the door again," she warns, grabbing the TV remote and pressing it on. The black and white dog pads right behind her, heeling in her shadow as she makes her way to the couch. It's possible he pauses only long enough for the offer to actually be verbally extended before he jumps up onto the couch at her feet. He circles once, twice, in rapid spins and then lays there curled in a tight little ball. Brown eyes watch the owly one with a sigh that makes his form rise and fall before he too lets his attention be drawn to the lights of the TV, muzzle tucked 'tween paws. | |
