Summary:Cat comes home to explain to her guardian not so angel why tracksuit Bratva wannabes were shooting at her. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
  |
Catseye comes home and freezes, then sighs on seeing Emma. "Can't use furform in city for a while," She heads towards her room, the image of a sulky teenager. "Russian mobsters want to shoot Catseye."
"Sharon, a moment if you please." Ut oh, that's not a voice one can argue with. Emma is presently curled up on the couch, reading a book, looks to be - appropriately enough - Machiavelli's 'The Prince'. She marks her page, and sets the book aside, and starts to pat the couch next to her…then stops. "Actually, go and get cleaned up, -then- come here, please." Sharon's not fooled, that is not a 'please' that actually allows refusal.
Catseye blinkblinks and gives Emma her best innocent look, "Was just going to go to bed, did lots of running… Catseye did not kill -anyone-." Yet. Then she sighs. "Will come down after shower, yes." So not her fault, life is unfair and being smoothskin is awful! That is the main thread of her thoughts. When she returns a half hour later, her hair is still damp, braided back in a french braid to keep it out of the way and tamed until its dried. Dry hair everywhere is fluffy, wet hair everywhere is annoying. She is bundled up in a quilted purple robe and matching satin slippers. "Yes, MotherMotherFrost?" She tries to look innocent, which smoothskin form is usually good for. She even clasps her hands in front of her.
"No doubt it was not your fault." Emma says as she reaches for her book once more, answering the sulky-teen emanations as well as the words. When Sharon returns she'd find that Emma has had a small plate of meats and cheeses laid out for Cat, along with a tall glass of iced water, a lime slice floating on top. Herself is drinking what smells like a blackberry iced tea, and NO alcohol in it. Which Sharon is sure to approve of! The book is closed once more, the closure an audible thump, before it is set aside.
She points to the couch. "Sit." Emma is herself dressed in 'lounge about the house' wear, in this case an oversised sweater hanging off one shoulder, and snug sweats. "So…from the beginning, tell me about the Bratva, and why they want to shoot you, mm?" She'll make some calls, but she needs to know the details before she can handle things. Or not…she might just decide Sharon got herself into the mess, she can damn well get herself out of it.
Sharon gives a little shrug, nibbling on a piece of smoked sausage. "Not think true Bratva. Offshoot maybe, in Adidas tracksuits. Was prowling rooftops, people not look up, yes? Can go long ways in furform in right part of town." Or wrong one. "Spot man in -costume-, red and black. Has sniper rifle… Three SUVs pull up below, armed jerks in Adidas tracksuits. Jerk in costume yells "OH MY GOD IS THAT A PURPLE LION ON THE ROOF!?" and when bodyguards turn and stare at Catseye, takes his shot." She makes a small pfft of distain, "Tracksuit idiots have 9 millimeter from sound. Shots not even get CLOSE to Catseye. Lots of chatter in Russian. Sooner or later, idiots figure out lions not have sniper rifles." Her eyes narrow a little. "But jerk in Red&Black owes Catseye one."
"Ah, so poseurs, not real Bratva, that is good." Emma reaches into Sharon's mind. «Show me the man with the rifle, and the SUVs, please.» As always her mindvoice is a thousand times clearer than the spoken word could ever be. "SO this fellow used you as a distraction, and that led to you getting shot at." She tsks, disapproval. "Clearly not Bratva, they would not have wasted the ammunition." A quizzical look. "And why does the man in red and black owe you a sniper rifle then?" As they speak she makes sure that Cat didn't actually get shot,though if she had there'd have been plenty of time for her healing factor to kick in and she didn't see any bloodspatter on the girl when she sulked in initially.
Sharon reluctantly shows Emma the image of Deadpool, and of the three SUVs and the tracksuit mafia. "Owes Catseye -favor-. Catseye could have pouncekilled, three, four idiot mobsters -easy- and been distraction if had -asked-." Her tail lashes back and forth in annoyance, "But setting Catseye up to get shot at with not even chance for pounce? Not cool. Swatted idiot. Chased and caught. He agreed owes Catseye favor." She looks smug, "And have his scent. Can track in city. Is special, mutant maybe. Hurt shoulder in jump, snapped back in joint, pain-scent faded fast." Though why Catseye wants a sniper owing her a favor… maybe better not to ask. Mysterious are the ways of cats.
«Ah.» Emma knows the man in the suit, she says nothing - mind or voice. The SUV plates are committed to memory, and then she smiles. "Well, I can only conclude you were in fact nearly blameless." Wait, what?!?! "The costumed fellow should never have seen you in the first place, I think we might need to work on your stealth skills some, Sharon." Then, to take the sting out of her words, she gathers the girl close, just for a time, but knowing how terribly iumportant touch is the girl with the soul of a Cat.
Catseye nods thoughtfully, "More sneakytime lessons, yes." She hugs Emma back tightly, purring and just relaxing. Emma has always meant safety to her, will always be home. When she lets go, she looks so much better than when she first came in the door, day and night really. "Catseye go sleep, MotherMotherFrost not stay up too late, yes?" She gestures to the copy of Machiavelli's the Prince. "Has not changed in five hundred years. And MotherMotherFrost could teach author a few tricks." Her eyes crinkle with amusement and joy, her tone both teasing and full of loving approval of her Mother.