Armani suit hit ground. Ashton took a step back, pulling his fists up into a fighting stance. He regarded the grounded kid like a kid who deserved to be grounded: with narrowed, parenting eyes.

>>“Switchy-teleportor?” The kid asked.

He didn't seem too phased by the whole 'police brutality' thing. More, impressed. He seemed to want to show off, himself. Did Ashton want to see his power?

Ashton opened his mouth to say "Not really", but the words never left his lips. Before he knew what was happening, a blur of orange and black fur came at him, all muscles and colors. His mouth. It stayed open. His jaw may have dropped a few inches. Maybe hanging on the floor was a fashion statement?

The concrete hit his back hard as chest and paws connected. Ashton's breath left him in an 'oof'. A heavy weight pressed down. Tiger. Ashton's eyes widened for a second to focus up into another set. Tiger. One word said a lot. The kid had turned into a tiger... at least, from his perspective.

Shock didn't last long. It might not even have been a whole second of 'eye-widening gratification'. The tiger wasn't eating him. It could have killed him. It had the chance. But it was licking his hair. Kid was playing around. Being a jerk. And he'd already gotten tired of tigers this week. Ashton's eyes hardened like tempered steel, and locked on the underside of the tiger's neck. It was a very nice neck. Strong. Dangerous. The cat wasn't mauling him, but this was just the amount of justification he needed.

A hand dropped to Ashton's right breast, under his suit jacket. It found his sidearm, somehow, between tiger weight and fabric. A smirk spread across his mouth as he pressed his gun into the tiger's neck and cocked it.

"Second time this week I've had a tiger pounce me." Ashton sneered. "It isn't even original. Watch yourself. I've got a gun pressed against your neck." As if the tiger hadn't already heard, and felt, its existence.

His hair was soggy. Ashton didn't even notice the dinosaur sound.

>> “Watch yourself. I've got a gun pressed against your neck."

The Bengal paused in his dastardly plots to stare appraisingly down at his lollipop cop.

“Actually,” said a voice that might be playing around, could even be a jerk, but certainly wasn’t coming from the tiger, “You kind of don’t. But I’d prefer you didn’t shoot him all the sam—heelllo.”

The dinosaur sound. Calley did notice it. To someone without a tiger in their face, the sudden appearance of scales and claws was quite noticeable. From his butt-planted position on the ground, the blue eyed boy gave a blink. The tiger’s ears gave a flick.

“Amber? Amber, right? That’s... adorable.”

Scales and claws. And waist high. And screeching like an angry li'l dinosaur. Awwww.

What to do what to do? How did she get caught up in situations like this? Two mutants fighting because of her. So what if it hadn't been her fault directly, after all Calley had decided to punch her in the face, not the other way around, but it was still her fault. She didn't like violence, didn't like people trying to hurt each other and disliked mutants trying to hurt each other even less. Mutants should not be attacking fellow mutants.

Amber let out another screech, louder this time and plainly angry. Sure, the tiger might have been twice her size but it was lacking in a 6 inch sickle claw on each foot. Even if she couldn't actually win in a head to head battle against a tiger, she could sure as hell could make the tiger regret making trouble!

The fact that the giant tiger didn't actually appear to be trying to eat the detective wasn't the point. The fact that there were not very lethal teeth, as well as guns involved, was. How had things spiraled so far out of control? It wasn't like she knew the animal shifter well, but Calley hadn't seemed like that bad of a person when she had met him the first time around.


“Amber? Amber, right? That’s... adorable.”

That did it. Detective seemed to have tiger in hand anyway, so she wasn't needed there, not really. Amber swiveled her head around to look the other mutant in the eye. She bared her teeth and leaped, attempting to tackle the shifter to the ground, hopefully with a minimum of actual claws sinking into tender flesh. But if claws did happen to impale flesh, well, he had really brought it all upon himself, now hadn't he?

Okay.

That voice had not come from the tiger's mouth.

And what was he doing, cutting himself off like that, mid-thought?! Ashton jabbed the gun harder into the tiger's neck, to emphasize his displeasure at the current arrangement, and any mistreatment he was receiving.

"Off." He urged.

He wasn't deaf. He'd heard the sound the second time. He was in no position to take his eyes off the tiger on his chest, though. The best he could do was bargain. Here came his end of the bargain. "Off, or I shoot."

He really should have been a diplomat.

A splintered Calley was a curious creature. It had one consciousness, but multiple perspectives; was involved in one humble street cafe fight, but was more than one of the fighters. While he’d gotten much better at this multitasking thing than in the days when he’d frequently walk both of himselves into walls, there was still a bit of prioritizing that needed to be done.

Tiger!Calley reported: oh my, this chap has a gun pressed against my neck and is demanding the preemptive removal of my fine and comfortable self. The barrel is pressed slightly against the grain of my fur: what a tickle!

Calley!Calley reported: oh hey there is a dinosaur trying to claw my face off.

The result: both splinters curled into little defensive balls (one of them not so little, and still on a man’s legs).

Their distinct priority: duck.

And, with a little skin contact upon collision, and a reflexive bit of shifting, she was.

A duck, that is.

And it, too, was adorable.

Amber was in no current position to pay much attention to what the tiger and the detective might be up to. She hoped he could take care of himself; in fact she hoped they could both take care of themselves. Awful person Calley may be, but that didn't mean she wanted the animal shifter to die. Not that she had the faintest idea what would happen if the tiger that was part of Calley got killed anyway, for all she knew it wouldn't do much of anything.

Amber leaped, claws outstretched and ready to deal with the rather rude and obnoxious Calley. Except claws never made it to flesh. The collision occurred, feathered dino body striking fleshy human one, but something had clearly gone wrong.

A moment of disorientation occurred as she struck her target and realized that something was very wrong indeed. A tingle swept through her entire body, almost as if she were shifting except without any of the usual pain. She tried to let out a screech but all that came out was a quack. That's when she realized the horrible truth. Somehow she had turned into a duck. A duck that had, apparently, a billfull of very pointy teeth.

The tiger curled into a ball on his legs. That was back, but definitely not off. It had retreated, barely. It still needed to get off completely. Or... he could be a bastard, and make it get off. That seemed like a good option.

Ashton took the tiger's cowering as an opportunity to scan the premises.

There were many things to trade places with in the surrounding area. More furniture (which wpuld not have results that were pretty), other people (something he wasn't about to do to a pedestrian), or-- Actually, that last one wasn't that bad.

Ashton hauled back his hand to hammer on the tiger with his gun. Then, he noticed the duck.

There was a duck by the cafe. It was a duck. He was no duck expert. He could not tell what kind. Whatever kind it was, its current existance reeked of foulplay. It definitely had not been there before. The girl from before definitely wasn't visible now. Weird. Didn't take a genius to hypothesize there was a potential correlation between the two. It would have taken a far hastier generalization to pin it on the jerk with the tan. Perhaps, the mutant girl had turned into a duck as part of her mutant power. These things happened.

Well, whatever. He thwacked the tiger with the side of his gun. Animal cruelty. And prepared himself to trade places with the jerk with the tan, lest the poor tiger strike back.

Once there was a man who, chased by a tiger, found himself dangling precariously over the edge of a cliff. Above, the tiger waited: below, there was another tiger, because life hated him. And growing on a little jut of rock from the side of the cliff, right where he could pluck it, a single strawberry. Naturally, the man let go, and hurtled down the cliff-side to pistol whip the tiger below.

The tiger on the good Detective’s legs was just as surprised as that tiger.

“Hey!” Calley!boy protested, his attention snapping away from his own feathered foe.

“Murp!” The tiger itself protested, distinctly more startled than injured. Tiggers. They have thick skulls. Thick skulls, set with narrowing eyes, atop tensing bodies.

The Bengal pounced righteously.

Amber was a very confused dino duck. How had it happened that things had gone so horribly wrong? How could that evil Calley have changed her magnificent dino self into something as ridiculous as a duck? And a duck with teeth for that matter, which was even more absurd.

Once she had full realization of her most unfortunate dellimma (although she still didn't quite know how it had happened) Amber realized that something had to be done about it. That something, it seemed most obvious, would be to regain human form. Hopefully.

Since to tigers appeared to be coming after her any longer (thank any supernatural entities that might be listening), Amber began to concentrate on regaining her natural form. Surely the guy known as Calley couldn't force her to remain a duck forever, could he? Unfortunately plans didn't go exactly as, well, planned and instead of regaining her usual pale and smooth human form she ended up a human with, well white duck feathers. And a bill. And flipper feet. For a second time she let out a noise that was supposed to be a dramatic sigh but instead resembled something more closely in tune with a dramatic quack.

Once, there was a man between a rock and a hard place. This man really liked being trapped between two annoyingly difficult situations, because he had the ability to screw other people over, by putting them in his place. And like any true person set to screw another person over, he was capable of looking outside the box to realize he wasn't actually stuck between a rock and a hard place. That was a misnomer. For you see, once he used his power to screw people over, he would be several feet away. And the hard place and the rock would mingle. Claws, righteous fury, and all.

Ashton pictured himself in place of the hard place. The boy with the tan. He pictured himself standing with a smirk, eyes on his handiwork. He pictured the hard place under the rock. The rock on the hard place. He made it happen. Ashton traded places with the boy with the tan. The boy with the tan got pounced by himself. Only afterwards did Ashton realize this guy had splintered into both a tiger and his regular form, and that that idea had been way way better than thwacking at a Bengal tiger with a gun.

Of course, the hard place under the rock still had his badge. That would have to be amended as soon as possible.

Ashton trained his gun on the pair, and announced: "You two. Freeze. I have a gun." He stated the obvious. Because that's what ticked off cops with firearms do. "Give me back my badge." And that. That last one was not as glorious. Or said as madly. He'd actually said it kind of politely. While still holding a gun.

It was more disorienting than normal. That is to say, it was more disorienting for Calley than it would have been for another person who pounced himself with himself. If another person could pounce... themself. Without becoming disoriented.

Calley was sitting on the ground, blinking up at a dinosaur duck becoming an albino Homo quakius while he was a tiger pouncing a Detective's ego-bubble. Then he was a him sitting on the ground, blinking up at a him!tiger that was pouncing a him.

The resulting tangle of hands and paws and tails and feet was a lot like when you laced your fingers together, and then couldn't tell which one belonged to which hand anymore.

And through it all, that guy. He was still talking.

"Muff--"

"--mrrr."

One or the other of hims replied.

"Sir, I must decline on the grounds," the less furry of him continued, slightly muffled from its sudden fur overcoat, "that you are a butt."

Ashton kept that gun pointed at the two of them. He wasn't planning to ask the kids if they cared to repeat that. He was fairly certain they would have loved to.

"I repeat," Ashton said icily. "Freeze. Give me back my badge. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You're under arrest."

He took a step closer, focus never wavering.

Where was the badge again? Right. In his hand, and/or the tiger’s mouth. Calley!boy tugged his arm out of reach of his own surprised tiger!mauling.

>> "I repeat. Freeze. Give me back my badge. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You're under arrest."

“Cops actually say that?” Said the boy with the badge, who was leaning against a tiger that was looking just as disoriented as he was. “Wow. What was that, a whole week in cop-training? Was that ‘Freeze’ on your final?” And my, what a sub-artic freeze it had been. Every time Frumpy Face said it, global warming took a step back, and polar bears popped out cubs.

“Take your stupid badge,” the wobbly Italian said. He attempted to stand, but ended up sitting on the back of his tiger. That was semi-vertical. “But I’m not under arrest. Just so we’re clear.” He wiggled the badge, in a reasonably-compromising manner.

Gees. Teleporting, on top of splintering? Apparently a bad mix. His brain(s?) were still catching up with the perspective shift.

The gun lowered, sliding into its holster.

1 second.

Cuffs jingled, pulling free of a belt.

2 seconds.

Ashton eyed the badge in the tan man's hand seriously.

3 seconds.

On 4 seconds, Ashton started moving. He reached the man. Took the badge, then slapped cuffs on the man's wrists.

"Yes," He said. "You are."

Metal was now on man flesh. But what, oh what, would he do with the drunken tiger? Early in the morning.

Er. Afternoon.

The tan young gentleman obligingly sat still as the nice officer came closer. Closer… closer. The man’s hands brushed against his wrists. The cuffs clicked shut.

So: this shifting others thing. He’d never actually tried to do it. He hadn’t even been sure it was his power, the first few times it had happened. But with the coincidental duck girls and tabby Kats building up in his wake… really, why deny it?

Toad, Calley thought, as hard as he could. Toad toad ugly toad hopping fat croaking toad come on, officer, let’s see your toad legs I haven’t been this annoyed since that girl with the lobster who broke my nose (twice)—

His cushy tigger pillow suddenly disappeared; Calley fell backwards with a jolt. Croak, said the self currently being squished under his back.

At about the same time, something clattered on the sidewalk in front of him.

This was the sound of a lobster hitting the pavement. Detective Ashton, no doubt, had just become intimately familiar with the noise.