Summary:Lena finds out that Changelings are a thing. Sorta. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
Related LogsTheme Song{$themesong} |
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Late November arrives with noticeable drops in temperature. Ambrose, rarely deigning to be caught outside after dark without some serious layering of coats, is out and enjoying the crisp night air in Brooklyn. The borough in question appears to have settled after October's run of strange animal attacks and a lingering caution keeps many folks inside after dark.
Now, this time, the Jackal in a coat means precisely this: a pale jackal, cream-hued but for the chocolate-brown cape from nape to tail and with the oddest off-blue eyes, is wearing a knitted dog sweater. It's all black, granted, and fitted comfortably, but with the diamond-studded leather slip-collar about his neck and the tag hanging from it ("MY NAME IS NOT ROSEBUD" on the front and "I AM NOT LOST" on the back), he sincerely looks like a lost Pariah-hybrid.
But again, the tag implies he's not lost in the least. Rather, he's out hunting rats.
Literally. He hates rats.
And there are some big rats out here along the docks worth a true spat. He skirts along the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring looks shot at him as he trots, comfortable in this guise.
Lena Snart liked the cold. She couldn't, and didn't, fully understand what was happening to her internally, but she knew the chill wasn't bothering her like it did once upon a time. Her wear was lighter than most, but dark as pitch - the only hue casting contrast was the paleness of her skin and the strips of violet and blue in her hair. Like the pup, she, too, wears a collar of sorts, though not as fancy.
Hands in her pockets, she strides, her thickly soled boots making nary a sound.
And what is this little happenstance?
Kent's laughing comment about their paths-crossing no longer being luck, but karma, briefly echoes through Ambrose's mind. He dismisses it quickly enough as he pauses in the middle of the sidewalk, ears and head uplifted in outright curiosity. His attention is clearly upon Lena herself.
That is, in fact, the sliest canine smile the Jackal can manage, just a glimmering of ivory teeth beyond black-lined lips, and then he lets out a purrling bark of a sound. One step towards her adds motion to the attempted summons for attention.
Blinking, she pulls up short and pauses in step. Head up and swimming out of her thoughts, she looks around the area and skips about the few random people that move through the shadows. Her brows knit until she finds that tiny, pure thing that made such a sound. Scoffing, she looks around, perhaps trying to spy the beast's owner. When she notices no one she strides closer. Closer still, and soon enough, she crouches down.
"Didn't know I was playing Pokemon Go tonight…" Hand out, she holds it there, palm up.
Pokemon Go? Ambrose tilts his head obviously, both ear forwards and tilting appropriately as a result. He doesn't retreat in the least, which could come across to Lena as absurdly friendly. Rather, as she crouches down and offers a hand, he sits down as properly as one of the gorgeous bronze Egyptian status found in the MET.
Her fingers are sniffed as part of due process — he can scent dinner on them as well as the interior of her pockets, warm fabric and lightest sweat. Ah, yes, the phone game. Memory provides him with the connection in the end. Short light whiskers might tickle at fingertips as he continues looking up into her face, all polite (admittedly completely wild and feral) canine.
He can smell a number of things - something sweet and sugary on her finger tips, laced with the warmth of spices, the inside of her pocket and thus whatever she uses to clean her clothing with, some rugged mixtured of perfume he caught off of the pyro she introduced as Mick, and of course, her own aroma mingling with the chill of winter.
She waits for the pup to sniff about and do as he wishes. She doesn't reach, not yet, not wishing to spook the little thing away. Smiling, she finally shifts and tenderly brushes along his jaw. "Hey, lil thing…why are you in such a bad place like this?"
Hunting rats, Miss Lena, whyever else would I mingle with the hoi-polloi? Amused at the near-antithesis of the young woman's usual interactions towards him, the Jackal lets out a trilling murr of self-satisfaction even as the brush of fingertips relaxes him. His ears droop to the sides to an extent before turning about to listen to his surroundings — always on guard, this one.
Ambient lighting winks off the collar, be-gemmed as it is, and then off the metal circlet that is the smart-assed name tag. Ambrose lifts his head from its momentary settling against Lena's knuckles when he hears familiar scritching sounds from deeper into the alley.
His eyes go alight. Ah-hah: rats.
Lena Snart smiles and pets smoothly. She couldn't understand him, but there was always something about animals that made the woman go soft. As he perks, she pulls away, following after his gaze and down toward the alley's depths. "What's happening?" Yes, she knew he couldn't speak, but that didn't stop her from talking to him. "Hmm? What do you hear?" Moving to stand, she motions down into the dark in an offer to let him lead.
Prey.
How the thought rolls through his mind like the distant growl of thunder.
With a glance back at Lena that lingers for an interesting amount of time, the pale-furred creature then ghosts into the alley proper. His footsteps are careful, silent, and he immediately drops his head upon hearing more of the scritching sounds. Now comes the smooth shoulder-rolling stalk, tail nearly horizontal behind him, and he only looks back to Lena briefly this time.
More skulking another dozen feet down the alleyway and he comes to a trembling halt. Oh, how his heart rate is up — blood flows through his veins with such life — he can already taste the rat blood in his teeth —
In a whiplash of predatory speed, he darts around the corner of the dumpster only to come face to face with something that is decidedly NOT a rat! Instead, what appears to be a googly-eyed lizard-like imp about the size of a house cat looks up with its wretched face half-stuck in a large empty can once holding cut green beans.
Admittedly, Ambrose does fling himself backwards in true shock.
She knew that look, the tense nature of the beast's body. He was hunting, of course, and because of this, she lingers far enough behind him so not to allow her scent to alert whatever he was after. But, she keeps her stance and watches. Hands in her pockets, she smiles and watches.
It's his reaction that causes her alarm. Her eyes widen and with a quick pace, she moves down the passage to see what went wrong. Was he in danger? Was it something he wasn't expecting? Looming behind him and only after protectively yanking him up and off the ground, she looks at what caused such a stir. Giggling, she holds out the bundle and sighs. "You scared me…it's just a lizard. Weird to see, must be cold out here…" She frowns and sets Ambrose down. Pulling off her thin jacket, she bundles it up and moves to places it around, or at least close, to the cold-blooded creature.
Briefly lifted off the ground, the jackal only barely managed to keep from further clawing his way up onto Lena's shoulders. The imp smells of garbage and something else fundamentally wrong, something counter to existence in this world, and it makes his eyes water.
Being held out beneath his armpits has the Jackal giving Lena a firstly shocked and then flat look. Excuse me, but only Kent is allowed to hold me as such, he grouses to himself. Once upon the ground, he dances back a step. Lena's coat, however, doesn't stay there long. He darts in to snatch it and then lopes away from the dumpster. It's a move to get Lena to follow, away from the dangerous supernatural creature still fighting to get its face out of the tin can.
"Hey! That's not for you, it's for the lizard!" Lena growls under her breath - no one stole anything from her. Giving 'chase' with slow, patient strides, she moves a hand out and points at the pale creature. "Let it go. Com'on, now. Let it go and give it back."
It is a creature of another world, little bird, are you daft?!
Light of padded foot, the Jackal continues dancing just out of immediate reach of poor Lena. Her jacket isn't at risk of any toothy damage, but it is getting drug along the alley ground for a period of time.
Come along now, Miss Lena, there we are — good little bird — ?!
The imp has gotten the tin can off its head and stuck its cloudy-googly-eyed face around the dumpster. Lena is getting a good eyeing. Are her legs edible?
What did she know? In the dark of all things, perhaps she only noticed the flesh. Especially since she calls it 'lizard'. It was cold, lizards didn't like the cold - thus jacket. That's what made sense to her. "I don't want to yell, little thing, but you have to give that back to me." She demands and all without raising her voice. Already he could tell she had more feelings for beasts than other human beings. As he dances, she starts moving faster.
Yell all you like, but I will not have that thing attempt festering wounds upon anyone!
Man, Lena's probably going to have to start power-walking now at the very least. Ambrose even tosses his head in an infuriating manner, making the zipper glint in the angled fall of the street light as he reaches the entrance to the alley.
The imp lets out a slow hiss of annoyance; it sounds much like a deflating balloon. By its lack of clear eyes, it's apparent that the street lights are far too bright and painful to it. The thing belongs underground somewhere in another reality entirely.
Lena Snart speeds up only until she hears the hiss from behind. Curious, brow quirking, she turns around and faces the darkness. Head canting, she wiggles her fingers and takes a step back into the alley. The jacket meant nothing to her, obviously, but now the playful pup was losing her attention, too.
?!
Lena's jacket is left in a pile in the slant of yellowed light from the overhead lamp and then she'll find the pale creature planted dead across her feet. His insignificant bulk leans ribs and shoulder against her shins as he fully bares ivory teeth at the creature he can see slinking along the length of the dumpster towards them.
A banshee-like screech leaves him at the top of his lungs and how his lips ripple in his ugly, nose-wrinkling snarl at the imp. It stutters in its approach, its warty, damp grey skin still blending nearly seamlessly into the shade of the dumpster to the human eye.
Attention achieved. Lena eyes down at him as that noise shatters the space before them. Shuddering from the noise of it, she steps back and toward the light. Head up she watches that thing and finally, finally, notices what that 'lizard' actually was. "The hell…" She whispers breathlessly. A drag of her boot back, she moves down and ghosts her hands at the jackal's sides. "I'm going to pick you up, little thing. Don't bite me too hard." Yoink, and up he goes.
Cradling him against herself protectively, Lena bolts from the passage way and down a block or three before jogging to a stop and finally stopping. Panting, looking over her shoulder, she swallows. "The hell was that…" Holding him out under his arms, she cants her head, pouting softly with a deeper concern in her icy eyes. "Are you ok?"
Ambrose lets out a startled, half-forced "urf?!" of a sound upon being so quickly picked up, but he knows better than to struggle. This is old hat: many a time, over a century back on another continent entirely, he was carted around like this by Kent, both of them on the run from enemy gangsters. The alleyway recedes and the imp is left to grumble to itself. Rats are far less appetizing than youthful human limbs. Ugh. Stupid non-human creature.
When things come to a slow and then to a halt, the pale creature lets out a huff of a sigh. Large ears fall flat to the sides in relief, though they remain as such when he's held out yet again. Hind feet spread toes at the lack of contact for anything, but he doesn't wiggle overmuch. Instead, he endeavors to give Lena a patient look.
I am fine. You are fine as well. Your legs are not missing large mouthfuls of flesh and my karma is further balanced. His tongue, pink and small, briefly slips out to curl up over his nose. He blinks slowly at Lena again. You may put me down now, Miss Lena, this is troublesome.
"Yeah?" She asks, noting his toes. She smiles, she can't help it, her expression softening all the more, melting at the sight of him. Nodding, content that they were both ok (more so him than herself), she pulls him back in against herself and continues to cradle. Now she pets and brushes, rubbing at those beautiful ears and along his scruff and underchin.
"So, I see that collar. Pity, I can't keep you. Then again, I'm use to taking things I want that don't belong to me." She teases.
Silent huffing is absolutely laughter slipping out.
What a novelty, we share a habit in absconding with what we wish. If only you knew, Miss Lena. A sucker always for scritchies in this particular guise, so very counter to his usual human habits of keeping people away with ten-foot poles, the Jackal tilts his head left and right in order for her nails to get to those good places — the line of his jaw, at the base of his ears, in the scruff at his neck beneath and around the line of the diamond-studded collar.
I feel you would be displeased when you find me in your kitchen drinking your liquor. Not only that, but Kent would miss me dearly, he simpers to himself before spreading his mouth in a canine grin. Who's getting scritchies? He is.
"I think Mick would like a pet." She nods at the idea, starting to randomly move in some direction. She wasn't heading anywhere near a safe-house, at least as far as he knew. Adjusting him for comfort reasons, she keeps him nestled close, fingers lazily loving across his head and upper body. "I don't know what that thing is, or what you did. That noise was something special." Her hand slips down and gently starts massaging against his paw, tenderly massaging its padding. "I'll have to let you go eventually. I take what I want, but I'm not /that/ evil. Someone would miss you, wouldn't they?"
Yes, someone would miss me, and they would come a-hunting most displeased, Miss Lena. Ambrose pulls his ears back even as he turns his nose towards the young woman's face. You had best put me down right now, I suppose, before you give away your home. You must have heard the tales of changelings? Or kitsune? I once brought one home, thinking it was a street-cur. Imagine my surprise when it changed into something else entirely.
The Jackal does preen for a moment, likening himself to the mythical wonderment of the nine-tailed creatures. He begins wriggling like mad, planting feet against Lena's arm and ribs, hoping to slip free of her arms.
Lena Snart frowns and gets the message. There's a deep sadness in her now, but as he pushes, she stops and sets the little beast down. "Sorry. Anyway…I'll leave you alone. Be safe out there, ok, little thing?" Brushing her hair back, she takes a step back and tucks her hands back into her pockets.
A shake from nose to tail leaves the ruched sweater more comfortable about his body. Ambrose then looks up at the young woman from the ground; ambient light flashes a very familiar carmine color through his pupils.
I will escort you home at the least, Miss Lena. I would not have another imp attempt at your calves, hmm? They are shapely. It would be a shame to have them maligned via mastication. That, and, rather shamelessly, he'll be shown yet another of young Cold's abodes — information is important to collect given the opportunity. He takes a step in the direction she was heading and looks back over his shoulder. A soft chirrup is an attempt to entice her to continue on.
Lena Snart pauses and shakes her head. "Nah, you go on ahead. You don't want any more cuddles, so you're not following me home. Sorry, little thing, not allowed." A sad smile offered his way, it doesn't quite reach her eyes or even press dimples into her cheeks. "Go on now." She shoos him away and turns to head down another stretch of street.
Ears pinked with the fall of light through them rotate about. Ambrose looks down the way he indicated and then back at the retreating back of the young woman. Wrinkling his whiskers once, the pale jackal then gets to dogging Lena's steps at a respectful distance of about ten feet. His tag makes no sound as it bounces off the neckline of the dog-sweater.
It will take Lena being observant and checking her six to spot the small creature, after all.
It's the feeling, or that worry rippling up her spine. Grumbling, she turns around and eyes across her shoulder. "Stop." She tells him flatly. "You made me happy, but you're done, ok? Go and do what you want to do and I'll keep doing what I'm doing." Ah, still true to form, especially now that her new 'prize' wasn't one she could commit to keeping or even taking home.
Ah, yes, but what -are- you doing, Miss Lena? wonders Ambrose to himself.
Dropping his nose to the ground, the pale Jackal tracks her scent within about six feet now. He continues eyeing her, the light flashing in and out of his pupils. Someone pauses nearby him to stare and he pads on a little bit faster now, ears pulled back, very clearly moving as if he were within Lena's orbit.
Eventually, the horrid smells of the slums slip away to a new odor. This time, it's a bit more well to do, at least - even rich's people's garbage doesn't smell as sickly. Along the path of the streetlights are nicer housing developments - some of them even have tiny 'yards' in front of them. By yard, it's really a strip of green that may, or may not, be real.
A few more blocks down and Lena turns, feeding herself into another alley, this one more slender than the ones before. With a press of her feet, she starts climbing a side ladder until she's on its roof.
Hmm, ladders. Ambrose eyes the ascending form of the young woman with ears back in obvious dismay. She disappears over the top and he plants his rump on the alley's ground. A long, shivering yawn is abject frustration in the woes of not having thumbs. He even warbles just slightly to make his thoughts known — how very dare he not have thumbs in this guise!
A pink tongue flick to curl about a canine tooth briefly even as he looks up again. A soft yelping cry then follows, purely experimental. Will it garner attention?
He'll see a head peer over, draped with jet hair. Sighing, Lena stares and shakes her head. "What is your deal? You squirm away and now you follow me and want to come up here?" Muttering, cursing, she pulls away and disappears. Eventually, she climbs down and then opens her arms. "Com'on." Should he, she'll rest him against her chest with one arm as the other aids her with climbing. She was use to taking loot with her and getting away, this was nothing.
Now atop the building, she lets him down and moves to sit at the side of the rooftop, hidden away in a rich dip of shadow. Across from them is a nice brownstone. The lights are on in the window.
Content to be hoisted aloft and up the ladder, Ambrose makes no dramatic movements to dislodge or distract Lena on her ascent back up to the roof. He shakes out yet again once placed upon the roof and then pads over to stare at the well-to-do house across the way. Glancing from it and over to Lena, the pale creature makes no sound as he joins in her immediate vicinity.
Another one of those flawless sits makes him appear to be a small guard-dog, for all he weights twenty-one pounds at most. He looks again from the window and towards Lena almost promptingly.
Lena Snart rolls her eyes down toward him, chilling and pale. She makes a face, perhaps considering if she can trust this thing that can't speak or do much of anything. Reaching out, she brushes along his back and exhales. The air catches her breath.
"My sister is over there." She admits at length. "Living a good honest life…"
I had no idea you'd a sister, the master-thief admits to himself. He blinks slowly again at the feeling of the palm gently running along his back, but still continues to give Lena his attention. Movement across the way can be seen and he temporarily averts attention to watch the silhouettes move about.
It comes back to him, how she'd responded to learning of Kazimira, his own daughter. Ambrose looks back to the young woman solemnly, silently.
"Did a lot of things to get her there. A lot of deals. Failed her once, y'know? When I was on the inside? I didn't realize it and I, well, I hope your collar isn't for the same reason mine is." A smirk, she keeps petting, her eyes never leaving the movement across the street. "She's talented. Very talented. Going for the Olympics last I heard." Nibbling her lower lip, she falls silent and keeps watch.
One roof over, along the same side of the residential street, pigeons coo softly. It distracts Ambrose for a second in his baser instincts, but he wrangles himself before he becomes too interested in the flying rats — still, rats: delicious.
My collar is of my own volition and out of purely selfish spite against others who thought to capture me a century back. His tail slips to curl about his feet, almost cat-like. You have done a good thing, however, Miss Lena. It is as simple as this, despite the cost. Your karma is well-balanced, I think, in comparison to my own. Another glance over at Lena has the small creature sighing. Curses. If only he could truly talk.
Lena Snart keeps her silence, her fingers brushing lazily as she doesn't seem to have anything else to share with the tiny little creature. She shifts and then falls still, statuesque as her companion. She sniffs, her heart rate flutters. Blinking rapidly, she moves and gently slips the pup onto her lap and within the bedding of a bent arm. The other still pets. "I'm sorry. Move if you want, I just…yeah…"
He's admittedly a little wiggly, but doesn't fight overmuch. Intuition brings him to remain upon the young woman's lap for a time. It costs him little to lean against her.
Ambrose's secret weakness: damsels in true distress. Let none know!
I am sorry too, Miss Lena. Would that life were more fair in our favor. But, then again…karma is an unpredictable and wily thing. You might find things shift on the morrow for the better.
Another sigh curls silvery before the long snout of the Jackal. Shuffling about in place means his little toes are finally getting cold enough to warrant considering making his way back down to the ground below and skirting home to disappearing underneath a fleece-lined blanket for a few hours.
Right, well — I will need to be getting down to the street now because I did not dress for lingering upon rooftops. The wind is cutting. Slipping from her lap, he pads over and stares pointedly at the ladder.
And back at Lena.
And back at the ladder.
And back at Lena, and adds a small pitiful whine for good, heartstring-wrenching measure.
"Just a second." Lena murmurs, watching at the window for a bit longer. Then a bit more until that sound cracks against her ears. Sighing, she can't take that - not at all. Finally moving, she heads for the ladder and starts moving down. Scooping up the creature, she allows it to hug against her shoulder. Before long, she's on the ground, and after that, so is Ambrose. "There you go. Thanks for keeping me company." Staring at him, she blinks and watches attentively. "You go first. You're not following me again."
Phew. Ambrose does appreciate being upon terra firma again after the descent. Jackals go splat if dropped.
But oh look: another coy Jackal smile, complete with a hint of pink tongue beyond the ramparts of his lower teeth.
Of course, Miss Lena, I would not dare such a thing… This time, despite the teasing mental tones, he does not. Turning about in place, the pale little creature with his glinting collar and black sweater begins to trot swiftly away.
But not without first giving Lena a very obvious wink.
Habitually, she winks back. She even waves. As he heads off, she turns to make her exit through the other mouth of the alley way.