2020-09-16 - Let Me Sing You The Song Of My People

Kitty Pryde is not a happy cat. She is a black, skinny stray that currently occupies the inside of a cat carrier. She has opinions about this. These opinions involve quite a bit of violence to the kidskin-gloved hands that grabbed her while she was sleeping on the deck of her new boat. "One out of you and me are going into this carrier," Ravn said. Kitty Pryde had pretty strong opinions on who that was going to be but the human is stronger. She has opinions about that, too.

Now she sits in the carrier, letting out a shrill maaaaao every thirty seconds. Her self appointed owner gives everyone in the waiting room of the clinic an apologetic look every time. A cat in another carrier responds with a meeeeew every time. Her owner glares at everyone, daring them to say something. The golden retriever in the cone of shame at least stays quiet, as if to say, I am better than that.

The veterinarian's nurse is chipper. She must have nerves made of steel, Ravn thinks as he carefully keeps his hands away from the front end of the carrier where Kitty Pryde might claw at them from inside. It's going to take work to restore her trust, he knows that. But she needs to be vaccinated and spayed. Whether she approves or not. He had really hoped she'd come to trust him enough to let him touch her but once she started rolling around on the Vagabond's prow and making those alluring little howls this morning, time was up. He's not having eight cats.

August has it easy by comparison. Not only are the kittens perfectly happy to be carted around in a container--he's been careful to get them used to it with heavy application of fancy boar treats, he knows the score--their voices aren't so well developed that they can make much noise anyways. Plus, they're too in awe of the surroundings outside the safety of their spaceship.

It's not actually a spaceship, of course. It's a stiff-sided backpack with a bubble window and little holes on the bottom which are just right for sniffing (and in the case of a kitten, reaching) out of. But it looks a lot like a 50s era depiction thereof in shape, and thus some enterprising company decided to market it as such, with spacefaring Pusheen no less.

The little mackerals within are not so rotund as Pusheen, not by a long shot. Latte has reacquainted herself with Xylem and Phloem, and now the three are peering out of the bubble, occasionally mewing as if to ask 'what's this? what's that? where are we? is it time for a treat again, I'm in the treat dispensing box'. Thus is the waiting room greeted to their little voices as August comes in with their spaceship on his back. He spots Ravn right away (because that meow is definitely a meow of I'M BEING MURDERED! MURDERED!!!!!), gives him a smile. First, though, the receptionist. "Checking in," he says. 'Mew!' announces Latte. Xylem reaches out one of the little holes. Surely a treat will materialize if he just reaches for it.

MUR. DER. ED. Nothing less will do. Ravn lifts a gloved hand for a wave with a slightly tired smile; the kind that says, So, I'm killing my cat here, what else is new? Then he gets up and wanders August-wards, cat carrier still under one arm (and a black paw with hella sharp claws swatting out between the bars every time a certain cat thinks she just might get a swipe in at a gloved hand).

"Hey. How's... You know. Things. That was an... interesting night. How are the little furballs?" The Dane's voice is quiet as to not necessarily reach everyone in the waiting room.

And then the swiping from the carrier stops. As does the loud meowing. Ravn looks down and breathes a sigh of obvious relief. The other cat in the other carrier continues its own concert, now solo.

The receptionist asks, "And who are we checking in?"

"Latte, Xylem, and Phloem, for Roen."

She gives August a Look. He remains placid, daring her to question his naming choices. She sighs a sigh of, 'Well, at least they fit in the name field, unlike Countess Boochie Flagrante,' and types away. "Three month checkup?"

August nods, and she taps a bit more. "Okay, you're all set. We'll call you in as soon as the doctor's ready."

With that, August turns to Ravn. This moves the kittens somewhat further away from Kitty Pryde, but they continue to roam around and mew. August studies Ravn a second; his own personal overload aside, he hasn't forgotten how the lights were on but nobody was home for the other man at the end of that encounter. "Yeah," he says, voice low. He raises his eyebrows. "How you holding up?"

He tilts his head to peer down at the murder victim in her carrier. "Sorry honey. Your kids will decimate the wild bird population."

"I'm all right," Ravn murmurs back. "I think we all got away pretty unharmed except for poor Cavanaugh's neck, didn't we? Needed a little time to collect myself of course." He has not forgotten, either. And may be feeling a little embarrassed about it.

"And whom might our little opera singer be?" the receptionist inquires of Ravn.

"Kitty Pryde," the Dane replies. "I very much doubt she's been vaccinated before, and she will need to be spayed. She's a stray or feral, I'm not quite sure. She's not quite friendly with humans yet."

The cat's name earns him a Look too. Geeks and their choices in cat names. "Is she chipped or ear tattooed?"

"I don't know," Ravn replies honestly. "She has not let me look for tattoos. She just turned up at my place a few weeks back, but I'd be surprised if she turns out to have a registered owner, though."

As Kitty Pryde's carrier is placed on the counter it's easier to get a good look at her. She is a flat-eared, green-eyed monster of a small, black stray -- and she is a silent monster at the moment, staring intently at the kittens in their carrier. She does look familiar. Young Aidan Kinney was not wrong about her looking like a certain other black cat -- the one that stares at dumpsters containing dead women, or talks to men in the woods.

The stare she's directing at Xylem, Phloem and Latte is not friendly. Nor is it aggressive. If such a thing is possible, it's a combination of horror and fascination. Three pairs of eyes stare back, from three little embodiments of kitten-y innocence.

"Isn't that cute," the receptionist beams. "You'd almost think they knew each other."

August surveys Ravn, looking him over without bothering to hide that he's doing it. Satisfied Ravn is, in fact, physically sound, he gives him a sympathetic look. "Don't sweat it. Can't tell you how many times I've come back barely conscious." He might be about to say more, but now Ravn is talking to the receptionist, and Kitty Pryde is staring at his kittens.

Xylem reaches a paw out towards Kitty Pryde. Latte mews. They know another cat is near, they can smell her and sort of see her through their spaceship, though not quite.

August, meanwhile, tilts his head to get a better look at Kitty Pryde, surveying her. It's not that stray; he doesn't think that one would ever allow itself to be trapped in a container. But there's more than a little familiar there. Of course, maybe he just thinks that because people who like black cats are convinced they're all related. It's an easy trap to fall into.

"Got a friend running around out there, honey?" he asks her, voice low. He doesn't expect a response, but of course, one never knows.

The black cat stares at the kittens with that odd mix of terror and fascination. She was busy howling her little heart out to prove to the world in general how evil, mean, and cruel her regular tuna supplier is, but that endeavour has clearly been forgotten. She stares. She stares. So there is a human addressing her. She couldn't care less.

It is not the same cat. The overwhelming presence of the black stray in the woods is missing. This is not some far older, very likely malevolent power or entity wearing the mask of a small cat. It is, possibly, the cat that was used as a model reference when that mask was designed. Possibly, because indeed, all black cats look alike, and the world is indeed full of small black cats that are a bit on the skinny side.

"Who's a good little boy or girl," the receptionist coos at little Xylem as he reaches out in a most adorable kitten fashion. "There must be a mackerel tom in town who needs to visit us," she directs at August as if he somehow is at least partially to blame for the loose morals of cats. "This is the third litter of three mackerels I'm seeing this week."

"I'm still adjusting, I suppose." Ravn's voice is quiet -- in part because there is bubbly receptionist talking at them and their cats. "I'm not going to say it was a fun experience but it did have some silver linings."

August watches Kitty Pryde stare at his kittens, who are intent on being adorable as can be. She's not that one, of that much he feels certain, but her behavior towards the kittens is...odd. And it makes him wonder.

He glances up at the receptionist, distracted from Kitty's weird behavior by the comment, wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, could easily be--found these three abandonned out on the Slough." He toys with Xylem's paw; Xylem bats at his finger, enjoying the game. "I'll let the shelter know if I spot him. They can put out a trap, maybe snag him and get him fixed." He won't fault a tom for doing as tom's do, but, like he told Kitty Pryde, there's an ecosystem to consider.

He nods at Ravn, sympathetic. "They're almost never...fun," he says, tone equally low. "But listen...we can talk about it. If you want." His brows go up a moment, then he moves to sit and wait for the kittens' to be called forth. He makes sure to take a seat with an open spot next to him.

"No, fun is definitely not the word I would use," Ravn reiterates softly and follows the other man towards the seats. "Fun does not involve a very real risk of someone getting injured or, heaven forbid, killed -- and I think I'm going to be seeing dead men with squid or goat heads in my regularly scheduled dreams for a while. But it was also..." He searches for the words and then suggests, "Educational? The way people had each other's backs. Imagine if people in general were better at that. The world might look a lot different from what it actually does."

In the carrier, the black cat settles down to just stare at nothing in particular. The show of dismay and indignation over the treatment she has been subjected to is forgotten. And for just a moment, a very fleeting moment, the three mischievous little monsters in their 'space ship' stare back. Something passes between them. And then, cats are cats. One glowers. Three act like kittens, optimistically exploring every situation. Everything is fine.

The Dane looks at his companion. "Are you all right? I don't imagine one ever gets truly used to this kind of thing. I suspect that getting truly used to this kind of thing is probably a fast ticket to the cemetery, at that."

The mention of goat- and squid-headed people makes August shudder. Yes, there's a serial killer running around, and They thought it would be hilarious to toss a few ugly memories of that at the lot of them. Real sacrifice for real gods! And now you get to kill a god! What a riot.

August distracts himself from that by making a game of sticking a finger into the spaceship, then withdrawing it. The kittens bound around attempting to catch his finger, invariably just tackle one another in their mad rush. This makes it easier to say, "That guy, that Itzhak found on the beach. I knew him. Worked with him in Olympic." He looks askance at Ravn, back at the kittens. "He was a good guy. Loved his work. He has two girls, with his ex-wife." He allows Latte to catch his finger, but she loses interest the moment she has, and goes back to staring out the bubble.

"Seeing him in there again..." His voice fades. Presently, he shakes his head. "It wasn't him. Not really. But," his eyes narrow, "that's the point. They wanted me to think it was. They're always looking for ways to evoke a reaction." Now he looks at Ravn again, nodding about everyone working together. "The only way out is through. And we can't get through without one another." A small, bitter smile about 'getting used to it', though it grows genuine after a second. "I'm okay. Mostly. You don't...get used to it, not really. You just learn how to live here."

"Henry Fitzgerald." Ravn murmurs the name as if it is important to him on some level that the dead man has an identity. "I don't think that that was -- the real Henry Fitzgerald, no. At least I'm telling myself that none of it is really real. That it's like lucid dreams where you see whatever your subconscious mind sees fit to conjure up, but you still have agency and you know that you are indeed dreaming. But it's hard to tell where one reality begins and another ends."

He glances down at the carrier containing sulky Kitty Pryde. "That day in Main Street when Aidan found the body -- I didn't see anything unusual. As far as I was concerned Aidan just walked over and looked at a cat for a moment, and then he came back to me with a disturbed look on his face and told me that there was a dead woman in that dumpster. Time didn't pass at the same pace for us. And then there's Quetzalcoatl being there with us on the beach when we woke up. Does that mean we woke up twice? Dreaming that we woke up, and then, seeing him and actually waking up?"

"It doesn't really matter, does it." Ravn shakes his head. "I hope they catch the Sumerian guy, and soon. The Veil things are absolutely bloody terrible but they are not human. They do what they do for a reason, even if that reason may be that they're literally farming us. That guy is human, though -- a man like you or me. There's no excuse for what he is doing."

Expression distant, August says, "Yeah...it's easier if you go with 'it's not real'. But," he looks like he has a specific event in mind, "what you feel is real enough. Even if it's some sort of simulation." He looks down at the kittens, who've decided to patiently sit in their spaceship, awaiting what comes next. "That's why having one another's backs is so important. That part--how we treat one another--is real." He flicks a glance at Ravn, resumes watching the kittens. Latte is licking Xylem, who's patiently allowing it; Phloem has flopped and is waving a paw at Latte's tail.

He makes a low sound of grim agreement about the killer. It'll be more than a little satisfying when Esme and Ruiz lock the bastard up for a good long time. "Kind of hard to believe a person can get so far gone they do shit like that and it seems perfectly reasonable to them."

"That's the part I'm holding on to for the sake of what remains of my sanity," the Dane murmurs. "Having each other's backs. That you can't run and hide so you better figure out what you can contribute, and act. Which in my case seems to be babbling until something randomly falls into place, but I suppose that as long something does fall into place, it'll do." The two names are unfamiliar but the identities are not that difficult to deduct, and he nods again. "Wilkerson and de la Vega, yes? Definitely rooting for them. Wilkerson was exceedingly patient, listening to me babble about old gods and sacrificial cycles and whatnot."

"Excuse me?"

The voice belongs to a Hispanic-looking young woman who, from the looks of her, might be a veterinarian nurse or assistant; at least she's wearing the appropriate apparel -- whether for wrestling a cat into submission to trim its claws, or assisting at a veterinary surgery table. There's nothing particularly noticeworthy about her save for a faint presence of the shine, the glow, the light -- whatever one's choice of term might be. Her glow is, if possible, even weaker than Ravn's.

"I'm sorry for interrupting," she says quietly, perhaps also not wanting to be overheard by every customer, cat, or golden retriever in the waiting room. "Mr. Roen, yes? I just wanted to ask -- your kittens. They are... just kittens, right? They don't do anything unusual for cats."

"I won't fault anyone for running and hiding. Staying safe and surviving isn't the worst instinct." Thinking of Megan, August's mouth tests into a frown. "Not by a long shot. But you knew how to deal with that godess, which is more than I could do." He nods in regards to the cops. Yeah--and, something to know." He pauses to flick a furtive glance around the waiting area. "Some of the cops with the," he rubs his fingers together, meaning Glimmer, and hopes Ravn will understand, "some of them, are bad news. On the take. But those two, you can trust." He raises his eyebrows, indicating an odd junction of crime and magic. "Be careful."

He might be inclined to say more, but now they have a visitor. August blinks at the woman, slow and surprised. He can feel that faint power to her, a small, new sapling in the shadow cast by his own, but that's all it takes to see behind the curtain. He peers down into the little carrier, where the kittens are curling up for a nap. One light gray, one dark gray, one brown, all adorable. "Not...that I've noticed. They're pretty, ah, normal. The light gray one, she doesn't do good with chicken. We're keeping her on duck, seems to be better that way." Which costs a fortune, but what can you do.

"Oh, good." The vet nurse smiles with obvious relief. And then, clearly feeling that she owes some kind of explanation for that odd inquiry, adds, "The last group of three mackerel tabby kittens -- one of them bit right through a table. Took a bite right out of it, like a giant cracker. And the first group -- Ms Evergreen's kittens -- well, they didn't bite anyone but cats don't have that many teeth. And I'm the only one who sees it." She offers a small, tired smile -- the sort that speaks volumes about how much fun it isn't to be the one person in the room that actually sees and remembers the strange workings that pass for normal in Gray Harbor; the one whose memories are not edited to suit a more ordinary narrative. "This town, you know? Anyhow, glad to hear that your kittens are normal, Mr. Roen. Maybe we can do an extra check for intestinal worms or food allergies for the little duck eater."

She turns to head back into the depths of the clinic with that odd air of someone who realises just how crazy they sound. And feels a little embarassed about it, maybe, but sometimes you have to say things. Even when the things make you sound like you're the one in need of medical assistance.

Ms. Evergreen's. It takes August a second to place the name. Some kind of flower...Daisy? No, Dahlia. Once he's got the name, he has to contend with things other kittens have done. Which normally he could put down to 'blaming all cats for looking the same', except, this nurse has the shine, and so does Dahlia. So what are the chances Dahlia wound up with kittens which only 'happen' to look like his? (They're bad.)

"...bit through a table." August peers into the spaceship. Latte yawns; her teeth look, well, like kitten teeth. He doesn't see anything out of the ordinary about them, but chances are the one who bit through a table looked normal too.

He nods about checking Xylem for parasites, though personally suspects she has drawn the short straw of 'sensitive to certain kinds of protein'.

He's lost in eyeing his kittens and thus too slow to ask if the other person who brought in a 'strange and unusual' kitten was like them, but again--what were the odds they weren't?

So he looks askance at Ravn. "Maybe mine are just normal." His eyes demand reassurance. 'My kittens are normal and don't have to be returned to the Veil, say it's so.'

Ravn looks at them. Then he looks at Roen. Then at Kitty Pryde, still sulking in her carrier.

"Aidan Kinney," he murmurs. "Aidan Kinney can -- talk to animals. He came to my boat to have a chat with Kitty here because she looks just like that other cat. Apparently she mostly thinks of tuna. He'll be able to tell, or somebody else with that ability will be able to tell." He pauses, then tacks on, "The Veil doesn't really do subtle from what I've seen,. It's all... Eight deaths that I know of just in the month I've lived here. Not subtle at all. They haven't... murdered your ducks, or eaten any customers at the shop."

It's a kind of reassurance, isn't it? Maybe there's a reason this guy graduated in philosophy, not medicine. Atrocious bedside manners. "Kitty here is... Destructive as hell. I mean, she sharpens her claws in my jacket. She hairballs my bunk. She claws the hands off anyone who corners her enough that they can touch her. But if she was a Veil creature, I imagine my boat would be on the bottom of the marina and my arms would have been ripped out of their sockets. I think our cats are... Just cats."

Despite that there's no way Ravn can really guarantee the kittens are just kittens, August does seem to relax when offered this reasoning. "Right. They'd have done...something, by now." He eyes Kitty, who sounds like a handful, but then again August has an attack goose who didn't calm down until Eleanor started spending more time around the cabin, so he knows all about 'animals that are really just ferals tolerating you'.

Aidan's name is familiar to him, that much is clear by his expression. "Ah ha. I know Aidan." Probably expected, since glimmering people tend to know one another. He considers the possibility of using the reading Art to check the kittens. While he's not as strong as Aidan, not by a long shot, interactig with animals in that way is old hat for him. It was the first thing he ever learned to do. "Alright, well...let's have a peak."

He sets a hand on the side of the carrier; he'd hold them, accept taking them out here in the waiting room is asking for some kind of disaster. Gradually, so he doesn't wake them up, he peers into each little mind, looking for signs of something More, something Else.

Kitten thoughts.

Warm furry bodies. Good smells. Siblings. Always together. You, me, us.

The thoughts you'd expect in a young feline mind; contentment, feeling well fed, having explored and now being conked out in a pile.

And below that...

Something Else.

Something that sleeps. Because it doesn't need to not sleep. Something that is not sentient, not aware. A power, almost as if granted to them by something else. A darkness. A weapon.

A rifle is a weapon too. Put a rifle in the hand of a madman, and people get shot. Give a sharp knife to a certain kind of person, and people get cut to ribbons -- but the knife itself is not evil.

Young little minds who love their human. Their food giver. Caretaker. Play person.

The sensation is... odd. These little guys are just kittens. But they could be something else, something far more dangerous -- if somebody gave them reason to be.

Maybe it's a good thing they were not left to die in the woods after all.

August pulls back after a time, grimaces. This makes some amount of sense, really--he's often wondered if their own power isn't similar. He didn't have the worst life growing up, but he didn't exactly grow up easy, either. There was a lot of fighting to keep his sisters safe from nasty guys, incredible pressure to do well academically or athletically (neither of which happened) to raise the family's fortunes, no end of going without. Did all of that play into how powerful he was now? Had it opened a door--just a crack--and then Bosnia had simply torn the door off the hinges?

He looks down at the kittens in the spaceship for another few seconds. Then, "They're...there's something to them. Sort of like us." He cuts a glance at Ravn, back to the curled up balls of fur. "I was planning on all of them being indoor-only. So maybe that's enough to keep it from ever...surfacing." His expression softens. "And if it does we can see what to do then." He already knows what would have to be done; they'd need to be taken to the Veil. And yet then they'd be completely unprepared for it, unlikely to survive on their own.

The other option was to take them over now, if he could find someone to take them in. Didn't Itzhak know someone? He probably did.

"You don't mean -- doing something to them, right?" Ravn looks worried. Tall viking is clearly a squishy little softy when it comes to cats. "I guess it makes... sense? If we can learn this, why not them? I don't know."

He scratches his chin, clearly a bit discomfited by the idea that the cats might not be three little innocent mackerels. "Maybe we should -- talk to the others. I say 'we' because of the black one. I'm going to have to tell Aidan that something is fishy. And ask if he has seen her again. But, your kittens haven't done anything at all, have they? There is no way they can be the ones who -- left a woman in a dumpster, is there?"

August blinks at Ravn, shakes his head. "No, not--no." He lowers his voice, realizing he'd sort of panicked a little at the very idea. Phloem stirs, opens an eye to merp. "But, Itzhak may know someone who can take them in, on the Other Side. Someone who would know how to make sure they're okay. Or at least know who to ask." He's feeling better about it the more he discusses it. Yes, he doesn't have to abandon them. Rehome, maybe; in the overall, it's not that much different than rehoming an animal one lacks the capacity to properly care for. Not ideal, since he's already attached, but not tragic.

"We should," he agrees, pulling a face. "At the very least, we need to dissuade the stray from this kind of...thing." Making one million dangerous kittens, he means. "And find the ones who killed the woman, get them back into the Veil." They, at the least, need to go to someone Over There.

"I'm still wrapping my head around that. One hell of a way to go, nibbled to death by cats. Have to wonder what she did." Ravn shudders.

In her carrier, Kitty decides that she's been quiet and intimidated by the Terrible Three long enough. She opens her maw and starts howling bloody murder again. Let me sing you the song of my people, indeed. Her owner winces apologetically to the receptionist, then looks back to August. "If I can help -- the Veil isn't my field of expertise, but this seems... It's a little coincidental that mine looks just like that other one. There may be some kind of connection, even if I swear, Kitty acts like a cat and Aidan swears she thinks like a cat. It's still enough to make you nervous in a town like Gray Harbor. And I'd -- rather not lose her. She's got a nasty temper and she hair balls my bunk regularly but I've grown kind of fond of her. She hasn't even eaten the hellebore. Only nibbled it a little."

August winces. "Honestly, I think it might...just have been the kittens." He glances down at the dozing trio, who don't care about the song of Kitty Pryde's (or their) people, they're done for the moment, come back later. "Abandoning them, I mean. The stray I saw, it...sent me to tell the husband not to dump animals like that." He realizes how this must sound, glances around to make sure no one else heard that. "But the guy I talked to, he said it was his wife who did it."

He watches Kitty announce her untimely mutilation by cat carrier to all and sundry. A nod for the offer of help, followed by, "They think they're kittens too," he says, watching her. "But then, I guess we think of ourselves as people, right? Even if that's not all we are." There are, indeed, many other things August thinks of himself as.

He laughs and shakes his head about the plant. "Plant eaters are a problem. We'll be training these ones from early on. Not sure what to do when lilies are in stock, might have to just take them to the cabin until the season's over." It's a thing he's been considering. He can't not carry lilies, but he can keep the cats clear of them easily enough. "I know I've only had them a few weeks, but," he sets a hand on the little bubble, "I don't really want to give them up if I can avoid it." A ridiculous thing for him to say, maybe, but he says it anyways.

Ravn looks down at his little singer with the big voice. "I don't want to let her go either. I know the world is full of stray cats that need a home. Getting another cat would not be difficult, I imagine that the shelters practically throw unwanted ferals at you. But this one chose me. She's the one who decided that she lives on the Vagabond. I don't want to let her down, even if she hair balls my bunk and taste tests my plants."

Plants, plural. He most have gotten another one somewhere.

"Cats eat lilies? Wait, they're poisonous, aren't they?" Ravn Abildgaard, plant expert. "If they're used to having more interesting toys and things to chew on, would they even care about a specific rack of flowers, though?"

"I think we're ready for Kitty Pryde now, Mr Abildgaard," the receptionist announces. "Let me just confirm again -- she's to be spayed and vaccinated, yes?"

"Yes, please." The Dane puts the carrier on the counter. There are still angry claws coming out of its front; the poor vet had better wear leather gloves when working with that one. "And of course, if she turns out to have anything along the lines of parasites or worms. Also, please check for a chip or a tattoo."

"We always check for those, Mr Abildgaard." Patient nurse is patient; new cat owners probably come in two cathegories -- the ones who think owning a cat is just a matter of tossing it some food every now and then, and the ones who go completely overboard with toys, worries, and grooming. Ravn is not the first new cat owner to fuss insanely over a perfectly healthy, if ill-tempered animal.

"Yeah," August murmurs in agreement. His eyes are still on the kittens, but his thoughts are in the same place. Maybe they can come up with another solution. Maybe. He hopes so.

The question about lilies draws his attetion off the dozing maybe-not-just-kittens. "Not intentionally--and, usually yes. Or at least my sister told me." He detours to add, "She has cats, so I called her after I first found them for some advice. I wound up needing to send about 10 pictures to my nieces." Back to the topic at hand. "But even the pollen's highly toxic to them, so they could get sick just from walking too close to one in an arrangement. Also," he arches an eyebrow, "my sister assures me some cats will just go after anything green."

He watches Ravn give his list of wants and needs for the little miscreant with a small, private smile. He won't judge, he feels the same. Especially now that he might have to give them up.

The noise levels in the waiting room drop dramatically as Kitty Pryde's carrier disappears out back. No doubt she will be soundly asleep in short time. Subjected to a most embarrassing tummy shave. Spayed, and stitched back up, and high as a kite on painkillers for a few days. After which, hopefully, her life will return to normal, just without the element of two to three litters of kitten per year and a life expentancy of four to five years before her body gives up. Cats, however feral they may be, do not live the lives for which nature intended them -- it's been a long time since they were little rodent hunters in the North African desert. Cats being cats, cats will tell you that they do just fine in the wild, thank you very much, but cats are wrong about this.

Adopted tuna provider probably worries more than his cat does.

Ravn turns back to August, fidgeting a little and then sticks his hands in his pockets. "Let's just... explore options and not make any hasty, stupid decisions. This is what Gray Harbor is about, isn't it? Maybe it's just some Veil creature screwing with our heads for the fun of it, because we have a soft spot for kittens. Who doesn't have a soft spot for kittens? It seems like something the They would do."

It's a certainty August worries more than any of his animals do. (Well, maybe not the pigs, who are beside themselves with their little friend gone, and making little concerned grunts at her woolen cat cave.) he sympathizes, then, with Ravn's feeling of empty hands, and would fill them with a snoozing not-just-kitten if it didn't have the potential to go horribly awry.

"Yeah," he confirms with a nod. "Even if it comes to rehoming, I wouldn't want to do it before they're at least a year old. Get them a good start." Get more attached so he can come up with creative ways to refuse to do it. Etc.

He considers the possibility of Their involvement in a broader sense; letting a Veil creature through to result in a situation that would confound and ultimately hurt them in ways they wouldn't otherwise expect. "I guess that's possible." He's reluctant to admit it, but knows he should. "Though this does feel more like an accident of sorts." Either way, not the fault of these animals, and he's determined to make sure they don't pay the price.

"An accident." Ravn purses his lips. "Well, you'd obviously know a lot more about this than I do. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around accidents but I suppose that's me already being in the habit of thinking of Them as villains. If they're more like the dairy farmers we talked about at your shop, then I guess dairy farmers sometimes spill milk or trip a cow or something." Somebody is not a farm boy. Somebody's personal experience with cows probably is limited to telling some chef how rare he wants his steak.

The Dane shakes his head and sombrely says , "For what little it's worth, I'm sorry. You don't need to worry about the kittens on top of the whole Sumerian killer mess and your friend coming at us because some infernal dairy farmer feels like playing Aztec goddess. I keep waiting to see some newspaper headline about the police taking this bloke down, putting him away. Bennie at the bar said -- that he's like us. He's got the shine, the Art. I didn't pry, but she said he'd gone Cheshire Cat on her in a dream, and from the scrapes on her arms, it was a close encounter. She thinks he does what he does to protect us from these old gods. I bloody well hate being right about things like that."

"Oh I don't an accident of Theirs." August pauses, frowns briefly in consideration. "I mean, sure, that's possible too. I more mean, an accident of nature. They're not the gods of Over There. They're just a particularly powerful set of residents. But plenty goes on that They have no involvement or control in. Same way a," he waves a hand, "tsunami or a hurricane isn't man-made. The world of the Other Side is much bigger than just Them. A lot of forces at play."

His frown returns at the recounting of Bennie's run-in, accompanied by a set jaw. "That motherfucker," he whispers. The kittens stir in response the flux of his emotions, and August schools himself to calm. "Wonder how much he'd like knowing They claimed he was just sacrificing to the Aztec and Mayan gods." He manages a small, fierce little smile at the imagined outrage.

It doesn't last; the reality is, there's probably just one way to handle someone like that, which is with cops and guns. "Thanks," he says, of how he shouldn't have to be dealing with all of this. "But I guess it's just life around here."

"He strikes me as someone who thinks himself the Chosen One. If either of us happens to be there when he goes down, let's make sure to tell him how his gods think he's a joke." Ravn offers a small, wry smile that isn't amused at all. "I can sort of forgive the dairy farmers from Hell for treating us like dairy cattle if that's what we are to them. But that bloke is human. He doesn't get that excuse."

He falls quiet a moment. Looks at his hands that currently do not hold the handle of a cat carrier. Sticks them back in his blazer pockets where they can't fidget with anything or rearrange the belongings of the receptionist while he's not looking.

"There's so much I don't know about the Other Side. I'm lying awake at night thinking about hummingspiders while more experienced people talk about visiting libraries beyond the Veil or taking the fight to the other side. But for me, the focus is on ordinary people doing ordinary things. Like looking after three kittens some jerkass dumped in the woods. That matters." The Dane looks at the three little fur monsters in their spaceship nest. Some people find it easier to connect with animals than with people. Ravn is clearly one of those people. "Little things like that, they're what makes us people, not dairy cows."

"Wonderful," August says, rolling his eyes. "A messiah to his own stupid mythology." He sighs heavily; it makes sense, in its way, that someone with the Art would fall into that thinking. If you're already cracked in some way, then find out magic can be real, what's to really keep you from going Full Monty on such things?

He wrinkles his nose about forgiving Them. "I can't." His voice is low enough that he might not realize he's spoken out loud. Certainly the way he turns to the topic of the Veil suggests it. "Honestly? None of us do, not really." He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess if you put us all together, we could say we knew some things. But..." He licks his lips. "Not as much as we could stand to. Not being able to hand it down is kind of a problem. Anyways," he shakes his head, "like you're saying, we have to deal with the small stuff too. Look at it, think about it, wonder about it." Well, of course he'd feel that way--he's a botanist, after all. "The big stuff comes from the small stuff."

He looks down at said three abandonned in the woods. "Yeah. They are." They're waking up again; a moment later, it becomes apparent why. A nurse comes up, beaming. He's clearly seen these three before. "And how are the little ones?"

"Getting bigger every day," August says, easing himself up out his chair. Phloem mews, which gets the other two mewing. Ship's a-moving! What's going on?

"Oh wow, they've grown a lot," the nurse says, peering into the carrier. "Just goes to show how well they do when taken care of." He turns his happy smile on Ravn, to include him in this company of 'people doing right by random strays'. "Well lets get everyone weighed and checked over."

August nods, glances down at Ravn. "See ya around," he says, and shoulders the pack. The kittens stare out it, wide-eyed. They're going on an adventure.