Hollowstone One ca(n')t, but toucan

@j-zizzle
outfit

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Remote farmland was good hunting ground. The sorts who lived out here were often removed from the larger woes of the world, stuck in a little life of their own, tending their crops and minding their families and little more. Not a hard rule, but a tendency. Alby would know because he had been one, once.

He did not think to breathe as he went from tree to tree to lightpost to roof across the way, not counting on the land he crossed into to smell like some strange, sharp, unappealing odor. So unaware of the futility of his intentions, he landed on the roof of the farmhouse lightly and with a well practiced croak.

Perhaps he should have been trying to be discreet--if his goal had not been to lure someone outside. Anyone, really, he was not particular, and he liked to think he was good at being kind to his meals. From young people with a lot of fight in them to old people with kind eyes and wrinkled hands, in the end they were all the same, served the same purpose. His job was to make sure the masses had the food to feed themselves, and he felt well justified in taking some in turn.

So he sat at the edge of a gutter, pecking at a shingle, making scratching noises and trying to pry it loose. He got one--or part of one--free and dropped it to the porch down below. Rifling through the rain gutter he found bits of debris to toss to join it.

Just an exotic bird, messing around on the roof, attracting attention, as one does. He listened for movement inside the upper windows, certain he was about to rouse some farmer from his sleep, though... everything did seem oddly still inside, didn't it.

Wasn't planned. Not thoroughly anyway. Not like his trips to the Camp. Sanctuary. But it wasn't a sudden accident either. Not like he'd done with Asha, at the old Terrace and then in the woods. Just a sudden pressing need.

Hope hadn't stuck around tonight. Didn't blame her. He'd been... It wasn't anything like the other night, weird stupid little almost fight after the other cats had headed home. But he'd been a little more withdrawn than usual, feeling... Mmm, dumb feelings. Didn't matter. Had brushed it off as just tired from the days in his beer booth. Reasonably true. Weird maybe, since he did a lot more work on days at the farm than he ever could sitting in a little tent, but being around people, crowds, constantly... Fuck, it was draining. They'd mutually decided it was good to just take the night to rest separately.

Not a big deal. Nothing to worry about. But after she'd left... Kind of regretted it. Stupid to call, see if she'd come back. Stupid.

He was just restless. Wanted out. Wanted the night. Wasn't even sure it was Stowaway forcing the issue or if it was just him not wanting to think, looking to cede control and be a thoughtless animal for a bit. Regardless, the setting sun saw him shedding his clothes in the barn before pained gasps and grunts gave way to surly little yowls.

He didn't roam far, certainly not far enough to miss the scent and sounds of the invader. Shane was barely cognizant inside, but Stowaway remembered that scent. Remembered it caused anxiety. That was a bad scent. Confusing, barely understood. But bad.

Green eyes peered effortlessly through the deepening gloom, taking in the dark form that alit on his home. His property. His territory. His. Soft paws made virtually no sound at all as stubby little striped legs carried him low along the ground, keeping cover where he could as he neared the human's den, the smaller structure beside it. The structure that was especially his, now. And as he considered that structure, what he'd often found within it, he looked again at the invader and made a new association. A hungry association.

Chicken.

Strong, dangerous, deadly paws left the ground, powerful legs propelling him with barely a whisper onto the coop's slanted roof. There he crouched anew, clever and careful and the best hunter there ever was. It was a mighty distance from the coop's low roof to the house's high one, but he was mightier. This was his place. His. He was strong. He would have his new meal. Nothing could deny him.

A short sprint and an impossible leap. Strong, strong legs. Sharp, strong teeth. Sharper claws. He would close the gap, for he was mighty. He was the silent killer. He was unstoppable.

He was so, so overconfident. The black footed cat thudded into the side of the house, found no solid purchase with his strong, sharp claws, and tumbled onto the wooden porch. Glaring up at the dark chicken, he let a low growl. He had meant to do that, yes. That was only a warning, yes. He was mighty.

There really seemed to be nothing inside, and it was curious. The toucan had gone somewhat still after a bit, listening for heartbeats, for soft breaths, anything inside that might have seemed more promising than stillness. But it was as quiet as it was dark, and he heard barely anything at all other than the whisper of nature itself. If a bird could frown, he might have, knowing it would be a tiring trek to the nearest neighbor to try again.

And just when he was contemplating tonight's plan as potentially one without teeth, there was movement down below where he perched. Something running, leaping at the house with intent. He hopped back, wings flaring slightly, just taken off guard. A cat, looked like. A house cat, even. One that seemed to think him interesting enough to scale walls for. But the feline simply bounced off the surface of the home, falling back. Gracefully, as cats did, but...

The growl, sharp green eyes. Then Alby peered over the edge and croaked a series of noises that were definitely bird noises but... also not quite. If one felt paranoid enough, they might even think the strange bird was laughing at the cat.

Clacking his beak he angled his head down to nibble at the edge of a shingle again, trying to pry it loose or rip a piece off. Didn't take much between a strong beak and human intelligence, and with a hop hop he tried to line up to drop the scrap of debris on the animal that he could only assume was kept around to stave off rats.

Ears were low, airplaned out to the sides as he made unmistakably threatening noises at the dark chicken. Body was low, still held close to the ground on strong legs ready to spring. Spirits were low, pretty annoyed about how that pounce had gone. Pretty annoyed about the human den being damaged. The cat had no idea what shingles were for, but they were probably there for a reason. Dumb chicken.

All combined: the angry distress, the familiar scent, and now the shared information that his handiwork was being vandalized; it was enough to draw the human mind back out. At least a little. What was happening right now? Why was he staring at a... What kind of bird was that? It was the cereal... What was it, one of the ones he'd never had growing up, had then tried once as an adult and found it way too sweet. Froot Loops. It was the Froot Loops bird. Except not a cartoon. Those, whatever they were, did not live in Colorado. An escaped pet? The last time he'd thought some invading creature was an escaped exotic pet, the whole thing hadn't really worked out great for him, and the animal turned out to be...

Were there werebirds?! But no, that scent. Why were we paying attention to a bird when there was a vampire nearby?! Goddammit, cat!

Wait, could vampires...?

The thought, so close to actually helpful, was interrupted as cat reflexes had the small shared body dodging to the side as further roofing debris finally came tumbling down. No thinking, only doing! Hunting, biting! Stowaway leapt back onto the coop and resumed his anxious angry crouch, but quickly abandoned it to stalk back and forth, eyeing the invader. A yowl. Two yowls! Come down here and be eaten, dumb chicken!

Angry, so angry! He'd never seen a feline so utterly furious with him, truthfully. Perhaps it was rabid. It moved around like it wished to hunt him, and he felt no small amusement about it. If only it knew what it was dealing with, it wouldn't bother. To be sure, it could hurt him if he let it, but he was much too quick and smart and didn't fear a single thing about it.

He sort of wanted to see it take that leap at the roof again. He shuffled along the gutter towards the coop again, so he could be just over where the suspicious little feline was. Took in a breath simply so he could make all sorts of mocking noises at the little animal, but found this brought with a surprise.

Not so normal a cat smell. Suspicion and curiosity budded up along his consciousness and he dared to wonder...

All this, a thought as he sang a toucan song at the animal, trying to decide if the hue of those green eyes were natural to the animal or if... goodness, were housecat shifters a thing?

Closer, yes. Come closer. No, don't sing, dumb chicken, keep coming closer. Shane began forcing his way back to the fore, taking in the steady scent of death. Didn't love that. Well, actually it was a little appetizing. Didn't love that.

Piercing green eyes narrowed once more, though less with malicious intent than simply a thoughtful squint. Mmm. Vampires in Hollowstone. Worse, right here. Right where Hope frequently was. Where Parker sometimes was. Where Suri... Suri could probably handle herself, but still.

Honestly it was fully possible this was some mistake. The scent... He was pretty convinced of what he was smelling, but whether it was actually coming from the bird, that was only a guess. Sharp ears picked up little else, though, and Froot Loop birds did not live in Colorado. Which was also technically a guess, but he'd never seen one before tonight, so.

Teeth bared in a fresh angry cry, something of Stowaway's aggression returning. Shared aggression, really. He didn't like having vampires in Hollowstone. Shane yet trusted Asha's word and experience far more than some mystery woman with an even harder to pronounce name who refused a handshake.

"Mrowl," he insisted, jaw working oddly. It was difficult to focus past the cat brain, to focus on words and make his mouth make them. "Mrowrrrn't... mrrrelcome." Fuck's sake, he sounded ridiculous. To both brains. Figure it out.

They were having a stare down. Alby tilted his strange bird head so he could put one eye staring directly down at that grumpy little face. Truly, adorable. Adorable with a lot of teeth and a very angry rattle. He crackled back, still mocking. Still wondering...

Nope, not wondering, not anymore. Those were definitely words. Garbled by sharp teeth and a feline's disposition, but words. Human words. The toucan popped back upright as if startled, staring now straight down his long beak, subtle tilts back and forth to put one eye then the other on the tiny little shifter.

Not normally one to be a terror for the sake of it, he still couldn't help but be so utterly entranced by this unexpected turn. And maybe, just maybe, a little worried about his state of hunger. Far from starving but... he'd been counting on tonight.

Mrrrelcome. If he didn't know better--and he did--he would think hew was being welcomed, but given posture and the other attempt at noises, he felt... perhaps the opposite was being relayed terribly.

He was not a parrot. He could not technically bird mimic like a parrot could have.

But he could pretend to.

"Mrrrrrrelcome!" he squawked. Not his first time playing this card, but the first time he'd ever done it to a cat!

A deeper squint took those green eyes, nearly black for how massive the pupils sat. The expression was agreed upon, a joint endeavor, even if for Stowaway's part it was all about wanting to eat the dumb dark chicken, while Shane's had more to do with trying to figure it out. Could that kind of bird speak? He certainly didn't know that they couldn't, just like he didn't know that this thing was a vampire. He was about positive one was about, less so whether this was it. He'd feel awfully stupid if he spent the night sitting here screaming at a bird, and he really, really didn't enjoy feeling stupid.

But he'd feel worse if it came to pass he'd let a vampire think it could get away with violating his home. If this became something less than a safe haven for the others... no. No, he'd risk being stupid to stop that. So commit.

"Go... mroway," he tried again. Simple, clear, commanding words, though they still came out in a garbled mix with Stowaway's angry noises. Striving for more clarity, he laid out in no uncertain terms, "No... vammmpires in... Hollowwlllrrstone."

Valiant effort, bud. Shane thought about that horrific, powerful form Asha had taken when he'd pissed her off. Parker had assured him he'd be able to do that at some point. He wished that point was now. A cat so small it didn't even hit double digits in poundage and had no easy way to reach the roof was probably less intimidating than even his human shape. But returning to that would mean a long sleep. Vulnerability. He could be murdered in short order. So housecat it was.

For maybe the first time, he felt some envy toward Mateo. A lion's body would be a lot more useful right now.

Oh ho ho ho, seemed the little cat seemed to believe it was onto something here. Still furious, and for what reason? Well, vampires simply weren't allowed, you see.

Wondered why that was.

The bird stopped making noise a moment, going very still, turning his head again to stare with one eye down at the feline who had fury written all over its posture. Mean little thing. Maybe for good reason, but it was certainly odd reception when Alby had not experienced any unwelcome anything around town other than avoiding claimed vampire territory for the time being.

"Is that so?" the bird asked, plain as day, sounded suddenly very much like a middle aged man with an inconsequential accent.

Well. Fuck. Whatever sense of accomplishment there was in being proven right was pretty fucking severely overshadowed by the fact there was a vampire sitting on his roof. And apparently they could turn into birds. Outstanding. The cat body reacted accordingly, stiffening into a half crouch, back arched furiously and fur puffed up to the greatest possible degree. Which wasn't much; his fur was pretty short.

He eyed it, Stowaway wanting very badly to make a second attempt at leaping onto the roof. Shane wasn't one hundred percent sure they couldn't make it, were strength being what it was and all. But he also wasn't quite ready to get in a fight with something that might be able to very easily kill him in this form. That wasn't going to help anyone. The body twitched some as he fought for greater control against the cat's fierce temper.

Ultimately he was able to settle into a fresh little pace, stalking back and forth atop the coop to try and settle the cat and give himself time to think, to plan. To the bird, vampire, thing, he only threw back the cleanest word yet.

"Yeh."

Goodness, but it was very difficult to think of this thing as anything but a cat. A kitten, even. It pulled to mind a very youthful sort of shifter, for all Alby couldn't possibly decide what a person who could turn into this looked like.

He had a lot of curiosity. Some of it about why the creature was so upset at his presence here. He wondered how much it could talk--he'd never exactly had a conversation with a shifted animal before. Plenty of non-shifted ones in the last couple of years, but almost always briefly. This was a first, and he was loathe to glide off after such a quick encounter. It was rude, to be sure, to stick around on someone's property after they had all but asked you to go, but Alby promised no harm.

"Are you the owner of this handsome farmstead?"

One trick to living a long life was learning as much as you possibly could. He didn't move or hop around anymore, gone quite still.

It wasn't leaving. He, if the voice was anything to go by. Honestly, thank fuck. If this did turn into a fight, he really didn't need lingering discomfort with violence toward women being a factor. But that... Mmm, hard to say yet, but didn't seem like the thing was here for that. Which made two for two with vamp encounters where they were just... curious. Shane was really unsure he wanted to provide any concrete information to this thing, but it was kind of between that and just staring at it.

And he did stare, still walking back and forth, head swiveling as needed to keep his eyes locked on the bird. "Yeh," he repeated. Wasn't sure if this was flattery? Did take pride in his land, but... Mmm, felt more like a "nice farm, shame if something happened to it." But that could easily just be his Asha-based discomfort with vampires? Plus Stowaway's general aggression toward everything that wasn't a BFC. Unless it had brought him jerky. He doubted the vampire had.

"Why... here-rowl?" he added, not quite able to keep a low sound of continued agitation off the end.

The exotic bird blinked, never really taking his eyes off the cat, but having gone gargoyle still and planted.

A fair question came from the landowner. Alby had nothing to hide. If this cat knew he was a vampire, then he knew what it was he did. No reason to be bashful or defensive. "I came here to find something to eat." Not hunt. To call something a hunting ground was one thing, that could be interpreted in a great many ways, but Alby had always felt hunt, as a verb, implied some sort of death at the end. At least when applied to animals and people. Didn't care for it. Ailbe Ó Gríofa was not a killing man.

Wondered, though, if the shifter would try and read into it like that, anyway. Mean spirited as it seemed to be.

Well, he'd fuckin' asked. Points for honesty, he supposed. But it was hardly a calming response. The prowling pacing persisted, feline lips parting to present only a perturbed, "Mmm..."

This meant blood, right? Shane didn't really know for sure that's what vampires consumed. Didn't really know... almost anything about them. Did they kill to eat? Could they feed off weres? They smelled like corpses, Asha didn't like them, and the two he'd met had been polite in a kind of snobby and aloof way, and also curious about him. This was about the whole of his knowledge on the things. And he didn't know it, but one of those was really more of an oversimplified misinterpretation on his part.

"Gonna be... mmrrr, disappointed." He finally settled on. He was not food. Even if—and it was a huge fuckin' if—he were inclined to permit a relatively harmless feeding on himself because of his accelerated healing and suchlike, no way in fuck would Stowaway go for that. Cat still wanted its teeth in this thing. That aggression bled across even in human form these days. With the cat in its own body? Damn near impossible to deflect.

The bird leaned out a little further, as if it might simply let go and divebomb the little cat. But he didn't, remaining still and gripped to the gutter. Croaked at him again, just to see if that noise would elicit anything from the animal brain he felt he was perhaps about... half dealing with. Then added, much more clearly, "I take it you're the only one here, then."

He could not feed from a shifter, was not sure he would want to try anyway. Wasn't appealing. He'd never tried and had never met anyone who had, and while he was curious he wasn't so experimental as to try.

His tail flared slightly behind him as he debated his next move, knowing he wasn't exactly making friends here.

"Yeh." What a wonderful word. Nearly interchangeable with "kay" and either able to answer so, so many questions. And not too hard to get out of a fang filled cat mouth.

Still pacing, still eyeing the bird. Still really not planning to do anything further, hoping he wouldn't have to. Still an effective front to keep Stowaway... Content wasn't quite right. Happy was way fucking inaccurate. Ameliorated? That was a word, right? Maybe? This was why he stuck to kay.

"Dooorrrll." Tiny cat head shook, breaking his stare at the bird finally. Fucking cat brain, making this hard. Harder than it already had to be. "Don't much want you murderin' my neighbors either."

Figured. And even if this cat hadn't been alone, there wasn't much chance of him feeding on any humans in the household, regardless. Still... good to know he had no reason to come back here. Short of being an ass, which he was actually being a bit, at the moment. And he knew it. But so long as everything remained harmless, did it really hurt to pick a brain?

The declaration the punctuated the cat man's thoughts was a surprise even to Alby. Purposefully he let his wings flare out to either side, but didn't let go of his perch, beak cracking open.

"Who said anything about murdering?"

What? Shane didn't like questions that made him feel stupid, highlighted how little he knew about anything. Left him with the same annoyed aggression, voice still cut by petite feline growls. But there was a certain uncertainty buried within his words now.

"Uhrrl, drink blood, right? Sorrrll..."

Paced. Paced paced paced. Stowaway wanted a bite.

How terrible and presumptive. A few of his feathers ruffled and he snapped his beak shut in a gesture that was much more threatening to fruit than it was to this shifter.

"Nothing dies when I eat, little cat. Can you say the same?"

Alby wouldn't say that what he did to sustain himself was entirely within the bounds of normal human ethics, but he did not leave bodies in his wake. Not these days, anyhow.

Little cat. Supposed it was accurate but it sounded derogatory all the same. Another chord of annoyance, but a fairly minor one in perspective. Catbrain was able to grasp the derision through manbrain's translation though, and gave a fresh yowl of anger. Which really only emphasized the bird's point. Dumb animal.

Strictly speaking, since that first night and excepting the occasional bird or rodent hunt in the Sanctuary or suchlike, Stowaway didn't really make his own kills. For planned shifts Shane tended to provide meat. He didn't see much value in indulging the asshole cat's hunting instincts over readily consumable meat. Could clear the occasional rat out of the barn, but... Shane didn't really want to wake up with that aftertaste. Bad enough knowing the places Stowaway put their tongue.

But it seemed less important to argue that it did to try and grasp what else the birdpire had said. After a moment to get the angry cat noises under control again, he managed, "Don't kill folk?"

Ah, what was this, a revelation? For a beast who bore his teeth against the idea of a vampire so quickly, he apparently didn't know much.

Alby, for all he was feeling rather unkind in his spirit right now, saw this as a teaching opportunity. So instead of giving up on this assumptive little monster, he waited until he was done strumming his vocals before explaining. "Wouldn't be so easy to keep eating several times in any given week if I was constantly destroying my food supply, would it? Entire towns, gone in a year? Oh dear, it would be a mess."

The argument that he didn't know that vampires had to eat several times a week wouldn't be spoken. Ignorance was continually Shane's only defense and he increasingly hated this fact. It was unfortunate and perplexing that what he'd heard about vampires was kinda of running straight against his personal experiences. Twice now they'd happened upon his stomping grounds, seeming only curious and talkative, and he'd just about run them off twice. And he was still pretty opposed to this cereal bird feeding on anyone he knew, but...

Mmm. Also meant... Quick math was hard, but it was less than a couple hundred folk if he ate and killed three times a week. So, well, like, to theoretically depopulate towns... Fuck, there were probably a lot of these things.

"Kay," he managed before having a bit of a spitting fit. No talk, only eat. Stowaway was hungry.

But fuck you, cat. This was a learning moment and while those were uncomfortable and he kind of hated them, Shane knew better than to squander it. He started thinking about chicken breast to calm the cat down a little, promises of a later, easier meal.

"Didn't..." He paced back and forth twice more before asserting enough influence to settle into a seat, grumpy catbrain sulking in the background. "Don't know much about it."

Angry, but listening. It was pretty fascinating to watch, this mix between man and beast. Alby was grateful, in the end, that he was far enough up that such a small cat could not get to him. They were both benefiting from the distance.

Disappointed as he was not to be able to eat her, an as distasteful as the reception was, everyone deserved a chance to clamber out of ignorance.

Tilting his head to look down directly at the cat with one eye again, the bird seemed to nod. "Well, now you do. Trust me, you will be hearing no stories of vampires, no tales of murder from your neighbors tomorrow."

And with that... perhaps it was all he had to offer. The bird straightened back up, began to look around for some exit strategy that might take him to some lights in the distance.

Kay. He didn't say it, feeling like he was beginning to run pretty low on words. Cat mouth didn't like them. Jaws opened to run a tongue over sharp little fangers and the peeled back lips around them, a more menacing version of the human popping his jaw after too much clenching. Or it would have been menacing, if he were a larger predator.

Maybe it was Shane's casual familiarity with animals. More likely the cat's instinctual understanding and reflexive responses to a bird readying to take flight. In any event, he became aware the encounter was drawing to a close, and while he was eager enough for this, something occurred to him.

"Mrrrrl," he began before rapidly shaking his head side to side. "Uh, know a vampire named..." Fuck, what was it. Something weird, yeah. He mostly remembered but even in Shane's human mouth it fit oddly. Best he could do was break it down into words he knew.

"Bow... regard?"

Sadly, before the name was even announced, Alby knew that the likelihood of his knowing whoever this feline was after was slim to none. He had yet to connect with any of the locals, and the chances of a name being one from elsewhere was vanishingly small. And so, little surprise, Bow-regard meant little to nothing to Alby.

Maye someday. But not today.

"Afraid not. Some reason you've staked this one in particular?" Maybe there would be no answer to that, and Alby supposed that was fine. He'd intended to abandon this conversation anyway, seeing as conversing with an animal was tenuous at best. And he was still hungry.

Staked. Was that a dark joke? Shrugging in this form felt... wrong, so instead he followed the cat's instincts—no, not the violent, territorial ones that would see him careening into the side of the house again—and licked at a paw for several moments before regarding the bird again.

"Hard to..." The softest little growl, and the cat shook its head again. "Just need words."

And he went back to licking at his paw, rubbing the extremity over the top of his head once it was good and saturated.

Need words? Here? Or with Bow-regard?

Either way, Alby was in no place to help the feline farmer. Shame, really, he might have liked the opportunity to dangle something in front of the shifter, see what else made him what he was.

Instead, "Best of luck," he said, then without a single toucan-appropriate noise he backed away, hopped along the roof, and disappeared out towards distant lights on dark wings.