[aw] the cat's meow

Levent Kartal · 09-05-2012, 02:38 PM

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Totally taking advantage of non-canonical-ness. ;D Levent and Wilson are teenagers, and this is what they’d have ended up like if Lev’s mom kicked him to Nova Scotia or something. Whatever, I can be vague and stuff, I just want to maximize fun profits! ALSO THIS REMINDS ME OF OLIVER AND COMPANY.

Wilson is by Aly!

“Okay, do we have our plan?”

“Well, you have a plan. I don’t like your plan.”

“Shut up. I like my plans.”

“You aren’t the one that gets physically thrown at shopkeepers, mate. Let me emphasize that: Physically. Thrown.”

“Something tells me you don’t have the upper strength to throw me, Wils.”

“Sod off.”

That was enough of a victory for Levent Kartal, who grinned a crooked grin that left the rangy white tomcat speechless and snuck out of the alleyway onto the main street. He lingered there in his lupus form, tongue lolling from his jaws as if he were a common dog—which his mother would have certainly scoffed at. Katherine Wilcox’s lessons had not fully taken, however, and Lev was as much a street rat as he’d ever been in Istanbul. He knew his English and his letters, of course, and he’d be able to write her a sweet message to send with the first ship that left port, but the difference between that image and the one presented now was plain as day.

Most of the urchins in Istanbul had run on four legs only when they meant to steal something, otherwise hanging out or making trouble in optime, but taking on the feral form was more common overall on this continent. Many four-legged wolves and coyotes trotted down the asphalt on other, more vacant streets in Halifax, and only was this particular boulevard any different: filled with salvaged tables and wares resting on blankets on the ground, some shopkeepers operating in the doorway of half-destroyed buildings where their families dwelled. If he listened closely, Lev could pick up on the chatter of different languages, many of them bringing a distinct wistfulness for home—whatever home meant to the scruffy adolescent.

“Change of plan,” Levent said after his washed-out blue eyes scanned the merchants’ booths. “Make this a grab-and-run rather than a throw-the-cat.”

Wilson wrinkled up his little pink nose. “You admitted it!”

“Hey, I’ll make it up to you. See that grizzly old wolf with the fish? That fish can be yours; I just need the distraction so I can grab that book over there.” He wagged his tail as he studied the letters he could make out from this distance, which weren’t many, but there was a big picture of an elephant on the front. He’d seen a book like that in a London library, and it had turned out to be a volume of an encyclopedia or something. Useful or not, the teen loved to read about animals, as if he were divulging their secrets. Maybe he’d be able to write one of his own, only with useful input from the creatures themselves.

The white feline frowned, his tail curling thoughtfully. “There’s another cat there already, mate.” He narrowed his eyes. “She’s working him, I know it.”

Levent glanced that way, considering this additional detail before shrugging. “You’ll just have to work him harder. Ready—set—go!”

Snarling and barking erupted from the edge of the road, the brown-furred youth lunging after the scrawny tom, which yowled with surprise and flew along the sidewalk. He dodged the feet of a consumer who chose the wrong moment to back away from a table of salvaged gardening tools, and then climbed up the leg of another, digging his claws in and causing the coyote luperci to screech and snap at him. Evading the narrow jaws, he jumped down onto the booth of the fisherman, fur puffed out, then winked and made a grab at the fish before darting away again—running toward where Levent had grabbed the book in his mouth and was making his escape.

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