ArchivedLogs:Partnership?

Partnership?
Dramatis Personae Anette and Killian
In Absentia	2015-12-08 "Can I trust you not t'go runnin' around with your talons out looking for the next good dealer to murder?"
Location <BOM> The Spatters - Ascension Island
A comfortable three-bedroom cabin, sturdily built if inelegant. The front door opens up into a cozy sitting room with small bathroom; it is adjoined by a kitchenette with room for small table. The three bedrooms here -- two off the sitting room, one on the other side of the kitchen -- are not uniform in size nor layout, with the considerably smaller kitchen-adjacent room having its own screened-in porch. It's been nearly two days since Anette's left the house and she looks it. She's gone for the comfy look, wearing a t-shirt and sweats. An attempt to look presentable has been made, her hair is pulled into a semi-neat ponytail and she looks like she just came out of a shower. Still, her face is awfully pale and dark shadows linger beneath her eyes, suggesting the last few days have not gone very well. Currently, it's mid-afternoon and she lays on the couch, a blanket tossed loosely over her. The remote sits in her hand as she flips through TV channels, a bag of potato chips laying on the floor beside her which she occasionally reaches down for and picks at. There's scratching and a little whining that comes from the direction of the screened porch off the kitchen. And soon enough the associated door is nudged open by a cold black nose. The attempt seems awkward, even if not visualized, a little too clunky. But when the Border collie pads into the main living space from the kitchen, the delayed entrance can be explained by the fact the dog has both the pig's ear and the t-shirt left at the scene in his mouth. He approaches in a collie-typical gait, low and almost stalking by natural pace. But ears go from pressed relaxed-back to perked at the potato chip bag. At the side of the couch, both items in his mouth are abandoned as dog's head attempts to fit fully into the bag she's been picking at. Anette lifts her head at the sound of someone entering, smiling faintly as she watches the collie make his way in. That smile does falter a bit when she sees what he's carrying. "The whole point of me not taking that was I didn't want it back," she murmurs, tossing the blanket to the side and sitting up with a groan. She casually watches him approach, quickly pulling the bag away as he shoves his head in. "Oh, no, no, no. No dog slobber," she says, setting the bag beside her. Though she does pick a chip out and toss it to the dog. The dog does a small jump, front paws coming up but backs still down, as he snatches the chip from the air. Open mouth crunching is not becoming of him, nor is the loss of pieces of chip that fall to the ground, which subsequently get licked up. Killian collects both the pig’s ear and t-shirt again from the floor, brown eyes giving Anette an odd side-long look as he does so. He jumps up on the couch towards her feet, and as he turns around, dog legs and arms lengthen. Fur becomes skin and clothing, melting away into smoothness in all but his well-maintained stubble. "Yea, and the whole point of me trying to give it back to you was to keep it from becomin' evidence." He notes lazily, leaning back with one arm stretched over the back of the couch, the other on the arm rest, clearly making himself at home. "Made enough of a mess without leaving obvious shit behind. Lucky you didn't get fuckin' shot bargin' in like that too." "Well, I'm new to the world of hitmen and murder. And either way, neither of us got shot. For once," Anette responds. "Could've thrown the shirt in a dumpster, burned it, I don't care," she adds before raising the remote to click the TV off before turning to face Killian. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, besides the chance to critique my methods?" She props the bag up between them as she leans against her arm rest. Her black eye and lip, though still very prominent, are at least beginning to heal, her lip scabbed over and the edges of bruise already turning that sickly yellow color. Killian chuckles quietly, a palm up-turned in a gesture that takes the place of a shrug. "Besides that, the dog likes the main smell on it." There's a wink with that before he continues, "Yea, and I ain't new to it. Seen enough people get a taste of the fuckin' adrenaline and think they can do a lot crazier shit than their first. Can I trust you not t'go runnin' around with your talons out looking for the next good dealer to murder?" He takes a heavier breath, a long exhale, "There's an art to it. What happened the other night," There's a grimace, playful in character but not entirely kidding, "Was far from ideal, success or not." Although his blue eyes watch her while he's so reclined, he doesn't comment yet on her more physical changes. Anette can't help but shake her head as Killian shifts blame to the dog, though a faint smile is still visible. "Fine, keep it. I don't care," she says, her hand waving towards the shirt, giving up ownership. The mention of adrenaline does get a deep breath as she contemplates his words. "I won't lie. It was...exhilarating. But I promise to behave myself. If only because I don't have the energy right now." As she listens to his critique of the previous night, she can't help but tilt her head slightly. "Amuse me. If you had gone alone, how would you have handled it?" "Fair 'nough. Dog'll be happy." Killian turns his attention away to observe the 'now his' shirt balled up in his and on the armrest, as if it's suddenly something new. He doesn't really hide the grin, lopsided as it may be, still lines his face with the amusement it brings. "If only?" He looks back with a raised brow, but no loss of his apparently good mood following everything. "Rarely kill the same day I get an assignment. Days of planning, or at the very least an evening. Probably could've picked 'em off one by one with enough patience." All of this said nearly fancifully, his attention back on the t-shirt that he considers as he falls into silence, lost in thought for a few moments. Eventually he turns back to her, reiterating, "Bargin' in without a plan, or at least a full layout of the place for an escape is askin to get shot or, worse, caught. Then, or later." "If I remember correctly, you were pretty determined to do this particular job the day of assignment," Anette says, raising a brow. "Not that I minded, of course." She glances briefly towards the shirt, an amused smile falling on her lips as she briefly contemplates just what he plans on doing with it. As Killian begins describing his preferred methods, she frowns and waves her hand dismissively. "I didn't have patience. I wanted in, out, and lots of blood. And that's exactly what I got and neither of us got hurt. I don't care how elegant or professional it was or wasn't." "You threatened to go alone." Killian counters, "And you think you're in any condition to go at /this/ point?" He makes an assumption, though it seems testing in the same right. "Everything changes if I can't do it alone anyway." He lays his head back and closing his eyes, dismissive of the thoughts. "Not my style." Follows her description. "The cats like the blood. I let 'em have it, after. Ain't playin' no hero. If shit turns sour, I'm out. Live to fight another day or whatever." There's a half-hearted shrug with it, "But if you wanna do it again like I do," There's a darker chuckle with that, his entertainment clearer in that it's /not/ just the animals he's sating. "Plan." He lets that word sit, heavy despite his humor. "Are you satisfied, love?" Comes after with one eye opened to look at her. Anette nods reluctantly at Killian's assumption. "Feels like the zombie flu all over again. Minus the face eating." She listens to his description of more typical jobs, smirking as he mentions doing it again. "Is that an invitation? Can't say I wouldn't mind. Though it's probably a hell of a lot easier when you're not...emotionally attached to the job." The final question gets a side glance, to Killian, that half smile growing just a bit brighter and more amused. "Other than the lack of celebration afterwards...very much." "Depends on the job. Your talons are useful enough, and it's not so bad being around you a bit more." Killian notes suggestively, his cocky grin broadening as he closes his eyes again. "I still have trouble with that under…certain circumstances." Is admitted about emotional attachment, his volume and tone dropping with it into something more serious, but it's short-lived. The note of celebration earns another breathy, quiet chuckle, though he doesn't comment directly on it. Instead, "If you do feel like eating faces, leave a note or some shit on the door? The dog likes visitin' and would rather not have another, eh, incident." This makes him look back at her again, the hand that had been resting on the back of the couch sliding from its perch to touch lightly to her shoulder if she'd allow, up to the side of her neck and then withdraw. "Useful enough? If that's all the credit I get, maybe it's better I go solo," Anette teases, though his suggestive banter gets a smirk. "Well, it worked for Bonnie and Clyde. For the most part." She listens as he admits his difficulty with emotional attachments but decides not to persue that particular conversation. Not today. "No desire to eat faces but I will let you know if it ever happens again. God that was lonely." The touch of her shoulder doesn't go unnoticed, her head turning to glance at his hand though she otherwise allows him to touch her. "You weren't thinking right. Neither of us were. It's not your fault," she says, her voice fading into a more serious tone, turning her head back to face him with a look of almost concern. "That's a lot, from me." Killian states, amused, as he puts his arm back on the couch. The lingering attention to her shoulder is obvious though, before he looks back to her. "Bonnie and Clyde were infamous. Under the radar'll keep ya alive longer. 'Sides, you're infamous enough already without my help." But a sigh precedes his more serious thought, the playful lines of his face lost. "Still shouldn't have happened." Unforgiving and final, that seems, in the dry and slightly annoyed way he puts it. "You want company for a while? At least you get to keep the sound on this time." "Hey now. If it weren't for your healing abilities, I'd have ruined that beautiful face forever," Anette says, attempting to add some humor back to the conversation. As Killian becomes settled in on the couch, so does Anette, inching closer and leaning back until she is almost but not quite resting against him. "You would think being under the radar would come more naturally to an owl," she says, a bit amused at the thought. "Yeah, Pedro's in the city supply hunting. I could use the company." "I was told they were sexy." Killian says almost-wistfully, under the return of his grin and another sly wink to her, "But I think the clean look works for me." As she inches closer, his hand slips from the back of the couch to lay across her shoulders, with less weight on the healed bitten one. And the shapeshifter leans in as if about to do more, but it's nothing but a tease. Playfulness becomes a very /cold/ dog nose to touch her neck, the man suddenly canine. Tongue lolled in a doggish smile that can most certainly be a canid laugh, he sinks down, crawling onto her lap instead. Head between paws, black furry ears relaxed, and white-tipped tail curled over his hind legs which are, too, tucked against her, he appears quite comfortable in the spot he claims.