ArchivedLogs:Breakfast of Champions

Breakfast of Champions
Dramatis Personae Anette Killian
In Absentia	2015-10-11 "One of these days, I'm going to swat a fly and it's going to be you."
Location <BOM> Kitchen and Dining Room - Main Lodge - Ascension Island
Though equipped to feed and seat a few dozen people, these rooms lack an institutional feel. A large stone fireplace along one wall has a wide mantelpiece above it; the walls and floors are smooth blonde birch and darker grey stone. The solid wood tables are circular, designed to seat six apiece. The lighting overhead is soft, stained-glass hanging lamps over each table and recessed lighting studded at intervals into the walls. Though the tables all match, the chairs do not, an assortment of styles from extravagantly ornate high-backed oak to plastic-and-metal folding chairs. The kitchen adjoins the living room through a large pair of swinging doors. Recently refurbished, its new appliances still gleam. The giant fridge and freezer to the right are generally well-stocked, as is the large cool stone walk-in pantry set alongside them. Its back door opens out onto the gardens. The center island is a long granite counter, the cabinets underneath it stocked with pots and pans and cooking dishes of all types. Three sinks are set against the left-hand wall. Overhead, numerous cabinets hold dishes and glasses and mugs for actual eating; the drawers below have utensils for the same. Hooks on the walls are available for hanging -- dishtowels, oven mitts, severed body parts, whatever is in need of hanging. It's very late- or very early, depending on one's perspective. The wee hours of the morning see a few brothers seeking snacks here or there. Fortunately tonight's seen less traffic, and in fact a couple of hours at least have gone by with the kitchens relatively quiet. A short blond boy of late teens exits the kitchens into the common room, grumbling something under his breath. After a few steps, he blinks out of existance, likely teleporting back to his cabin or wherever he'd come from. To enter the large kitchen would a couple of mutants at the far end, talking under a dim light, and and on the opposite end find a small portion of it a good degree of mess. The pantry door has been opened, it having of course bags of cereal, snack bars, breads- you name it- in hefty quantities to supply all the members who frequent the island. Multiple bags have been pulled down and torn open, cereal, pastas, pudding and gummies strewn all around that area. It's been perhaps only a few hours since Killian finally awoke from being passed out. How long had it been? A day? Less? More? He's still canine, not yet shifted. Not yet in his right mind to do so. The border collie is the center point of whatever hurricane tore into the lower shelf stock of the pantry- fortunate that he could only reach so high- and it's laying in a nest of crushed-to-crumbs foodstuffs. The dog is very focused, nigh frenized, in his cause; that being, apparently to eat everything in sight. Currently, the cardboard box remains of some mini-blueberry muffins is what he's chewing on, apparently packaging not escaping the assault. Closer examination shows heavy bandages around his left forelimb and around his chest, some furs sticking out in odd directions around the wrapping. Some take a less hectic approach to their breakfast. Or dinner, depending on your view. Anette, still dressed in the clothes from the night before, wearily walks into cabin, making her way into the kitchen with a very zombie-esque gait. Despite her apparent sleep deprived state, the mess does not go unnoticed. Neitherdoes the perpetrator. "Do not make me go get the rolled up newspaper," she warns, stifling a yawn as she does so, reaching down to pick up one of the boxes of cereal that had been knocked to the floor and yet escaped the assault. "Good to see you're recovering well. Feel better?" she asks, searching the cabinets for the largest bowl she can find and pouring herself cereal. The dog pauses as /someone/ comes to take something that's clearly /his/. There's a growl, a show of teeth that starts when she reaches for the untouched box, though the muffin container is hooked on a tooth and hangs in his mouth crookedly, and likely amusingly so despite the territorial show. He doesn't go after her, of course, and when Anette walks away and begins talking to him, there's a single beat of his tail that reflects at least that Killian is still in that canine skull somewhere. The border collie rises, though the effort looks slow and stiff. He shakes the box once, that playful 'kill-it' shake that dogs do, but he only manages to do so once before dropping it. Something seems off, and he limps towards Anette still as a canine, not shifting. He sits beside her chair like a dog may do to beg. Waiting? "I'm terrified," Anette murmurs sarcastically, though a faint smile suggests she is amused by Killian's attempt at being territorial. She fills her bowl with milk and turns around, taking a bite as she watches Killian fight with the box. As he limps towards her, she furrows her brows slightly, trying to figure out what he needs. "Sorry, I'm not fluent in dog. What do you need, belly rub? Go outside?" A head tilt would usually perhaps be cute, those long-haired ears of his perked at Anette as he listens, but those intense brown eyes stare at her. Stare intently in such a way that they're expecting- needing?- of something. He can't jump up, not so early, so he lifts his good paw if still somewhat slowly, and rubs his head with it. Given his paw kinda-sorta gets stuck over his muzzle, it looks like he's hiding his eyes as he looks over that paw at her. The 'self-pet' is repeated once more before he puts that limb back down to take the weight off his other. It's way too early for Anette to be playing dog-charades. Yet here, she is, eyes narrowed as she watches Killian try to mime out his needs. "Petting? Food? Seriously, I'm at a loss." Before she can continue along with her questions, there's a sharp bark uttered after 'petting'. For all that Killian's always said about never doing so? Certainly out of character and out of the normal, but the dog is being persistent. He lifts that paw one more time to rub over his head in a mock-pet. "Oh, but I'm never allowed to pet you, remember?" Anette says, unable to hide the grin. She does eventually relent and walks over, gently scratching at Killian's neck and ears. "Better?" It's probably no less than a little awkward- and inappropriate- that as she scratches his head, he begins shifting. Dog fur to black hair and scruffy stubble, shirtless this time for the sake of bandages that are made of elastic enough material to deal with some inevitable shapeshifting; it's fortunate to have experienced mutants, yes? He adjusts the bandage, too, pulling a loop of it to create a sling for the time being. He still wears his black jeans, black sneakers, fortunately. "Fuck, finally." Killian mutters as he's left sitting where the dog was. "That." He then smiles, a crooked playfully suggestive grin, "Is how I get out if I get stuck." He winks with that statement, though he doesn't go into the specifics of why she had to do it, not yet anyway. "Rules ain't changed otherwise." He turns his head, still amidst his mess, to examine what he'd done. "That's not as bad as last time." Is an amused aside to himself before, to Anette," And how are you sweetheart? Didn't smell any blood on ya. You got out fine, yeah?" Noticing the change in texture from fur to hair, Anette quickly backs away. "Seriously?" she asks, as she watches him fully morph into a human, eating another spoonful of cereal. "Your abilities have weird rules," she murmurs, leaning back against the counter as apparently her job is done. "Yeah, I got out just fine. Even told everyone who asked that you shifted into a magnificent stallion and rode us to safety," she adds with her own amused grin, the promise not to tell anyone how they really got out apparently remembered. Killian's smirk at her judgement of his ability's caveats is curiously amused, remaining just shy of chuckling. "Guess I shouldn't call them rules." Guidelines? Things that worked before? That, and he seems to be in a particularly good mood despite everything that recently occured. "Think y'need to work on your stories if that's what you came up with." He shifts to stand, the effort a few degrees easier than when the dog had tried to stand, dusting crumbs off his jeans with his unbandaged arm before joining her at the table while regarding his 'masterpiece' of food destruction on the floor. "None of my business I suppose." He starts off a subject, running his fingers over his stubble of his chin as he eases into a chair. "But didn't forget what you said back there. Why you into that shit now?" "Fine, you shifted into a gelding," Anette corrects with a grin as her story is critiqued. She watches Killian closely as he makes his way over, in both amusement and concern, her eyes darting about to the various injuries he still sports. His questioning causes her to frown slightly and she quickly looks down to the bowl of cereal in her hands. "I've been into it for...two months now? Feels like longer." Suddenly no longer hungry, she begins slowly stirring her bowl, still staring into it. "I don't know if you had any of those dreams of the future a few months back. I had...quite a few. Everything went wrong in ways I couldn't imagine and it became hard to deal with in the present. So...I found an escape." She finally takes another spoonful of cereal, chewing on it slowly before she swallows and responds. "And now you owe me a new source since you killed my last one." "Should eat that. Stole it from the dog, after all." Killian's tease is limited in effort, a small gesture offered towards her bowl as she starts to just stir it. But her question leads only to a short, slow shake of his head. But the humor drops, not explaining further. "Future ain't set." He offers quietly, his blue eyes dropping from her to the table in front of the hand he has rested on it. He lets that linger before adding, "Would rather you not be involved with those assholes. They're getting.. busier. With all the news coverage focused on-" He lifts a hand again, indicating 'mutants' in general. "And he's alive, but he ain't coming back to the business." "Hey, first come, first serve. You looked pretty occupied with the muffins or whatever you found," Anette says. The mention of the future is met with a quiet sigh. "I know, I know. That's what everyone says. But the present is lining up with the future much more than I'd be comfortable with. Faster even." What those parallels are remain unmentioned for now. "I wouldn't call myself involved. I gave them cash, they gave me the shittiest crack in the city. It was a decent arrangement." She looks up, tilting her head curiously. "Why? What else were they involved in?" "You were there." Killian remains serious, and grows darker, "Wrong place, wrong time. Shit goes down anywhere. You get out of dealing with that crap, you won't be in the middle of it." Part of that seems aggressive, the shapeshifter's face turned towards his mess so it can't be clearly seen. "You could have been shot. Again. I thought I missed one of 'em while my brain was leaking out my ears. You have one hell of a voice." Any attempt at jokes are lost simply by how simmeringly angry he's become, "Have you even told Daken?" "All I know is that I went in for cocaine and you killed my dealer," Anette responds. "I wasn't in the middle of anything until /you/ showed up. Which leads to my next question: seriously, what the hell were you doing there? And I wouldn't have had to worry about being shot if a giant tiger hadn't shown up out of no where. Jesus, wear a collar or something so I know it's you!" She presses her lips together as Daken is brought up. "Does he know what? That I use? Yeah, he knows. He's not happy about it but he knows." "It wouldn't have been so goddamn messy if I was there to off him." Killian reiterates, the anger of his features escalating slowly, "Yea, that's exactly what I need," His laugh isn't all that humored, "A fuckin' identifying mark so they have something else to target." Her re-questioning makes him stand, his good arm gripping the edge of the table before he just starts to walk away. "I'm a dog, Anette. You tell me to sic someone, it's done. It's money. You stay away from those people, you won't have the misfortune of seeing me." He spreads his hands as he turns back around, a frustrated gesture. "No." He answers sharply, "About getting shot at again." "Christ, is this about the screech thing? I'm sorry, alright! All I knew was that it looked like I was about to be eaten by a tiger! Crazy of me to get defensive," Anette says, her own voice rising as Killian's anger creates frustration within her. "Obviously, I'm staying away because there's nothing there anymore! Unless you're telling me to stay away from all dealers which isn't happening unless you start bringing it in." Suddenly, her eyebrows furrow, staring at Killian as he clarifies his last question. "No. No, I haven't told him because I haven't seen him. Why do you care if he knows or not?" "What? No." Not the screeching. His brow furrows, his free hand lifting to rub his temples, closing his eyes. He just. Takes a moment. He isn't in the mood to shift, and that's exactly what he'll do if he continues down this route. "Takes one bite to kill someone. Finesse to do anything else. Pretty sure you can't call that goddamn failure 'finesse'. I was counting on the other mutant to run off. Didn't expect you to defend a human." He considers her proposition, clearly, thinking of the logistics of it. The thought is only interrupted by her last question which is granted no real answer besides a shrug, in a 'whatever' sort of fashion. "I wasn't defending a human. I was defending my source. There's a difference. Though mostly I was defending myself," Anette replies, her own voice lowering in volume as Killian tries to calm down also. "Hm, it was lacking in a certain finesse but you did succeed in the end. So that's gotta count for something, right?" She sighs and gently rubs at her eyes. "Doesn't matter anyway. I'm completely broke now, can't even afford the shit I was using." "This is a success?" Killian gestures to a bandage. Whichever one, doesn't matter. "I don't get injured doing jobs. In and out. Run the fuck away if it goes bad. I don't stick around and make a show to eat bullets on a regular basis." He leans against a counter and finally looks back at her, adding with a tone a few degrees cooler. "Can you get off the powder or not?" The question doesn't seem hinged on money. "As far as the job is concerned, you succeeded, right?" Anette says, shrugging slightly he motions to his bandages. "You could have left. Or, you know, warned me it was you. Seriously, we need to come up with a signal. One of these days, I'm going to swat a fly and it's going to be you." She raises a brow, trying to appear non-chalant though she does tense up ever so slightly. "Don't know, haven't tried. I'd rather not, it does a lot of good." "No money if I have to call Z." Killian says blandly, settling to fold his arms across his chest, one of course a little slower than the other. These few days would pass slowly. To all of her suggestions, he's oddly quiet. He has no more jokes tonight, it seems. But eventually, "If you come up with something, you let me know. Can't wear anything." Not because he /can't/ but that it's a terrible idea in his mind. "Would rather you be off that shit, but if you stay away from the dealers for a little while, I can hit you up. Not forever, but." "I dunno, bark three times if it's you? Or whatever sound your animal of choices makes. Can you pick your coloring when you change? You could pick a marking all your forms have." Anette suggests, just rattling off suggestions as she resumes eating her bowl of cereal. "Now you're starting to sound like Daken..." she mumbles as he expresses his concern over her drug use. "Don't suppose you're looking for partner-in-crime? Some extra cash would be nice. "My power is very specific if you haven't noticed that yet." Killian remarks dryly, referencing to their brief touch on that subject before. "I have to see the animals I turn into. It'll be whatever markings they have. That's why I was working at the Zoo." Well, one of many useful reasons. If she knew that or not, doesn't seem to matter. "Don't think you'll fit in the vents an' sewers." He adds as just the first point of why that may not work. He shrugs, "Eventually we'll work together, but for this-" He lifts a hand to indicate the building, implying the Brotherhood. "Not for my...acquaintances." “That is pretty damn specific. Fine then, a code. Some sort of bark or squawk or meow so I know it’s you,” Anette says, pausing to take another mouthful of cereal, “Or I’ll put a damn collar on you myself.” She grins a bit as he mentions his reasons for living in a zoo. “I can see the convenience.” She gives a quick sigh and shrug as he shoots down her suggestion to help. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be much use there. I just thought I’d ask. Unfortunately, the Brotherhood doesn’t pay all that much.” "My offer to help stands." The shapeshifter states after some length of thought following her comments, though notably unassociated with them. "If you want it." He rocks forwards to stand upright, studying more the mess he'd made and sounding distanced as he does so. Leaning, he retrieves a couple of shredded boxes to toss into the trash can, missing one throw and making the second.