milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

clay

(no subject)

There's a sign up on the message board.

Lost Cat

White Persian with blue eyes
Answers to Pete, likes anchovies

$$$ Substantial reward if you can return him $$$

Contact Nichola Stevens

Attached are a few photos of the grumpiest, angriest looking cat in existence.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Clay, looking for a distraction, notices the board.

Looks at the photo's. Then he tries to pick up Nichola Steven's scent from the notice.

She's spending most of her spare time in the bar lately, hoping to catch a glimpse of her cat. Right now, she's got a table to herself, with her laptop open to an email she's trying to write, and pages of nonsensical shooting schedules she's trying to magic into something she can send in for a budget report.

She's on her forth cup of coffee, and for some reason, it's not helping her focus at all.

Clay walks up to her table and asks, "Do you have something of your cats?"

Nichola looks up, startled at the sudden conversation. "Uh. Not on me. I can go get his bed or something." Not that he ever sleeps on it, but it's his.

"You're not going to use a sniffer dog are you? That's kind of why he's missing."

"Not a sniffer dog, no. But something with his scent would be helpful. There are many cats in this bar" more than Clay would have expected.

Nichola's not bothered by cats as much as other people are, but she's always been a little odd like that. "Yeah. Uh. One second." She closes her laptop and gathers up everything into a neat stack, and disappears it all into her inventory. Making sure she has everything, she rushes through the door. A few moments later, she's back with Pete's bed, which he's probably stood on a few times before deciding it's not worth.

"He doesn't have much. He just steals my stuff."

She's not sure where this is going, but she hands over the bed all the same.

Clay stays standing in the same spot as she leaves. He starts considering alternative scenarios' if there isn't enough of a scent on the bed.

When she returns he takes the bed and smells it himself. Because the scent is so weak it takes some time to catch.

Hands the bed back to her before turning around and walking the room to pick up the most recent trail.

Okay. That was weird.

Nichola takes a deep breath and follows after Clay. "You're not human, are you?" she asks plainly.

Probably best to get this out of the way now.

He has never been very good with manners, even with his best friend.

There is some hesitatio,n out of habit, before he answers, "No. You are."

He finds a trail and starts to follow it. "He encountered some other cats here" Clay pointed out, buying some time as he works to pick the trail back up.

Nichola's been told it's safe here, but she doesn't want to push it. Knowing this guy isn't human is good enough for now.

"Oh, jeez," she says at the mention of other cats. "Hope he didn't kill anybody." She pauses. "He's kind of mean. He might bite you if you find him."

"He hasn't killed anyone, at least not here." no smell of blood.

"I can handle a being bitten." so long as Clay doesn't bite the cat which he has no interest in. But it is good that is warned so that he doesn't accidently kills the pet.

"Well, thank god for that."

She grabbed something else while she was in her apartment: a plastic foil bag full of treats. She gives it a few shakes to see if she can lure him out, but he's either ignoring her or not in the area anymore.

"What, do you want a hotdog instead? Come here," she complains to the air. Pete probably wants a hotdog.

Clay can smell the treats, "He would probably prefer a hotdog."

And he picks the trail back up. Making his way around tables and people, without making any contact.

"I know he would," Nichola complains.

Every little flash of white as they walk makes Nichola think that maybe they're getting lucky. Maybe Pete isn't going to be much of a hassle. But then it's someone's shoe, or their shirt, and she's more disappointed than she expected to be.

"So, I guess you already know who I am," she says awkwardly. "What do I call you?"

"Clay." he says with his back turned to her focused on the task at hand.

He continues to follow the trail.

There is a group of other cats about, indoors and outside, if Pete is inclined to meet anybody.

Pete hates all things. Including other cats. The first one he sees gets hissed and swatted at before he runs away.

The first one yowls and flees; but soon, Pete meets two females that stare at him and advance slowly while lashing their tails, one an older tabby, the other young and black, with one white mark.

Pete doesn't stick around for this. He runs away, still hissing.

Yet another cat suddenly crosses his path and jumps over him before vanishing into the bushes.

This is their territory, and if any other cat wants to come, they had better be nice and acknowledge that fact.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only