ArchivedLogs:Fursuits

Fursuits
Dramatis Personae Arturo, Rasputin, Violet
In Absentia	2014-06-26 Two cats, one dog.
Location <NYC> Harlem
Harlem's gritty reputation has become less and less earned over the past decade or so as gentrification has set in. Its reputation as a hub of jazz and culture, however, is still very much earned -- throughout the years Harlem has been renowned for its contributions to music, from its swing dancing and jazz culture back when speakeasies were prevalent to the many hip-hop artists with Harlem roots in modern day. Harlem. /Harlem/. Give these streets a few hours and this will be the place to be as bistros and restaurants spring into full swing, as jazz clubs and dance clubs and hookah bars and theatres open--provided one stays well away from the alleys, darker streets and okay, that whole section over /there/, everyone knows you don't go /there/. But here, summertime jazz and dancing seem further away than the shankings, thanks to Mount Sinai being right around the corner. The streets are busy with pedestrians, vendors, buskers, panhandlers, commuters, the sick and the elderly, a whole riot of humanity traveling to various goals, all cast in the fading golden light of a June evening. And bringing her own particular flavor to this street is Violet. A passing glance would peg her as just one of many homeless, probably black (if you don't notice that's fur, not skin), possibly crazy (she's a little starey in crowds), definitely down on her luck (her cut-off khaki shorts are belted with /rope/ and her hoodie is filthy and her feet are bare wtf) and to be avoided at all costs (oh god is that a tail). Some of those assumptions could be proven correct, but as most felines do, she is capable of ignoring any and all judgments save her own. And right now? Right now her judgment is telling her she can totally make the ricochet jump off of one side of an alley to the other and grab 'hold of that fire escape ladder secured above a dumpster. A trotting start is taken while still on the sidewalk. Speed is built up, steam accumulated and she jumps! Point A is achieved, and she rebounds with a hard push of legs to make for the opposite wall. Success again! One last hard push, done in the blink of an eye and she's going for the fire escape--except the catgirl falls short. Which really means she /falls/, right into the open top of the dumpster. Whumph! And it so happens that Doctor Arturo Ridley is headed in the direction of said dumpster. He's clad in khaki shorts and a blue t-shirt - utterly nondescript and not particularly flattering attire. The heat means he can't cover up his canine attributes as readily. Every inch of him isn't covered in fur, but, well, it's too much to be simple body hair. He's got a plastic cup from some kind of slushy beverage that he's just about to toss into the dumpster when something quite a bit bigger than a cup goes thundering into it. He leaps back and lets out a sound that's not quite human. What the hell? "Holy crap, are you okay?!". Where did that voice come from? It's a bird! It's a plane! Nope, it's a cat. A fluffy, white, ordinary cat, that can apparently talk. Moving out from hir nook in a corner, Rasputin walks over to the dumpster, before stopping at the man ze sees..and laughing! "Oh hey! I remember you! Jogging guy! We had philosophical discussions with that friend of mine!". Everything is totally normal today. YUP. There is no sound from the dumpster at first. Possibly because there are weird noises out there and uh uh, Violet is so not up for possible hellhounds. Or even attention. Sorry, too busy pretending that didn't just happen--which means she really needs to get around to the pretending part. It's not easy to be casual when popping up from a dumpster fall but somehow she manages. Up she comes, traces of sodden newspaper and who knows what else clinging to her. But la la la, just brushing it off, nothing to see here--especially not in comparison to a talking /cat/, whose presence steals attention awa even from Arturo. Though it probably helps there that she can't /smell/ him at the moment. Her ears prick forward and she test-sniffs but nope, nothing but garbage. Damn. "...what? I'm fine. Ssssso fine," she says in Savannah-dipped tones and a slight toothy lisp. "Or maybe I hit m'head 'cause you're a talkin' cat, yeah?" "You may have hit your head, but you're not imagining the talking cat," deadpans Arturo. "Hey. Uh, yeah," this to Rasputin. "You're rather hard to forget." He rocks back a step to give Violet room to get out of the dumpster. "You sure you're okay? It's a dumpster. You're lucky you didn't get your leg impaled by a bit of broken pressboard shelving." He's got no super-smell, which is probably a good thing in the presence of garbage. "Yep, talking cat!". Rasputin laughs because cats can't grin, turning hir head to Arturo. "I know! Some people think I'm a recurring hallucination, though. I've probably helped the psychiatry business though!". Rasputin turns back to Violet, still that happy go lucky tone in hir voice. "Rasputin, animal possessor, at your seeervice!". "Feels like cardboard," Violet says, before looking down to confirm it. She bounces a little and there's a whuffly, rushing sound--and then something crunches very much as glass would. The young woman freezes...and then decides it is high time she clambered on out of the dumpster. She brings the smell with her in a rush of air as she drops down to the ground to land in a crouch, tail coiled tidy about her ankles. Rasputin is eyeballed and then Arturo is eyeballed even /closer/. "If I weren't a human-shaped cat," she observes, "I'd think this was all kinda super weird, yeah?" "Well, at least you have a good sense of humour about it," says Arturo to rasputin. He winces too at the sound of broken glass within the dumpster. If he's taken aback by her appearance (but hell, he's talking to a cat-cat) he doesn't show it. "Are you hurt? I'm a doctor. And believe me, this situation isn't weird. Not for me, anyway." He smiles, and in present company he doesn't bother hiding his clearly inhuman pointy teeth. "You mean a cat-like human? Also, I should probably clarify, I'm human myself..well, mutant. All human up here, atleast!". Rasputin points hir tail to hir head, then swishing hir tail. "So, guess it's a mutant party!". Rasputin is a ball of enthusiasm. "What were you doing, anyways? You live up in an apartment up there, or something?" Violet shakes her head with a lightning quick sniffsneeze. Might've been amusement. Might have been dust lodged in her sinuses from the fall. "Human-shaped cat," she says after, firmly. That's her story and she's sticking to it, semantics be damned. She goes on to add with her own pointy-toothed grin, "Nothin' wounded but the pride. That's the biggest part of me though, maybe could use a band-aid." To prove the lack of physical injurt she finally rises to full height, slight though that is, and arches backwards in a spine popping stretch. Hands are linked and arms thrust above her head. "They let a werewolf be a doctor? How's that happen?" Arturo makes a bit of a face at being called 'werewolf,' but he's been called worse, so he lets it lie. "They didn't know. And I'm not a werewolf. Werewolves transform. I'm just...me. Like this." He holds open his arms and then lets them fall. "Y'know, you should be more careful. Real dumpsters aren't like the ones in the movies. I watched this one episode of Mythbusters..." he stops and clears his throat. "So uh, Rasputin. What've you been up to?" "Oh, oh, OHHHHH. You're one of those Otherkin! I don't judge, no worries.". What. Anyways, no one ever said Rasputin is good with people. The cat turns over to Arturo. "You know, catting around, talking to people, terrorism, same old!". Rasputin laughs, making it seem like ze's joking around (and ze seems quite jovial, so). "How have you been? What's doctoring like, eh?". For his pains to prevent future injuries for Violet, he receives a long, level, unblinking look. It is the sort of look that another /cat/ could translate easily--it says 'you're not my dad' in silent speak. Rather than answer him aloud, however, she speaks to Rasputin again, hearkening back to an earlier question. "Don't live up there. S'Parkour. Y'know it? With the runnin' and th'...jumpin'...did you just call me a furry? You just called me a furry." Whereas the canine reaction to a long look when he doesn't want a fight is to look away. Not down and away. Not submission, just...lack of aggression. Arturo blinks at Rasputin's comment. "Yeah. I've been called that, too. I had to Google it. I made the mistake of doing it at work." He winces. "There was a lot of browser history clearing after that." Rasputin just blinks. Whaaaat? "Well..you do have fur, and you said you're a cat, so...". Yep, Rasputin's digging hirself a hole. "Luckily, I've never been called a furry. A hallucination, a freak, a 'oh my god what the fuck is that' has been thrown at me a few times, but never a furry!". Rasputin..seems happy about this? Huh. "I'm not a furry." No one does simmering anger quite like Southern women. They radiate heat without seeming to change anything, from posture to expression. "I was /born/ this way, I don't pull on some weird fursuit t'run around in...like /some/ folks." And by some folks she means you, Rasputin. Now the smaller feline is on the receiving end of That Look, and Arturo is saved! "I swear, people in this city." Hmph. She yanks her gaze away and crouches again, settling in to groom. Not with her tongue, but rather by running her hands over her arms, her shoulders, picking stray bits of garbage that still cling to her leg...fur. Arturo isn't quite rocking on his heels and whistling while looking the other direction, but a similar reaction is communicated by his throat-clearing and hunched shoulders. "Technically..." he scratches behind an ear. "...technically she's right, Rasputin. You're the one who's putting on the suit." "Woah, woah, woaaaaah, that's not what I meant!". Rapid explanation time from Rasputin! "What I meant was, I know you're a mutant, I'm a mutant, this doctor's a mutant, we're all mutants. What I meant was, that doesn't make you a cat. I'm not a cat I'm a mutant, like when I'm a bird, I'm a bird not a cat, but when I'm a cat, I'm a cat not a bird! I identify mutant not cat, but if you identify cat that's cool, just seems odd, is all!". Not actually speaking using hir body helps Rasputin talk rapidly, but probably at the cost of others. And then, Rasputin laughs at Arturo. "Hey, that's right! I /am/ in a suit. Like, always. Huh..that's actually kind of depressing." "Haven't ever been anythin' else. All those folks wish they could /be/ me," Violet is grumbling as she continues with the grooming. Her tail is seized--twitching protest at the grip--so she can pick trash from its slightly more fluffy length. "I'm the real deal, not some...some internet fakers." Hmph times two. But she relents a little under the onslought of Rasputin's high energy chattering--or maybe his allowance of the depressing state he occupies. "S'just animals you can hop into? Not like...people like him and me, yeah?" And now Arturo feels bad. There's a murmured apology for the motormouth cat. As Violet grooms, he takes a moment to take in her state. "Hey uh, it's really none of my business, but one obvious mutant to another...do you have a safe place to stay?" Rasputin nods hir head. "Yep. Everything but fish and people. I used to have a human body, but I don't even remember what that's like. Sad story, though!". Yet the demeanor doesn't die down! "I've tried on more animal-like mutants, but that doesn't work either. I reaaaally don't know how it works. It's just how I live!" The true!cat's response seems to settle the last of any nerves or grumpiness that Violet might have been feeling. She tosses her tail away--it stays attached but drops behind her--and headtilts at the smaller feline. "You don't seem real sad," she points out, but that's done with a flash of humor, a glimpse of teeth as her grin returns. "Mmmr? Y'mean like a house?" Pumpkin orange eyes shift up to Arturo and study him before she earflicks and rolls her shoulders. A shrug. "Got a few places, don't really stick t'any one, y'know? I'm more the...wander through sort." "It uh, it actually might not be a bad strategy. Wandering, that is. I mean, I have a way to hide my mutation. Plus, strategies." Arturo tugs a sleeve self-consciously. "But whenever I get noticed, it often turns into a bad scene." "It's life. You get over it, because there's still tomorrow, and I was given a second chance at life!". Rasputin seems rather optimistic, and then begins to run out towards the side. "I need to get home, see you all again sometime!". And then the cat skedaddles! "See ya." The retreating cat is observed with a bemused tilt of fuzzy brows. Only after the last of him is out of sight--and she thought /she/ was floofy--does Violet return her attention back to Arturo. It is contemplative, the way she lifts a hand to scrub her knuckles against the curve of her jaw. "Guess maybe you're slower on your feet than me is all," she theorizes. "Sure I get noticed but I got m'own strategies, yeah? Know when t'run, when t'throw down. When t'let the big winged guy handle the problem." Pardon her for this moment of private amusement. At least it leaves her grinning. "'Sides, I'm not lookin' t'get adopted." "Uh, bye Rasputin. Try to go easy on the 'nip." Arturo knows it's a lame joke, but there it is. He looks back to Violet. "Oh, you'd be surprised at how quick I am. But I can't jump between buildings. I'm uh, I'm more of a...feet on the ground sort of guy." He stomps his feet for illustration. "Not looking to adopt. Just, well. There's not many people who really understand what it's like. And I know it's damned tough out there." "Not as quick as me." Looks like the pride she wounded earlier has bounced back entirely! Violet rolls easily to her feet. This time, when she rolls her shoulders back, it's purely for the sake of stretching out and limbering up. "You should try jumpin', sometime. It does things to ya. /Good/ things," she remarks, pointing a finger at her temple to indicate where he might expect these changes to occur. "S'pretty tough, y'got me there. And hey, I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing t'know a doctor. You work around the corner here?" "Canines aren't meant to jump. Not like cats. Running, on the other hand." Arturo doesn't quite run with his tongue out, but he might if no one was around. He looks over his shoulder in the direction of Mount Sinai. "Ah, no. I work shifts at various clinics around the city. I'm a floater." The grin melts away. Yep. Arturo has just earned himself another of those long and level looks. Violet is telling him without the need for words that he has missed his cue. "...sooo...if I need a doctor..." She pauses, waits, then supplies in case he missed the hint: "...I can find ya...?" "Oh! Yeah, uh, sorry. Not any one place. But if you want someone you feel comfortable with and you need help..." Arturo pulls out his wallet and roots around until he finds a card. "That's my number, there. There's a list of the clinics I work at on the back." He hands it over to her. It's a plain white business card that says 'Doctor Arturo Ridley, MD.' "There ya go, fella. S'better." Violet rewards compliance with another of those diamond-bright smiles and takes the card to inspect it. Good dog. "Figure it couldn't hurt. Just don't go sendin' me any bills, yeah?" The card is tucked away in a pocket and then she proceeds to pace off down the alley--same direction Rasputin took, more leisurely pace--but several steps in, she pauses. Oh, yeah. "I'm Violet. See ya around, wolfman." Arturo isn't the most eloquent and smooth guys as the best of times, but it might be her feline nature has thrown him for more of a loop than usual. "Right, yeah, see you around, alleycat." Hah! Nicknames go both ways. He says that with a smile, then adds more seriously, "Take care of yourself." "Pfft." The most catty of sounds. Violet scoffs. She /scoffs/. And then she disappears 'round the corner.