Summary:Pepper Potts meets the newest guest in the Talbot-Atherton household, the wee white fox-kit (cursed Lena). Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
   |
It's the last weekend before the new year. Stark Industries is pretty much entirely on holiday until after the first, and Pepper is taking advantage of this to actually do some *gasp* relaxing. She's back from spending the previous week with family, and now's she's seated in this funky little club/coffeehouse dressed casually and drinking tea. You know, instead of coffee. She's even managed to not look at her phone for at least the past five minutes.
Though now she's really considering playing a solitaire game or something as the live music stage is currently between sets.
Nothing is on fire at the manor and while there's a sunbreak, Ambrose elects to take himself and their temporary guest for a walk. Whether she likes it or not (and his black kidskin leather gloves now sport a good number of tooth-marks for his efforts), the wee white fox-kit finds herself stuffed into a small red dog sweater and a matching cotton collar. It marks her as (falsely) owned and, therefore, far less likely to anything more than draw passing attention. Very few folks claim to own foxes as pets, after all, and Lena is not a pet in the least — rather stuck in a cursed state after sassing off to the Trickster God himself.
Kent put in a request for a specific drink and stopping by Cafe Wha? makes sense given it's the place where the drink originates; they use a Chai tea blend in their lattes that passes muster for the man.
Ambrose enters the Cafe with an inrush of wintry air from outside and shivers sympathetically to himself once the front door shuts. "I believe it is cold enough to warrant liquor in one's latte, but I doubt they indulge this here," he murmurs, half to himself, and half to the white fox-kit tucked comfortably to his side. His forearm rests from her belly to her chest and his broad hand splays fingers up to keep her from sliding forwards. It's not an uncomfortable perch if one is relaxed — also, Lena weighs near to nothing in this form. "Warm milk for you then?" The Jackal smirks down at the wee creature even as he walks towards the counter to put in his order. An idle scan of the room proves Pepper to be present and the man pauses, wondering if he too has been spotted.
She was in a good place at the moment and that alone was frightening to the girl. It was a mix of play and asshatery that made her nibble and bite toward his fingers - the sweater is put into place. The collar she doesn't seem to mind so much, but its red hue does give her some pause. Amused almost, she found herself looking for some yellow lightening strike on it.
Draping herself on his arm, the walk calms her. She even closes her eyes and cat naps from time to time during their walk. Once entering the cafe, her tiny ears flick about and twitch. Waking up, she yawns, her tongue curling with the wide-mouthed reaction before her tiny maw snaps shut. Wriggling, the comment about liquor has her head shake in a very human manner. Then to the comment about warm milk? The kit gives a shudder and another shake of her head. She'd beg for coffee…if she only could. Whatever she wanted to say is lost in translation, only coming out at a small yip and mewling bark.
Having succumbed to the lure of the cell phone game, Pepper did not notice Ambrose's arrival, but with the current lack of live music she hears that yip well enough. And, having met a Rosie-kit not all that long ago, it catches her attention immediately and her eyes snap up from the phone in her hand to scan the roo— Ambrose.
But wait, if Ambrose is here, then Rosie can't be. She's trying to puzzle this out when another passerby steps out of her line of sight and she spots the tiny quadruped tucked into his arm. Eyebrows drawing together questioningly, she studies the red-sweatered kit and is able to tell it's not a kitten… another fox kit?
The heck?
"No? No warm milk?" Ambrose continues quietly in bland tease even as he nods silent greeting towards Pepper. His eyes carry the faint amusement as he never drops her shared gaze even through the depth of the nod. Despite the circumstances at hand, he can find some humor in it. How fancy is he with the exotic little creature on his arm — literally on his arm with how she's cradled.
A pointer finger lifted communicates 'please hold' to Pepper and the master-thief briefly turns to put in his order. Then, musing that he has a few minutes to wait (the crowd is present tonight and the wait-staff is busy), he wanders over to Pepper's table.
"Miss Potts. Good evening," he greets, smiling as if he had a joke waiting just behind his lips. "I trust you are well?" The white fox-kit is still kept tucked against his ribs where it's warmest.
The tease causes a tiny, almost annoyed, growl to vibrate within her little throat. No, no warm milk, you prat - that's probably what she was saying. If anything, it was a negative and no doubt about it. Order made, a whimper as she wasnt' getting what she'd wanted. Her pale gaze roams the room, taking in people in passing blurs until they arrive at a new place, complete with a new face. Were it possible, the kit lifts a small paw and pads it out in some form of a not fully functional wave.
Pepper HAD been moving to stand when Ambrose gestured for her to wait, so instead she settles back and waits patiently, though not without GOBS of curiosity. Then he steps over while waiting for his order and she offers a smile and a nod. "Good evening, Lieutenant Atherton. I have been quite well, yes. How about you? Did you and Mr. Talbot have a pleasant holiday?"
Pleasantries. Always pleasantries. After all, she can play the formality game too.
"Yes, our holiday was very pleasant, thank you — and yourself? Or did you spend it involved in your work?" Read as: babysitting Tony. Ambrose, however, has better manners around Pepper (and redheads in particular) and doesn't outright insinuate this.
He also doesn't once reach to run a gloved hand along the wee white fox's form like some charming mastermind hellbent on taking over the world. Instead, his other hand slips into the pocket of his near-trenchcoat. He doesn't make a move to sit just yet, rather choosing to remain standing for now.
"Oh, yes, I suppose you're curious as to this little creature here." Theatrical tease in his tone, he glances down at Lena in her cursed form. "She is a temporary addition to our household. I found her wandering and simply couldn't let her remain out of doors in this weather. It would not have bode well for her. We have not named her yet, but there are some options in the running. I believe Blanche was put up for contention, though I am fonder of Carnation — like the instant milk, you see, her color matches," Ambrose explains, only barely not laughing. "Another contender was Marzipan, like the sweet, but she is only so sweet, I think." His glove appears from his pocket to showcase the teeth marks in it and he mockingly pouts his lower lip. Tsk.
Lena Snart blinks, canting her tiny head to the side as that little wave doesn't get much of a look. If canines could shrug…Listening to the names and lies spilling out from Ambrose's lips, the kit chuffs and grumbles, lowering her head. Each name gets a noise of disapproval in some form or another. Her tail flicks about as she hunkers down against Ambrose's body.
Pepper can't help but look at the white kit in clear amusement, though she at least manages to not chuckle aloud. "I spent last week visiting my parents. All of my siblings and their families came up as well. It was loud and boisterous, but worth every moment." She gestures to the other chair at her admittedly tiny table, most of it covered by the smallish teapot, infuser on a saucer, and coffee mug currently holding a deeply red-brown black tea.
"I am curious all right." She watches the white kit as Ambrose explains how he found her and the possibilities for a name, noticing how she seems very expressive, and NOT enamored of the potential names mentioned thus far. "So you're fostering her until she's able to return home?" It's not like she's not done the same thing herself before for a particular Rosie. "May I offer a few other suggestions?"
After a glance over his shoulder to ascertain that the bar-staff is still busy working on orders put in before his own, Ambrose then seats himself. The wee white fox-kit is carefully moved from slung along his forearm to settled on his lap with marked care.
"By all means, share your suggestions. We are still entertaining options for temporary names. We are fostering her in a way, yes," the Jackal agrees, his gloved palms now rested flat on his thighs. He has half an eye on the fox-kit as is in the manner of one nearly absolutely certain there will be hijinks at some point in time. If Lena tries to dart from his lap and to the floor, she'll find a spread of hand barring her way every time. After all, the master-thief is masterful at quick-draw after over a century of familiarity with his revolvers.
The kit sits. Her tail flicks about from time to time and those pale, almost frost-blue eyes linger on Pepper whenever she speaks. It seems as if the tiny creature is actually paying attention. Most canines did, however, to sound and eye-contact, but this feels somewhat different. She doesn't make a break for it - there was nothing in it for her if she did. People, lots of feet, a shut exit and no thumbs, height, or weight to help with that. No go. Instead, she sets her front paws on the table's brim, pressing up to stand on her back legs.
Pepper offers the perhaps unusually alert little kit her hand by setting it palm up on the table to be sniffed at or not as the tiny creature chooses. "Hm, well, Blanquilla comes to mind, it means white peach." Or it's the feminine bastardization of 'egg', her Spanish crisp and flawlessly Spain without the Castillian lisp affectation.
"The only other things that come to mind are Cebolla and Ventisca." Also Spanish words though translations aren't promptly offered. Pepper watches the kit to see if any of the three words she offered evoke a reaction other than the at best lukewarm response the ones Ambrose mentioned received..
As before, there's chuffs and puffs. She takes that hand in kind, her small nostrils flaring as she takes in the woman's scent. Senses - they were still driving her mad now and then, but at least the things here were pleasant enough. A shake, a wiggle of her head, it seems those names are also on the 'no' list. With a pull up and small kicking of air as she attempts to crawl, the kit soon makes her way atop the table. With a slink of silent steps, the kit sits and looks between the pair. Paw out, she gently starts patting at the glass container of sugar left there for patrons.
"I did offer Blanche, which is French," the Jackal notes even as he ends up crossing his arms lightly. A quick glance around the place and he's grateful that Lena's wee presence on the table hasn't drawn more attention. Still, as a waiter floats by, he marks a subtle pause of concern on the young woman's part. His sigh is patient despite the internal spark of resentful concern.
Gloved hands reach out to attempt to collect the white fox-kit again in order to return her to his lap. There's probably a polite dismissal from the premises coming: no animals are allowed here, not without being Service Animals, and the fox-kit absolutely does not qualify.
"Though I am unaware of what the last two suggestions translate to. Spanish has never been my forte," the master-thief admits.
Pepper nods as Lena-kit seems unenthused by the additional suggestions, reaching her other hand to help make sure the kit doesn't fall off of the side of the table. "I'm not sure that refined sugar is good for humans, much less for little kits," she tells tiny white critter. She is definitely doing the parental tone.
"The last two, well, were words that came to mind because they're white," she tells Ambrose. "Cebolla means onion, and Ventisca means blizzard. They don't sound quite as elegant in English." She doesn't really bother trying to think of any other possible names. She was the kid that had a pet cat named Fuzzy, after all.
Lena Snart gives a soft trill of annoyance as Ambrose's hands come to reclaim her off the table. That tiny paw is left waggling, still attempting to pad at the sugar jar as it is soon out of reach. With a huff of her nostrils, the kit turns about, balancing on Ambrose's thighs and starting to nuzzle up and within the drape of his jacket. Was she looking for something, perhaps? Whatever it is gets pulled free, dragged out with her head resting to the side. A pen dangles there, tapping against the side of the table as she attempts to press back up and climb atop once more.
Ambrose nods even as he wrangles the white fox-kit back into his lap. At least this time he isn't nibbled with those small sharp teeth! His poor tail — there's going to be razzing about that for days…nay, weeks.
"I sincerely think I will call her Marzipan if for the irony of it," he murmurs, arching a brow at the young fox's suddenly insistence for the pen slid into an interior pocket. "Oh, you are attempting that, are you?"
The Jackal now gives Pepper a look full of quiet warning. She's seen this trick before, albeit it involved the Jackal himself in his guise and a surface of wet sand. 'Hello' was the word, after all. He halts Lena's insistence to clamber onto the tabletop, however, with a palm spread up beneath her front legs to gently guide her away from its edge.
"Little chit, would you rather I were less obtuse?" he asks of the fox kit with the calm and quiet tone she's likely learning to mean stressed patience — as in, would she rather he simply used her true name.
Pepper's eyebrows draw together as the white kit is removed from the table and digs a PEN out of Ambrose's jacket pocket. And then the man is giving her a Significant Look (tm), and that just about confirms it for her. Well, except that the kit isn't wearing the leather and diamond collar.
"I, think I understand," she tells Ambrose, but doesn't elaborate. That's something that should be spoken of lightly in a public place. Instead she reaches to pull the pen away from Lena-kit's teeth.
Lena Snart trills again, her small legs kicking about. She wasn't allowed on the table again, and the pen was now out of her somewhat weak jaw. A yip and noise, she groans and slumps back against Ambrose's lap. There's a hint of annoyance, and defeat, in her icy eyes. Already, she's planning on doing something to ruin some experience. His drink was on its way, wasn't it? As he calls her his sometimes favorite word for her, she gives the side of his hand a small bite - nothing to hurt him, just simply pressure as a response.
"So I see," says the master-thief mildly of the light squeeze to his hand. He holds out his other gloved palm for the pen taken by Pepper from the small creature's mouth. Indeed, his drink was on its way to being processed; the bartender/barista behind the counter is squinting at the scrawl of the cashier. More information would be required in the translation.
"She reminds me of a little bird I met in passing in the Park one day," Ambrose continues, glancing up at Pepper with a lazy lidding of his eyes, as if the tale meant so little. The woman is smart. She'll recognize its implied importance. "I was told to address her as Miss Cold. Perhaps this would be best for the little creature."
Pepper's eyes go from Ambrose to the strangely expressive Lena-Kit and back, and when he relates this seemingly unrelated little anecdote, her eyes flit between the pair again. It he saying that this little kit is 'Miss Cold'? Well, weirder things have happened, she supposes.
Handing Ambrose his pen back, she reaches to touch the kit lightly to get her attention. "Ventisca, little Miss Blizzard, I think I know what you're trying to get at here, and this is not the right place to do it. All right? Just relax, you're about as safe as you can get right now."
Lena Snart chuffs and settles. No pen, no names, no nothing. Her eyes roll up, spying at Pepper as she speaks. She idly blinks, her paws pressing down as she slumps her body back up and against Ambrose. All she can offer now is a tiny trill of understanding, acknowledgement, perhaps a mixture of the two. She was right. She was use to being secretive in person, but now?
The master-thief is warm beneath his parted trenchcoat, even through the thermal layering of his long-sleeved shirt. He shifts in his chair without dumping the white fox-kit from her perch in order to slip the pen back into the interior pocket of the warm outer garment.
"Yes, do listen to Miss Potts." Is that a vein of faint annoyance in his tone? Perhaps not even as he glances over his shoulder towards the counter. "They are rather slow on the draw tonight. I am not impressed."
Turning back to their small collective, Ambrose adds, "I will need to leave shortly, Miss Potts, my apologies. I did not consider how Miss Cold's presence would garner attention."
Pepper acknowledges Ambrose's words with a nod. "Completely understandable. I'll go check on your drink, and you two should consider stopping by to visit me at the office." She moves to stand, collecting her teapot to get more hot water while she checks on the beverage Ambrose requested. "Good to meet you, Miss Ventisca."
Now with his own annoyance given sound, the kit seems to slump back all the more. Head down, ears going flat, her pale eyes look toward Pepper as she's addressed. It seems she has a new name. Silently, she dips her head once more, acknowledging to red-head with a tiny nod. Her mood now - scolded child.