The hotel that the coyote's shacked up in isn't anything fancy. One of those Extended Stay joints, with the little kitchen - not that she intends on using it. But more importantly, there's a desk to work at. Her hair's left down, still wet from a shower, and she's wearing a pair of men's pj bottoms with a sports bra. Things like headphones are a bitch when you've got coyote ears, and so the music that she's listening to is kept at a civil volume. Laptop out, keys clicking under quick fingers. Scrolling screens, almost too fast to keep up with.
It is without even so much as a peep of warning that the frost-bearded face of Cornelius shoves itself out from beneath her desk preceded by a pair of horns popping up just outside of each wrist--his face almost close enough to certain bits to be pornographic in its suggestion--and smiles from between her thighs. "Is that Irish Spring? Such a fresh scent of Irish springy-ness." He pauses for a moment to allow for soundtrack laughter or a startled scream. "Actually, don't answer that. I was already in your bathroom. I wanted to relieve myself before I, you know, did a sympathy piddle. Not sure if you have a weak bladder or not." He shifts his butt beneath the desk and thumps his horns against the front of it. "Pinch my tits and call me a bitch, it's crowded down here."
Not a peep, and all of the sudden, she's got a creeper under her desk. There is no laughter, no scream. Just the quick scoot back of her wheeled chair a few inches, and the swift kick of a foot that is, thankfully, bare. And she's not a powerhouse, not by any means. Well. At least not physically. "Jesus Fucking Christ, that just isn't right," she mutters, just past a whisper. Having no mouth cuts down on facial expressions a bit, and sometimes, that's a good thing. "Come the fuck out from under there. And I don't know, it's whatever they had in there. I haven't had the chance to see the sights, yet."
The kick caused a second thump of horns against the desk. "You sure you don't wanna slip off your pants and try some of your favorite googles? Maybe 'cunning demonic linguist' or-" He sees what he can of her expression and relents. "Fine, fine." He shoves both his hands forward, palms out, and starts to scoot. "Don't shoot! I'm coming out!" is declared in a drunkish western accent. "But seriously," he adds in his real voice as he scoots forward, "do you know how long I was waiting down there? I was afraid you would Psycho stab me if I threw your shower curtain open. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love a plot twist."
Finally, he gets a soft snort out of Selina. A shake of her head, as she slides back a few more inches, to give him a bit more room to exit the space beneath her desk. "Sorry, baby, but this," a gesture towards the desk, "Is all for work. You want me mobilized? Then you're fucking getting it. I'm taking to the airwaves in the next couple days to get it out there, to the ones that you haven't reached yet. Winter is fucking coming." Her eyes flash, and there's something almost manic about it, along with the words that follow. "I would've torn your throat out, Rexxy, and what fun would you be then?" She stands up, the little chair spinning a bit, as she paces towards the fridge. Looking over her shoulder, from time to time. "That," she says with a passing gesture to the bed, "Is where the pants-off-googling happens."
Cornelius looks over towards the bed. "Oooooh. You're an app-baiter. I need to get a cell phone." He then calls out towards the door as he walks towards it, "Coming!" It is only a moment later that the bell is rung. He opens the door, grabs a pizza from an annoyed hotel clerk and shuts the door fast enough that not one word gets out of that open mouth. The annoyed look was quite confused in that moment of the door swinging shut. The pizza box is opened and its smell floods the room. Fresh and piping hot. "Shall we eat and work? I wanted to talk about you... me... and the shitstorm of what the fuckery that is our court."
"I could hook you up with a burner," the coyote offers. "Works for now, right? And when you get something a little less skitzy, you can give me those digits." Selina blinks as there's suddenly someone at her door, and a pizza. Puzzlement is cut short by the growling of her stomach, a concession to the fact that she hasn't eaten yet this evening. A bit more movement, and she's pulling down some napkins, not bothering with plates. "Best way to work." From the fridge, two beers are pulled out, before she makes way to the small table for three off to the side. "Tell me what you've worked out. You seem more of a ...people person than me."
"I love people," Cornelius says as he hot-hands a slice of pizza out of the box and passes it back and forth. He takes a bite and adds with a full mouth, "They're delicious." Another big bite is taken before he tosses himself onto the couch and wiggles his butt back into the corner of it to get more comfortable. "Don't need a burner. It's still hot- Oh you mean a burner phone." He either plays done or does not, but either way he makes some ridiculous faces when he does so. "That'd be swell, toots. So." He slowly scoots the couch closer to the table by dragging it over the carpet with the power of his legs. It is an awkward, crab-like thing to watch. "I hope you like all the toppings. Also, olives." Apparently olives are not included in all. "Eat a slice. My plan can't be understood on an empty stomach."
A few of the toppings are peeled off by black clawed fingers, including the olives. "Yes, burner phone," she agrees once she's down to the toppings that she likes - which are most of them. The table moves closer and closer to him, and with a sigh she drags over along with it, hopping on the surface so she goes along for the little ride. Somewhere in that shadow there's a mouth, because a piece of the pizza disappears, torn away by sharp and clever teeth. "Carry on, then," Sel murmurs, around that bite.
Every bit of the pizza that is set to the side is pinched up between two claws and dropped either onto a slide or into Cornelius's mouth. "Has anyone ever told you that your ears are freaking adorable? I want to take you to a con, shatter your Mask, and watch all the nerds try and figure out how you did you makeup." He snickers and gives her a pat on the knee as if it is necessary to express that there are no hard feelings. "Okay. First thing we need to do is establish an S.O.P. for communicating sensitive information, and then we need to start getting roles filled. There is a councilor guy, Charlie O, and I'm hoping he is going to really step up at the meeting. If he doesn't? Or... can Charlie be a girl's name? Whatever the case, if Charlie doesn't make big plays, I'm gonna take over as quarterback and go for a three-pointer. So. Any ideas as to who should do what? Let's start with us."
Another one of those snorts from Selina, as he pats her knee. "Yeah, the furries would fucking love it, be jealous as shit. Do you know how hard it is to find fucking headphones for these things? Makes life hard." Her nose scrunches a little, before she continues to eat, and listen. "I don't know the others, yet. So I can't give opinions there. Not yet. As for you, well. You're obviously the man with the plan."
"Sierra Nevada, have you seen how tediously I have to rip holes in my hats? Hoods? Wyrd only knows how the hell the Mask covers up how often I bang my horns in a doorway. I probably look like I got a forehead the size of a field goal." Cornelius shakes his head and grabs another slice. "Man with the plan? What? You think I should try and put myself out there as the next monarch? I mean, how would I even get the crown on?" He tries to look up at his horns, one eyebrow high, and manages to look quite ridiculous.
"I can only imagine," Sel muses, as she reaches for a second piece of the pie, performing the ritual of removal once more. "I think that you're the likely bet, considering the fact that those around, that were here before us? Have done exactly jack and shit by the sound of things." She lifts her shoulder in a shrug, and snerks a bit at his look. "The crown will adapt, if the Wyrd decides you're worth it. As for me? Well. I know what I want, in time." Her eyes flash, and there's a grin that plays in them. "I want to be the Freehold's Sun Banisher."
"I'm trying not to make the assumption that no one has done anything, but it kinda, to be fair," he is nodding far too much as he struggles with his statement, "seems like everyone was waiting for something to do something and no one did. Or maybe someone was doing everything and vanished and then people didn't really know where to pick up?" Cornelius shakes his head as he folds the slice of pizza in half and takes a big mouthful. "Whuewa du cashe," he chew swiftly and swallows some of it. "I wanna know why you think you qualify as Sun Banisher? I'm not saying you don't, Lite Brite, but I wanna hear how you sell yourself." He immediately clenches his jaw and lowly adds, "Don't think about whores, don't think about wh- goddamnit!" He closes his eyes, rubs his temples, and then--quite suddenly--looks over at Selina quite composed. "Carry on."
"Fair enough. I'm not sure what the story was here, I just know what I heard along the line, yeah? That the Winter Court of Fate's Harvest was as quiet as the fucking grave, for serious." Another shrug of Selina's shoulder, and she finishes off that slice she's working on. Reaching for her beer, to take a sip and wash it all down. "I'm qualified because I can make shit disappear. Physical, electronic. You'll need someone else to handle the magic shit, but the est? That's all me. I've been doing this for a bit - not as long as some others, but who else do you have stepping up, handsome? And I don't sell myself. You want this?", she gestures over herself, "You gotta earn it. Or at least ask, and hit it good."
"That!" Cornelius is out of his chair with beer in hand faster than most people could sneeze. His empty hand is pointing at Selina. "That is what the frick I am talking about! Just enough info to sell the point and then the Greyskull-loving spine to wall up and force someone to play with the big dogs or get the fuck off the porch!" He offers up a high five and looks at her with emphatic, intense eyes. "Oh, you bring it in here right now and slap this skin puppy before I get so amped I punch a hole in your wall and spy on your neighbor's skinflick pay-per-view."
Finally. Finally he gets a laugh out of her, with all of that intensity, the way that he reacts. And it's a good sound, the heat of the coyote against the cold of her mantle, those celestial eyes flashing. She reaches up, over, and ...slaps that skin puppy like she leans it. "If you didn't hold up the hand, man, I would've thought that you meant something else. You've got...quite the language going for you, Rexxy. I dig it. Better than the haughty assholes that talk in nothing than big words."
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