Summary:Pepper comes a step closer to figuring out what the little jackal seen sporting around Central Park is up to while Ambrose and Talbot appreciate the summer night and the freedom it grants them. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The summer nights are coming later and later as the earth nears its summer solstice. Afternoon heat lingers, turning the night air into something soft and almost lyrically attractive to bare skin. In Central Park, it's far more busy than normal, what with no chill to shoo away paramours and those intent on playing with glow-in-the-dark Frisbees. Ambrose watches one sail away across the expanse of green for a college co-ed to catch and guffaw as his fellow player sacks him to the grass.
"You know, if you'd told me that I would one day be observing an object glow of its own accord and be utilized as a play-thing, I would have laughed and asked how many lines of cocaine had been done," he asides to the large black dog at his hip. The dog's leash is lazily slung about his neck and hangs down both sides like a thin stole over his t-shirt. In sneakers and jeans, Ambrose is the epitome of young New Yorker, nothing nearing one-hundred and forty — perish the thought. It's just past 9pm, wherein the off-leash laws kick in, so the well-built hound is free to roam if he so chooses.
"Let us wander towards the Tavern on the Green. If the genteel Miss Potts is present, she may have braised chicken on her plate. If so, I will laugh." Wearing a sly grin, the Jackal continues along down the pathway towards the restaurant.
He's a big beast, the Hound. Nearly as tall as a Dane, but far more heavily built - the sturdy muscle of a mastiff in there, somewhere. Black as night, with pale gray eyes, a sleek and shining coat. He paces easily along at Ambrose's side. I actually bought us some glow in the dark balls to chase, he notes, via their mindspeech. Some small enough for you, some big enough for me. He's far larger in his beast form than Ambrose is in his own.
He turns those green-glinting eyes up to Ambrose. She's smarter than you're giving her credit for, he warns, but there's no real heat in his tone. Ambrose is what he is, and there's no point in getting upset about it.
Well, at least Ambrose correctly predicted that Pepper would be lingering over the remains of her dinner at the Tavern. It's not braised chicken, though. It's salmon, with a lingering but clear undertone of bacon. The plate is mostly forgotten on her table as she focuses on the tablet in her hands, only absently reaching for her water glass occasionally.
She hasn't noticed Ambrose and his companion approaching. Must be something work related on her tablet.
They round the broad corner of the pathway's approach to the Tavern and Ambrose can be heard, at least by Kent, to laugh as he does sometimes behind his teeth. It's a curling, rich sound of self-satisfaction.
"Well, do look at this. There she sits, involved so deeply in her technology that I could lift her purse without her noticing," he murmurs. "Do lets go greet her. I mentioned you, my heart, so she is due a meeting with you before she asks further after you."
I might chase a glowing ball…and I know, «Azizam». She is a clever thing, far less dense than your average modern New Yorker, he thinks along the kythe to the large hound as he begins to make his way up the grass towards Pepper.
The Jackal stops, hands lazily at his hips, and calls out politely, "Miss Potts," by way of greeting.
At least playing at obedience….the Hound sits neatly by Ambrose's feet. His ears are floppy, in this form, but they prick noticeably….and he sniffs the air. Taking in a picture of her via ears and nose. Wagging his tail hopefully.
No, you could NOT lift her purse without her noticing. She's got the strap across the back of the seat, trapped between it and her back. And also, both the tablet in her hands and the phone still in the bag are linked to JARVIS. Even if you were to get past her, good luck getting past the AI.
She catches Ambrose's approach in her peripheral vision and is already lifting her head to look toward him when he calls out his greeting. "Ah, Rosebud's daddy. How are you today?" Her eyes take in the Dane-sized mastiffy face. "And who is not-Rosebud's friend here?"
Mentioning the precocious little jackal reminds her of how they last parted ways and her eyes go back to the man. She can't help but wonder if he even realizes there's something more about that fox-like little rascal than just cheekiness.
Did you hear that? I am not-Rosebud's daddy. The amusement pops in glimmers of golden bubbles in the kythe. Ambrose smiles close-lipped and replies to Pepper aloud, "I see the little creature's making an impression on you. I cannot complain myself, not on a night such as this. The weather has been kind." He reaches down and sleeks a hand down the hound's neck. "This is, in fact, his housemate. May I introduce Baskervilles, a hound of indeterminate lineage but heartbreaking loyalty in return.
A beat.
"I call him Skervy, however, as in, 'you scurvy dog, you'," the master-thief adds as he ruffles Talbot's ears in gentle tease. "He's quite friendly if you'd deign to meet him. We were walking the Park and thought we might catch you at your favored culinary haunt — it is to our great delight, of course." His teeth flash in a grin.
We all know who Rosebud's daddy is, returns that dry voice down the link. But clearly, I will need to remind you later. Ho boy.
But he lets his eyes close in a mingling of contentment and canine amusement. Good choice for a name, And he grins a doggy grin, letting his tongue loll. The long tail thumps on the grass - even the silly nickname isn't enough to discompose his dignity.
In a gesture that would likely seem silly to anyone who does not understand how animal companions can be just as important as human ones, Pepper nods politely to the tall hound. "A pleasure to meet you, Baskervilles." No, she won't use that silly nickname.
"Speaking of names, it occurred to me last that the time we spoke, you never actually told me your name, sir." Oh, yes, she's looking at Ambrose a bit pointedly now. "You also already knew my name." Though that is likely easier to explain. As she's gently accusing Ambrose of improper manners, she sets her tablet aside and seemingly idly takes up the fork on her dinner plate to prod at the salmon. No, wait, she's got a decent little forkful of the pink meat and is chasing after a small bit of something dark. The bacon aroma is more prevalent all of a sudden.
Silly me, how could I have forgotten. It flies back equally drolly down the kythe.
Pepper garners his attention, however, and the brunet seems to come back to the present almost now that his focus is here and not within the link. "Did I not introduce myself? Ah, to my great lack. My apologies, Miss Potts." His smile takes on a particularly coy twist. "Lieutenant Atherton, of Her Majesty's Army. A pleasure to properly meet your acquaintance now." He dips his head lingeringly, of a count to two seconds, before lifting his face up again.
His nostrils flare at the scent of bacon. But the Hound has pride enough not to come over and beg, or even attempt to look cute. He does , however, lean over and slap a pink tongue over Ambrose's hand. There. Take that, sir. You forget when it suits you…
Pepper looks at Ambrose in amusement as he finally introduces himself. "Finally. Good to meet you, Lieutenant Atherton. Now, since I know Rosebud is a spoiled little brat, I think Baskervilles deserves no less. May I?" She lifts the fork slightly to explain what she's referring to.
You know what? She's not going to wait for the man's permission. She offers the forkful of bacony salmon to the hound, expecting no less than manners every bit as prim and proper as Rosebud originally displayed.
Ambrose can be seen to stiffen in place and his shoulders even jerk up a touch. He stretches his be-slimed fingers outwards in something akin to a starfishing at his side, but his smile remains on his face.
I blame my old age. It appears to be creeping up on me, you slobbery creature, he thinks along the kythe.
"You're a quick catch, Miss Potts. Baskervilles is as spoiled as not-Rosebud, so please, by all means." He gestures with his slimed hand towards Pepper and her offered bite, perfectly respectful of Talbot's own decisions on matters.
I'll creep up on you later, my darling, says the Hound. He heaves himself up to four paws, goes padding over delicately, and takes the offered bit of bacony salmon from her fork, then sits down and bolts it, wagging his tail. No more begging or insinuation, though.
Pepper smiles as Baskervilles proves he's every bit as prim about eating off of a fork as not-Rosebud, so she offers him a second and third forkful. Sadly, that's when the salmon runs out. "Sorry, that's the last of it." And she does sound genuinely regretful as she sets the fork back on the plate. She doesn't offer any of the side dish, though, as that has onion in it.
"Speaking of, where is not-Rosebud currently. Don't tell me he's slipped his leash and run off again." Though now she thinks she has an inkling of why that might keep happening.
Ambrose purses his lips against a smile at the sight of the Hound being as delicate as possible given the build of his muzzle. You may try, you great galumping clod. He's all twinkling amusement still in the kythe.
"Oh, not-Rosebud. Well, he…" The Jackal glances around himself as if to catch sight of the wee pale creature, long of leg and snout and sly of eye. "I suppose he's been left to his own devices. He is terrible about being leashed, I agree. They don't seem to sit well with him." Blunt nails scratch at his jawline. "What can I say. He is own creature." Still, there is a twinkle in Ambrose's cerulean-blue eyes, almost wondering on his own behalf — is the woman going to ask further…?
Talbot withdraws, as delicately as he came. He sits down at Ambrose's side, blinking mildly over at Pepper. I will sneak up on you and grab you, It's not a warning. A smug little promise. Ambrose will regret teasing him.
Pepper looks at Ambrose with a serious cast to her eyes despite the friendly smile. "Then you should probably track him down. I can't even imagine what sort of trouble he might be getting himself into." Like scratching out WORDS to freak out passersby.
"Oh, did you want to leave me your phone number in case I see him?"
You may try. Permission is granted, let the games begin. It's war at the Atherton-Talbot household, apparently, set to start whenever one of them gets distracted enough.
Ambrose's dark eyebrows dance upwards. He allows himself one short laugh before clearing his throat. "I daresay, that is the most forward a woman has been with me in many, many years. Your concerns are kind, but misplaced, Miss Potts. Regardless…since you asked and I am a gentleman…" He fishes around inside his coat pocket until he finds a slip of paper. It's a grocery list. He tears off the pertinent listing, leaving a thin strip. A nearby empty table sports a pen used to sign off on a check and he takes a moment to write down a series of numbers.
"If you see the impudent little rascal roaming freely, by all means, do give me a call. If I am unavailable, Talbot will know to pick up the phone in my stead." The paper is left beside Pepper's plate and Ambrose strolls backwards lazily, smiling to himself. "We'll continue on our way now and leave you to your dessert…though it won't be nearly as delectable as our presence, I assume. Be well, Miss Potts."
On that note, the Jackal and the Hound depart for the rest of their walk through the Park. After all, there is a glow-in-the-dark ball for the Hound to chase.