>> "...I so don't date cheaters."

"Right. You only hit on them." Literally first, figuratively later—was that how he picked up all his dates? Green Giant needed to get himself a new system.

Calley's sword hit the guy's hand; he knew from experience how much that stung. Like slamming your hand in a door. For himself, he took the guy's kick as a glancing blow to the side. Did not fall over, thank-you-balance.

>> "..No, I think you'll be wanting to check your own neck. Go ahead, I'll wait while you find a convenient window or car mirror or something."

"What are you talking about?" The shifter demanded. That unwanted sense of connection had passed, but something cold and dark and knowing had curled up in his stomach to replace it. He didn't take his eyes off the guy. Not for long, anyways; just for a flicker to the building next to them. Just to look in the window for a passing second. The street light was that dull unnatural yellow; it made the street look even dingier than it was, but it reflected off the glass clearly enough. Enough for him to see—

Heh. No. No, he didn't see that.

His eyes flicked back to the guy, his habitual smile twitching into place as he slid a foot backwards. And one more time; just to get a little bit closer. Close enough to see what was just a smudge on the glass, just a bit of dirt, nothing that was on—

His neck. It wasn't like the other guy's tattoo. The other guy's was somehow elegant, even if it wasn't in a place Calley would have picked a tattoo for himself. If he was the sort of person to get a tattoo. Why would he? Tattoos were distinguishing. Calley was about as ordinary as an East Coast Italian could get, in a crowd of East Coast Italians. A tiger or two aside, most of his animal forms weren't much to write home about, either. Mostly cats. Dogs. Local birds. If temporary hair dye transferred between forms, then a tattoo would just be—

But he didn't have a tattoo. He had a... a dark twining rope of a dragon, wrapped around his throat. That was... that was probably why it was so hard to breathe right now. Yeah. Its teeth meet tail right over his jugular. When his reflection swallowed convulsively, it looked like the thing was biting down even harder.

God, the yellow light made him look pale.

Baby blue eyes flicked back to the guy. "So. That's your power, huh? That's... heh. Wow. So. How about I really don't kill you, and you get it off. Fair deal, right?"

Stupid street lamp must have started dying: its flickering light made it look like the sword was shaking in his hand.

"Get it off," he repeated quietly, amiable smile still in place. "Now."

"Hey, no harm in a little flirting now and then. Just because I would take you back to my place doesn't mean I can't flirt a little."

Unfortunately the cheerful mood that had accompanied most of the fight died as Short Stuff noticed the matching tattoo around his own neck. Yes that was an abrupt shift in atmosphere. Short Stuff tried to see like nothing was wrong but Drew could spot the ticks and twitches of someone trying very hard not to entirely freak out. As much as Drew suddenly wanted to be serious and get rid of the promise the guy had made Drew wasn't entirely sure he'd remain among the living if he did. This promise worked very much in his favor for the moment.

"Yeah that's my power. A real doozy isn't it? Sadly there's nothing I can do for ya. I can't get rid of promises. If I could I wouldn't still have these."

Drew pulled up his left coat sleeve to reveal the array of tattoos up that arm. He was taking a gamble on this but if it worked then no harm done to him. Literally in fact.

"Sorry."

He shrugged, keeping the poster tube at the ready but not in any position to strike. Drew wanted to able to defend himself in case this guy snapped.

Snap. Why would Calley snap? This was just a harmless little street pummeling between friends.

"Heh." He said, with his own laugh. Not quite as long as they guy's had been: it was rather abrupt, in fact, and died in his throat. "I'm, ah, not sure you understood me. I said get it off."

Just a friendly chance to pound a stranger into the ground. That's what the guy wanted, wasn't it? That's why he'd picked this fight, over a harmless little bump. That's why he'd pulled out mutations in a human fight.

"So. This is... because of my promise? That's what it's tied to? So what, it makes me... some kind of Boy Scout? I'm going to keep my word now, is that it?"

Heh. Oh, heh. What had he even promised, again? He couldn't remember. Something about... Something about not killing this guy.

Yeah. Yeah, it hadn't seemed like a promise he'd have to break, at the time.

Funny, that.

"Get it off," the shifter repeated. He didn't know when he'd unsheathed the sword. Or where the sheath had gone to, for that matter; he could hear it clattering dully as it skidded along the pavement behind him, but it was a muffled sort of noise. Not something that concerned him right now.

"Get it off." The crack of plastic was a much sharper, more immediate sound: the poster tube shattered in the taller man's hands. If he didn't dodge the rest of the swing, there'd be more than that being cut.

Snapping was for people who couldn't keep their cool.

Calley hadn't felt this cold since the sewers. There was even that same sound of water, rushing past his ears.

Yeah this had gone from a friendly street brawl to horrible possibly deadly situation at the speed of "Oh f*&%!". Even if he was inclined to remove the promise there was no way he was doing so now.

Though dying would offer a way out of Martin's service.

Not that he'd ever want that. Martin was a good master, if a bit harsh. Drew hadn't seen his master in bit. He wondered about him as Short Stuff's suddenly sharp sword shattered the poster tube. Funny, that thing had been blunt not too long ago. Hmm, that would be painful if he didn't move out of the way. So he did as Short Stuff finished his follow through. Drew was now to Short Stuff's right and trying to think of some way to get him to put down the pointy thing.

"Uh, you know, if you break that promise by killing me you'll die too."

Or at least take so much damage to your body that you'll die pretty quick afterward

Not that Drew had ever tested that theory. But it seemed sound considering every other promise sustained injury had increased in severity based on how long the promise had been held and just how serious the promise was. Drew really did hope it worked that way. It would be such a shame if he died without taking short stuff with him.

The laughter came long and low that time. Out on the cross street, a sprawling New York block away, cars rushed past like water in a stream of white and red lights. This guy—this guy was like some kind of comedian. Dodged that one little strike, did he? Thought that would change things?

Thought Calley was afraid of dying?

Oh, that was a good one. That was a good one.

"I'm immortal, you asshole."

His next strike was aimed somewhere vital and soft; somewhere just below the annoying protection of the ribcage. No more of this random slashing stuff: Sebastian had taught him better than that. Point on; a quick thrust.

Great, an immortal Short Stuff. That was even better. Why had Drew thought he was fighting on even ground again? Oh yeah, because he'd thought he was fighting a human. Now he was locked in a fight with an immortal mutant. 'Cus you just couldn't be an immortal human. That just didn't happen. He didn't want to fight anymore but it seemed he was destined to take his licks for the gross error in judgement he'd made. At the hands of a Short Stuff that hauled around medieval weaponry in a poster tube.

Crap.

"Great, so you lay in a pool of your own blood with nothing to ease the pain until you heal enough to go somewhere else or someone finds you."

It was worth a shot right? No one liked pain. Drew knew that he didn't, even if he could tolerate amounts of it that he would have found astonishing months ago. Amazing what you could do when you had no choice but find the strength or break, eh? Hopefully it would work. Drew did not want to be shish kadrew. And yet the pointy object had other ideas. Drew did not get out of the way in time. Shish kadrew anyone?

"Ouch?"

Sword went in, pointy end first. Who knew. Cafas' workmanship really was superb; he barely felt any resistance. The man's coat brushed lightly against his hands where they clenched the hilt. It felt a little scratchy. Wool?

What a stupid thing to notice.

"Pool of blood, huh?" He said, grinning up at the man. From this close, the height difference really was pronounced. Not as annoying as he'd expected, though. He wasn't much taller than Cafas; Calley and he had that same thing going, where their bodies fit comfortably together, side by side. "Sounds. Great. Why don't you give that a try for me?"

The sword came out just as easily as it had gone in. Calley took a step back, breathing hard.

"So. You were saying, about taking the damn collar off?"

There was a slow headache building behind his eyes. He didn't want to do this. He wouldn't. Not unless the guy made him.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in gut. Something was there that wasn't supposed to be there. Short Stuff might have said something but Drew was focused on trying to figure out what that funny feeling was. It was cold, whatever it was. And it got colder with the foreign object departed and Drew suddenly had one hole too many. Now there was blood on the grey wool of his coat. He'd need a new coat if he survived tonight. If. That was a funny thing to confront. Drew had come far closer than this to death before. This guy seemed mostly like a human, a few mutational advantages aside. Drew had faced down mutants with much more damaging powers before.

But he'd done that for other people. Somehow coming that close to death for a purpose like that made it seem less frightening. Drew could charge in knowing that he was going toward a lot of pain and possible death for someone else's sake. This fight he'd picked for him. And now, when he was bleeding and possibly going to die, now he was afraid. He held fast to that promise that Short Stuff had made because it seemed like his only chance at survival now. The only way he'd see Martin again. The only way he'd get back to the mansion again. So at the next demand he shook his head.

"I can't."

Funny, Drew didn't remember his voice sounding that weak before.

The man didn't sound like a brawler anymore; not like a guy who would walk up and punch a complete stranger for thrills. He sounded kind of...

Weak. Pathetic. Helpless.

"Stupid." Calley only needed one hand to hold the sword. With the other, he balled his hand in the man's coat, and pulled him down to a more reasonable height. No more of this craning-his-neck business. "What, is that it? You pick a fight in New York City, against a complete stranger, and that's the best you've got, in the end? I didn't even have to use my power, you idiot. Stop—" Looking like you're actually dying. "—Just stop it. Tell me how to get rid of this thing, and I'll tell you the name of a good healer. Stop jerking me around with your lies—" He was lying. He was lying. "—and I might even help you there myself. I'm not a bad guy. I'm just... just a guy who was walking home, when an idiot—"

Started bleeding all over his shoes. That was... that was a lot of blood. Sure, he and Sebastian drew blood when they sparred: all the time. But the red was always followed by a cool blue flame that cleared the slate. And they kept practicing, just like that.

"You really are going to die. You know that, right?" His voice cracked. He swallowed. "Just take it off. That's all I'm asking. I'm... I'm not a bad guy. I don't..."

Kill people.

Much.

He felt as weak, helpless, and pathetic as he looked. Of that Drew was sure. He was still losing blood and Short Stuff had him by the collar. The hole in his gut hurt. Drew could push past it if he tried but it did hurt. He was hurt and bleeding and lying to the man that was killing him. If he had to die because of a stupid mistake in a stupid fight then he wasn't going to give the punk that did it the satisfaction of walking away uninjured. He would die and then Short Stuff would suffer for it. It was funny. Dying was funny but more than that Drew was almost laughing over the fact that he'd worked so hard to get to be an X-Man. Months of training and straining so that he'd been more than just useless baggage. And it would end here on the streets over something stupid. It made Drew feel like a moron. All that lovely control that these fights evoked vanished into the air like so much smoke.

"That's me." he croaked with a laugh, "The weak idiot. Still can't get rid of it though. Sorry."

Why wasn't he telling the truth? Why wasn't freeing Short Stuff of the promise? Because he was stupidly holding on to the notion that the promise would make the guy stop and maybe he'd survive. It was a stupid hope but it was all he had. That and the idea that vengeance would be delivered with his death. It was enough to make him smile stupidly at Short Stuff.

"Well since you've got me standing shall we dance a bit before I bleed out? Oh and sorry for the blood. If you need dry cleaning whatever's in my wallet should help cover it."

Blood loss made him sillier. Silly was ok though since he was beginning to feel faint.

The man was still flirting with him. He was on his last gasp, and he was still flirting with a smile.

He... really wasn't a bad guy either, was he?

"Jebati¹," Calley cursed, not even knowing where the word came from. "Okay. Okay. We can... still get you to a healer. I just... well, just don't freak out. This won't hurt."

The opposite, really. He hadn't actually tried this with an injured person before, but his own wounds didn't transfer between forms, right? So... this guy's wouldn't either. Right?

He took the man's face between his hands, and focused on something smaller. Weaker. Much less likely to do him serious damage if the Intelligence Vacuum decided it was a good idea to start attacking again, with his newly patched up gut.

"You're not going to die," he said.

Promise.

The result was... Well, consciously or not, Calley had picked his most idiotic form. If the paws fit...

"If you bite me, I swear I'll punt you." He solemnly threatened the Great Dane puppy dangling between his hands.

---

¹ Serbian for... well, *censored*

Well this was new! He felt smaller. A lot smaller.

And surprisingly he didn't hurt. Short Stuff had patched him up somehow, even if that had resulted in something strange. Drew opened his mouth to thank him for that.

"Arf!"

Waaaait a second. That wasn't right.

"Ruff?"

Why did he sound like a...?

"Grrrrrr."

Drew blinked and tilted his head down. Those were paws weren't they? Somehow Short Stuff had turn him into a dog. A grey one with black spots. Yet despite the change in form he felt remarkably good. Everything was a lot simpler. Short Stuff didn't seem like such a bad guy now. He eyed the now much taller man.

"Arf!" and his tail wagged tentatively.

This wasn't so bad at all!

...The guy's clothes sloughed to the pavement like so much extra baggage. Really, what use did a puppy have for pants, or winter coats, or extra cranial capacity?

It was wagging its tail, and... arfing. He let the thing dangle for a moment more, just looking at it. Its floppy ears, its over-sized paws, its eyes welling with dim-witted gratitude.

He'd looked this stupid when he'd been a puppy, too, hadn't he? Great. Just great.

With a sigh, he shoved the puppy under an arm, and crouched down. Wallet, wallet... the guy had invited him to take the wallet. Granted that had been 'when he was dead', but presumably, the guy was even more willing to part with it now, what with his undying puppy love and all. That growl from under his arm, that mere mortals might term adorable: that was clear assent. Calley unceremoniously pocketed the thing, after a quick flip through.

"Andrew, huh?" He stood up with a sigh. "Great. Even your name is stupid."

So was trying to get a puppy across the city on foot. Subways didn't take puppies, and cabbies remembered weird sights. Calley didn't like getting remembered by strangers

Andrew's clothes got an unceremonious toss into a nearby dumpster; he had enough hard to explain baggage to carry without the bloody clothes. He did swipe the coat, though, to wrap his sword in. Sword bundle under one arm, puppy under the other, Calley started the long trudge back to the church.

From there, it was nothing but puppies and unicorns.

((ooc: Continued in le link above.))