Summary:Tigra is able to confirm what Steve fears: it's not just a dog that bit him in Prospect Park. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Granted, it took a bit of courage for Steve to return to the Park after the late-night incident ending with him both at the hospital and then shocking his other half to parchment-paleness after the dog bite turned out to be sooooooo much more complicated than expected. The bright sunlight takes much of the menace of the shadowed copses of trees away as the soldier walks along the path, his hands in his pockets.
He doesn't have his shield, but he does have a handgun at his belt and it's loaded with some very serious ammunition. The Captain also appears to be extremely alert despite his pacing; 'walk, don't run', as Natasha had always coached him. His true-blue gaze scans the underbrush carefully as he searches for clues. Luckily enough, it hadn't rained since that night, and he's hoping to find some evidence for…whatever in the hell happened to him.
On the air, his scent is recognizable: his cologne, the leather of his motorcycle jacket, the faint wisp of coffee and breakfast along with the singular metal of Bucky's arm, lemon-verbena, and…dog? Canine — and the iron note of blood along with a light hint of sweat.
*
Having heard of the attacks in Prospect Park, Tigra has decided to take a look at the area. Unusually, possibly dangerous beasties? Of course she's taking a look. She roams the Park more or less randomly, letting whim take her here and there as she looks for unusual signs or scents. No leads so far, unfortunately, and she crouches on a sturdy branch, considering her next move. And then a familiar symphony of scents reaches her, and smiling a bit, she travels from branch to branch towards it to begin shadowing Steve as stealthily as she can.
*
|ROLL| Steve Rogers +rolls 1d10 for: 10
*
Being human has its pitfalls, even when you're Steve Rogers — and that means rarely looking up. It's been so long since humankind has had to worry about shadows from above. That, and the Captain's realized he's just about to stumble on the immediate location where he'd been attacked. Swallowing, he reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck as if he had a serious itch. Loose golden hairs float off of it. What.
Still…that's… He crouches to look at a darkened stain on the cement: his own blood. Licking his teeth, possibly against a mild lurch of nausea, he then looks towards the brush. Cautiously, he approaches it and crouches down again by the path's edge, where it meets grass. Tigra will be able to hear him sniff — sniff? Fingers gently touch at what appears to be the largest damn canine footprint he's ever seen…but it's weird, how the toes appear to be elongated, and the drag…
"Wish Buck were here, always the better tracker," the man mumbles. Something tingles to his senses and he suddenly leaps back onto the path, staring up into the trees. A hand goes to his chest once he spots the striped pelt and he blows a hard sigh. "Greer…!!! Jesus, I thought you were something else."
*
There's not many humans who would remember to use their nose, but Captain America? Yeah, he uses every tool at his disposal. It's actually rather satisfying to see, and to watch him investigate whatever he's after. Maybe her paying attention to that causes her to unconsciously give herself away, or maybe the Wehrmacht's greatest nightmare notices something few other mortals would, and thus catchs her presence. When he leaps back, she tenses briefly, and then her soft laugh can be heard at his words. She twists, hooks legs and swings down, hanging upside down from a branch by her knees. "I don't know if there's anyone else on earth who could've caught me there," she says approvingly. "And I am -always 'something else,'" she teases.
*
With his palm still spread against his chest, the Captain gives Tigra a blank look for a second before a laugh crinkles his features. Another sigh blown leaves him and he shakes his head. "You don't say," he banters back, seeming to have regained his poise. A few steps brings him back over to the immediate area of the supernatural track in the dirt and he frowns down at it, hands on his hips.
Tigra is then given a searching look. "You out here for any particular reason?" His tone is light, but the undercurrents of it clearly imply how Steve is wondering if she too can sense that something wicked this way came earlier in the week. His heart-rate jumps at the memory and again comes the tang of sweat on the air with that particular musky canine note.
*
A slight tensing of calves and thighs, and then Tigra flips herself off the branch, landing lightly on her feet in a semi-crouch. "Incredibly large animal attacks people in a park in a city, and I'm a somewhat bestial woman. Nah, no reason for me to be out here other than to enjoy the sights." She approaches the footprint, holding out her spread hand next to it to mark the size, then leans down to sniff at it. "Did it get the drop on you? Or did you ambush it?" she asks.
*
Anybody else might get a slant explanation, most of the truth but not all of it. Tigra, a long established friend of the Captain, instead gets a wrinkled nose and something not quite like the scuff of a boot.
"Got the drop on me. Took my legs out from underneath me. Hit it hard enough to make it retreat. I was hoping to find some clue as to what it is." He flexes his leg in place unconsciously as if remembering the immediate pain of the bite. "Buck enacted exfil, got me out before things got worse."
Immediately worse, that it. The 'worse' came into play in the pre-dawn hours of the next morning. Steve sighs again…and then sniffs, hard.
"It was…god, Greer, it was the biggest dog I've ever seen, 'nd…it wasn't right," he admits very, very quietly.
On the leaves, Tigra will be able to scent not only a copious amount of musky dog-like presence, but spilt blood both human and non-human — both at once?
*
"Got some blood here," she murmurs about the leaves. She moves lightly on all fours, stretched out, circuling the concentration of scent and the blood. The predator is trying to pick up the trail, while the investigator is trying to preserve a crime scene. She dips a clawtip into the blood and lifts it up for a better sniff, and then a quick taste. "I don't know that it was a dog," she says. She withdraws from the spot almost like striped liquid, then stands up near him. "If this were a TV show," she begins, "you might say something like 'surely you can't be serious,' and then I'd say I am, and don't call me Shirley, and then we'd argue about whether it's possible it could be something besides just a dog. But you're a super-soldier who was frozen for decades, I'm part cat, we're friends with gods, hulks and spies. That means I don't think I'm leaping to conclusions to thinking it's not normal, it's not just a big dog."
*
The tiger-woman's dry commentary is enough to make Steve bring his hand up briefly to his mouth. It's to hide most of a smile and to batten down the hysterical bubble of laughter trapped beneath his sternum.
"Redefines 'normal' on a scale most folks don't know how to appreciate, doesn't it?" His fingers again travel back to itch at the nape of his neck. More small golden hairs shed from him. "I…know it's not a dog," the man then admits, looking nauseated yet again. His cell phone gets fished out of his pocket and he keys in the password before flicking through to his gallery. A scroll-down through the pictures before he pauses, lips thinned.
A decisive touch of his pointer fingertip and he then tilts the camera for Tigra to see. It's a picture right out of a supernatural story book: a blond werewolf, still wearing what appears to be a pair of loose basketball shorts. Steve watches his friend's face in solemn silence.
Yep, that's him.
*
Her tail twitches lightly as she notices him scratch at his neck. He did that before, but it's the reoccurence that finally got her attention. "Normal's just a word on a washing machine," she murmurs. Okay. Well, her first thought was werewolf. There wolf. There castle. Her second thought was genetic engineering or mutant, something unusual but not mystic. Seeing Cap shedding hairs cuses Tigra's fur to ripple briefly in a wave of anxiety and concern, and then she takes a look at the picture. "And it was a full moon that first night, also," she realizes aloud. "Have you talked to Wanda or Dr Strange yet?"
*
The phone gets slid away into his jeans and Steve frowns down at the print in the earth, his thumbs now hooked on his pockets. "No, not yet. WAND's got wind of the incident. 'm not…dunno if I'm contagious or not. Haven't bitten anybody. Woke up one morning 'nd I was me, not the…not the werewolf thing. Figure 'm not on a leash because they know 'm not about to let anything get out of control."
Tigra gets a wry, half-smile. "Barnes isn't too happy about it…probably'll be displeased that 'm out here again, but I can tell him you were around to keep me in check."
*
"I'm less worried about if you're contagious, and more worried about curing you," Tigra counters. "Though admittedly, the thought of two werewolves on the loose probably should've been my first thought." She glances skyward briefly "Probably nothing to worry about, being out in the daytime, but it's hard to be sure. I mean, there's different myths, different legends, and I don't know which, if any, are true." She looks back to Cap, an eyebrow lifted slightly. "Whether contagious or not, I do hope you're securing yourself at night right now. For the sake of others if not yourself." She doesn't want to think about how strong a super-soldier werewolf could be.
*
Steve follows her gaze towards the blue sky with its shreds of white cloud far, far above. He lets his attention linger on it, invariably finding the waning moon on the horizon. His blood dances for just a second and Tigra might catch the subtle hackling on his part, understated as it is; the copious amount of fine hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"Not much can be done to secure me," he admits very quietly to the woman, giving her a sober glance. "Barnes is around. He seems to be a good influence. WAND is still figuring things out. Need to stop by 'nd give a blood sample, see if they can isolate something. I tried touching silver 'nd it didn't hurt. Makes me think it's not the good ol' stories everybody tells over the campfire. This's…this's something else."
*
"Depending on the stories, the touch of silver doesn't always hurt," Tigra says. "A more…definitive test would be to see how a wound caused by silver does or doesn't heel, but that's a test that we -probably- shouldn't consider it," she adds dryly. "Did you know a bishop once tried to prove that rifles were satanic by using silver bullets in them?" she says, tangentially. "From what you're syaing, though, it might not be mystic, then, but biologic? Something in the same zip code as hulking out. I still think you need to talk to Wanda or the Doc. If it is mystic, then the longer you wait, might be harder to cure." She absently cracks her knuckles. "If you need someone else to help sit on you, you can count on me."
*
Apparently, the idea of Tigra sitting between his shoulderblades is amusing. Steve's smile is unhelped if still somehow rueful and sad.
"Yeah, I know… Maximoff or the Doc. WAND's got the first crack at it; Barnes gave one of the agents a call the first morning I spent all…changed around. Apparently, I ate five pounds of bacon in one sitting." He laughs once. "Can't believe it. Even the foam tray, according to Buck." Desperately trying to find something funny in his plight, the Captain shrugs his shoulders.
"But you're not wrong. A wound caused by silver is something that'll have to be checked, to make sure it's not something as simple as a curse. If it's biologic, it'll take time to come up with a vaccine. I'd be watching the news too," he adds, tiredly. "Whatever bit me got away. Dunno if there will be others out there."
*
Five pounds of bacon? Tigra doesn't seem to think that's such a big dea—oh, and the foam tray? Okay, yeah, that's concerning. "I don't know if I hope that there are others or not," she says solemnly. If there are, it's more trouble for them, but that's people that survived the encounter. "The best hope is probably that it's not high contagious." She frowns at a thought. "I'm probably a good one to engage him. I might be safe from it, given what I already am." On the other hand, she might then become a tiger that turns into a wolf. Let's not dwell on that.
*
"We'll know more about it once the bloodwork's in 'nd WAND has a look over it. If it's contagious, then…maybe time for a vacation for me." Steve doesn't look too happy about the idea of an enforced vacation as is. His glower down at his boots is grade-A, mulish, resentful. Nobody puts Steve in the corner!
"Still, I'll let Barnes know you're a point of contact if I go AWOL. Don't think it'll happen — really doing my best to keep things cool. I did…I did notice that it's more difficult when I get irritated. Figure there's a connection between my temper 'nd the shifting. Trying hard to remain peaceful. Lots of meditation around the apartment." He smirks. Tigra likely knows well enough how successful the Captain might be at sitting still like that.
*
Yeah, the thought of Cap trying to stay peaceful gets a look of sympathy from Tigra. "Try some tai chi, some chamomoile tea and soft music?" she suggests jokingly. More seriously, she adds, "I know it can't be easy for you. There were times in the early days after I hwas transformed where I thought I might lose myself, and become a beast in mind and body. Obviously, I got better. My situation's not the same as yours, but I understand some of what you're facing." She pauses a moment to consider her next words, then decides they need to be said. "You really do need to be as sure as you can be of being secure if you're not in control. I know you don't want to find out that you hurt someone, or worse."
*
The gentle reminder about the potentiality of shift-induced amnesia sounds familiar — Barnes has already brought it up. But isn't it always the thing, when hearing it from someone outside of the family, where it strikes home a little harder. Steve nods, his expression truly somber now.
"Yeah…it's been something I've been trying to figure out. WAND'll help me come up with something so nothing awful happens. I know Barnes'll be there too, just in case." Tigra gets a small smile. "I knew you'd understand, in your way, so thanks, Greer. I appreciate you being there."
*
"Here there and everywhere," Tigra says. "Anything you need, let me know, and if it's in my power, I'll do it. You can count on me," she says quietly, not saying aloud that she means 'if worse comes to worse.'