Two in the hand is still two in the cat bed.

[Draconian]

[ Neph : D ]

It was impulsive and Cinna was regretting it a little. What was he supposed to do? He didn't entertain. Well, he did, but he entertained himself, not other people. Cinna was a giant of a man, built for days and still remarkably light on his feet. All the Pilots were friendly with one another - mostly. A quick tidy of the apartment once he'd realized he'd have a bored guest, a quick dusting of the entertainment system - an old screen and a vid player that he never used. A mytserious bag of pretzels a few drinks from the fridge.

And kittens.

Cinna grinned down at Boop and Beep, mewling at him and weaving between his legs.

The kittens didn't see big bad predator - he's made sure not to get frustrated and do anything to frighten them - they saw their next meal. Of course, dry food was left out for them to nibble on. Wet food for breakfast and dinner. There was multiple cat beds, a few cat trees. It was clear that, while the apartment had once been sparse, it was now a Kitty Haven.  One kitten in each hand, he plopped them into their cat tree. Sisters. Both black and orange and he couldn't tell them apart. Which was why one had a purple collar and one had a green one.

Boop was purple. Beep was green. He thought.
 
After making sure the kittens adopted mother - his guest - had the right apartment numbers and all the directions, Cinna patiently waited on a seat at the kitchen island, tail waving lazily. A glance over his shoulder to watch them try to catch it. Wincing occasionally when their little daggers caught a scale wrong.

It was always odd how self-conscious he felt about how he looked. Always just a bit off. Not that anyone ever seemed to mind. He was barefoot, careful of his claws. Legs stretched out. His heart skipped a beat when there was a knock at the door and he stood up from his chair, the kittens chasing after his tail which he waved extra far to keep them distracted. Maybe he should just tie a bell on there. Never have to invest in a toy again.

Cinna opened the door with a polite smile - not a cheek splitting wide grin, he tried to do those as not often as possible. A quick fix of his hair and he looked down at himself - a tanktop and a pair of custom made jeans. "Hi," He perked up smiling, wincing when one of the girls caught his tail, "Ready for kitten cuddles?" He teased taking a few steps back so his guest could come into the apartment.

It always felt so empty when other people were in it. "There's stuff in the fridge and mysterious pretzels on the coffee table," another smile and he awkwardly played with his hair, his ears pinned back a bit in a clear display of his nervousness. It was either his squad or... Nothing. Cinna didn't hang out with people. This was a good step in the right direction, right? Right. It was fine.  "Now you get to tease me about noodles and food to my face," He grinned, this time it split a little more and he quickly fixed it.

"How was your day? Catch bad guys? Take a nap under a desk?" He turned quickly and picked up Boop and Beep, one in each hand, "Your daughters have adjusted and second favourite place to sleep is my chest."

[nephero]

Soba lived on impulses.

It was kind of hard not to, with all things considered. Every other week there was something new in his head, added to the ever growing chimera of life experiences, thoughts and wants and preferences. Was chimera even the right word for it anymore? Who knew?

It certainly wasn't anything he was going to stop and muse and introspect over. If he did that every time something popped into his head, he'd be covered in moss and fused to the pavement. Best to just roll with it.

That being said, this was a new kind of impulse. Usually, a thought hit him and maybe he ended up naked in a greenhouse. Or putting thirty six shots of espresso into a Big Slurp and chugging the whole thing. Or buying a box of tiny mewling kittens with zero idea of what he was going to do with that much kitten.

Admittedly, that last impulse was kind of what brought about his latest one. But at least all his prior ones usually tended to keep him within Margad’s city limits. Usually.

But no, this one was new in that it had him on the light rail straight to Haviah. He didn’t often make a trip to the capital outside of work, and his own duties within Margad itself often meant he couldn't be spared for very long. So many minds to piece apart like a bizarro-world puzzle, so little time.

This wasn't for work, though. This particular venture to the Citadel was entirely due to cats and partially due to coconuts. Which was exactly what happened, that was his story and he was utterly sticking to it.

Cats, coconuts, and a secret conspiracy of underground bear wrestling Ministry Pilots.

The train’s windows flickered as it shot past the final gates, and Soba glanced up from his phone just in time to catch the barest glimpse of the outside hellscape before automatic screens flooded the compartment windows with much more pleasant images. Adverts laced the top banner spaces, set against a wild and throbbing backdrop that undulated through a series of neon colors in time with the train's background music.

The Haviah Shuffle. Pulsing, rapid fire, beating like a drum. Getting you all sorts of amped to be brought into the best and brightest city in the world-- and worlds beyond.

Or, alternately, getting you amped to wrestle bears. The dirty paper pushing heathens. Soba snorted to himself, and went back to his phone, alternating between several screens and only really putting serious thought into one. But of course, work emails tended to require something better than whatever shit piece of thought decided to cut loose on the rails.

He really should stop to get something before hitting up Cinna’s quarters. That's what polite people did, and Soba was nothing but the absolute example of a fucking gentleman. What was the proper etiquette for “I'm here to play with your tiny pussies?” A bouquet of daisies and a tub of ice cream.

Shit, Soba should have picked up daisies in Margad. Say what you like about the capital of the world, Haviah couldn't grow shit for… well, shit. He doubted Cinna would understand the intricacies of floral language, though, and possibly wildly misinterpret a bundle of dying flowers. Or eat them. Soba couldn't quite pin down what was edible to the Kulshedra from casual conversation. Maybe that was just what his people did with flowers.

No, best to just stick with ice cream. That, at least, was plentiful. Also, it did present the opportunity for a peace offering of sorts.

A quick stop, a quicker flirtation with the checkstand girl and Soba pressed his thumb to the comms outside of Cinnamon Rook’s personal apartments, a cheap plastic bag filled with small cartons of coconut milk ice cream in the other hand.

“Oh, shit, I'm sorry,” he quipped as soon as the door was open, “I was here for the annual Inquiry sack race. I think I missed it.”

There was absolutely no preparing for seeing Cinnamon Rook in person. Public profiles were one thing, PR imaging another, and vague written descriptions an entire third. But the sheer towering nature in the actual flesh was something in and of itself. And man, Soba understood just why Cinna had been recruited for the Harpies. Dude was intimidating as holy hellfield.

Or, would be if the way his ears were pinned back didn't reek of underlying anxiety. That was almost cute.

“I even brought snacks for the traditional pregame diabetes induction. Ah, well, here, I guess it's best you eat it instead.” Soba slashed a grin at Cinna, and gently shook the plastic bag of nondairy delights in his direction.

“Ooh, mystery pretzels? I’ve had that brand before. Kinda weird when your food shouts ‘meddling kids’ at you, though.”

Ahh, and there were the kittens in question! Soba grinned wide (not nearly as impressive as Cinna’s own split one, but then again not everyone had the fortune of that brand of genetics) and scratched just under either kitten’s chins. His sweet, perfect, precious little fuzzy daughters, in their sweet, perfect, precious little collars.

“All the bad guys, and one tiny grandma. It's been a productive quarter. ...Only their second favorite, huh? Maybe we should talk about your chest-napping-zone game. Test out different techniques.”

[Draconian]

Just what he expected.

Of course Soba got a few longer looks and once Cinna realized he'd had his ears pinned back he quickly fixed that issue. Though, he switched from 'perked bunny' to 'pretend cool neutral' too often to seem relaxed. To someone normal - i.e not a trained solider - he probably just looked like he had itchy ears. It was clear he was uncomfortable to some degree and once the kittens had gotten their chin scritches he wandered to a cat tree, put them on the middle plateau and politely took the bag of whatever Soba had.

A peek at the contents and Cinna barked a surprised laugh. A look of 'really' to Soba. Head tilted down, looking up at him ( sort of ) and an eyebrow raised, smirking. "Thank you," he said, smiling still. It was the 'human' smile, which always looked a little off on his face because it didn't quite move his face right. Still, more comforting than being confronted with a wall of sharp pearly fangs. He put the contents of the bag in the freeze before he rolled his shoulders and looked down at himself.

Now what.

Licking his lips he looked off to the side before he inhaled and...

Soba smelled really good.

Not good enough to eat but surprisingly so. An unfamiliar scent. That must have been all those plants over there. Cinna wrinkled his nose and rubbed his palm to his face, clearing his throat and shaking his head. Boop and Beep were making their way down the kitty tree, showing much bravery in the long little hops it took to get down and soon enough, they were chasing after Cinna's tail while he nervously waved it back and forth, trying to think of anything to talk about. Or to watch.

What did one do with guests.

"I'll have you know that the first best place they like to sleep is my pillow," He snorted, looking away before he grabbed two glasses and went to the fridge to pour filtered water into them before he pushed one towards Soba. Sure he had a few alcoholic things but water would be best if he was thirsty. Cinna was thirsty. So he drank that glass in two gulps before he put it in the empty sink.

Cinna's apartment clearly wasn't lived in. He lived there. His things were there, but he didn't put up anything. There were no pictures. No potted plants. There was a small side table with a few pictures of his family and a candle that was flickering from the wind provided by the open window. A glance around his sparse living space and he leaned against the counter, elbow down while he glanced over his shoulder and waved and curled his tail for the kittens.

"So, Soba," He cleared his throat, "Are Sack Races a thing?" He looked dead serious, eyebrows drawn downwards while his mouth was pulled into a frown. Then he slid forward across the counter on his elbow, leaning down, "And do you race the sacks?" What even was a sack race. Cinna knew that you didn't race sacks, had a general idea of what it was. He was just looking forward to whatever bullshit Soba spat out about it.

"While you're here feel free to ask me about..." Cinna looked down at himself and then waved a hand, "Me. I can't imagine there are many of us outside of Pyre Town." Pyre Town being the little neighbourhood mostly populated with the species, "I'm an open book to any and all of your curiosities."

[nephero]

There was a lot you could tell about a person by their living space, and you didn't even really need to be psychic to do it. You just had to pay attention to the details. A pile of otherwise clean laundry on one single, overworked chair, a collection of carefully framed indie punk band posters, a perfectly manicured orchid on a pristinely kept coffee table, piles of squishy pillows in lieu of an actual couch…

Nervously pinned ears and what appeared to be a very stock photo kind of apartment. The only thing that seemed to hint that the apartment was even Cinna’s was the cat tree and the family photos, and that was pretty sparing.

So, no real decorations. Nothing to say that Cinna himself lived here, just a few things that were only there, it seemed, purely for Cinna’s own benefit.

Not really out to impress, then? Or not really out to make this his home? Or maybe just not yet sure of himself enough. He was still pretty young, by Kulshedra standards, or so Soba thought. That was a thing, right? He felt like that was a thing. It was totally a thing. Young and away from home, it made an amount of sense.

But that would be assuming a lot. And Soba never assumed.

Soba played with kittens.

He accepted the water glass from his place on the floor, quirking some crooked smile up at the other Pilot but otherwise not commenting on his choice of drink. Water for nerves, huh? Worked for him, and so he sipped at the glass with one hand while his other wiggled fingers around one of the kittens--Boop? Beep?-- to get them to attack it.

“Sack races are a long standing Aedolian tradition. You split up into teams, the colors of which are decided by the day of the week the race falls upon-- anyway, you're in teams and one person from each team gets tied into a sack, and they have to race one another out of it. Blood is shed, often and liberally. One guy lost an eyeball one year. Other team literally chewed it out of his head.”

It was, of course, utter bullshit. Soba knew that Cinna knew it was bullshit. But that was honestly part of the appeal: Soba knew that Cinna knew that it was bullshit, and Soba knew Cinna had only asked to hear the bullshit. And honestly, actually genuinely honestly, that was the best part of it. So why not go whole hog?

“Huh,” Soba hummed a bit, scooping one of the kittens up and shaking his hair in her face in lieu of an actual cat toy, “something about you? And I can really ask anything?”

That was one hell of a presented opportunity. And for an Inquisitor, whose entire job revolved around being nosy, it was an irresistible one.

“So, twenty years ago, you ate a cat. Pyre Town doesn't receive government subsidies like the rest of Aedolis? I can't imagine being that hungry, especially as a kid.”

[Draconian]

It warmed Cinna's heart to see someone playing with a kitten and he gave little smiles and watched while Soba thought and played with his hair. A self concious hand drifted up to his own head and he fluffed his hair. Cinnamon mourned not being as traditional then. More naturally made cat toys right there.

Ah well.

Taking a mouthful of the rest of his water he almost spat it out at rhe question. Of everthything Soba could have asked him, that was the thing he chose. Cinna swallowed quickly and cleared his throstn, giving his Pilot companion a really look.  One eyebrow up, smirk on his face.

"A kid. I wasn't a kid twenty years ago, I was 25. Been a Pilot for five or six years already by then." Cinna took a deep breath and turned around for the cupboard and pulling out his bottle of whiskey, mostly untouched. Pouring a bit into his water glass, he sipped it and then sighed. It was a weird warmth and he licked his lips and gave Soba a hooded eye'd look.

"It was a ... initiation. There were some gang bangers. Too many people involved for it to be fixed easily, so, I got a pretend name, hair dyed black and down I went, eager to do the right thing and make Aedolis better." A little shrug, "it worked sorta. The cover." Cinna took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly at Soba.

"They were all human. Chained me up for a few days, beat me, starved me. And, after a few days they threw a terrified cat into the room with me and I ate it." He shrugged again, "They saw the... beast they needed. I had to pretend to be a whipped dog, but everyone was prepared to get me out when I needed it."

Finally Cinna finished his whiskey drink and smiled pleasantly. "So. I ate a cat because I was starving, it wasn't good, but it got me where i needed to go." A look to the side and he put his hands on the counter, eyes closed. Then he smiled at Soba and flicked his tongue at him.

"I'll have you know Pyre Town is cute homes and well maintained everything. We live for a long time. Its mid-level so not really fancy. Mom and dad have had their home for over a hundred years," Cinna gave a sort of hollow laugh, "Would you believe me if I told you I'd been living here for almost a decade?" Another glass of whiskey and he left it on the counter before he started to make his way into the living room.

"Anymore questions? Comments? Concerns?" Cinna paused, "Did you really come here just to play with cats?"

[nephero]

"You saying you were a full fledged adult at that age? That's some interesting lifespan you've got there." Soba quipped without breaking his concentration on swishing his hair in the kitten's clawing range. Boop (or was this one Beep?) mewed loudly and nearly caught his nose, which had Soba grinning like a loon.

"Not the nose, it completes the ensemble." he muttered conspiratorily to the little beast, before shooting an altogether unreadable stare up at where Cinna stood explaining the whole "cat eating situation." The sudden presence of whiskey was immediately noted, notarized, and filed away for future use, should the need ever actually arise. Not that he necessarily expected to need the knowledge-- plenty of Pilots closer to their age had their personal escapes.

The same, of course was done for the gentle pause before the word 'beast'; though that particular chestnut Soba fully intended to give a little roasting later. There were plenty more pieces to this new and glorious little puzzle box, after all.

"I guess we've all done what's needed doing, one way or another. And let's face it, that is one hell of a reputation to precede you. People tend not to forget little details like that, makes everything more memorable. Though in your case... probably not all that necessary."

The other cat, Beep (or was it Boop?), attracted by her sister's mewling, padded her tiny way over, and Soba scooped her up in his other hand after setting his drink glass down. He play acted at doing bicep curls with the tiny beasts, before settling one on each jacketed shoulder like some kind of weird, meowing mantle.

"Pyre Town sounds like quite the place to retire, I'll keep that in mind," he winked over at the other Pilot, and raw mischief bloomed over his face at the quick mocking flick of Cinna's tongue. Poking his own out right back at the other man, he continued balancing kittens all the way over for a refill of his drink, pointing at the bottle of whiskey as he did.

"My only concern is that you don't intend to share that. But ten years! Though I guess if you move apartments every now and again it takes the whole cabin-fever edge off. You get that often, the ah, itch to be elsewhere?"

Not really waiting for much of an answer by way of permission, Soba poured himself a finger and took a sip. Not bad. Not that he was really much of a whiskey man in the first place (even originally), so it wasn't as if he could tell the difference between bad or good. It was still something, though, and it was far less awkward to sit around grilling for personal questions if they were at least both somewhat inebriated for it.

As inebriated as one finger was worth.

"Would you believe me if I said I did, in fact, come here just to play with cats? Because I wouldn't believe a word that came out of my mouth," he slashed another grin over at Cinna, and took a larger sip, quickly giving himself a refill before walking away from the counter again. "Including any of those ones."

[Draconian]

Did he have to explain his life span now?

Cinna just smiled at Soba and rolled his eyes, moving a hand to fluff his previously styled hair. There was a quiet moment, something he always did around new human frienss. Usually hw was sly about it. Slowly, while Soba was curling the girls, he compared himself.

It was hard, being different, even if there were a few other Kulshedra Pilots. Cinnamom got over the brunt of it, but words always peirced far deeper than anything physical. As a Candidate he was ruthlessly teased for his face, the scales - at least until he could show just how much of a monster he could really be.

"Ah, help yourself to anything in here," he said notiving Soba get himself a little of his own poison, "Sorry. My guests usually know that. If you're hungry there are some left overs. There's beer in the fridge, mystery pretzels," he motioned to a folded crinkly bag on the coffee table.

Cinna sat on the arm chair, tail out from beneath him and to the floor. Half of him was waiting for Soba to just come sit on his lap with how odd the Pilot was. Not that Cinna would have minded, for how distant he made himself seem, he craved closeness he just couldnt afford to have around other Pilots and humans.

Another sip of whiskey and he tilted his head, an ear flicked up. "We - Kulshedra - are.... Odd." Understatement. "We're born and age like humans physically, mentally we're a bit behind. At twenty-five i looked like an adult. Thirty is traditionally when we're officially adults, females - Women - start to have their... Fertility cycles and Males -men - hit their first sort of... plateau. Anyway, despite our long life span, our fertility rate is so low we're still dying out. Probably be extint in the next thousand years or so." Cinna grinned at Soba, the wide ear to ear one before he took another sip of whiskey.

"My mother is a hundred and fifty years old. She's almost finished baking my little brother or sister. Indigo is sixty years older than me. She's the equivilent of a clown car in my culture. Three. She's had three of us. Most couples have one." Cinna gave his tail a wag at the mention of his potential newest sibling and just had a doofy smile on his face.

Right. He had a guest and while Soba was a good liar, no one wanted to stand around and listen to some forty year old man talk about his pregnant mom. "So. Anyway. Give it to me straight. You wanna put your hand in my mouth don't you, or at least check it out. Play with the tail? Touch the scales?" Cinna - what fleshy cheeks he had were flushed, grinned and then "oh! Oh! Oh!" He tugged the collad of his shirt down to show off the cluster of scales at the bass of his throat, "this hurts like a wicked bitch when it gets hurt. Weird deeprooted set of scales. Looks pretty though," and it did, almost shaped like a tiny red rose.

[nephero]

"Hey, I mean, belonging personally to a species that has specifically evolved to be able to do everything on the move, I think I speak for the human race in saying we have no room to talk about odd. Pursuit predators and all." Soba shifted, carefully bending to keep the kittens from toppling off his shoulders as he slowly sank to the floor. Boop and Beep jumped off as soon as he was safely close to the ground, and so he settled cross legged on the floor, whiskey in one hand and the other chasing the kittens about with wiggling fingers.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and there was Cinna's tail wagging away, and the absolutely most goober-esque grin on the other Pilot's face. Soba couldn't help himself; his face split into a wide grin, and he hid a laugh behind his drink glass, feigning another sip. Okay, that was kind of adorable. It was adorable in any general mode, when people talked about family or kids or something that genuinely made them happy. You could always tell; even the biggest hardasses couldn't completely hide fondness. And Cinna was no hardass.

"Three? Damn, son. Though I guess it's a lot easier when they're spaced out by decades, huh? Usually our species just kinda... spits 'em out, and next thing you know you're buried in babies and there is no saving you." He gave Cinna his best horrified, wide-eyed stare, before immediately dissolving into that same shit-eating grin. "Though, word of advice? Probably shouldn't call a pregnant woman a clown car, even if she can't hear you. The baby, you see, grants her superhuman senses, and she will know, and then next thing you know we are down one Cinnamon."

Not that he personally knew Mrs. Rook to be able to say one way or another. But hey, he didn't exactly spend a lot of brainpower on fact-checking. Not that it mattered, because Cinna was already rambling about things like mouths and tails, and it took some considerable effort to keep his train of thought from taking a hard left at the fork between sensible and gutter.

Cinna wasn't making it easy, and Soba took another swig of his drink. He set it onto the nearby coffee table, and shifted forward, careful of the tiny beasts still underfoot. Luckily enough, Cinna's knee was right there, and Soba used it to steady himself as he got somewhat eye-level with the cluster of scales the other Pilot was showing him. Huh, it almost had the same formation as--

Hah! Soba's face split into a beaming grin, and he flicked his gaze upwards at the Kulshedra Pilot.

"Oh shit, twinsies." He tapped at the vibrant coloration on his own pulse, partially hidden behind shirt collar and loose hair as it was. Still, he scooted a bit closer, eyebrow quirked high as he looked between the little cluster of scales and Cinna's own flushed face. "So, anyway. Give it to me straight. You want me to put my hand in your mouth? Play with the tail? Touch the scales?"

Not that he was really gonna wait for confirmation for that last bit, already brushing the pad of his thumb over the little cluster, careful to be as gentle as possible considering the previous comment about them being rather sensitive. But man, he'd just always loved roses. Small surprise, there.

[Draconian]

Twinsies?

Cinna tilted his hear, ears following suit. One up, one down, and he frowned slightly at the tattoo before he tried to look down at his own. Oooh, there was a resemblance. That placed the flower smell. Roses. A slight curious frown and he blinked when Soba started to talk again and he opened his eyes wide in surprise and gave a chuckle though, it quickly died down when the hand was lifted up and he touched that bit of scales.

"Uuuh," Blinking he cleared his throat and his ears waved, uncertainty clear on his... Well, head. "No," Cinna said honestly, "That's just what most people who've never met me are kinda keen on trying out." Still, it made his skin tingle and what flesh was visible rose in goosebumps while Soba examined the cluster of scales, still because he'd offered, Cinna rose his chin to give him better access and he gave his tail a little unsure wave. This was an odd way to be. Slightly leaned in, flushed from whiskey, eyes were half closed.

"Is it a scratch and sniff?" He teased softly, nodding towards the tattoo on Soba's neck and trying - badly - not to smile at the joke. Cinna looked at it, blinking and then back at Soba. He didn't seem like a flower kind of guy. Then again, Soba didn't seem like an anything kind of guy. A curious tilt of his head while he watched him and then Cinna caught his hand and pulled it away. A moment to hold it and examine it in his hands, clawed and scaled. Gently he let go and leaned forward, eyeing that tattoo. "I mean, you already smell like roses and train," Cinna smirked, "but the roses are nice. Just smells like people here," Cinna wrinkled his nose in distaste.

[nephero]

“Tch, hah! Anythin’ is a scratch and sniff if you try hard enough,” Soba shot back. He looked down at the hand against his own, scales and claws versus callouses and bitten down fingernails. There was a slight toughness to the tops of Cinna’s knuckles, like it had been impacted several times over. Impact from throwing punches against a hard surface. Microbreaks. Solidifying bones.

Training.

Cinna did mention a lot of gym time. But even so, it was a bit much. Then again, Soba wasn’t a member of a combat squadron; he had never been front lines in his entire career. Far too much use could be made via investigations and interrogations. Because as bad as their enemies had been, sometimes the Pilots themselves were worse.

Mm, now that was a nasty thought. Soba tilted his head as if to lead the thought drain right out of his head, and for good reason. For one, such disparaging comparisons had no place in anyone’s heads, and for another, such disparaging comparisons had no place while he was supposed to be hanging out playing with kittens in a near-stranger’s home.

Somehow, Soba felt like there was an urban legend warning against doing this sort of thing on your own.

‘And they never heard from Inquisitor Henning again, oooooh,’ or something along those lines. Soba snorted in amusement to himself, and sat back on his heels, giving Cinna some much needed personal space.

“Roses and train,” he said, touching at the space over his own heart and shutting his eyes as if in ecstasy, “I’ve always wanted to smell like a train. Beautiful, wonderful creatures, trains. Do I smell like a pretty one? Tell me I smell like a pretty one.”

Soba slashed another crooked grin up at the other Pilot, snickering even as he finished his sentence. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. Even if he had wanted to be serious for a moment (which he never did), his mouth always shot up faster than his brain could even try to keep up with.

“Oh, perish the thought. An entire city, the most densely populated and largest in the world, a whole city smells like people? You poor, sweet thing…”

The inquisitor shifted, and twisted a bit to lift the tail of his long jacket, providing a sort of tent for the kittens to duck underneath and play at hiding. They were really adorable. The whole box had been adorable, of course, and his favorite was still Peebles, but Boop and Beep (or was it Beep and Boop?) certainly gave him a run for his money. Something about combined cuteness or whatever.

“Does it bother you that people want to stick their hands in your mouth? Being different and shit like that?”

[Draconian]

The grins made him grin.

Cinna let it slip, the sides split to his ears and he looked terrifying for a moment. Quickly enough it was remedied and he had a polite smile again, eyes crinkling and he ducked his head down a little. It struck him as odd then that just seeing a grin made him do so but he rolled his golden eyes and glanced away and then back again.

"Train because you were just on one. Mostly roses," He stated, eyeing his neck, focusing in on the pulse beneath the flesh and he almost licked his lips because he wanted to taste it. Nope. Nope nope. That wasn't for Soba. That wasn't for anyone. That kind of focus wasn't for anyone and how did Indigo do it? Cinna wasn't terribly picky. If someone smelled good and made him laugh they were on the 'interesting' list.

Soba was very high on that list.

Cinna let his eyes drift closed and he leaned in and just existed for a moment.

"Roses and..." He tilted his heat, Cinna looked Soba up and down from his crouched place by the chair before he quirked an eyebrow. Why not just sit on the couch? A glance to it and another lifted eyebrow at his guests choice of seat. The question about being different caught him a little off guard but he just blinked while he thought before he finally stood up out of the chair, tempted to manhandle Soba into it so he'd stop being crouched like a weirdo.

"It did," Cinna said honestly, stretching his arms and going to stand by a window, "Pyre Town is kinda.... Not Gated community, but it's mostly us. So... Someone that's from where I'm from isn't going to wanna stuff their hand in my mouth or pry it open." Cinna shook his head, fluffed his hair and his ears finally began to relax, drifting down to sort of just be the littlest bit floppy by his head.

"But. I can do things you can't do because of what I am," He stuck out a foot and wiggled his weird animal toes, making his walk quiet and careful, his tail swaying to help with his balance, "They didn't just make me eat a cat, I was there for months and they treated me like a dog and I had to let them," Cinna admitted, giving Soba a sober look before he grimaced and look away, "So... Everything after that was fine. As long as I'm treated like a person you can wanna put your hand in my mouth as much as you want. Or y'know. Anything else you can think of." Another arched eyebrow and Cinna gave a chuckle and turned away. Lips a little looser from the whiskey mood a little easier.



A grin and he walked to Soba before he placed his tail on the ground and waved it and just as quickly, two shots of fluffy kitten shot out and attacked. With a happy noise he scooped up the cats and held one in each hand. Boop and Beep. Already couldn't remember which collar belonged to which name. Should write it down and put it on the fridge. Cinna glanced at his drink before he sat back on the cough and nodded to the space beside him, "Wanna sit on something cushy or did you wanna squat the whole time? Figured if you wanna touch me we can at least be on even ground," He nodded to the chair and smirked again, face splitting into another silly grin.

Boop and Beep squirmed out of his hands, and he let them down gently before they slipped away play fighting one another. "I mean, my chest is free game now, the girls are busy."

[nephero]

Ohh, that was adorable.

The way Cinna beamed, wobbly and wide and way too toothy, before seemingly catching himself in the act and correcting his own behavior. Soba loved it when people did that. It felt honest, in its own dishonest way. Soba could respect that.

Also, that mouth was just. So. Cooool.

Then again, a lot of what one could use to describe Cinna fell under “so cool.” His chill manner for one, his quickness with a quip, his tail and his scales and the fact that he had genuinely been able to fit a full coconut in his mouth in order to try biting it open.

So cool.

“Nothing quite like walking out of a place where everyone's dog is named Steve, huh?” He knew, somewhere, that that sentiment had made absolutely no sense, but the sentiment was still there. Indecipherable for his word choice but genuine enough in its feeling. It was hard, going from a place of normalcy to a place where your every move was considered strange.

Made you feel like an outsider in your own home. Soba could respect that.

Cinna’s ears were different. Looser, if that was a word. Like how Peebles was when he curled up to sleep; active, but no longer on edge. Aw, that was nice. And that wasn't the only thing Cinna could do that Soba couldn't. Swish the tail, cross the room without a sound… with his musculature, Cinna could probably bench press the entirety of his human guest-- uniform boots and all.

Something of note, however, hung in the remaining words. Treated like a dog, and Cinna had to just take it. Given, the job always came first, and there were plenty of nasty awful things that had to be done for one's country, but… there was just an indignity to knowing you weren't allowed to fight back. That someone bitch slapping you every day would never know just how big a mistake that was.

That'd have been the part that got under Soba's skin. Just having to sit back and let injustice happen. Sure, Cinna seemed fine, and was all in one piece, but it didn't mean the experience was fun. Soba could absolutely respect that, and the want to be treated equally.

Soba looked down just in time to watch the kittens streak out to pounce on Cinna’s tail. Already the mighty hunters, no low hanging object would ever be safe again! He snorted a bit, rising to his feet and stretching his back with a quiet popping sound. Soba smirked as the kittens spilled over Cinna and one another, pouncing and rolling over one another in their ferocious little play acting. Super cute.

Almost as cute as that little quip. There was some heavy insistence on being touched, tonight, much to his shock. Hands in faces, open casting calls to occupy chest space… well, far be it from him to deny another, well, anything. Finally, Soba shrugged out of his jacket, settling that over the back of the armchair before finally joining Cinna on the couch.

“You know, you are so. Right. It is free game. Oh, no. Gravity has suddenly shifted specifically for me and no one else. I am falling, oh the humanity.”

He play acted at literally falling into the other Pilot's chest, before settling back with a grin, one arm hooked over the back of the couch.

“So, uh, which is which again?”

[Draconian]

Cinnamon Rook had always had a problem with the feelings thing. He watched Soba pretend to fall and he just rolled his eyes good naturedly, glancing away to watch Boop and Beep tumble along the floor. The question about which was which sucked him out of his trance and he blinked before focusing his attention on his guest.

Which was which?

Which was which what?

Cinna paused a moment, thinking about making a joke about his biceps before he just tilted his head and then licked his lips. "That one is Boop and the other one is Beep." Cinna grinned cheekily, because he himself couldn't remember. "I think Beep is the green one," Cinna didn't move any closer to Soba, just turned slightly to look at him in a studying manner.

Not unlike a predator would watch its prey. Though, in this case, that was just what his face looked like and he just happened to be quiet and watching his newest acquantance. "So where did you get them from?" While he asked, he leaned in to look at the roses hiding behind the shirt, reaching for the tattoo with his finger tips- though he gave Soba a moment to slap his hand away before he touched it. "The kittens, I mean, they didn't smell like smoke," A smirk, "It's okay. I won't tell. I am as good at keeping secrets as I am covered in scales. Which is my whole back."

[nephero]

“So your whole back is good at keeping secrets? Duly noted, I'll address any and all sensitive state information to your spine. No eavesdropping.” Soba slashed him a grin, his head tilted and one hand coming up to brush back his hair from his neck and give the other Pilot a better view, as it were.

It wasn't like he minded being touched, after all. And he had just spent a long time staring at scales and predator mouths, so letting Cinna explore his tattoo seemed about fair.

It also gave Soba a moment to consider just how much of the actual truth he wanted to say. Which, of course, was his near constant state of being when you thought about it. Still, for whatever reason, the impulse to lie just wasn't there. He could go the boring route: ‘well, they were in an alleyway and the hydro-ring was on its way, they'd have gotten drenched.’ Or maybe a ‘some super sad kid was trying to get them good homes and I figured what the hell.’ Or he could just go batshit all out with it and talk about bears again. What was with him and bears lately? That wasn't a fixation he remembered having before. Oh well, into the pile it went.

So what to say? There was the truth.

He stared down at Beep (Beep was green, double e’s, very clever) where she lay on the floor, yawning wide to expose all her little canines.

“So, there was a… disciplinary incident.” Not exactly the words he would have used for it, but the official words nonetheless. “MAPD comes up with a dead girl and some scuttlebutt from her coworkers that she'd been going to see a Pilot before, y'know, ending up dead. Now, rumors can be rumors, but the big P was dropped so Inquiry gets involved, you know, standard procedure. Plus, if we can prove a Pilot wasn't involved, hey, PR’s happy.”

He chewed at his lip, and dimly wondered where he'd left his whiskey, because that all sounded real good right now. What the hell had he been thinking, going for the truthful route? Suddenly bears seemed a hell of a lot better.

“So, me doing what I do best, hey bring me to see what's left of this poor kid, right? Best Friday night of your life, at the morgue. You know, for being dead, she still looked good. I mean, she’d really put the effort in for the night, she was so excited--”

The worst part had been the skirt. Of course it had been the skirt, torn and bloodied as it was, the only object in the room that was humming with a story to tell.

She'd been excited. So excited! And come on, who wouldn't have been, getting a hot date with a Pilot? The year had just sucked so bad, it had been so hard to just muster the energy to go to work; mom had finally died (it had been a long time coming, but it still hurt no matter all the ‘she's no longer in pain’ platitudes), the garden had gotten nutrient burn and needed replanting (all that work, wasted!), and her cat--

No, that was too painful.

The only thing that got her out of bed was the kittens. A big box of mewling little babies. She'd tried to give several away, and they'd been adopted out, but there were still these ones left. So she went out, worked her cafe job, kept on moving because who else was going to care for the cats? She had no one else.

At least, until the Pilot walked in.

“Like, this girl really… really wanted to impress him. Not even in the usual ‘ooh look a celebrity’ way, but like… ‘hey, here's someone who's showing interest in me, let me try to be… worthwhile.’ Can you fuckin’ believe that? Went out with all her savings, got an absolutely adorable skirt on clearance, and oh my god they had her size, it was perfect.”

He snorted. “Well, fucker didn't deserve the effort. I'll tell you that much. But the kicker was, this woman was fucking dying, yeah? Dying. She knew it, he knew it, I fuckin’ knew it. And instead of being scared of that? She was scared for her cats. Her cats! Like haha, being strangled, whatever, but who will take care of my kittens when I'm dead in a gutter?”

He blinked, focused back on Beep, and a phantom wave of fondness overtook him. Soba leaned forward, beckoned her with twitching fingers, and he scooped her up into his chest, head bent to nuzzle her forehead.

“So, I got the stamp to raid her apartment, got the kittens, the end. Whole truth. Still say the fire story was better, though. Now about those mystery pretzels... What's the mystery? They haunted? Or ooh, made in a spooky alternate dimension, and no one knows why, but they simply appear in aisle twelve overnight."

[Draconian]

Well that shit was heavy.

Cinna just listened, subtly bringing over the glasses of whiskey to rest on the table while Soba spoke and told the tale of the girl's kittens. That explained the soft scent of purfume. That explained how sweet the kittens were. Cinna was a heart on his sleeve kind of guy when the mood called for it and the whiskey and the heavy story kept words from him. 

It occured to him for a moment that he didn't have a very dangeroua job. Sure it was dangerous sometimes but he always knew what to expect from a bullet. Didn't have to see the story behind it or feel the need to get a box of kittens he hadn't known about. Cinna just did his best to be ready for any mission that happened to come his way. It was never psychological though.

Cinnamon couldn't even imagine that. Living someone's life through memories. Quietly he watched Beep get scooped up and Boop quickly scaled the couch for cuddles too, settling in between the legs for warmth and pets.  It was impulsive and stupid.

Instead of answering about the pretzels immediately a strong warm hand pressed against the back of Soba's neck and pulled him forward. Cinna nuzzled into his hair for a moment before tucking his head under his chin and his red scaley beast-hand moved up and down Soba's back for a moment.

It was a quiet rumble at first before it became a full fledged purr, making his chest vibrate. "They're a mystery because I have no idea where they came from, they're probably stale." his voice had an odd tone to it, provided by the purr and he let his hand rest on the back of Soba's head, thumb idly tangling the hair. "You okay? You back?" Refering to his descent into someone elses head.  Boop, enamoured with the purr, squished closed to Cinna's abdomen.

"Do you wanna go out?" He asked, "of here. Go somewhere else. Or whiskey and snuggle kittens?"

[nephero]

Well that was one way to lighten the mood. Maybe the truth had been the worst option to go with. Cinna might have asked for the real story, but fuck, no one ever actually  wanted the real story. Not when it was something like that.

Beep mewed, long and loud and insistent upon scratches behind one over large ear. Soba had expected the silence-- what did you even say to something like that?-- but he hadn't expected the hand. For one solid moment he wasn't sure of what was happening, and thus was equally unsure of what to do. Cinna had tucked himself close, which was a weird expression of physics considering the Kulshedra Pilot was several inches taller than he. But tucked in he was, physics be damned, and as he rubbed his hand over Soba's back, a deep-seated rumble rose up from the Kulshedra’s chest. He was purring.

Cinna was purring.

It wasn't anything Soba had expected, and it worked like a charm. He was pulled far away from that dark alleyway of a thought, the purring both a distraction and, admittedly, a kind of comfort in and of itself.

Like when Peebles curled up against his neck at night, his tiny little body rumbling against his jaw. It was soothing, an audible assurance that everything was okay. The cats were all okay.

Shit.

“Yeah, nah, I'm okay. It's cool, it's nothing new.” He said, shrugging a bit but not exactly squirming to exit the exceptionally purr-y pile he suddenly found himself a part of. Soba scratched under Beep’s chin, watched her little eyes close in delight, feeling rather sympathetic to the notion considering the hand at the back of his neck. Soba never really asked for comfort, nor did it ever really occur to him to ask for it. Funny, how you never realised you were missing something until it was handed to you.

He cleared his throat a bit, bringing up another crooked grin followed by a shrug. Honestly, either option was good, but there was still that low key burning need to get the hell away from that accidental feels jam he'd spilled over Cinna’s carpet.

“What, you wanna go pressing the doorbell of every apartment ending in two? Cinnamon Rook, you mischievous little minx.”

[Draconian]

Both hands moved to the side of Soba's head and he gently rolled his thums over the temples before he finally backed away. A hand moving to his neck to press his palm to the roses. Cinna just listened and finally...

"Excuse me?" He laughed, sitting up and untangling his arms from Soba's head and neck. "A minx?" Cinna's mouth opened in surprise before he reached to the table and pushed Soba's glass towards him. Cinna had brought his own over too and downed that in a gulp.

"A minx," Cinna repeated, looking at Soba's lips for a moment, then his neck and then his lips again. Cinna scooped Boop up and nuzzled her before he pressed a kiss to her little head and put her down to the floor. "I was more thinking of a walk to grab something you like to drink. Bite to eat. Watch a bad movie. Or a good movie. Or no movie." Cinna shrugged before he stood up, "Or I can make you dinner."

A bright happy smile though it quickly disappated and Cinna was back to the polite smile, hooking his thumbs into the belt holes of his jeans. "Or if you're feeling super awkward about the purring you can go home. I won't take it personally." A glance away and he cleared his throat, looking at his glass and taking a deep breath. "I'm a pretty good cook though, if you're interested."

[nephero]

Soba grinned over his glass, taking a little sip of the whiskey that had been brought over somewhere in the throes of Memory Lane.

“A minx,” he repeated, snickering at the way Cinna sputtered in indignation. His expressions were just to die for. The dopey too-big grins and the brow-cocked-are-you-serious looks, anxious floppy ears and now this.

Soba looked at him after another solid swallow of the offered whiskey, noting how quick Cinna was to cover up his big ol’ smile and assure Soba that no offense would be taken if he preferred to leave.

Offense, sure. But Soba wondered if he'd really be okay with it. The Inquisitor suspected, strongly, that the answer would be ‘no’.

Not that Soba wanted to suddenly run off in the first place. Sure, the purring was different, but hell. He liked different. And it’d been a long time since anyone but Tyke had tried to make him feel better like that.

A real long time. Shit.

Wait, Cinna was probably waiting for an answer, and there Soba was, staring at the super-totally-casual way Cinna hooked his thumbs into his jeans. Okay, probably could have picked a better place to space out there, that might've given off a different vibe altogether. He readied up another grin, and nodded with a shrug.

“I'm way interested. Dinner sounds good. Bad movie sounds even better. You ever see Havina Connection? Out of this world stupid, it's an absolute art. I'll even help peel potatoes, or whatever it is.” Soba stood up then as well, collecting the empty glasses and setting those in the sink to rinse out later.

[Draconian]

Eugh.

Soba looked cute when he just zoned out. Patience was a virtue though and Cinna the Predator had patience is spades. Like a cat he could wait for the little birdy to move and when it did he could pounce... Except Soba wasn't a little birdy and he looked a thousand miles away. Just staring and thinking. Short circuit? Cinna kept himself occupied by wiggling his ears up and down like a clock, tick-tocking with them quietly before... Ah there it was.

The reply was surprising but pleasant.

Cinna had been expecting a 'yeah that was weird, I'mma grab my coat and go,' so he gave a weird little pleased trill that surprised even him because his hand moved to his throat and he looked extremely confused for a moment. Clearing his throat with a few noices he frowned, shook his head and stretched his arms up before he made his way to his fridge. Because of Cinna's size, his daily life and the fact he was always hungry, it was clear Cinna appreciated dining to fancy apartment.

"Steak?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder to watch Soba put the glasses in the sink. A little wave of his tail betrayed that the little show of comfort pleased him. Then he finally processed the words he spoke on his way over, reaching into the fridge for a bag of potatos, he plopped those down on the counter, fetched a cutting board and a knife - and a peeler - and put those down on the counter with a grin.

"Never saw it. Don't really watch many shows. Mostly just..." Cinna gave a simple shrug and blinked, "Do stuff." Cinna couldn't think of what he did now. Probably read. They hadn't been to his bedroom - why would they go to his bedroom - but one wall was a shelf just absolutely covered in books. Honestly to goodness books. And a pair of reading glasses. Good thing that door was closed.

Right. Guest.

Cinna pulled out an onion, some mushrooms, a pan, various spices before he looked at the potatos and then at the onion and mushrooms. Quickly, he switched, "Slice those up," He said briskly before he started to peel the potatos with ease and getting a pot and ... Cinna was efficient. Before long, the potatoes were bubbling away happily and he kept sliding a few different vegetables to Soba to cut up. The onion and mushrooms were to compliment the steak, the other vegetables went with the soon to be done potatoes.

"Do you cook often?" Cinna asked, glancing at him before he cranked the heat on the pan, the steak having had time to settle, "I usually do. Unless we're doing drills that require something specific evenings are free. Or y'know, away on a mission. " The steak hit the pan with a loud hiss and it stayed there a moment before he got the edges and then finally the other side, "How do you like it?" He asked softly, looking at Soba from under his eyelashes and his slowly drooping red hair, the product failing, "Your steak."

[nephero]

Whatever that noise had been, Soba needed to hear it again. Possibly record it, play it over and over on an eight hour cassette tape that he'd have to somehow unearth the ancient technology to even create. This shit needed to be preserved, dammit!

It seemed to take Cinna by nearly as much surprise as Soba himself, though the Inquisitor did at least have the manners to keep his smirk at a bare minimum. Just only lightly teasing, a silent little 'I heard that'. Which quickly melted into a wide grin as soon as the word "steak" left Cinna's mouth. Because hell yes Soba wanted steak. Nothing like a hot slice of beef to go with terrible films. Or, whatever the old adage was. Was there something for this precise situation? No? Oh, well.

"Pfft, oh man. Okay, so to start, the guy who made this movie bankrupted himself getting it on film. So let that sink in." He grinned, about halfway through washing his hands before the potatoes were swapped out for onions and mushrooms. Yeah, Soba could do either. He wasn't nearly as quick as Cinna, though, almost embarrassingly so, and for every potato peeled and cut Soba had maybe gotten a small handful of the other vegetables squared away. Damn, gettin' his ass roasted in the kitchen. Thank god he'd never went in on that celebrity chef deal.

"Nah, I just get takeout. Thanati, spaghetti, you know. Oh, wait, I had soup the other day. Yup, that about covers my cooking skills. Plus I like answering the door in increasingly wild outfits. More fun that way." He grinned over his shoulder at Cinna, passing along the onions and mushrooms as he dealt with them. "My schedule... tends to vary. But I usually go for the standard night shifts if I can help it. Vampire watching, two birds one stone, that whole chestnut."

There went the truth again. Why the hell did that keep happening? Clearly he needed to get his fluids checked, or tires aligned or something, because that was weird. Still, the whole thing was nice. This was nice. Even if he was the worst vegetable chopper known to man, the whole act of even helping to make a dinner was a novelty. A pleasant novelty, not some cheap knockoff thing. He didn't even have the proper word for what it felt like, just that it was new and he liked it. Which was... utterly alarming in and of itself. Like, especially alarming. Five-bell alarming.

He nearly took off a chunk of his thumb, barely missing the digit by inches, and decided that maybe that was enough vegetables for the moment. Because nothing screamed "chill hangouts" like spraying blood everywhere. Good gods. Soba cleared his throat as if horrible injury had NOT almost just occured, and finally turned to answer the question about steaks.

"Medium rare. I like it juicy." Finger pistols and a wink. Super smooth. No near misses here.