bigapplesauce | HANDYSPLOSION [open to multiple]

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HANDYSPLOSION [open to multiple]

Andrew is snooping, but he's not getting very far with it. The trouble with absurdly powerful, government-sanctioned entities is that getting inside the base of such an organization tends to be a bit more complicated than showing up with a forged Health and Safety ID card. Of course, he could probably get inside very easily if he simply went up to the front doors and announced himself, but somehow he doubts he'd be likely to come back out without making a grand production of escaping, and he doesn't want to be too late coming home and make James worry.

The other trouble with Romac is that they're too smart to have anything interesting going on outside. After quite a bit of loitering -- more loitering than is probably wise -- all Andrew's seen is fairly ordinary people going in and out of the building. Disgruntled at their failure to be even the least bit interesting, Andrew finally gives up in disgust and decides to walk to the rebel base in order to say hello to a few people and use their private library.

He makes it less than halfway to the park before disaster strikes. Later, Handrew will be mortally embarrassed that the crisis didn't come about because some Romac agent spotted him and decided to make trouble, or because he had to run to intercept an alien, or even because someone got it in their head to mug him. No, this disaster occurs simply because neither Andrew nor a certain speeding taxi driver happens to be looking in the right direction at the right time. As the meta-crisis steps out into the intersection of Lexington and 59th (against right of way, if he'd bothered to notice), there's a deafening screech, an impact, and Andrew quite unexpectedly shatters.

The reflex to use his power when surprised likely saves his life. Twelve tiny Andrews are scattered across the road a moment later, all of them stunned to one degree or another. As they recover and realize what's happened -- and hear the yells of a few people who saw -- they all take the same course of action:

Run.

Unfortunately, very few of them run in the same direction. There's no plan or pattern to it, and very quickly the Andrews scatter to the four winds -- or at least to the four corners of the intersection. There are a few shouts (even New Yorkers tend to notice when someone explodes next to them) and one person even stoops and tries to grab one of the four-inch-tall Andrews, but he has quite a bit of experience in running for cover.

[OOC: Let me know where you want to encounter one or more Andrews, and I will write up an explanation of how he got there. The accident occurred at E. 59th St. and Lexington Ave. (the game map might help you here), and the Andrews have gone in every direction. Some Andrews will take advantage of the nearby subway entrances; depending where he enters he could do as he intends and go northwest, or he could get on the wrong train and go northeast, which would take him past Romac housing. Really, anything is possible -- though he's trying to get to either the Rebels or the TARDIS, he could get lost in any direction, or stay stranded near the intersection. Just write a tag indicating where your character encounters an Andrew and I'll work it out (or you can PM me or ping me on AIM if you want to hammer it out together). He'll be staying in twelfths, since merging into sixths would make him a foot and a half high, meaning he'd be still too small to get around without trouble but too big to go unnoticed. There might be multiple Andrews traveling together, so let me know if you want two of them.]

UPDATE, November 14: Nine Andrews are accounted for so far. One Andrew each currently reserved for Lucy, Spike, and Topher, meaning no more Andrews are available.

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Andrew never knew just how long a city block could be. He's trying not to think about how much farther he has to go before he reaches the rebel base...or about how he's going to cross all the streets between him and the park. The other Andrews were nowhere to be seen by the time he took shelter under a water spout; even now he keeps glancing around for them, but they've apparently all gone other ways. Bloody typical.

The thought does occur to him when he reaches Park Avenue that maybe, just maybe, he ought to have gone back to the intersection to try to find the others. How he's going to get across he doesn't know, but then again, the fact that he immediately ran off means they probably all did as well. He surveys the area from under a mailbox as he tries to make up his mind what to do, only to be interrupted by a sudden croak behind him.

Giving a little jump of surprise, Andrew spins on the spot, ready to bolt. When he sees the bird his fears are not exactly allayed. "Shoo!" he hisses. Awkwardly, he takes a tentative step forward and raises his arms, trying to make himself look big and spook it away. He can hardly come out from under the box with it there, after all. "Go away!"

Odd's bobs. So much for being recognized. Daine cants her head to favor him with a disapproving look out of one eye, then gives her surroundings a quick check. There's a truck parked along the curb, blocking her off from anyone on the street, and she's sandwiched in the little space between the bin and the mailbox. There's really only one direction from which she could be seen, so she hops around to check for passersby. Once there's a sizable gap in the foot traffic, she shifts.

She's still quite fresh in the magic department, so it only takes a moment for fur to replace feathers and paws to take the place of wings and feet. After a beat in which no one screams, Daine turns back to Andrew and gives him a rather pointed blink.

AARGH AND NOW IT'S A CAT --

"...Oh." Andrew sheepishly lowers his arms. "Hello, Daine. Fancy seeing you here."

He glances around nervously, ducking a little to be able to see out from under the box. "This might come as a surprise, but I'm in a bit of a jam at the moment."

A bit, indeed. It's just as well for Andrew that Daine is too exposed to risk reshaping her mouth, otherwise she probably wouldn't be able to resist a bad pun at his expense. She crouches alongside the mailbox, tail slowly waving from side to side. Anyone looking on probably won't find it too strange that a stray cat's intrigued by something beneath a mailbox; with any luck, they'll just assume Andrew is a rat or something.

The real downside to not wanting to reshape her mouth is that she can't ask for specifics. The best she can do is let out a soft, inquiring chirp. Surely there's some way she can help.

Does Daine realize just how disconcerting it is to have a gigantic cat staring at him? Probably not, Andrew decides, or she wouldn't be doing it. Or so he hopes, at least.

It's too bad Andrew isn't given to explaining himself. He's tiny, the rest of him is missing, and the situation (at least as far as Daine needs to know at the moment) seems self evident to him. "I need to get to the reb--no," he says, changing his mind mid-sentence. "I need to get to the TARDIS. She'll be able to help me find the rest of myself." Even if that would mean having to endure meeting up with the Doctor while at this scale.

Daine gives him a slow blink of agreement. It doesn't occur to her that the rest of him is scattered to the extent that he is; she just assumes that he's otherwise in one piece. Perhaps she can help look for the bigger him, too, once this one is safe in the TARDIS.

Though there is the question of how to get him there. It'd be quickest to fly in hawk shape, but she doesn't quite trust him to ride on her back without falling off or mucking with her balance, and she very much doubts she could persuade him to let her carry him in her talons - the far more secure option - even if she reshaped her mouth enough for speech.

Well. It might not be the fastest shape in her arsenal, but she can still get him to the TARDIS a good deal faster than he could on his own. Her fur is just about long enough for him to hide in it - or mostly hide in it. More to the point, he'll be able to get a good grip so he won't go tumbling. She flattens herself as close to the sidewalk as she can, then looks over her shoulder at him and chirps. Climb aboard, little Andrew.

Edited 2013-10-22 02:55 (UTC)

He's really not sure what that blink means. Cat expressions tend to be a bit opaque by humanoid standards, but Andrew chooses to take it to mean that she understands and sympathizes with his grave plight. Also, that she's praising his intellect, because everyone should do that all the time.

Sucking in a breath, he creeps to the edge of the mailbox and looks around, making sure the coast is clear. "Right," he mutters to himself, trying to believe he's not going to be spotted the instant she takes off down the street with him on her back. Steeling his nerves, he scurries over to her side and clambers up, probably pulling on her hair and poking her with his feet terribly.

If she had her voice, it wouldn't take long for her to disabuse him of some of those notions.

He really is all elbows and knees, isn't he? Fortunately, he's also so titchy that there's not a lot of force behind any of the unintentional blows he's dealing out, and her fur does a decent job of cushioning her. It's the tugging that's the most bothersome, but it really can't be helped, so she doesn't hold it against him. She'd rather have him tugging her fur and staying on her back than being unseated immediately because he's trying too hard to be gentle.

Once he seems to have settled himself as well as he can, she rises and slinks around the mailbox, following the curb up the street until she can slip between the front of the parked truck and the back of the minivan. She pauses there for a moment, waiting for the light to change. Once there's a large enough gap in traffic that she can make it across without bolting, she does, trying to keep her gait as smooth as possible until she reaches the grassy verge in the middle of Park Avenue. She pauses again beside a little shrub and lets out another soft chirp. All right up there?

What? Doesn't she understand, then? Because that's the only part that could be in question, here.

~~Yes, it's a wonder James isn't bruises all over from sharing a bed with him.~~ Andrew summits the mound of fur that is Daine and settles himself as best he can just behind her shoulder blades, nestling down into her fur and grabbing handfuls of it. He looks a bit like a baby monkey clinging to its mother's back, actually, though the monkey would have an advantage over him in having opposable toes.

Riding a cat is more difficult than it looks, not that Andrew knows what it looks like. It's a relief whenever she stops and stands, giving him the chance to get re-balanced on her spine and adjust his grip, but every moment they stand still is also time for a curious human to spot the tiny person riding a stray animal. Andrew spits out hair and wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers, one at a time. "I'm alright," he assures her, though he's already uneasy at the thought of crossing traffic again...and again...and again.

He's skinny enough that maybe folk who catch a glimpse of him will just think she's wearing a harness - a not-quite-stray who slipped her leash. Which, given how most cats would respond to leashes, isn't too outlandish.

Then again, perhaps it would be better if people didn't get it into their heads that she's a pet in need of rescue. Not that she expects many natives to pay her much mind either way. This is New York, after all.

She makes her way across the other half of Park Avenue, then heads toward Madison. She tries to hug the curb as much as possible, the lines of parked cars a safety net she could dart between (or beneath) if any two-leggers get too interested in them.

Madison is a far less friendly crossing than Park, and she stops at the curb to wait for the light. She's going to have to take advantage of the pedestrian crossing - better that than to get pancaked - though she's not exactly feeling easy about the idea. She lets out a low, dissatisfied meow, hoping he has a good grip. This crossing is going to be a good deal faster than the last one.

Andrew would absolutely not approve of any plans to slip under cars. Every moment that goes by has him imagining someone seeing him and taking an unhealthy interest, or Daine taking off at a higher speed and dumping him, or him getting scraped off on something.

And then they stop again. Readjusting once more, Andrew lifts his head to look around at the intersection. "Rassilon," he mutters, seeing the problem. "Don't run," he requests, worried.

Her response is a brief growl that he'll hopefully take for reluctant agreement. She's well aware that if she bolts, he'll almost certainly fall off regardless of how tight a grip he has on her fur. For a moment, she entertains the thought of carrying him by the scruff of his jacket as if he was a kitten - it would make moving him along quickly a lot easier for her, and would probably look less suspicious to passers by (just a cat with rodent, they'd think) - but she guesses that neither he nor his jacket would much appreciate it. Perhaps if he really does fall off, he'd forgive a hasty rescue in such a manner.

Logging that option away, she carefully steps off the curb, far enough from the crosswalk that any folk using it won't be able to get too good a look at her, but close enough to benefit from the car-shield that pedestrians provide. Honestly, this would all be a lot less nerve-wracking if she wasn't aware that plenty of drivers think nothing of running over a cat, for all that they'd never try and hit a two-legger on purpose.

The lights change, and as soon as a few humans step into the crosswalk, Daine slinks into the street. She manages to keep from bolting, but she's still moving as quickly as she dares.

No, he's not really sure what to make of that, either. Is she telling him he's just going to have to tough it out? The other side of the street is pretty far. ~~Or is she complimenting his intellect again?~~

"I'm beginning -- to see -- why so few cultures adopt large cats -- as steeds," huffs Andrew, pauses coming whenever he has to shift to get back in balance. It's actually a fairly smooth ride for not having a saddle and not being able to sit properly upright and astride, but he feels a sudden surge of sympathy for all those human children whose parents enter them in mutton busting competitions.

Also, another reason might be the tendency many large cats have to eat their would-be riders. Just maybe.

Edited 2013-10-23 01:09 (UTC)

Ugh, ugh, ugh. This is why she prefers to explore the city on the wing. When she finally reaches the other side of the street, it's all she can do to refrain from shaking herself (and therefore Andrew) off. Despite not being anywhere near as fastidious as an actual cat, she can't help but view the concrete and asphalt as being sort of dirty in a way that actual dirt can't even begin to compete with. It's just... blech. Taking dubious refuge behind a bin and a few errant garbage bags (which hardly help matters), she allows herself to give each foot a little shake - at least she can manage that much without unseating her rider.

And now for the next leg: an excruciatingly long city block with almost no cover to speak of on the actual sidewalk, from the looks of things. At least there's no shortage of parked vehicles she could use for cover in a pinch. She'll just have to keep hugging the curb, like before.

She makes it almost halfway down the block before the closeness of the two-leggers sharing the sidewalk gets to be a bit much for her liking. When one woman on a cell phone pauses her conversation long enough to give them a double-take, Daine makes an executive decision: under the parked vehicles they go. She darts beneath the front bumper of a UPS truck, then crawls under the sedan parked in front of it. She has to all but wriggle on her belly to keep Andrew from getting scraped off, but she feels a good deal safer now, and she's flexible enough that the crawling isn't as awkward or uncomfortable as it could be.

It's hard for Andrew to keep an eye out from his current position, but the proliferation of humans around them hardly makes him rest easy. He probably makes himself more noticeable, actually, through his efforts to look around for anyone watching.

"No, no, don't --!" He doesn't see the woman, so he has no warning when Daine abruptly leaves the sidewalk in favor of taking an impromptu underpass. She's been acting sort of weird in general already, with that foot-shaking and all, and he sucks in a sharp breath and huddles as tight as he can against her back, expecting to get painfully scraped off at any second.

When he doesn't, he dares open his eyes again to find Daine actually crawling under a parked car. "Cutting it a bit close up here," he points out, voice tight with barely suppressed anxiety.

What are you talking about, Andrew? It's better here; no one can see them unless they lie down to have a look, which they won't have cause to. And she's quite confident that there's enough head room for him, though at this point, he could probably slide off and walk himself for a bit. She's no longer moving quickly enough to have a big advantage in speed over him.

Point is, there's no cause for him to fuss. She purrs reassuringly, not considering how the vibrations might register to someone so titchy. Maybe if she'd ever been in a massage chair, she'd have an inkling. Well, purring is making her feel better, if nothing else, and she continues her resolute creep toward 5th Avenue.

He would get off and walk, but he's sort of worried she won't notice and she'll take off without him. Or someone will move their car, or spot the pair of them, and they'll need to bolt and he won't be on her back when it happens. Not that he'd stay on if she bolted, but he likes to think he could.

And thanks, Daine, now the entire world is vibrating. It's...oddly soothing? But not really helping him keep his grip. Andrew realizes too late he's sliding to one side, tries to shift back on top of her, and tumbles to the pavement.

"Wait!"

Of course she wouldn't go bolting off and leave him. Granted, if a fast getaway was needful, she might not give as much consideration to his comfort and/or dignity as he'd like while she got him out - but she would get him out.

She stilled as soon as she realized he was slipping, and turns her head around to look at him once he loses his grip completely. Sheltered beneath the car as she is, she doesn't have so many qualms about reshaping her mouth enough to talk.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," she says, somewhere between soothing and scolding. "Are you hurt?"

Andrew nearly lands on one foot, but stumbles and ends up on the pavement. Rolling into a position where he can get to his feet, he puts a hand on Daine's side to steady himself.

"Just my pride," he mutters, then does a double take as he realizes she oughtn't to have been able to talk just now. Right. Human mouth on a cat, not at all disconcerting.

Her cat ears certainly picked that up, and she pushes her whiskers forward, amused. Twitching her tail pensively, she ventures, "We could go a lot faster if I carried you in my mouth, you know. Like a kitten." Little as she expects him to like the idea, it's sort of growing on her: she wouldn't have to worry about him falling, fewer two-leggers would look twice at them, and they'd get to the TARDIS faster. Not as fast as flying, of course, but if he balks at the idea of her picking him up now, there's no way he'd consent to her doing it in bird shape.

"In your mouth." Andrew stares at Daine for several long moments, trying to decide if she's having a joke at his expense. Cat faces, though. Anyway, whether or not she's joking, she's just hit on the one thing that could make this whole situation even less dignified than it already is. "Like a kitten."

He rubs his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. Alright, yes, it might be more efficient -- but no, he doesn't want to be carried about in a cat's mouth. "In case you hadn't noticed, I don't have a lot of hair or extra skin for you to grab onto. Let's just stick with the way we've been doing it, yeah?"

Well, there's his jacket. And really, he's tiny enough that she could probably just fit her whole mouth around his torso. So long as she was careful about it...

But he's unsurprisingly not a fan of the idea, and she doesn't yet appreciate the extent of the jam he's in (though once they get to the TARDIS, she might have a few words to say about the importance of efficiency in these circumstances). "Just an idea," she says. At least he's acquainted with it, now, so maybe if she does have to pick him up, he won't panic. "Do you want to climb back up now, or wait until we reach the end of the cars?"

"I think I can walk that far," Andrew replies. It's not like she was moving terribly fast, and it certainly won't save time if he keeps falling off with her wriggling on her belly like that. He turns to go, giving her an expectant look.

So much the better: she can straighten up a bit. 'Slinking' is certainly faster than 'crawling' when all is said and done. She lets her mouth lapse back into cat shape and follows Andrew down the line.

When it comes time to cross the open space between one parked vehicle and the next, she makes sure she's between him and the sidewalk, as she very much doubts any drivers will be looking their way. And anyone on the opposite side of the street won't have time to look twice at them, what with the traffic and how quickly they traverse each little gap.

They reach the end of the line without incident, and she can't help being cheered by the greenery up ahead. Much better. She flattens herself against the pavement (ugh) so Andrew can climb back aboard.

This really is much better. Andrew starts jogging to be able to keep up with Daine's slinking -- really, this is preferable. He's almost unhappy when they reach the end of the line of cars and it's time to get back on.

"Sorry," he says, knowing it's got to be uncomfortable for her as he clambers up her side and gets settled. "There -- this should be the last street we have to cross. Isn't it?"

Please?

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