ArchivedLogs:Playtime

Playtime
Dramatis Personae B, Desi, Eve, Ion, Monsterling
In Absentia	2017-04-22 "The tiniest ones. Sometimes they do surprise you."
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. A night full of rain has made the weekend damp and grey and considerably cooler than the warm week that preceded it. The park isn't as full as it might be, most Saturdays, with a shower just passed and grey clouds overhead threatening more rain still to come. Even so, the dog park is usually more popular than it is currently -- just two pups playing in the main run; in the section set aside for only small dogs there is just one slightly tense-looking young man throwing a ball for his rat terrier. The emptiness of this particular section of the park might be less due to the weather and more due to the dog park's other occupants -- the floppy-eared one-eyed beagle cheerfully bounding after a larger black-and-tan mutt looks innocuous enough, but the small blue-skinned individual watching over the dogs earns a looot of side-eyes from people who approach with their dogs on leashes and For Some Reason decide to leave without entering. If B notices all the stray glares and wary looks and sudden about-faces by would-be dog-park patrons it doesn't seem to faze her much. The blue sharkpup sits atop the fence at the edge of the park, the heels of her tall (and extremely chunky) silver and black boots hooked through the mesh. She's dressed in a black pleated skirt, silvery fishnets, a ruffly purple blouse with a black leather vest over it -- the large decal on the back of the kutte reads "MUTANT MONGRELS MC" around a Jolly Roger logo, the skull horned and with a smile full of grinning sharkteeth and a pair of crossed fencing foils where crossbones should be. There's a plastic takeout container in one clawed webbed hand, full of strips of lemongrass beef, one of which she's just spearing on a long black claw. "-- well you could help choreograph, anyway. Taylor might actually /dance/." She has a purse dog. Well. Her mother's purse dog. It's a loud-mouthed little chihuaha which proceeds to STARE at the beagle the moment it is set down somewhere it won't be in standing water. A pink, rhinestone-covered leash is clipped to its collar. The girl is in jogging pants, and a hoodie, suggesting she ran here. She doesn't look particularly discomfited by the weather or the effort of jogging here. And if the presence of B makes her feel unsettled, it doesn't show on her face. Then again... Eve did spend some time with a cyborg and a bat-winged boy yesterday, so maybe that prepped her well. At any rate, the girl leads her little dog (it PRANCES) over to the one sitting on the fence. And then she's examining her... Or rather, her black boots. The chunk! So much chunk! "Are those your babies?" She gestures to the dogs the sharkpup is watching over, commenting,"I like your boots. And your little ones are adorable." No comment on the kutte. Bikers is scary stuff! Well. At least she's not shy. Meanwhile, 'Preciada' as her tags proclaim here has begun to walk in circles as if surveying her domain. Desi has dressed for the drizzly day without compromising style, her thigh-length rain coat is a soft-brushed plum, her long skirt a layered affair of brown floral lace over magenta satin, her tall camel boots startlingly mud-free. She has a forest green umbrella tucked under one arm and a matching corduroy purse slung over the opposite shoulder. She digs her chopsticks into the tub in B's hand, daintily picking out a strip of meat for herself. "Mm," she invests the noise with just a touch of ambivalence and chews slowly. "I'd have to ask Marinov if that would be permissible--for an ally." This last with a rueful smile, which promptly turns neutral and friendly when Eve approaches. "The beagle is hers; the speed demon--" She nods at the black-and-tan mutt, her smile wider now and brighter, "--is mine. And yours is indeed precious." B chomps into her strip of meat, nodding absently at Desi. "We can ask, anyway. Uh -- oh." Her eyes open -- huger, wider, enormous pupilless pools of black that abruptly seem to dominate an improbable portion of her narrow face with her expression of surprise. She looks over at Eve, then at Desi, then back down at her food, evidently supposing Eve to be speaking to the taller girl until Desi's reply. "Oh! Um, right. Yeah, that's. The beagle is -- that's Obie. He's mine. Yours is very -- prancey." The girl laughs a little bit as the chihuahua finds a relatively dry patch of grass, and sits on it like a little 'regal lion'. "Mom's dog. I wouldn't want to be living the stereotype, but Preciada is... um... she thinks she's a showdog? Usually she spends all day sitting on a pillow in the shop. I've always wanted an Irish Wolfhound myself. Still. Preciada is family. Wouldn't trade her for the world." She makes smooching sounds at the little dog. The rumbly purr of a motorcycle thrums -- nearer to the park and then straight into it. A black and silver heavily modified Harley V-Rod with the license plate WIRED pulls up alongside the fence; it has a sidecar attached with a (also somewhat modified) carseat strapped into it. The bike's rider sports, at the moment, a black kutte that nearly matches B's -- its logo fanged rather than sharktoothed, a pair of crossed lightning bolts where B's have fencing foils. Otherwise his outfit is bland -- faded jeans, solid boots, a somewhat dingy white tee. "Yooooooooooo dogs," Ion's voice is a deep gravelly bass, his Argentine accent heavily noticeable, "-- I mean," there's a small frown on his face as he pulls of his helmet, looks at the /actual/ pups playing, though it's very quickly replaced by bright-grin, "dogs? {and dogs.} That teeny one she got some good bling." He leans over the sidecar, undoing the straps on its carseat. The occupant of the carseat sits up and stretches their fuzzy batlike wings. Their large head looks even bigger with their horned helmet, from beneath which protrudes long ears that flop over at the points, their huge green eyes bulbous beneath goggles. 'Doggies doggies doggies,' they sign, looking like they are just snapping their fingers repeatedly, and leap into Ion's arms, wings wrapping around his torso, tiny claws hooking on securely. 'Hi Obie! Hi arrow-dog! Are we getting a dog now?' "Alright, they're /all/ precious." Desi picks out another strip of beef and smiles indulgently at the dogs. "But she has more dignity than Obie and Flèche put together. Certainly I agree that you ought not to turn your back on family, but there's always getting /another/ dog." Flèche curves back around toward the entry area, slowing to a very bouncy trot and approaches Preciada. She snuffles at the newcomer, her tail wagging high and hopeful. "Yeah no trading required. More dogs is /always/ better than fewer dogs. Plus think how cute she'd be next to a wolfhound with matching collars." A smile is on B's face even before the motorcycle actually is in view -- small, careful, closed-lipped, but warm. She tips her head back when Ion pulls up, waggling her fingers (still with the half-eaten strip of meat attached to one claw) at him before offering the container of beef out. "Dogs is appropriate. Well. Half-appropriate. Desi is like /honorary/ mongrel. /Are/ you getting a dog now?" Eve's spanish, when she uses it, is definitively Cuban, even if her English is otherwise unaccented. And as a young woman who lists 'boys' among her hobby, older men on impressive motorcycles definitely qualify as impressive enough. Cue a moment of Eve coming down with a case of stupid-mouth, and then she finds her voice proper. "{Preciada is, like, the daughter my parents always wanted.}" She says this with a sort of laughing tone as if the thought amused her. Preciada, for her own part, extends one 'regal' paw towards Flèche's nose as if to say 'yes, peasant, you may sniff'. She puts a little extra priss on it, as well. A hand is meanwhile offered for a shake to each of the present. Except for the occupant of the carseat who just gets an 'aaaawe' from her. "You look like some dude I know with wings. Preciada, greet." The dog rises, and imperiously prances to each of those introduced to offer a tiny little paw, before returning to its resting place where it looks at its 'new friend'. Well. At least it's well-trained! Eve reaches down to ruffle her dog's head, thus undercutting its dignity. "Dogs with an 'o' or with an 'aw'? I'm sorry. I'm being rude. Eve." "{What the tiny pup is? So what's that make you?}" Ion curls his arm loosely around Egg to support them, quirking his brows upward at Eve's aww. "What, you know someone else with this monsterface?" He sounds just a little skeptical. "Bet they not half as scary as you, dragonling." This reassurance is given Very Earnestly to the tiny bug-eyed gargoyle in his arms. "{And no every day we have this conversation no dogs but you can come play with the other dogs as much as you like, yeah? Maybe B will make you a robot dog.}" He swipes a piece of beef from B's tub, hopping up and mostly-over the fence to sit atop it beside B. "Oh /shit/ yo she know any other tricks? Look that little pawshaking you all see this?" His eyes are wide and delighted. Egg--the winged goblin creature clinging to Ion's chest--cranes their neck around to watch the dogs, their ears swiveling to and fro. 'I'm the most scary, yes!' they sign one-handed, and then snaps their (very numerous and very sharp) teeth for emphasis. 'B can I have a robot dog? Flying robot dog? That does tricks?' Flèche bounds after Preciada, looking nonplussed at her performance. Then she drops into a playbow, wagging excitedly. Her one flopped-over-ear almost perks all the way up. Desi waves to Ion and Egg. "{Welcome to the dog party.}" Her Spanish comes out with more of a French accent than an English one. "I am honored to be a member of the Mongrels' auxiliaries," she says solemnly, placing one pink satin-gloved hand over her heart. "Eve?" The interrogative tone is very mild. She inclines her head. "Enchantée. My name is Desirée, and the pup harassing Preciada is Flèche." "/Yikes/." is all B says at the mention of Egg looking like anyone else. "I'll definitely make you a robot for the little monster to savage. Flying and everything. Dragon-dog? Oh man like a /luck/ dragon!" She doesn't grin as broad as Ion, though she does look similarly delighted at Preciada's antics. "/Cutie/-pie. -- Oh!" Her head dips, somewhat self-consciously at all the introductions. "Right um, I'm B. And my stupidface over there is Obie. Being more dignified than him is not a high bar." The beagle has gotten somewhat worked up at the thought of another playmate, zooming in circles around Flèche before crashing straight into her and dropping back to his haunches with a small whuff. She should probably be more freaked out by very sharp gnashy teeth. Mostly, though, she's still just got 'aaawe, it's small' on the brain. Meanwhile, Eve's dog, Preciada has decided that Flèche's obeisance is acceptable, and shows this by hopping up and placing its frontpaws on Flèche's shoulder. Yes. Excellent. "No. Their wings just remind me... I met this guy... Dusk, he said, I think? Gave me a card for this hair stylist, too. He had wings. They were very pretty. I don't really know many mutants (read: almost any, including herself) so it was a very memorable day. We were trying to convince his friend to go hang out in the sun instead of studying. I... think I may be a bad influence?" Eve suddenly adopts a western 'gunslinger' stance, finger cocked as if it were a gun. She 'draws' and fires at Preciada,"Bangbang!" The dog rolls over onto its back, playing dead. Then she blows the imaginary smoke off the gun and says,"No more dead." Preciada immediately springs up in time to catch a small tossed treat out of the air. It spins three times, then quickly departs to a safe distance as Obie comes crashing into Flèche. "Enchantee? That's like... uh... Encantada, yeah? Sorry. No worries. Preciada is well socialized, even if she acts like a princess." The little sausage of a dog parks its rump on the ground, surveying all. "She always loses in talent competitions to the dog who catches the frisbee. Mom despairs of her really winning anything, but it's a lot of fun at least. B. Desi. Ion's question about what that makes her, however, almost doesn't get addressed. Still, after looking at the three of them each in turn, she offers,"{The son that wasn't? That's unkind. They're really trying.}" She stands, though, and arches her back, as if stretching it out. "So... a for real robot dog. What are you, Stark's niece or something." "Small world hey but I know like four --" Ion considers this, "five different people with batwings my tiny-dragon don't look shit like Dusk {you way fiercer-looking than that prettyboy huh?} he only wish he could gargoyle half so good {what kind of tricks you want a robot to do anyway} /oh damn/ she roll right over!" This is all delivered in one increasingly excited breath; he slaps B on the back afterward, indicating Preciada /just in case/ the little pup missed the dog's antics. "Son that wasn't?" His brows wrinkle uncertainly as he looks Eve over before asking, "oh wait you like some ladyboy too? You could get 'em a /boy/ dog. You stay girl, they get a new son, win-win yeah?" Egg's head bobs excitedly, their ears flopping up and down. 'Flying dragon robot dog! Flying dragon robot dog!' Low, rapid clicking emanates from their throat. 'Tricks like that!' they indicate Preciada. 'And dancing. And fetching. And breathing /fire!/ Dusk is good monster too,' they add, loyally. ' Flèche does not seem in the least put out at Obie's collision, though she does take it to mean it's /tussle/ time, and gleefully pounces on the beagle. "We're friends of Dusk's," Desi translates. "We...know a /few/ mutants." This light, bemused. "She has excellent business," indicating Preciada with a graceful turn of her hand. "Probably has a future in stage, if she put her mind to it. But yes, 'enchantee' is more or less the same word as 'encantada'; I only meant that I was pleased to make your acquaintance." Her green eyes go just a touch wide at Ion's suggestion, and her hand comes up to cover her mouth. "Oh--that...probably isn't the best word for referring to a trans person, unless they ask you to use it. Or," this to Eve, "do you mean something else entirely? I suppose his advice about the dog stands regardless." B's eyes squeeze shut where Desi's go wide, cheeks tinting slightly purple and the gills at the side of hir neck fluttering rapidly. "Ion." Her nose wrinkles up when she looks back at the older man. "That's -- not polite. Anyway why don't you just put a blue collar on Preciada now? Don't even need a new dog, bam. Fixed." Her legs swing slowly, rattling against the links of the fence. "Dancing and fire breathing, huh? I'll see what I can do. And um --" The hairless ridge of her brow crinkles up; she shakes her head with a small chuff. "I think if Mister Stark had any family who looked like me they'd probably be really well paid to never ever ever tell anyone the relation." Now the little bit is making clicking sounds. Right. Well. This is A THING THAT IS HAPPENING. Still, Ion says a thing, and she too, squeezes her own eyes shut. A deep breath. A release. "It's... um... a fairly insulting word, as Desiree and B observed. Trans, or transwoman is a little more... uh... polite term?" A pause though. Blue color on Preciada,"Well, it's not the worst idea, but... I dunno... Do dogs see color? Maybe she likes pink? Maybe we should just get the wolfhound. Everyone wins." Eve kneels down though, and puckers up,"Dame besos." The dog licks her cheek obediently as it watches Flèche and Obie tussle. Not interested in hard work. "Anyway, Preciada is a tad prissy. So she wouldn't want to any work into really making a go at the stage." She turns to lean against the fence everyone is habitating,"That's a shame, you know. I see the guy on TV. He seems pretty like a pretty chill dude. Well, it's cool. You'll totally give him a run for his money when everyone is throwing money at you for super-pets. You really know how to make that kind of stuff, ladybug?" Yes. B has been deemed 'ladybug'. "So you're, like, super-smart then?" "Oh shit lo siento," Ion circles one fist over his heart with this apology. "Transwoman, {right, okay.} Dogs they see fine colors. Maybe what she need is a black spikey collar. Real tough like. /Still/ bling. /Diamond/ spikes." He's hopping down off the fence, now, shifting Egg slightly to prop the dragonling against his hip. "Yo this tiny biteface she the goddamn /smartest/. Anyway people they already chuck money at her for her other toys robot dogs just be one more in the lineup." Just for a heartbeat, his smile dims. A touch. "{And definitely what we need in our life is more shit getting lit on /fire/ that make a great toy.}" Egg scrambles up onto Ion's shoulder, tenses briefly, then flings themselves into the air, wings snapping wide, though without flapping. They glide unsteadily down to land--in a muddy puddle. They shake themselves off clumsily and scuttle toward the pups to join in on the tussling. Flèche doesn't initially notice Egg joining the fray, but when she does she stops and sniffs at them, uncertain. Then drops into a playbow at /them./ "Best to err on the side More Dog. Just to be safe." Desi nods sagely. "B is indeed brilliant, probably more so than Tony Stark, though he certainly had a leg up in marketing right from the start. Even so, I have no doubt you've seen some of her inventions about already. A flying, fire breathing robot dog probably doesn't pose /much/ challenge. One with a working knowledge of fire safety, though, perhaps?" She studies B sidelong, then looks down at the pups. "{Gently, Flèche,}" this in French, with a distinct Quebecois accent. "My name is B." It's quiet; B is looking down at her container of food as she says this. "I don't think I'm smarter than -- um I don't know. I guess I'm okay. I know how to make some stuff." Her small closed-lipped smile returns, brief, crooked. "I don't know what passes for fire safety in Ion's place anyway." Her eyes turn back out to the dogs -- Obie is taking none of Flèche's caution with Egg, barreling straight toward the scuttling gargoyle in a sort of clumsy chest-tackle. "{Small monster, no eating the dogs okay?}" "Sorry. Sometimes I drop nicknames without thinking about it. That's my malfunction." She slides down so she's kneeling, watching Preciada lord over the other dogs. "Esta bien, Ion." She pronounces this 'EE-on'. "I dunno. Does she strike you as tough? Still, diamonds are definitely her kinda thing. Not that I have the money to throw down on diamond dog collars." She watches the wrestling of Egg with a sort of stilted gaze. "I get it though. You're the type, B, who gets uncomfortable comparing themselves to other people, huh? That about right? Stop me if I'm guessing horribly. It's a good quality. Good way to make friends. Like those two. They obviously think the world of your talents. Speaks well for you. Eve rises then, and whistles for Preciada to begin pacing her,"Come on you lazy beast. "I don't know robots anyway, so I'd have to take your word for it. I just know I couldn't built them. I can barely cook a few things. I know... swimming and running, and climbing. I know how to blend makeup. I know stock a shelf attractively and what filter to use for a selfie. Don't know electronics, and wiring, and math and stuff. It's neat as hell." Ion tenses very briefly at Eve's apology, though it's soon to pass. He shrugs, bouncing somewhat restlessly on his toes as he watches the pups (and toddler) playing. "{Remember gentle with the dogs, Dragonlord.} I 'ono maybe she tough? We only just met, yeah? Sometimes the tiniest ones they the ones that surprise you." His hands tuck into his pockets, and he starts pacing, absently tracking up and down the length of the fence. "{Those all seem like good things to know. Cooking, running, that's got me plenty far in life anyway.}" Egg mimics--or tries to mimic--Flèche's bow. Very briefly, before they are bowled over by Obie, limbs and tail flailing. They flip over a couple of times and leaps onto Obie's back, wings waving awkwardly in the air for balance. Flèche's tail is wagging furiously now, propeller-like behind her as she rears up on her hind legs and bat at Obie-and-Egg with one front paw. "People all have different strengths, but cooking, swimming, running, and climbing are definitely pretty vital skills." Desi's tone is soothing, though her smile is a little fey. "Not, mind you, /quite/ so vital as blending makeup or taking a good selfie. In any case, skills can learned and honed." Her smile softens. "The tiniest ones. Sometimes they do surprise you." "I learned a lot about makeup from my pa but I don't think it's possible to take a good selfie and they don't make foundation in my colour." B's lament is mild. Hir gills flutter again, quick, and she takes another strip of meat to chew on slowly. Ultimately her answer to Eve's assessment is just a shrug. "I got my friends by fiat, mostly. Anyway blending makeup is pretty neat, too. And," a little ruefully, "I can't cook worth anything. I'm a crushing disappointment my pa is sort of a kitchen wizard." Her posture has tensed just a little bit, leaning forward slightly, huge black eyes tracking Egg-and-Obie veeery carefully now. The girl covers her mouth when Ion tenses. Right. Linguistic hygiene is a thing these days! Rather than call attention to it, she beckons her hands towards Preciada after kneeling. The dog hops into her arms, and then she turns to watch Eggwith the dogs. She's not really as rapt as the others, not really understanding WHY it's such an event. "Well... It's true. They don't. Yet. Why don't you look into what that'd take. You could do a whole line of cosmetics for non-standard skin types. It might not be very profitable, but it might make a good project. Everyone deserves access to something to make them feel good about themselves." She keeps the dog wrapped up in her arms as if she were holding a small child. "No wrong way to get friends if they're real friends." She turns her head slightly towards B though,"You make robots. I'm pretty sure your Pa is anything but disappointed with you." Still, all the compliments have her smiling... and fishing for her phone to take a selfie. "Preciada is mighty. That's totally meme-able." "Biteling on the scale of shit you may-be a crushing disappointment to your pa over I don't think cooking skills up top his list." Ion reconsiders this encouraging proclamation a moment later, though to add cheerful reassurance: "-- wait shit he /Southern/ {maybe it's up there after all.} Anyway B already make plenty shit for people to feel good about themselves, like makeup is great but you know what's even greater, a suit of armor and a flying motorcycle. Hard to feel bad about yourself when you soaring way over every-body." Still perched on Obie's back, Egg is clicking so rapidly now that it sounds like an odd droning sci-fi sound effect. Their pupils have dilated so far that the bright green of their irises look like thin rings of luminosity. They swat at Flèche with their wings, and begins to lose their balance, mouth wide and menacing now, fangs bared. Flèche looks kind of uncertain, but goes to pounce once again. Desi taps her chin with one gloved finger. "I'm not sure why this hasn't occurred to me before, but Tag could probably make foundation that matches your skin--anyone's skin, more or less. And what's best is flying on a motorcyle /with/ perfect make--" She stands up a little straight. "{Easy, Flèche! Come.}" The dog's ears twitch and she reluctantly peels away from her play, trotting back toward Desi with ears drooping, a betrayed look in her eyes. "Speak for yourself," B's answer comes back just as cheerfully before she lapses into kind of lazy one-handed sign: '/I'm/ great at feeling bad about myself /anywhere/.' "-- Though I do like looking great while I'm at it. Tag could make all /kinds/ of makeup, I'm sure." She tosses a strip of beef to Flèche when the poor droop-eared pup makes her way back over. "And it'd be great if everyone had access to the fashion tools they needed but I don't think that's really my, um. Calling. /You/ could look into what it takes if you think it's a worthwhile cause?" She hops down off the fence, too -- her nearly noiseless landing oddly lighter than her enormously heavy-looking boots suggest it /should/ be. "Obie! Um Frittata {maybe wrestling time is over? I think you should get off the pup.}" Obie doesn't seem entirely sanguine anymore about the winged creature clinging clawed and wobbly to his back. His first attempt to get at Egg results in the dog just running in a tight circle; after this he tries jumping like maybe! maybe then! he can reach. It does not really get him any closer to the dragontoddler attached to him, though. The girl shrugs a little bit,"I don't... I'm not saying I'm stupid or anything, but... I know what my talents are. Inventing stuff? Not so much. I'll probably just keep running my parents' store, work there forever. If I contribute to anything, it'll be volunteering. Not everyone's meant for big things." Her tone is actually rather content, it seems. Though the signing does get a sort of dumb look, lacking in understanding. Still, she puts down her little dog, after a moment, noting,"Stay Preciada..." She moves to assist the light young Sharkpup,"I'll help." Because exercise is good, you know? She has it on authority from a doctor and everything. "Energetic aren't they? Playtime over then?" "{What kind of store? Anything interesting?} Eyyy pup I'll just feel good /enough/ about you for the /both/ of us then." Ion, who has still been pacing, evidently less concerned than the others about Egg's romp with the dogs, does a veeeeery abrupt about-face when Eve approaches. "{Hey shit watch out -- /Monsterling/}" there's an added new tension in his voice, strained and sharper as he jogs back toward Egg and Obie. "{Play time over okay we go ride.}" 'No no no no no no no NO!' Even though it is a one-handed sign, Egg has freed both their hands to more adequately express their displeasure with their father's instructions. 'Don't wanna go wanna PLAY!' Their clicking sounds like a bizarre electronically simulated growl, now. Thus distracted (and no longer holding on), they are summarily launched from Obie's back when the beagle jumps up again. They spread their wings and claw somewhat inefficiently at the air, but with a very clear view to get /away/ from Ion. Whether intentionally or otherwise, this causes them to crash headlong into Eve's arms, one of which they promptly bite. Their needly fangs mostly get snagged up in the girl's hoodie, but the very tips penetrate just far enough to prick her skin. The sharp pain is fleeting, followed by an equally fleeting euphoric rush, followed by a heavy wash of drowsiness. Desi stays well out of the way and lets the other three take care of the goblin-wrangling. Though she kneels down to hood a finger around Flèche's collar. "Oh!" she cries out when Egg crashes into Eve, "have a care, they might--" She winces. "--bite." "{Oh fucking hell.}" B's startled interjection when Egg crashes toward Eve is definitely not in Spanish this time, but even in Vietnamese the /tone/ of swearing tends to translate easily enough despite language barriers. She reaches toward the pair, trying to stay mostly out of the way of flailing wings and gnashing teeth as she tries to pry Egg off Eve. "{Biting does not make anyone want to play with you, Omelette, that's /not/ okay.}" Back to Spanish, for this. "You should maybe -- um --" But whatever advice she was going to give Eve just trails off with a nervous uncertain hum, black eyes wider and gills shivering open. "OW! {SHITFUCKFUCKOW!}" This is the response when she suddenly has needle-teeth sticking out of her arm. "{My hoodie! Get 'em off, get 'em off!}" Flailing ensues. For about ten seconds. Then the poison really hits. Huh. Doesn't really hurt so much. Eve takes a step, her voice fluctuating up and down in pitch,"{I uh... Huh... I'm... Don't let me fall on the...}" Probably was hoping not to fall on Egg or Obie. Who knows how this works out. A few more seconds later, and she takes a step forward, arm down... Her eyes roll up in her head, and she starts to fall forward. Out. Nightnight, Eve. "{/Egg/ we do not bite people.}" Though in truth Ion sounds more resigned than upset. "{You calming down and we going --}" Here he's nudging Obie aside with one foot, moving to catch Eve as she falls and ease her more /gently/ down to the ground -- in some ways it is possibly a slight mercy she is unconscious, his touch comes with a brief but solid electrical /jolt/. "{-- home.} Uh." He's eying Eve's outfit with a small frown before looking over toward the backpack that Preciada travelled in. "... after we find where you live and get you home, Briar Rose. Desi uh maybe you see if there some -- ID? There?" More under his breath: "{... fuck.}" Egg has some difficulty unhooking fangs and talons from the hoodie, but once they've managed this they leap over to Ion even as he catches Eve. 'Sorry,' they sign, eyes huge and looking more frightened than remorseful as such. Their small, lanky body is shaking, and their claws dig deeply into Ion's clothing. 'I want to play,' this is just sort of plaintive and sulky now. Desi roots through Eve's backpack without even the slightest trace of sheepishness and quickly locates a wallet. "Looks like she lives up East Harlem. There's also some emergency contact information in here, I can give her parents a call and make sure they're around." She glances up at Ion and Egg as she fishes her phone from her purse. "I can go with you, if B will take Flèche home..." "Yeah, no problem." B looks a trifle more relaxed, now that the chaos is over. She returns to the fence to pluck dog leashes and harnesses off of it in order to corral the pups back up. "You want me to take Egg, too? Might be less. Uh. Jarring. For her folks. We can go home and work on robot dogs." Eve is, during all of this, doing a remarkable impression of an unconscious person. Because she's actually unconscious. There's not even very much blood on her sleeve, actually. "{Sorry, little friend, playtime is over. Playtime ends when people are getting hurt, right? You know people aren't for biting.}" Ion is rubbing gently at Egg's back, but still pries them carefully off his kutte to transfer them to B's leather vest instead. He crouches again, scooping Eve's deadweight into his arms with a low grunt of effort. "Yeah, Desi, you come. -- {Guess we're going for a ride, sugar.}"