[aw] the cat's meow

Key Fennel · 09-03-2012, 01:43 AM

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meow kitty meow. Set for a modern day in the 'Soulsverse. (Remember--this thread is non-canonical. nun)

The up-walkers yelled aimlessly from behind their booths at more up-walkers that seemed to ignore them, though a few did seem to notice the din and inspected the items they would lay out on a table. Wolves were terribly loud and ignorant creatures, but pleasantly gullible. Fennel watched from afar as she sat near a stand, whose owner waved a slimy fish around and screeching things about his day's haul, as a trade unfolded from across the busy street.

A foreign dog was chatting with the old woman that looked as cute as a button, but anyone who knew anything around these parts knew that the rotten hag was a cheat. Key liked her style a lot, though she wished she wasn't so obvious. She heard the nearly toothless bag rattle on and on as she held up a shiny thing between her fingers, allowing it to glitter in the sun as the young man appraised it. In his grip was a rather large bird, freshly killed by the looks of it, something that could feed a canine a good couple of days and a cat even longer, and by the way granny was eyeing it, it seemed to be the prize she wanted.

All the foreigns seemed to have a fancy for shiny things, despite the fact they were absolute waste of space. Rarely anyone in the whole of Halifax even ever bartered with gold and silver, unless it was an outsider. Barely a minute had passed and already the deal was sealed, the man walking away with a crooked smile as if he played the old thing. Too bad he couldn't hear the bat coughing out a laugh as she tore off a wing and began to eat right then and there, enjoying the trophy of her success. Key sighed, but she shook her head with a smile upon her muzzle. It was a shame idiots couldn't fall on her doorstep like that. No, she had to play a fool herself in order to get anything.

Speaking of which, she looked up at the wolf who had stopped rambling about his fish, and rose from her place to give the man an affectionate nudge, mewing softly something in her tongue that he did not understood. The grizzly fisherman glanced down at Key and grumbled something along the lines of that she was the only one who liked his fish, patting the feline on the head. Good, she thought, only a matter of time before I can get my lunch.

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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.

Key Fennel · 09-05-2012, 03:23 PM

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omg I am enjoying this more than I should be. 8D

As she was being smothered by the calloused hands of the fisherman--honestly, it was not as bad she she would let on--she heard barking. No, it wasn't the barking that made her pull away from the rough hand, but the yowling that accompanied it. Normally, she avoided her kin unless she met a stranger and made a ploy with him to get something, and then left when the business was done. Otherwise, she rarely socialized. But, unforuntately, her moral went against her ideals, and she had to at least check out what was going on.

A white blur was fleeing from a mutt that seemed literally barking mad. She let on a slight grimace, though not enough to ruin her trick and show that she was actually an intelligent being playing for a scrap and not some empty brained creature. Perhaps the poor tom had a plot go bad and the wolf was irritated enough to give chase. She tried to distant herself from the commotion that seemed to be running down the street--she heard the various yelps and gasps of luperci not so far away as the parade went on--and reached and pressed her head against the man's paw, again mewing like something pitiful. The grizzly clucked his tongue affectionly, and picked up the fish once more. Yes, all he needed to do was lower it. Maybe she would lay next to him while she ate and visit him the next day for another easy meal.

He never had the chance. The white tom, the same one that had seemed to be running for his life only moments ago, jumped upon the table and simply snatched the fish--her fish--and ran off. Did she see him wink those sandy yellow eyes? The poser knew what was happening the moment the fish was gone and did not allow herself to sit still as the cat ran down the road with the street rat, who apparently came off with something himself.

The fisherman bellowed something, but was not able to make chase--the scheme the pair went forth with left the whole block in chaos. Fennel weaved her way between stumbling feet and paws, all the while training hard eyes on the white tail a yard ahead of her. "Oi!" she spat, and pressed herself harder. Now only a tail's length separated them. "I ought ta gut you out!" Now the thought of getting her paws on him motivated her. No, she wouldn't kill him, but the spirits knew that she would make sure he would not ruin her plot again. The image of him jumping on the table and taking the fish burned in her mind, but the thought occurred her to.

The idea was executed before the git could veer off somewhere. She leaped, and praying to the whisps to aid her, reached out for the tail that streamed in front of her, paws aiming to grab and grip.

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