milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Sooraya's there.

Mostly!

She's got a glass of root beer, and a box holding something that wants out.
NOW, please. It's alternatively hissing and mewing at her. (the box, not the root beer. Around here, you never know.)

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So last night Sgt. Doyle was introduced to the bar and a dimension entirely seperate of people who'd gone insane and turned into ravening bloody zombiethings.

It's...likeable if anything.

But at any moment, those things could come through, which is why he's in the bar with his rifle, the parts spread out across a nearby table...watching the box intently.

Not her, the box. sniper's instinct see.

Sooraya's own instincts are pretty good when it comes to knowing who's nearby. She looks up, then around, and catches Doyle's gaze.
"Hello." Glancing down at the box, which is still audible, and the lid's cardboard. She puts a hand on it to hold it down, carefully.

"...Did I scare you?" Sometimes he does that. When backed into a corner he's got an intense stare that'd probably rival whatever's in that box, "....Small things making noise are gonna attract attention."

He grins a tired wolfish grin, "And I'm fuckin' wired. Sorry 'bout that. What's in the box?"

"Scare me?" blankly. "No." She's spent the last several years dealing with people whose response to her involved explosives and/or gunfire. Stares by themselves aren't that bad.

"Ah, nothing to apologize for." She gives the box a cool look. "Aside from 'feline, alive, and short-tempered', I'm not sure 'what'."

"....Isn't feline...cat?"

You're dealing with a simple man Sooraya, "...A cat thing?"

Simple's funnn...

"yes it is. I found this one while I was out back, practicing some
kata. Tried to sneak up on me. I'd have left it out there, but
it tried following me indoors."

She lifts the lid. There's a swipe of claws at her, and she bares her teeth, snarling, sounding almost wolven. It wouldn't fool most animals, but the message don't do that! is clear.

One of the mun's other puppets, the werewolf one, is laughing hysterically.

Doyle's just kind of staring, ".....uh...bad...dog cat thing." Person?

He's watching the exchange with interest, "...'s it yours?"

"It--she? seems to think so." She reaches in two-handed, lifting out
a ball of fur that is noticeably larger than 'newborn kitten sized', though not so big she can't manage it. The fur's mottled black-and-orange. It stares up at her with green, slit-pupiled eyes. "If anyone's misplaced a pet or familiar, I haven't heard."

then it yawns, showing teeth that are anything but kittenish. Sooraya frowns, but turns to Bar, requesting chopped meat.

Despite everything, Doyle smiles, "...D'aww...who's a cute lil' kitty-witty thingy-"

Yes. the bad-ass sniper is talking babytalk to the cat-thing. fear.

The cat turns its head, looking for the sound of the voice. It mews softly, padding along the bar counter.
Sooraya raises an eyebrow, flashes Doyle a smile in return. "Don't suppose you're a vet.--Veterinarian, I should say," she corrects herself.

"No ma'am." Doyle's watching the cat with a grin, "...'m a sniper. US. Army 106th "Nightstalkers"."

He raises a tentative hand. He's wearing fingerless gloves.

"Ahh." Sooraya nods, watching them thoughtfully. "What year?"

The cat pauses, sniffs, then noses at Doyle's hand,
whiskers and soft fur brushing at his fingertips.

"2007." there is a small smile starting to grow. It's cute.

"...I like cats as a rule. Dogs are too involved see. Cats're loners. Fuckin' relate to cats better then dogs."

"And more independent," she comments.
The cat's still paying more attention to the humans than the food, just now. Sooraya considers.
Cute but feisty, as said cat's about to pounce(playfully) Doyle's hand.

"My instructor was talkin' out of his ass, but it's true, "...You gotta watch the animals and how they behave on the rooftop, cause that's how you're supposed to be. Quiet enough to make sure nobody knows you're there...but able to deal some damage if provoked."

He shakes his head, "Sorry, petting animals is supposed to relieve stress and I may need to leap back through my door and kill a bunch of zombies."

The cat's paws are catching at Doyle's hand as he finishes the sentence. There is a somewhat smug sounding purrr.

"Why sorry?" Sooraya just shakes her head. "And I imagine, for stealth, a cat would be a decent model. Or hunting alone, if you are."

"I'm a sniper ma'am." There's a note of pride in his voice, "...We're alone as a rule. 'course it's usually shit, but-"

He shrugs just as the cat's paws catch his hands, "...Catchin' your enemy with his fuckin' guard down's not fair."

"Fairness and survival may not mix very well.
Did you choose to do that, or is it a position you were assigned?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"...Assigned." Doyle shakes his head, "...'m not really one to follow general orders, March in line like a bunch of tickey-tacky houses and such."

He shakes his head, "...It's easier to make a mistake in this position too."

"With zombies...I don't suppose you know a man named Christopher Muldoon?"

Yes!

"...No?" Doyle looks confused, "Don't think I do. Flynn might, but Flynn knows people. Why?"

If he's from his world, he might just freak.

"He has the same problem you do; namely, zombies or a bioweapon that can create them."

Yep!

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