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[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?

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...

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

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

Right. And then what happens?

[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.

[ With complete innocence: ]

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

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

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

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...? ]

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

[it might be working. Just a little.]

[ 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

[but good enough for a laugh.]

In triplicate.

I'll send you the address.

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.

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?

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. ]

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.

[ That makes her giggle - because, seriously, what red-blooded girl wouldn't giggle if someone like Sam started talking about licking? - and then she rubs her hand a little self-consciously. There's the faintest flush in her cheeks. And leans forward, across the table, and holds out her hand. True to her word, her ring finger has a bit of a nasty hangnail. ]

Here. I've washed them recently and everything. And the curiosity would kill me otherwise.

Well, since curiosity has been known to kills kitties...

[absolutely grinning around this next sip of whiskey, please don't hit him, he's not sure if he can heal himself yet.

Terrible puns aside, Sam slides his plat to the side to make room for her arm. This is damn awkward considering he still can't look at Kitty without remembering Mickens lifting her up against a wall, but he's a grown-ass man and this is nothing. Just a little experiment. Which involves tongue. ...Right.

Sam wraps a warm hand gently around Kitty's and guides both towards his lips, waggling his brows at her just to try and break the tension. He leans in, looking for a moment like any gentleman kissing a lady's hand, but breaks the illusion the moment his tongue swipes over her injured finger in a small, wet stripe.

All Sam can think is that if this doesn't work, she's never going to let him live this down.]

[ She can't help but giggle as he does, because it's so awkward and funny and she can't help but be a little nervous and flustered and embarrassed. She wriggles a little in her seat, and offers the disclaimer, chattering half-nervously as this scruffily handsome man gently licks her finger - ]

Now, if this doesn't work - sometimes powers don't really work well on me, that's 'cause I've got this thing called resilience where magic is just less effective. But it's less strong than it used to be, so it might do it...

[ And then she bites her lip, cheeks pink, as he finishes. And she flexes her fingers - all of them now whole. Hangnail-free. ]

Right. Well. Look at that.

[he's glad she does, because it means he can grin when he leans back, laughing a little as well. Nothing like humor to break the tension. It helps that Kitty's giggling is damn cute, too.]

Resilience? [well shit, that might have been good to know before. Now he's really doubting this will do anything.

Oh, but there it goes. Sam blinks, staring with surprise down at her healed hand. Wow. Look at that. Like V, but without the blood. (Or the sexual side-effects, he hopes.) He wonders if that means that thinking about the healing coming from his tongue is all wrong, and if it isn't actually his saliva that's doing it...]

Yeah. That's - somethin'. Guess it's good I'll have somethin' useful if it's needed. Not that your hangnail wasn't absolutely dire. [he adds, teasing.]

But tell me some more 'bout that "resilience" you mentioned. That somethin' you just got here?

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