Intrinsically Sweet (solo)

((ooc: In response to Wolf Tracks.))

Nikolai was not amused. This was his not amused face. “You said you would return it today.”

“So I did,” the young Italian readily agreed, distractedly batting at an orange thread in his face. And a blue one, by his chest. And oh my, a yellow one—

Nikolai’s eyes were drawn upwards, to the bright disaster perched on the boy’s head—but he was not to be distracted. “My microphone. My wiring. My system—I want it back.”

“Tomorrow,” Calley promised. “Hey, what’s with all the string?”

The Russian saw no reason to continue this conversation. He shut his door, most firmly, and locked it. For all the good it would do. Mice in the vents, stealing his systems, and immature louts having the audacity to ask him how to install their ill-gotten technology. No indeed: he was not amused. This is how a not amused individual ignores the insanity in the halls.

Calley had pink hair. And the hallway was wrapped and tangled and thoroughly strung with multicolored string. Bemused, he batted the way to his own room.

To his doorknob was tied a single thread’s end.

The cat ears were immediate, and just a bit pink-streaked. Dye: Calley was noticing some unforeseen results, here. That could be investigated later, though. For now: someone had issued him a challenge. With string.

Something tumble-thumped into Nikolai’s door, with a mrr-tangle-purr. The Russian spared one long glance, then turned the volume on his headphones up. Far up.

-Saturday Morning-

There was a scent trail, invisible to the naked eye. It belonged to a little pinkish cat with black spots here and there. It ranged through the hallways, took the elevator up from the basement to the third floor, took the fire escape down, and meandered over to Central Park by way of back alleys and rooftops. In other words: places not likely to get much scent-concealing traffic. The woman had claimed to have a better nose than his tiger form, but mutants were so prone to boasting. It was cute, really. And this was a cute baby-step scent trail, that led up a tree, to a package wrapped in tie-dyed cloth. Inside was a frozen pack of hotdogs. Or not-so-frozen, depending on when her astute shnoz finally found the place.

Bonus present: a Three Wolf Moon T-shirt.

The little cat had proudly rubbed itself against her door, to start her on the trail.