Clint, Catseye: Kitchen Encounters
Aug. 10th, 2023 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSharon's explorations of the grounds expand to the Chapel, much to Clint's confusion.
Clint had ordered delivery from his favorite burger place in Salem Center, meaning he'd ordered eight burgers and as many portions of fully loaded fries, two servings of fried pickles, and a basket of fried dough covered in powdered sugar. All of which was to say a) he was hungry and b) he had a long night keeping an eye on the portal ahead of him.
He had everything basically plated up, everything on his primary plate ready to go and everything else arranged in carryable containers for transport down to the observation room.
"I want that."
The statement came from beneath the table. After a moment a furred purple arm appeared, followed by a shaggy feline head and shoulders. Sharon stretched long and padded up to Clint, her attention on the platter full of burgers. She sniffed delicately, then sat directly in front of him with an expectant look.
Clint caught the moment out of the corner of his eye and, while the claws and the fur gave him pause, he felt he was a little beyond being scared into an embarrassing noise or jump. He had no idea who this person was, how they'd gotten onto the mansion grounds, or how they'd -- well, no. It wasn't difficult to get into the Chapel these days, people just knew they weren't supposed to.
"Which part?" He asked, refusing to give himself time to second guess his decision to act like absolutely nothing was wrong. Wait, had this person come through the portal in the two minutes he'd been upstairs? No. The alarms hadn't sounded. Back to plan A -- nothing to see here, folks.
"The meat part." Sharon stared at him with steady yellow eyes. She was finding that if she did that long enough sometimes people would comply just so she would stop.
"You got something against fries?" The Felid was staring at him. He knew how staring contests with cats went. This - this was a challenge. Where had Clint heard that before? Was it the cat whisperer guy? That guy was great but he always made Clint think about that one Britney Spears fan who just sobbed all the time.
Anyway, Clint wasn't gonna lose a staring contest to a giant, part-human talking cat. Even if the cat person looked very fluffy. Clint was a dog person. He had a dog.
The man seemed not to be moving. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, Sharon drew her forelegs close and raised herself up on her hind legs. He was taller than her, but not by much. She stared him directly in the eye.
"I want the meat part."
Still holding her gaze, Clint asked, "Do you not like fries?"
Sharon considered him in silence for a moment. Then, still never breaking her gaze, she moved. Slowly, inexorably, her hand reached forward to claim a burger from the platter. She clutched it protectively in both hands and raised it to her muzzle.
"This is mine now," she said.
Reaching out, hand just as slow and inexorable, Clint didn't let his eyes waver as he punched his finger through the center of the burger, curled it, and pulled backward, taking half of it back in as messy a way as possible. "Sure. You can have it now."
Sharon regarded him serenely as she pushed the remaining half of the burger into her muzzle. It was swallowed in two short gulps that displayed her impressive incisors. She licked her lips and reached for another.
Clint shoved the half of the burger he'd retrieved into his mouth one-handed and used the other to smack the cat person's hand away from the plate. "Nope," he said, the word garbled. He swallowed the half-chewed burger in one go and refused to wince. "Ask. Don't demand. Don't steal."
Sharon gave him a sulky hiss and dropped back to the ground. Limit established. She sat on her haunches, tail wrapped politely around her legs, and assumed a posture that was slightly more relaxed.
"I would like another," she said. And, because it sometimes helped, added, "I am hungry."
Nodding, Clint handed over his whole plate, complete with four more burgers, fries, and pickles. "Go for it," he said, taking in her general appearance now that he wasn't staring her down. The Felid's fur was thin in places and, beneath it, he could make out distinctive insect bites - probably fleas, if he had to guess. No live bugs, though, so that was a positive. Actually, the cat person was remarkably clean. Probably meant they'd come through the mansion proper. "You want anything to drink?"
"No thank you." Sharon hunched over the plate and began to eat right there on the floor, though not without sparing a moment to pick the onions from the remaining burgers. She wanted what she ate to stay down. Contrary to her previous disinterest, she did indeed begin to eat the fries.
"My name is Sharon," she said between mouthfuls. She sniffed a pickle and wrinkled her nose. "You are Clint."
"Yep," Clint agreed, noticing how Sharon picked the onions off. He suppressed a sigh, knowing he could just place another order, and started picking the onions off the burgers in his other containers so he could hand them down as she finished them. "Don't make yourself sick, eating too many at once." He'd make due with two burgers for now. And since she didn't seem to like the pickles, either, he started eating those.
"Fast metabolism. Need to eat a lot, especially now." Sharon ate the french fries by holding them cupped in the palm of one hand and eating them one by one, licking the salt from her palm as she did. Somehow they tasted better that way. "Your eyes have nictitating membranes," she remarked as if such a thing was an appropriate subject of small talk. "Very unusual. Replaced in most primates by plica semilunaris. Your mutation?"
"Part of it," Clint said, shoving a few more pickles into his mouth. "Are you a cat all the time?"
The plate was now showing a distressing absence of food. Sharon began to lick at the crumbs. "That is a common question. Naturally heteromorphic mutants so unusual here, then?"
"First one I've met," Clint answered. "Sorry if that was rude." He shrugged, handing her de-onioned burgers. "What're you doing here? I mean, besides eating my burgers?"
"I have permission from Alani and Sooraya." Sharon gathered the new burgers into a neat pile and began to work on them one by one, speaking between bites. "Lost home. Malnourished, mildly anemic. Recovering. Considering next steps." She lifted her head, licking her lips. "What are you doing here? Besides feeding me burgers."
"Huh," Clint considered that, then shrugged. "Living. Sorta leading a team. Monitoring a semi-unstable wormhole."
Sharon twitched an ear. "Wormhole?"
Nodding, Clint said, "Yup. It's downstairs." He tipped his head to the side a bit, hummed softly to himself, and then said, "Lemme grab some protein shakes from the fridge. You can have the rest of the burgers and the fries. Wanna see the wormhole?"
Emotion showed poorly on a feline face, but the cat's yellow eyes were alight with curiosity. "Yes. I want to see the wormhole." She gave Clint an appraising look and twitched her tail. "Yes. We are friends. I have decided."
Clint grinned a little despite himself and the oddness of the situation. "Cool. You're drinking like three protein shakes, as long as you don't have that thing where you're lactose intolerant. You don't, right? I mean, you're not?"
"Lactose will make me vomit, and all your burgers will have been wasted. Now show me the wormhole. I would like to touch the wormhole."
"Do not touch the wormhole," Clint stressed, grabbing several protein shakes for himself.
Clint had ordered delivery from his favorite burger place in Salem Center, meaning he'd ordered eight burgers and as many portions of fully loaded fries, two servings of fried pickles, and a basket of fried dough covered in powdered sugar. All of which was to say a) he was hungry and b) he had a long night keeping an eye on the portal ahead of him.
He had everything basically plated up, everything on his primary plate ready to go and everything else arranged in carryable containers for transport down to the observation room.
"I want that."
The statement came from beneath the table. After a moment a furred purple arm appeared, followed by a shaggy feline head and shoulders. Sharon stretched long and padded up to Clint, her attention on the platter full of burgers. She sniffed delicately, then sat directly in front of him with an expectant look.
Clint caught the moment out of the corner of his eye and, while the claws and the fur gave him pause, he felt he was a little beyond being scared into an embarrassing noise or jump. He had no idea who this person was, how they'd gotten onto the mansion grounds, or how they'd -- well, no. It wasn't difficult to get into the Chapel these days, people just knew they weren't supposed to.
"Which part?" He asked, refusing to give himself time to second guess his decision to act like absolutely nothing was wrong. Wait, had this person come through the portal in the two minutes he'd been upstairs? No. The alarms hadn't sounded. Back to plan A -- nothing to see here, folks.
"The meat part." Sharon stared at him with steady yellow eyes. She was finding that if she did that long enough sometimes people would comply just so she would stop.
"You got something against fries?" The Felid was staring at him. He knew how staring contests with cats went. This - this was a challenge. Where had Clint heard that before? Was it the cat whisperer guy? That guy was great but he always made Clint think about that one Britney Spears fan who just sobbed all the time.
Anyway, Clint wasn't gonna lose a staring contest to a giant, part-human talking cat. Even if the cat person looked very fluffy. Clint was a dog person. He had a dog.
The man seemed not to be moving. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, Sharon drew her forelegs close and raised herself up on her hind legs. He was taller than her, but not by much. She stared him directly in the eye.
"I want the meat part."
Still holding her gaze, Clint asked, "Do you not like fries?"
Sharon considered him in silence for a moment. Then, still never breaking her gaze, she moved. Slowly, inexorably, her hand reached forward to claim a burger from the platter. She clutched it protectively in both hands and raised it to her muzzle.
"This is mine now," she said.
Reaching out, hand just as slow and inexorable, Clint didn't let his eyes waver as he punched his finger through the center of the burger, curled it, and pulled backward, taking half of it back in as messy a way as possible. "Sure. You can have it now."
Sharon regarded him serenely as she pushed the remaining half of the burger into her muzzle. It was swallowed in two short gulps that displayed her impressive incisors. She licked her lips and reached for another.
Clint shoved the half of the burger he'd retrieved into his mouth one-handed and used the other to smack the cat person's hand away from the plate. "Nope," he said, the word garbled. He swallowed the half-chewed burger in one go and refused to wince. "Ask. Don't demand. Don't steal."
Sharon gave him a sulky hiss and dropped back to the ground. Limit established. She sat on her haunches, tail wrapped politely around her legs, and assumed a posture that was slightly more relaxed.
"I would like another," she said. And, because it sometimes helped, added, "I am hungry."
Nodding, Clint handed over his whole plate, complete with four more burgers, fries, and pickles. "Go for it," he said, taking in her general appearance now that he wasn't staring her down. The Felid's fur was thin in places and, beneath it, he could make out distinctive insect bites - probably fleas, if he had to guess. No live bugs, though, so that was a positive. Actually, the cat person was remarkably clean. Probably meant they'd come through the mansion proper. "You want anything to drink?"
"No thank you." Sharon hunched over the plate and began to eat right there on the floor, though not without sparing a moment to pick the onions from the remaining burgers. She wanted what she ate to stay down. Contrary to her previous disinterest, she did indeed begin to eat the fries.
"My name is Sharon," she said between mouthfuls. She sniffed a pickle and wrinkled her nose. "You are Clint."
"Yep," Clint agreed, noticing how Sharon picked the onions off. He suppressed a sigh, knowing he could just place another order, and started picking the onions off the burgers in his other containers so he could hand them down as she finished them. "Don't make yourself sick, eating too many at once." He'd make due with two burgers for now. And since she didn't seem to like the pickles, either, he started eating those.
"Fast metabolism. Need to eat a lot, especially now." Sharon ate the french fries by holding them cupped in the palm of one hand and eating them one by one, licking the salt from her palm as she did. Somehow they tasted better that way. "Your eyes have nictitating membranes," she remarked as if such a thing was an appropriate subject of small talk. "Very unusual. Replaced in most primates by plica semilunaris. Your mutation?"
"Part of it," Clint said, shoving a few more pickles into his mouth. "Are you a cat all the time?"
The plate was now showing a distressing absence of food. Sharon began to lick at the crumbs. "That is a common question. Naturally heteromorphic mutants so unusual here, then?"
"First one I've met," Clint answered. "Sorry if that was rude." He shrugged, handing her de-onioned burgers. "What're you doing here? I mean, besides eating my burgers?"
"I have permission from Alani and Sooraya." Sharon gathered the new burgers into a neat pile and began to work on them one by one, speaking between bites. "Lost home. Malnourished, mildly anemic. Recovering. Considering next steps." She lifted her head, licking her lips. "What are you doing here? Besides feeding me burgers."
"Huh," Clint considered that, then shrugged. "Living. Sorta leading a team. Monitoring a semi-unstable wormhole."
Sharon twitched an ear. "Wormhole?"
Nodding, Clint said, "Yup. It's downstairs." He tipped his head to the side a bit, hummed softly to himself, and then said, "Lemme grab some protein shakes from the fridge. You can have the rest of the burgers and the fries. Wanna see the wormhole?"
Emotion showed poorly on a feline face, but the cat's yellow eyes were alight with curiosity. "Yes. I want to see the wormhole." She gave Clint an appraising look and twitched her tail. "Yes. We are friends. I have decided."
Clint grinned a little despite himself and the oddness of the situation. "Cool. You're drinking like three protein shakes, as long as you don't have that thing where you're lactose intolerant. You don't, right? I mean, you're not?"
"Lactose will make me vomit, and all your burgers will have been wasted. Now show me the wormhole. I would like to touch the wormhole."
"Do not touch the wormhole," Clint stressed, grabbing several protein shakes for himself.
