video;

[shifting]

[there's a frazzled shapeshifter on your screens today, imPorts. He rubs a hand against his mouth and the scruff of his chin awkwardly, like he's going to make an effort to collect his thoughts - then promptly throws that plan out the window.]

Hey, uh. Sorta a specific question, but has anyone ever... lost track of a day and shown up at the Porter? With somethin' changed? Is that just - somethin' that happens on top of all the other weird shit this place does to a person?

Comments

video

[shifting]

That's the part I haven't quite figured out yet. Didn't really come with an instruction manual.

[and as self-explanatory as "lick your wounds" sounds, he's not exactly eager to go testing it out.]

video

[rathercommon]

Hm. You didn't get any help? No new file or anything?

voice;

[shifting]

Well, yeah... but it's. [a pause. How to put this delicately.] It'd be weird to just go try.

[rathercommon]

Weird...How d'you mean, weird?

[shifting]

...

...I think I'd have to lick somebody.

[rathercommon]

[ A beat, and then a completely unapologetic giggle. She isn't laughing with him; she's laughing at him. ]

Right. And then what happens?

[shifting]

[yeah, he's getting that. As annoyed as Sam wants to be, he can't help but snort out a little laugh too. This is too goddamn weird not to find it completely hilarious.]

And then I think it heals 'em. That's my guess, anyway. Like I said, haven't been eager to go stick my tongue out an' test it.

[rathercommon]

[ With complete innocence: ]

Well, the weather's been so bad - I've got a bit of a split lip.

[shifting]

[Jesus, Kitty. Sam shakes his head, smiling despite himself.]

Y'don't say. That must hurt like a bitch.

[rathercommon]

Yeah, lips chapped, you know how it goes.

[ And she looks slyly over at Sam on the screen, trying to see if this is working...? ]

[shifting]

You know, Miss Kitty, funnily enough, I might have somethin' that could help that now.

[it might be working. Just a little.]

[rathercommon]

[ And then she breaks out in the giggles, and relents with: ]

I mean - I've also got a hangnail. That might be an easier start.

[shifting]

Sure. That'd be just fine too. Actually was just about to make dinner if you wanted to come over now.

[rathercommon]

Oh - I'd really like that. What can I bring?

[shifting]

How 'bout a loaf of bread? Makin' jambalaya, that'd be good to have with it.

[rathercommon]

Making - jumble...What on earth is that?

[shifting]

The most delicious blend of shrimp, rice, and sausage your mouth's ever gonna have the pleasure of tasting.

[rathercommon]

That's quite the claim. And that sounds good - I've never tried shrimp before.

Right. Bread. I can do that. And beer, I'm guessing? You've probably had enough wine for a lifetime.

[shifting]

I've got plenty to drown our livers in at the house. Just don't tell my parole officer.

[rathercommon]

[ She does her best Chilton-esque Educated American Accent. (It sounds terrible.) ]

I'm sure he'd put it in his report.

[shifting]

[but good enough for a laugh.]

In triplicate.

I'll send you the address.

[rathercommon]

Brilliant.

[ And Kitty shows up a little while after, a long baguette in a paper bag tucked under her arm, dressed in a leather jacket and a red kerchief, looking aggressively cool. Because, you know. She's cool. Totally cool. Not even remotely nervous that a really handsome guy was a little bit flirty towards her and was possibly entertaining the idea of a kiss. Who would be nervous about that? That would be stupid.

She knocks on the door, and greets him with a - ]

Hey.

[shifting]

Well hey. [a genuinely warm greeting, and he steps aside to let Kitty into his home. The space is small and rustic, decorated simply, with an open kitchen leading right into a small living room. A wooden stairway leads up to the loft, where a second-story space with a bed can be viewed from the right angle.

Simple, small. Just enough room for a man living by his lonesome. A picture made all the more complete by the bachelor's outfit Sam has on - a white T-shirt and pajama pants. Probably he should have changed for company, but it's late and he's tired, and he doubts Kitty will judge him.]

Like the jacket. [commented over his shoulder as he turns the stove off, transferring the brimming pot of creole goodness to a cooler burner.] You're welcome to take a seat at the table, 'less you want to start cuttin' that bread up. Thanks for bringin' it.

Can I get you a beer?

[rathercommon]

I'd love one.

[ Kitty was raised as and programmed to be a Good English Hostess, both by her mother and by the schools that were dedicated to educating the next generation of servants and chauffeurs; as much as she fights that programming, she can't possibly just take a seat. So she grabs a cutting board, grabs a serrated knife, and makes quick work of the bread, slicing it into even, round slices. As she does, she speaks: ]

This place is really cute. It looks like all the pictures in pamphlets of American frontier homes. [ A little wryly - ] Of course, in those pamphlets, the cute little frontier homes were also usually on fire, so this is an improvement. Cheers - [ She thanks him as he hands her the beer. ]

[shifting]

Thanks. I like it a lot. Had a trailer back home I didn't mind, but this works for me too. And the woods 'round here are pretty - there's nothin' quite like wakin' up to birdsong.

[he sends Kitty something of a sly smirk at that, as one shapeshifter to another.

The food is doled out and set at the table, and Sam gets himself a drink as well, forgoing the beer for a small glass of whiskey. He makes an appreciative noise at the sight of the sliced bread, thanking her again, before going to sit at the little table.]

...So I can't decide if I should go about lickin' your hand before or after we eat. If you're really okay with me tryin' this out.