ArchivedLogs:No Murdering

No Murdering
Dramatis Personae Martin, Noah Ringe, Rasputin
In Absentia	2014-01-18 A chat in the park has Martin questioning if he's dreaming. Also, there's absolutely no murders of anything that matters.
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. None of the screams or howls often associated with the large, spined mutant rattle the park this night. It's quiet... except for a local blast of horns and similar activity from the nearby street: some kind of car wreck is blocking a good deal of traffic, and there's some anger there. As for the park, it houses at least one mutant and has for a few hours: it's perched on top of the log cabin section of the playground (made for children to enjoy, of course). Noah is laying down up there on the uneven small roof, his body blending relatively well into the dark wood. His heavy tail is draped down the back near the rest of the jungle gym, a strange giant spined cactus of black mass, but otherwise in the dark, and while not moving, he blends in relatively well. 'Watching' the park is of course not the case this night for the mutant with no eyes, but listening and waiting, yes. In the late night air, Martin cuts through the park at a diagonal to minimize his time going from point A to point B. Dressed to try to minimize the bite of the wintry cold, he wears boots, jeans, and a tan coat that makes him somewhat easy to spot under streetlights, along with a black knit cap pulled down on his head enough to cover the tops of his ears. With shoulders hunched and his hands jammed into his jacket pockets, he moves at a good clip, breath fogging out as he goes and curling behind him like dragon smoke. His walk isn't a straight shot, and so he weaves around trees, the chess tables, and one of the playgrounds, uncaring about being on a path or on the grass. Strolling through the park, is a fluffy white cat. This isn't too odd in New York, seeing there's quite a bit of strays, though Rasputin /still/ usually tries to be careful about Animal Control. Smelling a weird smelly smell that smells, Rasputin heads towards the playground, looking around, before spotting and recognizing Noah. In the same voice ze used last time they met, Rasputin manipulates a meow into a voice. "Oh, hey, Roach! That was your name, right?". Rasputin wags hir tail, looking up. "How you've been doing since the apocalypse?". The dark, spiked shape orients on the sound, but doesn't move much... though his tail also 'wags'. It's a lot more obvious, though, because it clangs once against the junglegym's metal, a sound that's quite noisy in the mostly empty park. "Yeah.... little talking cat-thing, I remember," Roach answers, loudly, curiosity entering his tone. He sounds like a heavy, rasping smoker, that has an unnatural additional register under it, of a high pitch. He's projecting as if to be sure the people well beyond Rasputin hear as well... or he has little concept of how loud he actually is. "Rather the zombies, they're not very judgmental 'bout looks." Martin is no stranger to, well, the stranger things in life. The more interesting and fanciful ways mutation has taken hold in people, or even just the bizarre side of nature that occasionally shows itself either in person or in TV documentaries. But when he hears that clang, he reflexively looks over in the direction of the sound and comes to a halt in his trek. Because what. He squints in the dark, trying to figure out exactly what he is looking at. The cat is one thing. The odd shape that's difficult to see in the poor lighting is another. He's not exactly staring, so much as trying to puzzle it all out. And maybe think honestly about if maybe he's dreaming. "Yep! Rasputin's the name! Oh, sorry, I haven't progressed much on the 'teaching other people to body swap' thing yet, I'm trying though!". Rasputin has a gleeful expression not only to kitty face, but also to voice, not intimidated by Noah at all. "So, how you've been doing? Is it comfy up there?". Rasputin /smells/ Martin, but doesn't turn over to him yet. The large spined tail sways slowly near the jungle gym's metal rail, probably looking like a giant spikey snake more than a mutant itself, though it will lead the eyes to the black lump on top. Noah isn't exactly little, and isn't deliberately stealthing in some way, beyond what being dark and against the night sky is already granting him. "Kkkeh, I don't expect results," the dark shape says loudly, with a scraping chalkboardy sound that comes from rotating his armored shoulders in a shrug. "Comfy no, but I tried to fit inside the thing and didn't, so I'm up here." Martin lingers, processing what he can make out and wrap his head around. It sounds like the cat is talking. That's up there on his scale of strange encounters. And then something else speaks, with that distinctive voice. His icy blue eyes slowly track the tail up to the rest of the figure on top of the cabin in the playground. His curiosity is tempered by a certain prudence; he doesn't know what the figure is, doesn't know what it is capable of. But it isn't as if the odd duo are up to no good. So there really isn't any reason for him to be rude and butt into their conversation. Eventually, hunching his shoulders against a gust of winter wind, he turns to keep moving on. HALT. TALKING CAT TURNING TOWARDS YOU. "Oh, hi there! How are you?". Rasputin grins, turning towards Martin. "Lovely night, isn't it? This is Roach. He's. uh. giant. and slightly slightly big. And kind of massive.". Rasputin's really bad at this, okay? "And before you scream, I'm just a mutant in a cat body. You are not hallucinating.". The mutant referred to as Roach hadn't been paying enough attention, it seems: or rather, he'd been focused on keeping track of a thing as small as a cat, and wasn't paying attention to other things. His tail slams hard into the jungle gym with a cry of the metal that sounds like it may have been bent, as Roach lifts his body and physically moves to a crouch, turning a slightly too-long neck towards Rasputin and the new figure. His posture is defensive, which makes him appear like a black demon-panther poised to leap off the small roof. ... which means he probably looks unfriendly. Martin pauses again when addressed, one brow lifting high as he regards the cat. He considers the cat again, more closely now that he isn't just eavesdropping while passing by. "Yeah, sure, tiger," he responds, about the night. His icy blue gaze drags away from cat to creature after that, with a small flinch for the hard slam of metal. Other than the flinch, though, he doesn't retreat or back away. He tenses up, defensive posture meeting defensive posture, but there is no back step, no turning to go. "How'd you get in a cat?" he asks of the cat, having belatedly registered that information. But his eyes stay on the one called Roach. "Well, this is pretty much my only body. Human's dead. Ability is Animal Possession, minor sound manipulation, stuff like that. Don't worry, I'm harmless.". Rasputin says in response to Martin, until Roach goes into defensive position. "I'm not 100% sure about him though, I think he might be capable of murdering you.". Rasputin's grin has /not/ vanished, as ze speaks over to Roach. "Heyyy, Roach, buddy, he seems harmless. I mean, he didn't run screaming at a talking cat, so, probably is not a bigot. Probably.". Roach snakes his head a little downwards, considering what's going on, and for whatever reason, opts to come down off his lair, all slow, and creepy-like. He lifts his tail, in an almost overly grand show of sweeping it in an arc, starting to move to the edge of the roof... and promptly gets the tail tangled in the chain on the opposite side that starts the swingset. The chain links rattle noisily as Roach growls and orients that way instead, peering under himself, shaking the tail back and forth slowly to try to free it. The chain of the swingset swings crazily and flips up and around, the plastic seat flapping into the top and then the tail. So much for looking badass. There are a few (loud) grating expletives added on. While Martin starts to think about the possibility of dreaming again, considering he's found himself in such a surreal situation compared to the rest of his life experiences, he does wind up scowling down at the cat. "Not a bigot," he states, with a gruff edge to it. When Roach's descent, though, he looks up again and tenses a little more. That is, until the moment of potential terror is ruined by the swings. He pulls a gloved hand out of his jacket pocket and coughs into the fist of it. "Need some help there, champ?" As Roach screws up his badassery bigtime, Rasputin begins laughing aloud. "Oh man, you okay? That was, uh, pretty terrible failure horrible you sucked at that sorry.". Ze walks over to Roach, grinning. "At least you didn't, break the entire swingset. Or smash me. Or smash him. Or smash anyone, really, that would have been bad.". "Fuck this swingset!" is what Roach spits in annoyance suddenly, and directly jumps off the roof of the fake cabin with a large arch and pivot of his whole body. Unfortunately, Rasputin's comments seems to come true: at least one of them. He rips the whole top off the swingset without even much effort; all of the chain breaks and tightens around the tail, the metal links grinding horribly loud against the armor of the tail itself, the swing and it's seat whipping backwards and falling across his back and one leg. The seat dangles pitifully off his hip, impaled on a large spike on his spine. Spines of black twist up and *grow* all over Roach's spine and tail where the chains are, several links bursting apart. "Could still smash you," Roach says peevishly to the overly talkative cat, but it sounds like he could just be grumpy about being made fun of. "Nobody's smashing anything," Martin says, with an attempt at being stern, though his certainly falters just a touch with the destruction of the swingset. His expression falls flat after that, even as he can't look away from the spikes. It's a little like watching an accident; you know you should look away, and yet. And yet. Rasputin's eyes widen at Roach's statements, backing up behind Martin. And then a little farther. "Uh, don't murder me. Murder him, I'm just an innocent kitty cat. Mrow.". Rasputin may or may not actually be offering up Martin as bait, who knows. "Besides, I'm more adorable.". Inch back. Compared to Martin, Rasputin is certainly physically closer to Roach-- since he'd walked over directly to Roach. The grumpy lash of tail (and swingset, along for the ride) is kind of just halfhearted at the cat, who is already inching back. "Yeah, yeah, then enough about horrible failures," Roach mutters, and starts to crane one overly long wrist back to rake down his own back with his talons. He has... only a few fingers; it looks like the cruel black armor covering his body merged several fingers together, to leave him with about... two and a half, plus the thumb, on that hand. Long arched talons that scrape and ineffectively work to remove some of the chains that are wrapped and trapped in the spines. "'n stop staring, it's just a dumb swingset," Roach adds, a bit overly forcefully-- to mask his embarrassment. Martin glances to the cat again, as he's being set up for bait, and scowls just a touch again. "Don't murder anybody, please," he says, in that stern way again. He sounds more sure of himself this time. But then, the surreal moment has taken on a mildly comical flavor. After all, he's being put up as bait by a talking cat for an armored, spike-covered creature called Roach that got tangled up in a swingset. He has to be dreaming at this point, right? "Well. It was a swingset, anyway," slips out of him before he can think better of it. "But if you do have to murder somebody, it can be him. Just, not me, please.". Rasputin says, backing up an inch /further/. "I'm too young to die, I'm like, four or something. I have a wife and probably like 16 kids I don't know how cats work okay.". Even in a possible face of comical danger, Rasputin is still making jokes. "Poor swingset, we knew ye so well.". If Roach feels pity for the comical cat's commentary about his children, he doesn't mention it. Nor does Martin's correction get a response verbally. Instead, he seems more involved in his own spike-related problem. After some scraping, Roach gets fed up, and flips and hurls his body in a circle, like a bucking bronco. With a scraping noise, most of the seat and it's two trailing leads is flung... and pretty damn hard. It goes flying, but not very far, he ends up with having thrown it off into a tree. Satisfied with that, Roach stands up fully, drawing up for the first time up from being on all fours, into his dominating 7'. As if possibly trying to repair the damage to his ego by physical stance. "This park is /lame/," Roach informs them both, as if complaining that a party just didn't have enough dip, and takes his injured pride off towards the bushes, with an eerie, low scraped shriek of a hiss. It's a bizarre, strange sound that pulses out of his head, low underslung jaw only moving slightly. The cat gets a serious frown. "Nobody's murdering anybody," Martin says, repeating his stern tone with a taste of exasperation. His gaze goes back to Roach, though, to watch as he lifts up to that 7 feet. With an utterly straight face, he manages to say, "Parks with playgrounds with no swingsets usually are lame." Another cough, and then he rubs his thumb against the side of his nose, one eye squinting slightly at that hiss as Roach goes. Then, he turns to get going in the direction he'd been heading before this encounter. "See you around, tiger," he bids to the cat. At the end of the screeching, Rasputin's tilting hir ears, calling out. "AGH AAAH MY SENSITIVE CAT EARS, THEY BURN! STOP THAT!". Rasputin's then running off, in a direction as far away from Noah as possible. To not go deaf, presumably.