oh. and it just makes you /sick/. [open]

[forte]

Oh! The rat-scuttle concrete alleyways! So out of place in such a perfect world, so dim, lugubrious, shaded thick and thin and with the latticework moving light that shone through worn fire-escape bars. Rats, those clever little intrepid warriors, slid and skid along away from his feet, diving into layers of trash. However they had come - hidden away in ships, perhaps - rats were rampant everywhere. Thousands of years had not changed them much, either, even with the introduction of genetic mutation. If anything, they lived longer and were harder to kill than anything. The fled now at the steady sound of feet, falling one after another, staggering, even. Sam grinned at the wall, before collapsing against the side of the alley and emptying the contents of his stomach among the riff-raff garbage lane. He stared at the mess for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to just sink down into it now.

But, no. He was still too conscious for that. And after trying so damn hard just to forget it, too. He laughed at how beaten he was. It was drowned out by city noise , but rang in his ears long after. His head hurt. Come to think of it, his whole body hurt. Poor, poor, abused, useless sack of flesh encasing bones made of plastic, he thought, I think so little of you and take you so for granted. I'm going to die early, I just know it. He had seen death before, in the tail of his eye. Glimpses in mirrors and windows and ponds. People could live forever now! It didn't used to be like that... He didn't know how he knew this, though. The past was seldom mentioned beyond the creation of interstellar travel. Much less back into the eras where man had died as early as thirty years of age. Naturally.

We've damned nature though. The thought swirled up through a swill of emotion and sheer humanity that had taken hold of Sam. He was no longer aware of the fact that he was not part of this alleyway, that he was only himself amongst a stream of those who didn't and couldn't ever be him. Because all humans, he thought, were essentially the same. A lot of evil in a good-looking package. Some devil-fruit sent to tempt itself into it's own supremacy, to dominate all things with no care. Reflectively, Sam retched again but brought up nothing. He was empty. A hollow man. The wind could have picked him up and carried him like so many brittle leaves down along these noisy lighted streets. He left his alley to walk them.

His boots hugged tight across his ankles, fitting so closely that he could barely feel them, so that he could feel the road. He knew where he was more by the feel of the pavement beneath his soles than by recognition. Everything looked the same in these plastic cities. He wondered again if anyone was ever truly happy in a place like this. Somehow his primal soul, those genetically coded memories that harkened back to when man roamed his own and ate what he could kill, cried out for release from the fetters of this forsaken devil-city with its mist and its blind, stupid, corpulent masses of people. And aliens. Too many beings all mishmoshed and packed in too tight for anyone to fit in comfortably. Was anyone really happy? Was he happy?

No.
He laughed his way along the street, trying not to bump into anyone but failing miserably.

[Cadmium [It's a nice view~]]

No doubt he was a treasure among this dung-heap, a rainbow in a storm colored sky.

Long blue fur seemed to glow in the sun's light, flashes of bright orange were splattered across his body as if with some celestial brush. Large tufted ears twitched, and a beautiful tail twirled between his broad legs, caressing his bare feet with its little orange tip, before running back to hide behind his muscular back.

No doubt the humans would worship him, if he could find any.
------
Cadmium had taken a wrong turn at Spring Street. Instead of following normal logic, and turning around toward home he began walking through a much poorer part of town. Was that actually garbage on that sidewalk? What sort of lazy robot swept these streets, why were those hover-cars missing panels? Flourescent claws stopped inches from a red brick wall as a cockroach scuttled up the clay with an angry hiss. Whiskers stiffened, and Cadmium took a step back wiping a plate-sized paw on his flame-like pants.
" Well aren't you a little ugly braggart, I could scuttle up that wall faster than you, if I weren't so busy."
It was at that moment he realized he was chatting with an empty patch of brick wall, and he was nervous.

This place didn't look so friendly.

Being the curious fellow that he was though, he ignored the urges to run and continued down the alleyway, stepping carefully over staff, and shifty eyed strangers.

The sounds of polite conversation, not the banshee shrieking he had discerned from an encounter in a nearby building, drifted into his satellite like ears. WIth a wide grin he stepped into the street, his beautiful tail waving like an elegant banner in the breeze. The smoke colored shirt on his top half was hastily shifted to better cover his bare arms, his electric-blue scarf drifted in lazt circles around his neck. THe earring in his ear glittered in the light, its value as obvious as the ridicoulous gem that perched in its center. The people weren't exactly what he had expected, for the most part they looked tired, and he could detect the disgusting scent of human sweat as he passed through the crowd.

Why did some humans insist on improper cleaning habits, they no longer lived on the farm, why did they insist on smelling like one?

You would never see him smelling like that.

---

Cadmiu's bright pumpkin eyes drifted about the crowd, focusing on the upper bands of pants, and the low-v of women's shirts.
"34-C"
The fox murmured quietly, pretending to stumble and grasping the firm little bumps beneath the thin fabric, it was obviously quite cold where she care from. After many apologies, and a fair feal of bowing Cadmium watched the lady walk away and muttered under his breath:
"With padding, they may have been small, but no need to act to unconfident."
Deciding he had tired of the human smell of the place he quickly crossed the street with the green light, and continued down a nearly empty side-street.

A piece of moldy paper brushed his bare-paws and he pulled back with a look of disgust, it was then that he noticed the smiling figure nearby.

What a gruff looking fellow, why was he so happy, was that bordeaux he smelt? Whiskers and nose twitched in unison, and his curiousity was piqued. With a devilish little smirk he turned and began walking parrelel to the booted figure. Who had some nice footwear, not that he would ever wear such a rough cloth. With an almost dance-like gait he crossed the street, and slung a friendly arm around the pig-man.
"What's up with you beautiful? You look utterly exorbitant! Care to give me some of what you have?"
Besides the good sized bulge down-under.

------

Even while he smiled at the older looking fellow, the fox could not shake the feeling he was being watched.

Hopefully just another admirer or the great Cadmium Ellubis. What else could it be?

---

[forte]

Had he been sober, Sam would have realized the presence of another being on the street as soon as they arrived. It was second nature in these streets, where every other person had a record. Not that he would have arrested anyone, even if he, by some miracle, was still coherent enough to do so at this time of day. Safer not to. He felt more secure in these slums than in the raging neon city. They were a cesspit of crime, sure, but not of the degree seen out of "civilized" people. There were no ritualized murders, no thefts of anything worth millions of dollars, no horrific and terrible tortures, at least not to the degree that he had seen in other areas of the city. Here he could walk along the street in decent assurance that no one was being slowly killed, nothing was being cannibalized. Sure, there was abuse. But no one was growing bamboo through people, keeping them under a steady drip of water through the eyes and ears and nose. Those of little resource have little time for such horrible acts, and so Sam was more often to be found here than in some maze of a casino any day.

And so he allowed himself to be less of an individual, less of a wary sentinel and more a part of the air and the street and the alley. A strange peace clouded his tumultuous thoughts, and he shed them as easily as water. But, no. They were still there. Buried under some haze of alcohol and drunkenness, they lurked, waiting for the fog to lift to rear their ugly heads again. Maybe this wasn't the right job for Sam. There were some, he knew, some among his own men who could still smile, could still feel great soaring heights of emotion. Some who could walk from blood and screaming horrors and still sleep at night. But no, he had to dull ever damned sharp sense, had to get it to a point where it wouldn't hurt so much just to feel. Just to be for once, to be freed of the fetters of the dark labyrinthine mind that twisted and toiled behind those green eyes. So full of gaiety in their own faux freedom. Those feet that trudged so slowly through life, sometimes barely able to take the next step up and onwards, now they moved with new life.

Still. He would wind up sleeping in his own waste in some ditch somewhere before. Or under the desk in his office, curled snoring around an empty bottle. He had before. The demands of the moment had no room for such reflections. Sam's foresight, some would say, was a little flawed. But he did what he had to to insure that he would even allow himself to wake up every morning and go back to his job.

He wasn't exactly sure when he became aware of the stranger behind him. It was slowly, for sure, because even when he had he wasn't even sure what he had become aware of. Maybe the sight of the creature in the corner of his eye made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Or maybe it was the ugly brute's eyes, so piercing on the back of his head. On his face, the gaze heated and almost tangible in the thin and greasy air. The bile rose up involuntarily through his gullet, but he managed to swallow it. Alien. Every baser instinct in him howled out the sheer wrongness of the being. A growl, more beast than man in nature, rose and was stifled by waiting rotting teeth.

The arm around his shoulder made his whole body stiffen as well as it could manage in his inebriated state. His lip was curled in base animal disgust now, no thought, just instinct. He could hardly walk in a straight line, that was true. But still, one could hardly ignore the aching and crying and disgust that rang through every cell. Outsider. Kill him. Could be hand to the side of his head, jaw, disable ability to bite. Those teeth have got to be sharp as hell. Get them away from my face! Get that disgusting dirty lupine form the heck off of me! The thoughts registered more in body than in words. His hand automatically reached for the concealed blaster. It automatically curved, pointing the barrel somewhat closer to the fox-man's nether regions than could be comfortable. "Ge-get the hell offa... ffa... offa me, you damned scumbag." Sam stammered, slurring and sounding willing enough to actually shoot.

[Cadmium [It's a nice view~]]

Cadmium had always found the drunk sources of entertainment. It was fun to watch their feet shiver, and their bodies sway to and fro like some sort of storm-assailed sapling. The smell of alcohol was now almost overwhelming, and Cadmium muzzle wrinkled further as the fellow approached. The wind switched direction when the smell became near unbearable, and swept it away with a few frantic gusts. Mother nature even adored him sometime. Large ears swiveled as Cadmium attempted to detect the party, or slum-pub this fellow had wandered out of, and slowly rose back to their original position. Had this guy been partying on his own, was it really that much fun to drink beer by yourself, with just some free limbs thrown in? Cadmium , being a socialite, would never have to experience the pathethic feeling of being alone at a bash, they needed to start charities for fellows like this. Ones who drank by themselves, and found it fun. Poor man.

If the fox had not already been curious, or rather full of himself, he might have called out to the fellow instead of surprising him. The politician might have thought his actions through as carefully as his campaign speeches, maybe he would have noticed the fellow's jaded eyes instead of his slightly sardonic smile. The fox was too confident in his popularity to do so, and he secretly wanted someone to talk to in this alien world of garbage strewn alleys, and plain brick walls. Besides, he wasn't a cat, why did he have to worry about a bit of misplaced curiosity?

---

The fox did not notice the fellow's sideways glance, but he did hear the muffle growl. Was he choking, gargling his vermouth, maybe he was trying to play charades with hallucinations? Not for a moment did Cadmium think the guy would dislike him, why would he? How could someone with a smile like that dislike another open-minded , free roaming, drink loving creature? Especially when it was one as amazing as Cadmium?

--

The fox felt him stiffen, and brushed it off as surprise. Long pumpkin colored claws gently grasped at the drunk's store front, as his muzzle turned slightly to avoid the man's toxic breath. What was with humans dislike of mints, and their like of deplorable scented foods like parmesan and whatever gut-rot this man had been slurping? Maybe it was their poor senses, or they secretly wanted revenge on those who had better abilities and food, so decided to make their heads swim with disgusting smells. The poor fellow seemed to be sneering, and Cadmium twisted his face back toward him to apologize for the shock. The long wet nose was now inches from the beat-cops beak like one, the widening grin high-lighted his jagged ivory teeth. The drunk staggered, and Cadmium allowed his tail to sneak out from behind his thick legs and gently push him into a straight position.

It was still curved against the cop's legs when he spoke, and it stiffened into stone, the fur along it raising and devouring the drab fabric of the other's trousers. The gun went unnoticed, it was much more important that the insult be addressed. Whiskers stiffened, and his angered expression was almost comical as his entire body was slowly consumed by thick fur and obvious indignation. The voice he spoke in was almost shrill, more shocked than angry.
"Sc--Scum--Bag?! How dare you! You're lucky this alley is so dim, otherwise I would be quite offended! How dare a homeless wino call me anything!"
Unless of course it was sir, your highness, baby, or a bunch of inarticulate excited screams, mostly involving his name. You know, like the kind an audience gives at a rally? The fox was too busy being offended to follow the order, in fact his grip tightened.

The fox than allowed his gaze to turn down his intuition instructing him to do so; his ears slowly flattened against his skull. Using all the skils one had as a politician he tried his best to diffuse the situation with fake happiness, and useless bullshit.
"Come on Mr. Tipsy tense, put the gun away, no need for anyone to jump to conclusions~ what would your mother think, shooting someone like me?"
The smile was back, though it twitched at its edges with flashes of white. Remembering the order, and shifting his body so his jewels were well protected, he allowed his arms to drop from the drunkard's shoulders. The limbs remained spread slightly, the fifth had slowly slid back, but was arched slightly reading to strike if the man showed any chance of striking.

Not that his additional comments helped:
" I can understand being paranoid in a trash heap like this alley, but if you look a little closer there is no need to worry fair citizen."
Used to having body guards surrounding him, and joking at the worst of times he allowed himself a final, husky, comment.
" I am completely at your brawny...drunken...mercy.."


[[Eeew...this sucked....my apologies.]]

[forte]

Sam had never been very fond of politics. Government didn't suit him, although it wasn't at all that he wasn't fond of order, fond of peace, fond of everyone having a place and respecting it. But that was more - he thought - up to those who enforced said order, those who worked down on the ground and not in the shadowy realms of procedure and law. Besides, the system was broken. He would have to be blind not to see it, in those mangled bodies and mysterious disappearances. The rapes. The gambling and drunkenness that tickled at the edges of his own morality. It wasn't that Sam was born into this, born into this waste and damage that he afflicted upon his own body so much as the city had turned him. As it turned everyone and everything. The system was broken. And he didn't know how to fix it. Such problems were above and beyond his own capacities, the limits of his spirit and body, already so broken and mangled of his own doing and of those dark curses that had befallen him in the tangled web of city streets, the latticework shade that drowned out the neon fluorescent lights.

His gaze hardened, the pupils two mere pin picks as they focused, somewhat hazily, on the jaw all too close to his face. An animal panic rose up somewhere in Sam's midsection, gripping his body in a tremor of disgust and distaste. And the vague feel of the furry tail, that unnatural appendage, steadying him. The veins in his neck showed all too plainly for tension, the jaw set rigid and disgust lining oven even the permanent pain (shown all too plainly in those lines that plagues the corners of his eyes) that befell the tortured body and mind. Nails dug so hard into his own palm that they drew beaded blood, drip drip, not leaving the palm but tracing slowly the myriad lines and ridges so unique to the skin. In the tail end of his eye, Sam could see the clawed hand encircling his shoulder still, the furry-palmed and wretched hand hot beneath his clothing, the very touch causing the nerve endings to become electric, sensitive and wary, the muscle hard, the vein showing through on the lower arm. Here was a stance caught between fight and flight, tense and trapped and wanting nothing more than to get away.

It wasn't that Sam, who could barely walk and was having trouble with articulate speech at the moment, was actually going through some sort of thought process. Not as if he were deciding actively and consciously his own actions. They were simply manifestations of the baser paranoia that lay deep and rooted in all that he knew. Sober, he could accept to be around them. Accept to walk among them. To work with them when need be. But to have this foreigner, this basely off and wretched beast, so close to himself, to have those hands, those tail, those teeth touching him, was unacceptable. It was more reaction, more those buried and dulled primal urges, the need to fight, to dominate, to tame and overcome, that made him do as he did. He did not so much process the creature's anger, the surprise, as watch closely the body, those all-too sentient expressions. "Shut... the fuck... up," he snarled, pressing the weapon down and against the skin, knowing all too plain how thin those defenses were. How little they could do to stop him. His eyes gleamed beneath a haze at the delightfully happy thought.

He grinned maniacally as the ears went back, as the body tensed and moved away, and he shifted the weapon, edging it up against the neck, ever-aware of those teeth. His hand shook, but he ignored it. "This. This is no time, no time, to be making jo-... wosname? Jokes, Wolf-man." The wretched smell of fur and foreign bodies felt heavy on his skin, on his clothing. He felt impure, somehow, filthy, full of sludge and drink and the need to cleanse himself of the memory of that fur, of that touch up against himself, against the intimate parts of the being that was him and that it was his job to know everything about, not this... alien's. "I'llkill... I'll kill you, y'know, I will. But relax, lax, relax, not yet. Not yet." The corner of his mouth twitched at the word 'civilian.' Yeah, right. "'S offi, offi, officer to you, you vile, putrid pukemaggot."

The mouth twitched again at the next comment, and the hand trembled against that neck. Oh, how thin the skin beneath, he could feel it, so close to his own fingertips, the fur that brushed him barely concealing the thin delicacy there. How he grinned at the thought of that blood running down that hand, of the crimson-painted alleyway. But no. Not yet, not yet. It was a moderation born out of craziness, born out of paranoia, bred of the streets and the terrible twistings and mutations that this walled and lit life did to one who lived so close to his baser instincts so often, so often driven by fight or flight. But where was there to flee in this concrete jungle? Th sneer grew as hie spoke again. "On your knees. Now. I want to see you, see you beg like the dog that you are."

[Cadmium [It's a nice view~]]

The fox Neebu could smell musk and adrenaline as they began raging through his racing blood. The ridges of exposed vessels looked like mountain ranges coated in a fine flurry of skin colored snow. Beneath his spread palms the man's chest was hard as a stone, it was like embracing an enraged statue. Before it dove into hell, he managed to get a few more amiable words in:
"You sir really need to relax, I know a good massage therapist if you need some work."
Not that he employed all of the fine lady's abilities, not only would the media be all over adding another sex, relationship really, scandal to his record. The girl had a pair of nice large lips, but a face much too small to fit him, though she was good at her job he doubted her rough hands were good at much else. Still, Cadmium wagered this drunk with the wrinkled eyes, and the beak-nose could not afford simple medical procedures, much less a massage. What did it hurt suggesting?

---

In most situations Cadmium would have made some sort of homosexual joke at the gun's jab, but with it so close to his flesh even he managed to keep that joke away. Not only did this fellow not appreciate conversation, the fox Neebu doubted he appreciated cracks about his sexuality. Now that the fun was out of the man's shadow, and so close to his keen eyes the fox could make out the sparks pulsing in the tubes wrapped around it, and the name of the gun. Not to mention he could smell the acidic discharge that coated the bullet and barrel from the last time the gun was fired.
" Alright, though I will have you know, all you had to do was ask."
Was this fellow a rabid fan, one who wanted his clothes to curl up with, or his picture? Most didn't do so at the point of the gun, but who knew with humans. The smile from earlier was back, but now the vulpine could make out the haze covering the eye, and the maniacal gleam that helped fuel it. The scent of alcohol was overpowering, and for just a minute the fox was tempted to plug his nose. The feel of cool metal against his thighs restrained his hand. The gun would waver soon enough, and the wicked little grin would find itself flipped and twisted.

--

It would be a shame to do it, but what other choice did he have with a blaster jabbing his jewels, and drunk man staining his beautiful clothes? Now that he examined the smile, the grin of someone in control, Cadmium barely resisted one himself. No doubt he thought that Cadmium was just a beautiful, defenseless, wealthy man in the big bad alley. Hadn’t his mother told him anything about counting chickens when he was younger?

----

Ears flattened, and eyes grew wide as the gun approached his neck. The hand holding it shook, and the fox wagered that another drink would have the guy on his ass, sadly he doubted he had a beer hidden in his coat.
"Not appreciative of comedy? By the way, I am Vulpine, not Lupine. My name is Cadmium, to be precise."
Not that he was anything of the sort. If the guy was going to call him something from Earth , he could at least do it correctl. Especially when one considered how nice Cadmium was being when he didn't rip the man's throat out.

Not that he had thought about it.

" Yes, I wager you need to wait until your words are not so jumbled. "
The fox Neebu was used to situation like this, and besides body language he would do his best to not give this man the satisfaction of fright. It was a politician's job to make everything look better, so he did have some practice in situations like this. Not that anyone had ever disliked him enough to try an assassination, unless you counted that young girl's father.
"Excuse me , my utmost apologies. Rather hard to see the badge under the Blaster and the beer. Cadmium, not whatever phrase you just used"
The translator wrapped around his skull let out a frustrated beep, it had declared his words angered but nonsensical. The fox's teeth flash as he spoke, but besides his slowly rising fur his expression did not change. To Cadmium he felt this more a debate than an actual threat, the guy had said later right?
" You should address me as Councilor, or sir."
After all, at some point and time he had probably endorsed this drunkard's paycheck.

-----

The fox could imagine the man's mind weighing the scales, the little demon//angel perching on his shoulder each slurring their words through a pair of bottles.

Maybe it was time to make his move, that gun was hovering a little too close for comfort.
----

At first Cadmium had delighted at the phrase "on your knees", it appeared the man wanted close relations, but at the phrase dog everything in him stiffened. Without any words he appeared to do what he was told, knees slowly bending, arms lowering to the pavement in a mock bow.

---

So this fellow was one of those was he? It appeared he had to be reminded of who had been around longest, it certainly wasn't some alley scrounging hound who allowed itself to be shackled.

Cadmium certainly was not one of those, unless it was kinky enough.


At this angle it was possible to make out the little arcs of electricity that jumped beneath his raised hackles, and arched between his ears with a hiss. With a lash of his tail he dasked forward, shoulder aimed at the other's midsection, and claws glowing with spatters of electricity racing towards the gun, and the sensitive nerves holding it. Cadmium had been born, and popular as a Neebu, which automatically put him a step up on the brawn scale. In a canine-like snarl, contrary to the sentence he barked out the following:
" I . Am. Not. a .Dog!"
Cadmium would not bow to a descendant of the monkeys they had pulled from the jungle, especially one who smelt of Bourbon and stupidity.
---