snowblindrpg | [log] everything is animal people forever [closed]

Entry tags:

[log] everything is animal people forever [closed]

Characters: Davesprite and The Cat
Location House 31 → possibly elsewhere if the cat convinces him to travel together.
Date: Day 157, around midday.
Summary: Davesprite runs into that cat he heard about; cat attempts extortion of free labor.
Warnings: N/A

[There's a bird outside, or what would be a bird if he weren't also a person, and a sprite, and dressed in one of the most ridiculous ways he could be. There's the standard peacoat newbies are given, of course, just as violently orange as the rest of him. Same with the backpack, which because of the wings taking up his back he has elected to wear backwards over his chest. His head bears a combination of pink bra and flower crown, for lack of more suitable headwear, while below the length of his tail has been wrapped in what is actually a discarded curtain. He's tangled his tail up near the end to try to keep it from slipping loose; nearer his waist, his hand holds it up. The head of a stuffed dog sticks out the top of his backpack.]

Who puts a house on a map if it doesn't open? I don't see marks for these crumbled down ruins next to them. 'Look here, there's more rotted up boards on the ground.' 'Check this spot for free tetanus.' 'Location number 73 on the composite map: here are your discarded hopes of survival.' Is someone in here? Did they lock the door?

[He knocks on the front door he's been trying to wiggle open for the past second or two. Without an answer, he sighs, gives up, and moves on toward the back.]

Don't know why I'm trying here in the first place. What's in there? What's the chance this house is going to be the jackpot? Find myself a surplus of winter hats and tailor made tail tubes for the inhuman asshole, free for the taking, if only the dumb tool could find his way in. Oh, hey, back door. What's the chance this one is locked too? Is there a key I'm supposed to find? Did the last person who passed through just stuff it under a snowdrift and then forget it keeps snowing? Find it under frozen frost lump A, except what counts as A after a few days and a blizzard overnight. God, these handles are cold.

[Without feet there's no footsteps to hear him by, but who honestly needs them with his constant monologue? He jiggles and pulls at the door handle back here, no luckier than at the front.]

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[ The Cat could smell someone nearby. Closer than he was comfortable with, given the way the snow had of killing scents on the air. Of course, it's difficult to miss the monologue, even with a mortal cat's ears.

He takes pity on the poor boy, and creeps out of the dog door to peer at the strange bird-human. ]

[Cat? What cat? Davesprite's busy bracing a portion of his tail against the side of the house for leverage so he can attempt outright yanking on the doorknob.]

Come on, you lousy piece of shit. Open up, open, open fuckin' sesame—

[He loses his grip, tumbles back into the snow behind him in an ungainly sprawl, and—]

[Oh, hey, that black shape wasn't there before. Let alone a particularly furry, living one. It's a cat. That is definitely a cat. Not the anthropomorphized kind like Lehko or Jaspersprite are, either, and at first he tenses up, wondering if it's going to pounce on him. Cats do that to birds, right?]

You're not that talking cat I heard about, are you?

[He is still on his back in the snow. Not the coolest way to meet anyone, but he lost his dignity the moment he turned the bra into a hat.]

Edited (html misshap) 2016-09-13 00:03 (UTC)

[ He just stares at Dave, unblinking. He could say something, but that would be telling. And what would he say? "Yes I'm the talking cat, come in this way"?

He can do that just as well without human speech. He turns around and slips back into the house. ]

[Davesprite sighs again. It figures he'd get the most unhelpful encounter he could. Does the cat speak? He doesn't know. Jaspers apparently meowed up a secret genetic code to Rose years before he got turned into a sprite, so maybe all cats are imbued with hidden wisdom that no one but bonkers wizard children in the woods of New York can comprehend.]

[When the cat doesn't return, he sets about getting up and regaining his bearings. Adjust the shades, fix the flower crown, flap and ruffle his wings to rid them of the clinging snow. Some undulation of his tail dislodges a good bit of what's clung onto the curtain there.]

[It's only when he floats over, leans down, and peers warily into the depths of the doghouse that he realizes.]

Are you kidding me? Through here? Jesus, ain't I suffered enough indignity yet? If you're in there, cat, you better move out of the way.

[It takes some more shuffling outside, but soon enough the dog flap tips up to admit the passage of first his backpack, then the curtain (which has been given an extra shaking out, then wadded up into a ball), and finally the orange mass of Davesprite himself. His passage is as awkward and ungainly as expected, taloned hands scrabbling ahead to pull while his tail wiggles behind in effort to push him forward. His wings are clamped as tightly to his back as he can get them.]

[If he weren't weird enough already, surely the frustrated bird squawks he gives make up for it.]

[ Inside, like some ridiculous reward for his efforts, is a pile of food. About as much food as might be stuffed in one of the standard-issue backpacks. The backpack in question is sitting right next to the pile, empty... except for the purple-eyed cat curled up in it. Still staring at Dave. Wordlessly. ]

[Reward? You call that a reward? Davesprite stares right back at the cat, still flat out on his belly, something like disbelief twisting what's visible of his face. If the cat has a backpack then maybe he is the talking one, but the stubborn little shit still isn't showing it. And what's this supposed to be, anyway? 'Hello you feather-brained moron, give me your backpack and I will use it inappropriately for a house.' Why's his food sitting outside it?]

[He pulls himself the rest of the way in, grabs up his own bag and his curtain, and says:]

Whatever you're getting at, no.

[He floats further into the house. He didn't go through that humiliation just to give up and not look for supplies.]

[ He makes a sound that could easily be a sneeze, but sounds suspiciously like a chuckle.

Listen, this backpack is warm. He will put the food back in it when he's done being warm. So... maybe never. ]

[He glances back, eyes narrowing behind his shades. Did that cat just laugh at him?]

Shit like this is why I was never a cat person. You're not helping your case, Hairball.

[He's not going to stop his search, though. His bag and curtain end up dumped on a nearby chair, easier than carrying them around by hand.]

[ Well, he wouldn't ask Dave to stop his search, or to change his mind about cats. But he supposes he should help look. He has spent most of the last day napping, and he feels rather rested.

He climbs out of the backpack, stretches and yawns. He'll help look. ]

[Another glance.]

Doing the yawny stretchy thing isn't going to help. I lived with another cat three years; not any purry rolly look how enticing I am faux cute exhibition could win me over.

[Granted Jaspersprite typically wanted to chase him around, because he was about as smart as a five year old and Davesprite's a wiggly bird. But the point stands. He picks through cupboards, cabinets, peers across furniture. It's not as deep a search as it might be. But why should he put his guard down? He doesn't trust this furry asshole, and he's distracting besides.]

[Still, it doesn't take all that long to notice the main thing:]

Is this place nothing but dog stuff?

[ Clearly Davesprite just doesn't understand the joy of a nice, luxurious yawn. Most two-leggers don't, and though he doesn't have any legs Dave is clearly at least adjacent to human.

The Cat ignores him in favor of a quick search, but finding that there is nothing new that wasn't here when he last woke up he turns his attention to the orange boy instead. ]

What are you?

[ He is nothing if not curious, the proverbial cat. ]

[Davesprite doesn't jolt when he hears the voice, but his feathers fluff up before he can stop them. He settles them as he turns to look toward the cat again.]

Okay, so you can talk. That's a thing.

[And he's suddenly feeling a good bit more self-conscious for it. It's one thing to be told there's a talking cat here, and quite another to have it speaking directly to him. The moments of embarrassment earlier are that much harder to brush off now. Tumbling onto his non-ass in the snow? Wiggling through a dog flap just to get into the house? There's first impressions right into the shitter.]

[There's no point in not answering, though.]

Half dead crow, half human, all sprite. It's a long story but it means I'm orange, got bird wings, and this stupid tail.

Curious.

[ His tail flips idly, a sign of his genuine interest. ]

Neither human nor Beast People, mortal nor immortal. Were you born this way?

Pretty sure I'm mortal, cat. I've survived some weird shit but I could still get my ass kicked to the lethal limit.

[Or freeze or starve to death here, but those are depressing to contemplate.]

No, I wasn't. I was human for thirteen years and some change, then shit happened. It's a long story.

[He shrugs shoulders and wings together. Then he spots a bandana (patterned with little pawprints) in the area he's looking.]

Definitely taking that.

[ Well, lesser immortals can always be killed. But the Cat can't quite see what this boy is. His stupid mortal senses only allow for so much.

Dave keeps insisting it's a long story, though, so the Cat decides not to push his luck. He got the answer he was really interested in, in any case, and if he can find out later he will.

Instead, satisfied with his search, he returns to curl up in his bag. ]

[At least the cat knows not to pry. He's told at least one person here, but considering that guy was an asshole, it might not have been the smartest move. That, and he's got enough existential malaise to worry about without trying to explain the mechanics of alternate timelines to a literal cat.]

[What the hell is with that cat.]

[Davesprite keeps up the last of his search, and after a little thought grabs up a leash. It's not an ideal find, but it's long and can be tied, and it might do for a belt for his curtain. He ends up sat on a chair as he sorts things out: the bandana ends up tied under his bra hat, the flower crown set aside. It's as he's rewrapping the curtain around his long lower body that he pipes up again.]

So why is it that you can talk? I knew one who could where I was last, but that was different, and he was half eldritch princess.

[ He doesn't answer for a long moment, deciding what he should say and what he should not.

He's seen some of what Dave has shared with others, and much of what his friend Jade has shared with others. The truth, he decides, is not so outlandish as to be dismissed out of hand. ]

I am a constellation. I may speak with whomsoever I wish, in whatever manner I wish.

[Davesprite lets him have his moment. He's got the curtain to fuss with, getting it settled around what would be hips, fabric wrapped in a way that hopefully won't slip off once he's moving. Then he fusses with the leash to tie around for better security. He pauses slightly when the cat speaks again, then shifts his attention to the lower portions of his tail.]

A constellation? How's that work?

[Still seems pretty weird, but somehow less so than the personified countries he's heard about. There was the Genesis Frog; maybe a cat could be a chunk of space. But a human being as a person-defined country that may have been called something completely different in its history? No way.]

[Davesprite's skepticism works in mysterious ways. He pulls the end of the curtain through his flower crown.]

In a way that is very difficult for mortals to understand. I have no real power here, so it is enough to say that I have lived for eons, wandered the mortal realms for millenia, and am most assuredly a cat.

Right.

[Sounds like bullshit, but others have given him the same judgment. He adjusts and checks the curtain some more—this is really all experimentation at this point—then rises up to his not-feet. That is to say, hovering upright with his tail an inch or so above the floor.]

So do constellation cats have names, or am I just going to call you increasingly inappropriate brand names for pet supplies? I'm Davesprite, by the way.

Not in the way that mortals do. [ His name is an abstract, like he is. More constellation stuff. ]

You may call me whatever you wish.

You got it, Fancy Feast.

[Don't say he never gave you the chance to avoid this, cat. Are you going to be feeling so charitable once he's descended to litter names? He'll do it. Just try him.]

Anyway, I don't know what you're doing with your backpack food displacement jam, but I've got places to be. There's hot water down south and I'm not going ending my day without it.

[He grabs his own pack up again and turns in the direction of the dog flap. God, this house is so uncool.]

Edited (thanks html) 2016-09-16 16:33 (UTC)

[ His world doesn't do cat food... or litter boxes. So it'll be even harder to offend him in that way. He does climb out of his backpack though, and begins filling it with food again.

Having wrapped food items in his mouth does not seem to impede his ability to talk any. ]

It is warmer. I will accompany you. I cannot stay here much longer, in any case.

Wait, accompany me?

[He looks back, letting his backpack dangle one-handed at his side. He nearly asks how it is the cat's talking with his mouth full, but why should it matter after everything else? Nothing in his life makes sense, and hasn't for too long.]

Can you even carry that thing yourself, or am I going to be looking back every foot or so watching this sad, black lump hauling a trail behind me? Heck, how'd you even get here? Do you have some hidden telekinesis thing, too?

[ He waits until all the food is in the pack, then zips it. Telekinetically. So that answers that question. ]

I dragged it. Some abilities have been left to me, though not many.

[ But heeeeyyy if you wanna take care of the sad black lump, he's not going to say no... ]

[Davesprite studiously does not facepalm, though a part of him would very much like to.]

Okay, well, you and me both. I'm sure glad as fuck I'm not pulling Alaska's shittiest snake impression through the snow. But why follow me? I don't remember advertising for a travel partner. Aren't cats supposed to hate birds?

Quite the contrary. Birds make for very exciting prey.

[ It's okay birdbro, he's only teasing. ]

I need to go somewhere, and it is safer to travel with a companion.

I've dealt with bigger cats than you, Friskies, and the last one had tentacles.

[He's not actually kidding, but the serious tone is more joke than not.]

[But for a short pause after, he's quiet. Davesprite could let the cat come with. At least one of the guide documents mentioned the dangers of sticking in one place overlong, and it's not like a talking, feline constellation has room to judge him for being weird. An extra set of eyes and ears to watch his back, a different perspective for searching buildings...]

Okay, fine. For now. Gimme your bag; I'm not going to keep stopping and waiting for you to catch up when I've got two working arms.

[With that, he sinks down to push his own through the dog flap into the dog house. He'll put it back on properly once he's outside again.]

[ His whiskers twitch in a cat smile. If he had his powers he could catch even a bird of Davesprite's size, and have some fun in the challenge. But no.

He backs away from his bag. Mission accomplished. ]

If you insist.

[Stupid cat. What's his life come to now that he's the one helping them? Three years of Jaspersprite's shenanigans and here he is again, dealing with more bullshit, because that's just the hand reality gave him.]

[The Cat's backpack gets pushed through the flap too, and Davesprite takes the lead in exiting by another round of graceless wiggling. It's easier once the backpacks are out of the doghouse; he straightens up, checks that the curtain didn't come loose, then sets to organizing them. His (terrible, neon orange) backpack ends up worn against his chest, because dear god in heaven there is no way he'd ever get it on his back past his wings. The Cat's ends up held at his side. He'll have to swap hands now and then to keep his fingers from freezing, but it's not so bad as it could be.]

[His other hand fiddles with a pocket for a quick map check on the tablet, then—]

Let's get goin'.

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[log] everything is animal people forever [closed]

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didn't even realize I had him repeat himself, whoops

it seemed very IC!

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