> “Would that thing-in-common be the tiny little trivial fact that you are a mutant?
> ‘Cause from what I saw, Syn didn’t much associate with the human residents
> of Sanctuary. And she certainly didn’t invite more non-special-people into her little club.”

Sonya hadn't even known there were non-mutant residents at Sanctuary, and a tiny part of her mind files the information away while the majority of it tries to figure out how to cope with the unexpected success of her gambit.

> “So, what’s your talent? Personally, I do a striped roaring zoo impersonation. Fry?”

"No, I can't -- oh. 'Fry.' Right. Um, thanks." She takes another French fry and munches it thoughtfully while her mind races. 'Striped roaring zoo impersonation?' What does that even mean? She files that question away, too, concentrating on how to reply.

She'd known this question was coming, after all, but she still isn't sure how to handle it. She can just refuse to answer, but that seems like a mistake. Absurdly, this conversation reminds her of all the secretive little hallway chats during her senior year about who was dating who... and she realizes it's the same kind of game, the trading of confidences and little secrets and misleading hints, it's just that the stakes are a lot higher. The trick is to not answer it without shutting him down completely.

She settles on shy/nervous but irresistably interested, the sort of thing that usually keeps boys hooked. "Well, um... I'm not sure that's the sort of thing we should be talking about in public, really... especially not these days. You never know what kinds of ears are floating around, you know?" She looks up and down the relatively deserted street with a nervousness she doesn't have to fake and adds, in a tone of hushed confidence. "But, well, yeah, her interest in, you know, 'special' people did kinda have something to do with it."

As he steps away from her she looks him over again and adds, with a hint of interest she also doesn't have to fake, "So... you're 'special' too, huh? I guess that explains why you know her. Not that it makes any difference now, I guess, with Sanctuary kinda, well, gone."

“Not that it makes any difference now, I guess, with Sanctuary kinda, well, gone.”

“Not,” he replied nonchalantly, chewing and swallowing a fry before he concluded: “quite as gone as you might think.” He glanced over at her and her obvious interest, beginning to get the distinct impression that Miss Evasive here was trying to play him like a fiddle. He wiggled his eyebrows. “You know, you are entirely correct. We shouldn’t be talking about the talent show and its very many lovely acts out in public; some people just don’t appreciate specialties.”

He pointed straight ahead, then curved his finger a little to the left. “That apartment I was telling you about? It’s four blocks from here. Guaranteed-non-bugged for reasons of complexity and llama kidnappers who look after their own. So,” he merrily munched and politely swallowed, so as not to speak with his mouth full: “We can go there and have a show-and-tell, or…” He gave a shrug, “I can walk you home and say ‘goodnight’.”

Calley wasn’t getting anything particularly interesting out of this conversation—well, nothing useful—and she was setting off so many alarm bells in his head it wasn’t even funny. Among these included: he still didn’t know for sure if she was a mutant; he definitely didn’t know if she was a psychic—danger danger danger!—and he really didn’t know why she was so reluctant to say even her name. Calley, personally, had found that telling little tidbits about himself that were utterly worthless was a good way to break the ice. Withholding everything, like Dodgy Miss Dodge here, was just… unsettling. In conclusion: it was either bluff-calling time, or he was out of here. He knew a little too much about an alarming number of highly interesting topics to be wandering the streets of New York escorted only by a suspicious woman.

> “Not quite as gone as you might think.”

Sonya’s eyes go wide at that, despite her attempt to seem nonchalant, and her struggles to find something to say grow more and more difficult as her fear of giving herself away competes with her fear of losing his interest… especially now that she knows Sanctuary survived in some form.

Well, that’s assuming I can trust this guy. He seemed nice enough at Sanctuary, but not really an insider… does he really know anything, or is he just puffing himself up?

Before she can quite figure out what to say, though, Calley has started talking again.

> “You know, you are entirely correct. We shouldn’t be talking about the talent show […] in public; […] That apartment I was telling you about? It’s four blocks from here. Guaranteed-non-bugged for reasons of complexity and llama kidnappers who look after their own. So we can go there and have a show-and-tell, or I can walk you home and say ‘goodnight’.”

She laughs, equal parts nervousness and – well, no, on second thought, almost entirely nervousness. “Wow… way to cut to the chase, Calley! Does that approach get you a lot of girls?”

Humor aside, though, his offer (or should that be “offer”?) certainly clarifies the question… and simplifies her answer. Because, sure, he might be some kind of mutant-hunting psychopath or God only knows what, and there’s no reason for her to believe him about the room not being bugged, and he might not really know anything at all about Sanctuary or anything else… she’d had him pegged as the tagalong boyfriend when they last met, and nothing since then has made her change her mind. All of that is true.

But then again, he might be able to put her in touch with Syn. And that’s a better chance than she’s had so far, and she’s not going to let it fade away without taking it.

“Well, the night’s way too early for ‘goodnight’, don’t you think? And the ‘show and tell’ certainly sounds intriguing. So lead on, my brave caballero… just remember, I’m allergic to llamas.”

And, she reminds herself, not too crazy about cats. But she can’t let that little fact slip… too much chance of Calley making the connection between her and “Sonny.” Which reminds her… “Oh! I’m Teresa, by the way.” She extends a hand again, feeling a little awkward about it since they’ve already shaken hands, but not sure what else to do.

Her reaction was more than he could hope for, and muffled at least a few of his internal alarm bells. Either she was the best actress ever, or she was definitely from the Sanctuary, she was definitely a mutant, and he was definitely not about to get dragged off to the camps for speaking so not-so-subtly with her. Which was nice.

“Wow… way to cut to the chase, Calley! Does that approach get you a lot of girls?”

And she had a sense of humor. Calley smiled, but waited on her answer. To be honest, though? He’d only ever used one pick-up line in his life, and it hadn’t been much better. Something about ‘would you run from the law with me?’

“Oh! I’m Teresa, by the way.”

The last of his alarm bells vanished. Calley let himself grin full-out. He wiped his McGrease Droppings off on his pants, and shook her hand back. “Teresa? That’s a pretty name. Nice to officially meet you.”

If I cannot date her, then you cannot date her.

I’m not going to—! Slate, shut up.

It was just as well that Teresa here didn’t know she was going home with a habitually lying technically evil quite literally insane young man. Little details like that... tended to make people uncomfortable. Eh, at least he was non-violent. Expect for that whole murder he was plotting.

((ooc: I’m goin’ to fast-forward to the apartment... Tell me if you’d rather RP out the walk time!))

Calley’s apartment was directly across from Central Park, and five floors up. The building itself was new and nice but otherwise unremarkable—it could have been any building anywhere, except for that fantastic location. The apartment itself was... clean with a dusting of white and black cat fur. The carpet was foofy and white, so only about half of that showed. The door entered into a little kitchen with a chess tile floor. Past that was a little living room with a white couch and two matching chairs, and to the right side a hallway lead first to the bedroom (complete with rumpled sheets and pillows hidden in the closet, because pillows inspired flashbacks to his tail being ripped off, thank-you-Hunter), and then to the bathroom. There wasn’t a TV or a computer to be found, but there was a fully stuffed refrigerator, cabinets full of junk food, and a few scattered books. Oh! And dishes with cat food and water. What could he say? He liked cat food. Especially the really cheap generic stuff. Especially especially the kitten mix. He pretty much only used this place for practicing new forms, and getting out from the direct vicinity of Hunter’s thumb for a little while.

Calley pointed down at the cat dishes as he held the door open for her. “He’s with one of my friends, right now. Do you like cats? I’m a fan.” He’d demolished his supply of fast food on the way, so he shoved the bags into the trashcan under the sink, and then... sat on the counter and started fidgeting awkwardly. “So, um... welcome to my humble abode, I guess. If you’re hungry or anything, I’ve got food. I’ve always got food.” He started kicking his legs out in front of himself, childishly. “So, ah, in case you didn’t catch it from my obscure wording earlier, I’m a tiger shifter.”

And a healer, Slate prompted.[/color]

“And I can heal, some. And Syn and Abyss and Overcast and Vibe and some other people are fine, but Isabel and Amp and Sara and Sonny and some other people aren’t—we think they got shipped to the camps, so at least they’re alive. Don’t know how many of them you knew. I mostly just saw them around, when I visited Isabel. I’m her boyfriend.” His legs swung out again. “And no offense or anything, but I’ve got to know you really are a mutant before I say anything else.” He had the good sense to look a little bit sheepish. “I’m probably maybe actually not supposed to be away from where everyone else is, right now.” He didn’t feel all that sheepish, though, especially since he might be bringing in another member for the Home Team. “Errhm, so, what are your powers?”

(( OOC: Sure, ffwding to the apt is cool... Sonya's playing this all by ear anyway.))

Sonya tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to conceal her nervousness as Calley leads her to his apartment. She's really not at all sure what's going to happen next... for all she knows, he's really an insane serial killer looking for his next victim.

Oh, come on, she berates herself. That's just being paranoid!

But the more time she spends with Calley, the less sure she is about that. There's something not quite right about the boy, though she can't quite put her finger on what it is. Still, doesn't matter. He's my only connection to Sanctuary... he can be as crazy as he wants and I still have to keep him talking.

> “He’s with one of my friends, right now. Do you like cats? I’m a fan.”

Well, that explains the lack of cat, anyway. Sonya's relieved: she'd been steeling herself to deal with the inevitable "oh hi you don't like cats so let me be affectionate" cat-thing without giving away her animal phobia to Calley -- too much chance of him making the connection to Sonny -- but it's good to have that particular challenge fade away into nothing.

She shrugs in response to the question, adding "They're all right. I'm not really an animal lover, to be honest. Too messy. Not as bad as babies, but still." Probably not a great way to endear herself to her new friend... somehow, cat people always seem to judge everyone else by how much they like cats... but probably better than pretending to like them and getting caught out later in the lie.

> “So, ah, in case you didn’t catch it from my obscure wording earlier,
> I’m a tiger shifter. And I can heal, some. "

Sonya had actually remembered the tiger-shifting thing from their last meeting on the walk to his apartment, but decided it was best to pretend otherwise... and the healing was a genuine surprise in either case. "Oh! That sounds pretty useful... the healing, I mean... though, I guess, the tiger thing, too. I mean, in a fight, or something."

> "And Syn and Abyss and Overcast and Vibe and some other
> people are fine, but Isabel and Amp and Sonya and Sonny and
> some other people aren’t—we think they got shipped to the camps,
> so at least they’re alive. Don’t know how many of them you knew."

(( OOC: Um... "Sonya"?
Has Sonya actually used her real name around Calley?
Or is there another 'Sonya' floating around?
Or is that an oops?
Not responding to that yet, but if Calley is actually using her real name Sonya's gonna quietly freak. Let me know.))

"Yeah, I guess Abyss would be pretty hard to take down, huh? Glad he's OK. Syn, too." Ordinarily she'd leave it at that, but Sonya recognizes a credential-swap when she hears one, and nods. OK, I'll play...

"I don't think I met Isabel or Overcast, though there were a lot of people and it's hard to keep track... especially with the gang nicknames everybody seems to use. But there was the girl with the bone-weapon things, I remember her... is she OK? And the cat-girl... Sara? Sally? Something like that. Oh, and the pyrokinetic boy... I never learned his name."

(( OOC: the pyro is an NPC I introduced during "Sonny's" escape from Sanctuary. Captured.))

She pauses for a moment, then adds "Sonny -- that was the hunky guy, right? Never did find out what his mutation was... he seemed nice, though. Even if he was totally obsessed with Syn's body." Oddly, it's not difficult at all for her to fake annoyance over 'Sonny's' hormone-drenched fawning over Syn, even though it was herself doing it... it feels like someone else, really. Boys are different, she realizes, not for the first time.

"And Amp and Vibe are the twins, right? They seemed nice... wait, they got separated? That... that's got to be hard for them." Not that Sonya had had much time to get to know them before the raid, but their closeness was obvious to even casual observation. "Is Vibe OK?"

> "I mostly just saw them around, when I visited Isabel. I’m her boyfriend.”

Sonya nods, her "tagalong boyfriend" theory reaffirmed. "Oh... so you weren't really part of Sanctuary, then? Guess that's why I never saw you there... not that I met everyone, either."

> “And no offense or anything, but I’ve got to know you really are a
> mutant before I say anything else. I’m probably maybe actually not
> supposed to be away from where everyone else is, right now. Errhm,
> so, what are your powers?”

Sonya laughs. "What, we only trust other mutants, now? Well, I guess that makes some sense given how things are. But, you know, it's not like you've proved you're a mutant, either... just talked about it. And it is a little weird that you just up and started talking about Sanctuary to a complete stranger, don't you think?" She raises a challenging eyebrow in Calley's direction as she gets up and walks into the kitchen, rolling her sleeve up to her elbow as she does so.

She's given some thought to this moment on the walk to the apartment, and hit upon a different "power" she can demonstrate without giving away her real ability... which she's still not willing to do, except maybe to Syn if she can get in touch with her. "But, OK... I guess I can go first. I'm a little like you, I guess. I can heal some. Just myself, though." I wonder if that's a coincidence... or can all shapeshifters heal? That would make sense, I guess... healing's just another kind of shapeshifting. It still feels weird thinking of herself as a "shapeshifter", or for that matter a "mutant", but it's getting easier.

She rummages through Calley's kitchen for a little while, looking for a knife or scissors or something sharp. Finding one, she places her arm over the sink and slices it quickly across the skin of her arm, hissing under her breath at the pain, and makes sure Calley sees the cut and the blood pouring into the sink.

OK, here goes, she thinks to herself, and shifts into the same template she's already wearing. She's learned, in experimenting with her abilities over the last few months, that physical injuries repair themselves when she shifts from one form to another... she's betting that the same trick works when she shifts into the same form she started out with.

Which, to her relief, it does. The blood doesn't disappear, of course, but she can feel the stinging of the cut go away when she shifts. She runs the water over her arm and demonstrates the uninjured skin. "See?"

She puts the bloody knife down on the counter and stares at Calley. "But, OK... if we're playing I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours, now it's your turn. Tiger, huh? That'd be cool to see."

Although she won't realize it until the next morning, this little experiment has also taught her a new facet of her powers... namely, the ability to keep a template "live" in her cellular memory for more than a couple of days by shifting into it regularly.

((ooc: Gah! Sorry—I meant “Sara”, but I was thinkin’ of listing you next, so... *slaps forehead* In short: modified. ‘Cause no, Calley has no way of knowing your real name.

Would you like to mod your response, now that I’m not having all sorts of crazy stuff spew forth from his mouth?

And I like the healing bit. That’s how Slate does his healing as well, though he doesn’t know it yet. Shifters represent, yo! ))

(( ooc: nah, no mod necessary... I figured it was probably something like that, which is why I ignored it IC. handwave handwave handwave, moving on. and yeah, I'm enjoying their power similarities, though I hadn't realized we'd duplicated the thought-process behind it... even cooler! Maybe we should coordinate one of these days so we don't grow too similar over time... or, conversely, maybe work out a shared origin story... I still have no idea what Sonya's real background is. ))

((ooc: Coordinating sounds like a mighty good idea... Have you planned ahead pretty far with your chara? I’m relatively sure I know what Calley/Slate’s mutation will look like, when all power growths are said and done. We could have an I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours round of PMs, if you wish. And shared origins might be interesting, if we can think up something that makes sense.))

Calley fidgeted all through her demonstration. It was finally occurring to him that most of the mutants he’d met didn’t particularly like him, and were violent and/or vocal about it. He’d been very intent upon getting Miss Teresa here to a non-public location so he could figure out what her power was. He hadn’t put much thought into being alone and generally defenseless with her. At least she was running the exact same risk, by coming with him. Which meant one of two things: either she could very thoroughly defend herself, or she was as stupid as he was. Neither were very nice options.

And her power was (drum roll, please): being a cutter. And then, healing!

Hmm. Slate said, approvingly, as they leaned over to get a better look. Yep: that right there was a very nice job of healing. I believe we could top that display. Calley, break your arm.

...Okay. See, that’s just—that’s just a ‘no’, Slate. A) Pain. B) What the hell. C) New rule: no masochism contests with other healers. We’re going to oblige the lady and shift to tiger, if it’s all the same to you.

Hmm[/i], Slate said, much less approvingly.

Calley hopped off of the counter, and pointed a finger towards his bedroom, trying to pretend that he wasn’t suddenly blushing. “Yeah... shifting. That’s going to involve a minor bit of nudity, what with me not trying to destroy these clothes, so I’m just going to go over... there. Back in a bit.” Some shifters seemed to take their clothes with them when they changed forms. Calley was not one of those shifters. Successfully ignoring how warm his face was, he slinked off into the bedroom, closed the door down to a crack, and stripped. A moment after that, a broad orange and black head nosed the door back open. Large baby blue eyes watched for the young lady’s reaction as he padded silently closer to her. Calley wasn’t just a tiger: he was the largest tiger he’d ever seen in his life. No joke. That was the form he’d copied, not that he’d known what he was doing back at the time—he’d just been on a field with the rest of his class in eighth grade, and the big tiger was the one who’d caught his attention.

He was quite comfortable in this form—way more comfortable than he’d ever be in human form. He proudly sat in front of Teresa for inspection, neatly tucking his tail around his front legs. His whiskers and his ears were both tilted smugly back. His tail tip twitched slowly and off-rhythmically. He knew he looked good. And his beautiful glossy coat mostly hid his jutting bones. ...Seriously, was the food in Hunter’s canteen no-fat zero-calorie? There was no reason for him to be this scrawny.

Calley seems somewhat impressed by her little show-and-tell session, which is a relief, though it also seems to make him extremely nervous. Well, that shouldn't be too surprising... I did just stab myself, after all. Maybe he doesn't like blood.

> “Yeah... shifting. That’s going to involve a minor bit of nudity,
> what with me not trying to destroy these clothes, so I’m just
> going to go over... there. Back in a bit.”

Sonya tries not to laugh at Calley's sudden bout of clothing-related embarassment, almost successfully... she doesn't really manage a serious face, but she does keep the merriment down to a mostly stifled snorfle. "Wow, you really do know how to cut to the chase; I'm impressed. But I warn you, if the lights dim and mood music starts playing I'm out of here. A girl's got to have standards, after all."

On consideration, she decides she likes the fact that he blushes. It's a normal teenage-boy reaction to a situation that could really use an infusion of "normal". And she does contemplate peeking through the crack in the door, if only out of simple curiosity -- well, OK, complicated curiosity -- but the truth is, between her experiences with gender-swapping and the amount of time she's spent in locker rooms of both sexes since arriving in Manhattan, her curiosity about male anatomy has been mostly satisfied for the forseeable future.

It also occurs to her that looking around his apartment while he's off changing clothes -- or, rather, removing them -- would be a clever thing to do... but the truth is she's not sure what to look for, and she's nervous about being caught, so she ends up doing not much more than looking around surfaces for some clue as to what this guy is all about.

At first, she doesn't see anything especially interesting... then it occurs to her that that very absence is interesting. No mail. No newspapers. No TV. No computer. No music. No art. A few books scattered about, but no bookshelves. It's more like a generic hotel room than someone's actual house... well, a hotel room that never gets cleaned, anyway. And anyone who can afford the rent on a Central Park-facing apartment can afford gadgets... so either Calley's an ascetic, which the junk food belies, or there's something weird about his living here. Is he squatting? No, the power works, that's not it. Unless he's hacked the electrical grid, but again, a hacker would have gadgets. She tentatively concludes that this isn't actually Calley's primary residence... just someplace he keeps his cat. Or cats. Which makes him either so stupidly rich he doesn't even think about money, or it means he's got a, um, patron.

Neither seems quite right... he's cute enough to be a kept boy, maybe, but seems too squirrely to maintain the pose for very long. Well, maybe it's connected to Sanctuary... if I were running a home for wayward mutants, I'd keep a few safehouses not many people knew about all over the place. But she'd concluded earlier that Calley wasn't enough of a Sanctuary insider to know about that sort of thing. Oh well. Just another piece of the puzzle, I guess.

The big cat that pads into the living room from the bedroom terminates her train of thought and nearly makes her jump off her feet. "Gah! You're huge!" She's relieved by the way the tiger sits calmly, but she still puts some distance between them. Part of that, admittedly, is her animal phobia coming to the fore -- even though she suspects that this particular tiger-form wouldn't make her stupid -- but most of it is just that the creature in front of her is physically intimidating as hell.

"So... you're Calley, then? I bet you and Sara get along just fine, huh? Can you talk when you look like that?"

(( OOC:
1) I'm making some guesses here about what Sonya can see based on the tone of your earlier description; seems friendlier than making you describe it all in detail. Let me know if I'm off-base and I'll fix.

2) This will potentially become relevant in a later post... Calley: boxers or briefs?

3) I haven't planned ahead at all, actually... playing by ear. So it won't be too big a deal for me to avoid whatever directions you're going in. ISYMiYSMY over PM works for me.
))

((ooc: 1) You got it perfect. No worries.

2) Boxers. You make me nervous, but boxers. Red flannel ones.

3) PM a-headin’ your way.))


The usual reaction Calley got with his tiger form was more of a “Gah! ...Can I pet you?” “Gah!” accompanied with backing up was a new and slightly less pride-inspiring one. He lay down carefully and curled himself into a ball on the floor, trying to make himself look as small and not-about-to-eat-you as possible. All of his large paws ended up tucked out of sight under his body, and his long tail wrapped around to mostly hide his mouth. Baby blue eyes and a set of rounded, forward-swiveled ears peeked out over the tail to check her reaction. Was this any better?

“So... you're Calley, then?” He nodded his head. “I bet you and Sara get along just fine, huh? Can you talk when you look like that?” A head-shake, for that one. Which was just as well: one of the reasons he got in less trouble as an animal was his distinctly lacking ability to speak.

He tentatively showed his left paw past this tail, and pointed it back towards the bedroom with what he hoped was a questioning look towards Teresa. If she was this uncomfortable, he was thinking it was change-back time. He was also thinking he would avoid any sudden movements; hence the attempt to signal his intentions.

Sonya's last several months have been filled with events she'd never thought possible, and the truth is she's growing rather accustomed to it.

So when the scary tiger curls itself into a tiny ball and peeks at her over its tail, somehow managing the remarkable feat of becoming almost cuddly, she mostly takes it in stride. And the little head nod/shake gestures are downright cute, and it's clear he's trying not to scare her. So she untenses slightly and lets herself move a little closer to him... not quite taking a step closer, but no longer backing up quite so uncomfortably against the furniture.

When he points inquiringly towards the bedroom, Sonya replies in an amused voice "I already told you, I'm not that kind of girl... not when we've only just met, anyway!" But she is curious about the bedroom, and whether it has the distinguishing characteristics the rest of the apartment lacks, so she takes the opportunity to walk into it and turn on the lights.

The clothes piled up near the bed look predictably familiar, except for the red flannel boxers, which she picks up and makes a show of inspecting -- "Boxers, huh? Funny, I would have pegged you as a briefs boy..." -- before looking around the room.

He was very hopeful he was getting his intentions across. She wasn’t trying to meld with the background anymore. That was always a positive improvement.

"I already told you, I'm not that kind of girl... not when we've only just met, anyway!"

...Okay, so maybe not all of his intentions were coming across. Err... and now she was walking into his bedroom. And carefully inspecting his boxers. Okay. Changing-back was out for the moment, it would seem.

As she turned her attentions towards other things, Calley sprung forward, crossing from the doorway to her side in a fluid motion. A quick flash of impressive white teeth, a tug, and a sit, and his poor mishandled undergarments are miraculously out of sight under his large form. He assumed cat yoga: turkey pose, and stared up at her with his whiskers fanned triumphantly. His tail swished out behind him.

He was beginning to get the impression that Miss Teresa here was having some fun at his expense.

Sonya wasn't sure what to expect when she strode into Calley's bedroom... after all, taking liberties with a tiger isn't the safest of activities, ordinarily... but she relaxes a little when he seems to take it in stride. She's not quite sure what an offended expression on a tiger would look like, necessarily, but the glare she gets from over his tail seems like a pretty plausible candidate; still, he doesn't seem upset by it... no growling or anything.

OK, then. Let's see how far I can take this... "So... let's see what the well-dressed tiger is wearing this year, shall we?" She starts rummaging around the room, making a whole production out of it, narrating as she goes along in what is quite possibly the worst Robin Leach impression ever assayed by mortal man. "Well, viewers, it appears Tiger Boy is a dedicated boxers fan," she croons as she opens a dresser drawer full of them, then pauses briefly when the next drawer turns out to hold dress pants before adding "-- but he does like to dress up on occassion! The sweatpants and T-shirt look is just to fit in at the local McDonald's, it would seem... a tiger of the people, is our friend Calley. Quite lovely, quite lovely..."

All of which is actually something of a surprise, she decides as she saunters to the closet. I guess this really is his apartment, after all... a Sanctuary safehouse would have different stuff in it. The clothes do seem to be sized to fit him, and they're the only clothes here. But there's still no way someone like him who can afford to pay rent here wouldn't fill it with every funky gadget he can find... unless the whole impulsive-little-boy thing is just an act? Which is possible, but on the whole she prefers her "kept boy" theory..

The closet holds suit jackets and dress shirts, consistent with the dress pants in the dresser and nothing else about the kid. "...but by day he affords a conservative, stylish look, combining European charm with New World boisterousness." She doesn't really know what she's saying, but as far as she's ever been able to tell during all the hours her mom made her watch that stupid show, that makes no difference. "But without question, viewers, the most intriguing aspect of this Tiger Boy's lifestyle is AAAAK!"

She'd been trying to figure out what on earth all the pillows are doing crammed in the closet when he moves like a tiger-striped blur; by the time she screams and pulls back he's already sitting back down on the floor, exposing what she can only assume is the tiger equivalent of a smug grin. She doesn't have a lot of time to study it before she trips backward over the thick carpet, landing relatively harmlessly in a sitting position with her back against the wall.

"Ow!" she cries involuntarily, then blinks at the memory of Calley's teeth; the absurdity of complaining about a mild bruise when he could just as easily have severed her arm at the shoulder suddenly overwhelms her, and she starts giggling rather helplessly. "OK... (giggle) you win. You can (sporfle!) keep the (hee!) boxers. Just one (snort) more question... what is up with the (hah!) hedgehog?"

She points shakily at the lime-green squeaky hedgehog sitting at the head of the bed, which she'd been working her way around to before her performance was interrupted by tiger-speed. It is, after all, the only thing in the room that resembles a personal artifact of any sort; she's curious about it.

"So... let's see what the well-dressed tiger is wearing this year, shall we?”

While Calley appreciated a good narrative monologue when he heard one, he tended to not appreciate the tour beginning with his boxers’ drawer.

“Well, viewers, it appears Tiger Boy is a dedicated boxers fan."

His flannels felt so... exposed. Thankfully, she didn’t admire them one by one (though no doubt the thought crossed her villainous, show-host-impersonating mind). Thus, he could concentrate his full efforts upon awaiting that one perfect moment to spring to his comfy red 100% cotton’s salvation.

“-- but he does like to dress up on occasion!”

So he waited.

“...a tiger of the people, is our friend Calley. Quite lovely, quite lovely...”

And he waited.

“...but by day he affords a conservative, stylish look, combining European charm with New World boisterousness.”

And waited.

"But without question, viewers, the most intriguing aspect of this Tiger Boy's lifestyle is AAAAK!"

And sat victoriously over his prize, much like a mother hen, as he smugly fanned his whiskers up at the Miss Intruder (Who-Was-Technically-Invited-In) With a Sense of Humor (Who-Had-a-Fascination-With-His-Boxers). His daring spring into danger for the sake of his beloved underwear had apparently caused her butt to be acquainted with the carpeting, but somehow, he was able to hold himself both aloft and unsympathetic. His tail continued lashing erratically from side to side, having its own private Grand Mal seizure of satisfaction.

“OK... (giggle) you win. You can (sporfle!) keep the (hee!) boxers.”

Calley swiveled his ears towards the Villainous Boxer Hostage-Taking-Person. I have never in my life heard a “sporfle”.

Presuming this is headed where I know this is headed, then it is my turn to say the following: “no”, Calley. “Just no.”

...I must try me this “sporfle”.

Please refrain.

Sssssh, Slate. The All-Important Sporfler continues to make her Noises of Wisdom.

“Just one (snort) more question... what is up with the (hah!) hedgehog?"

Calley followed her pointing hand. Quite literally. Recently rescued boxers forgotten, he sprang out of turkey pose onto the bed, landing with two front paws on a certain lime green squeaky hedgehog, producing a beautifully sharp tortured sqe-KAK!, an ominous creak-snap of protest from his bed, and a moment of complete stillness. Because ominous creak-snaps can never be good. It occurred to him, at this moment in time, that most beds were never meant for very large tigers to forcibly pounce upon them.

...

......

.........But apparently this one was, because it decided against collapsing. That was nice of it. Calley flopped down full-length, then rolled onto his back, proudly elevating the lime green squeaky hedgehog up between his two forepaws. He squiggled himself around so that his head could flop back over the side of the bed, and look at Teresa in all her upside-down glory. He pushed his paws together, producing a symphonious and drawn-out sqeeeeee-kak! for her listening pleasure. It was then that he attempted—

I take no part in this.[/color]

—a “sporfle”. It came out as more of a “rarrple”, and trailed off into thunderous purring. Calley was not the most dignified of mutants, no. But he was having habitually more fun than most of ‘em.

Had someone asked Sonya, prior to this moment, what her reaction to an intimidatingly voluminous tiger doing a remarkable imitation of a gleeful housecat would be, she'd have guessed "frightened". Had whoever that was further clarified the hypothetical by explaining that the tiger in question was, hypothetically, playing enthusiastically with a lime green squeaky plastic hedgehog, she's pretty sure her answer would have stayed the same.

She'd have been wrong, though... her actual reaction is far closer to "bewildered." Especially when the scream-and-leap (without, admittedly, the actual scream) turns into some strange wheezing respiratory thing; she's about to ask him if he's OK when it is replaced by purring. I never knew tigers could purr... neat!

"Um... well, I guess that answers that question, then," she adds, getting something like her equilibrium back. "Chew toy. I suppose I should have guessed that." There's something contagious about the sheer glee with which Calley-tiger mauls his plastic hedgehog prey, and the urge to rub his belly competes with the phobic desire to avoid any contact with animals, though it ultimately loses.

Of course, the way the tiger-head hangs upside-down off the edge of the bed is also a bit disquieting, showing disturbingly sharp teeth above -- well, in this case below -- the black studded collar and the tawny fur. Man... those could really do a lot of damage if he'd want-- wait, wait, back up. Collar? Sonya can't remember whether Calley was wearing anything around his neck or not, but she's pretty sure she'd have noticed a black leather studded tiger collar.

Now that's interesting. Clothing that shifts along with you... I could use that, myself!

"That's very cute. I bet your cats love it, too. But I'll let you change back to human form now..." She gets up and walks back into the living-room, closing the door most of the way behind her... after all, she'll probably get more coherent answers to her questions if she lets him shift back to a form that can talk.

This time she does peek, though.