It is a chilly night for the end of September, and the mostly still night occasionally turns sly and strips warmth from those that would rather keep it with short gusts of wind. It is in those gusts that something disguises the sounds of it movements. It has caught the scent or sight of its prey, and, for now, it keeps its distance. Cloaked in shadow, it is quiet as a gecko as it climbs up walls, quick as a falcon as it leaps from buildings, and tricky as a fox as it evades the random opening of a door to emit a smoker in need of indulging his vice. But all the while, the woman he stalks never leaves his vision for more than the duration of a blink or the span of a shooting star. If she should somehow feel his eyes and look back, she might see a shadow of branches moving in the infrequent wind or the glint of cat eyes in the mouth of an alley.
While she is not the most drawing of women, when there are things like unnaturally pretty Fairests running around. But those jeans do fit her well, and the coyote girl moves with familiarity down city streets. She's wearing a leather jacket over her shirt, hands in her pockets as she slinks about. It's in the digital world that she moves with stealth. Here, she's just another person on the streets. If she feels his eyes on her, there's no showing of it. No look of celestial eyes over her shoulder, or pause in her steps. No, this is a woman that knows just where she's going.
He does not know where she is going. Sometimes this lack of her knowledge means he has to double back. Sometimes it means he has to cut sideways down into a shortcut to catchup with being noticed. Once he even has to stop and ask for a light as he nearly gets ahead of her. Despite these challenges he continues his hunt without stopping. Without tiring. Even as he runs along a power line while looking down at her, he continues his pursuit without any sign that it shall ever end. When she stops, so shall he. Until that moment there is no compromise.
Wherever she's going, Selina is certainly taking a roundabout way of doing it. There's three lefts to make a right, at least twice. But where the girl ends up, in the end, is in the alleyway of a seedy little street. As seedy as this place gets, at least. She tucks some hair behind her ear, and shifts her weight from foot to foot, as if she's waiting, impatiently, for someone.
In this little seedy spot, Cornelius slips into the shadow of a dumpster that has certainly seen better days. If he was seen, someone would think he was just some poor, homeless person sleeping off a bottle. That is how he waits for his prey to move once more. Sprawled outside beside the dumpster, peering through the crack behind it to watch her. He takes in the way she tucks her hair, the syringe she almost steps on as she shifts her weight, and the cough of a pedestrian heading north a block over. Quietly and patiently, he waits.
There are a few long, stretched out moments between when the woman stops her trek and the back door to one of the bars opens. A man comes out, features blurred by the bill of his snapback. What Cornelius can't see is the press of Selina's lips, that thoughtful little downturn. No, to his eyes, there is a constant shadow that falls over her lower face, wrapped around it like a soft scarf, or the spit-guard of a madman. Murmured words - "Yes, I'll make sure it gets done," from her. "Everything, destroyed," from him. There's a nod, before she takes a small envelope of money, tucks it into an inner pocket, and turns. Towards that dumpster.
Someone might be horrified if they saw the way that Cornelius pulls his legs to his chest and then squishes himself soundlessly behind the dumpster until after the woman has moved beyond him....
"Wow!" The horned man speaks a minute later, a mere ten feet from where she is walking. He is leaned up against a phone-lacking phonebooth as he is counting money in a small envelope that is identical to her own. In fact, her envelope is no longer there. His urban voice does not quite fit in here. "Jesus, toots. I haven't laid eyes on this much green since I spent a weekend lost in Holland." He closes the envelope and looks up at Selina with eyes that are filled with little bits of gold reflecting the flickering streetlamp on the corner. His tail whips back and forth mirthfully.
The cosmos in Selina's eyes flare to life, as she looks to that horned, ratlike man. Were it not for that, the lack of a lower face, and the coyote ears that peek out through dark hair, she'd barely look like one of the Lost. Either she's still new, or she's been keeping careful about things like embracing the Wyrd. She doesn't need to feel her pocket to know that the money isn't in there - and the look that she gives him is more than a little harsh. "If you'd be so kind," she says in a voice that lacks any true accent, holding her hand out. "There's things that have need for that green."
Conversely, the man that has stolen her money looks like he has been getting down with the Wyrd for some time now. Powdery frost falls from his jaw as he rubs the back of a gloved hand across his chin. "I'll give it back to you, but in exchange I want something. Something...." His eyes leave hers as he gets thoughtfully squinty. "What's the opposite of physical. Temporal?" He snaps his fingers and points at her. "That's it! Ephemeral. Thanks, toots." He holds out her envelope, but will pull it back with incredible swiftness should she attempt to snatch it. "An hour and a minute of your time. We sit..." he indicates the roof behind her. "Up there where it's less smelly, talk a little, and share this lovely vintage of Vermont's finest." His other hand comes out from behind his back holding an almost full bottle of wine. "It's quite dry, but wonderful, I assure you."
The chill around Selina is not a small thing - she may have done a careful dance with the Wyrd, but when it comes to taking the ideas of their Court for a spin, she's a bit more reckless. Or cautious. Depends on how you look at it. "Ephemeral," she repeats, a bit skeptically, as she looks over him. She doesn't make the quick grab for the envelope, scowling at him a bit still. "Fine, we go up there," she agrees. "You first, of course. An hour and a minute, I'll give you, as long as you're not...inappropriate." She looks over him, as if she suspects that he's quite often that. "And then you give me back my money."A gesture, for him to lead the way.
He looks hurt. Just a little. Cupping his hands (and her envelope) to his heart. "Why do women always expect the worst of me? ...Is it the horns?" Not waiting for an answer, he sprints away from his spot, runs two steps up the wall, grabs the roof with one hand and pulls himself up onto it as easily as someone climbs into bed. Laying down, he reaches one clawed hand down as if it is a safe avenue to follow. "No climbing up the tail, I'm afraid. It's against the rules, as I believe we declared this a safe zone where everyone can discuss their feelings."
"I think it might be a bit of the whole package," Selina offers, as she makes a little gesture around to encompass all of him. "Doesn't exactly lend an impression that says 'trust me'." Her eyes flash, a supernova going bright, and then she watches as he runs up the wal, and up onto the roof. "No rapunzel up your tail, got it." She reaches up, taking his hand, and letting him do most of the heavy lifting. Up onto the roof she goes, snerking along the way. "Are we going to pass the bottle back and forth, and in a twist of the rules, whoever doesn't have it can talk?" Stretching her neck, a slow roll of shoulders.
He somehow manages to haul her up without sinking those claws into her flesh. "I'm not bad. I'm just drawn this way." Is his response as he hands her the bottle sans cork. "I like it. You get a drink while I say something. So." His feet swing back and forth. "I forget what my sign is, and I've never really been all about walks on the beach. More of a city guy, I guess? I tried dating once. Wasn't very good at it. I always mix up centuries and decades. I mean, they're all numbers, right?" He shrugs a little too smoothy.
There are some habits that die hard. And while Selina is more comfortable behind a computer than in the urban jungle, part of her nature shows. She does a quick assessment of the rooftop, the best means of egress, and what shadows someone else could be hiding in. Turn three times, and then find something to lean against instead of sitting. Bottle in hand, she doesn't speak, to keep with the given rules. Okay, so there's a snort for the 'drawn this way' bit, but that's all. She drinks, more than a healthy sip, before she offers it back to him. Once he has it in hand, she muses, "Beach is over rated. Sand in all the wrong places. Numbers are more important than anything. All zeroes and ones in the end. I'll take the forest over the sea, the city over the forest. You don't seem like the flowers and poetry sort that chicks like." Reaching for the bottle, once she's done speaking.
"I wrote a poem once," he half-heartedly protests after having drank just a touch more than she did and handing the bottle back over. It is quite dry, as warned, but pleasant. "Though the chicks definitely don't like me. I figure it's the clothes. Or, you know." He waves a hand ambiguously through the air. "The living on the streets thing. So shallow." He shakes his head and then flops back so he is now laying on the roof with his feet hanging over the edge. "Is it hard for you to put on lipstick? You know. For the Mask? Or does it just hook you up with some black lip liner and call it a day?"
"Dirty limericks don't count," Selina insists, with a soft tisk, once the bottle is back in her hand. "The not showering daily does tend to be a bit of a turn off. Nothing wrong with being a bit of a rover, though." She continues to stand, looking down at him. And since he's laying down, he doesn't get the bottle offered until he happens to reach for it again. "It makes a lot of things a bitch. But we've all got to sacrifice some part of ourselves, in the end, to get what we want. Never bothered with lipstick. My lips are drawing enough as it is. I'd have men dropping on their knees in worship all the time, if I slapped some red on, and that gets so old, so fast." Another drink, and she shifts forward, to pace a bit. "Imagine that the tail makes pants interesting. Drafty."
"You know," Cornelius responds as if he had never thought of it before. "I think I appreciate it. Like a kilt. Or a skirt, I imagine. Whatever floats your switch. Just sorta keeps you fresh in all the right places." He rolls backwards over one shoulder and stands up in front of her pacing. "I'm Cornelius Rex, and I am rather fond of your current shade. Makes your eyes pop." He snatches the wine bottle and, this time, takes a mere sip before spinning it on his palm between the two of them. "What's your handle, toots?" The bottle continues to spin, but he does have to move his hand to keep it from falling as it slows down.
"The swamp-ass killer." The coyote shifts, almost skittish, as he rolls up to his feet, interrupts the lines that she was pacing along. Those cosmic eyes look up to him, meeting his eyes as he introduces himself. Wine bottle taken, she reaches up to push some hair back again. Raking fingers through hair, so she can tuck it behind one canine ear. "Selina Navarra," she offers, after a moment of consideration. "Cornelius. That's...quite a name. Not one most would name their kid. Cor. Cornie. Rex." She tries each one, slowly rolling it over her tongue, as if tasting it.
"Not sure where I picked it up, but, it stuck." He leans in a little closer to examine her eyes, but in the process gives her a very close look at his own. The metallic gold in his eyes looks like tumbling coins in that moment, but then he pulls back and snatches up the bottle. "Where you from, Sierra Nevada?" He takes a small sip and a big swig before he pauses to add, "We are terrible at this little game you invented. Let's try it the other way. Drink while you talk." He pushes the bottle towards her torso.
"It's got character," Selina murmurs, as she watches him watching her. The stars move in her eyes, slow and lazy circles around the pinpoint of her pupil. When he snatches the bottle, she barely notices in favor of those golden coins in his eyes. "Hmm? Oh. Here. There. Everywhere. Wherever I might roam." The bottle grabbed, she takes a few steps away from him, easy breezy little things, that let her do another survey of the rooftop. One big swig. "Most recently Chicago. But I think you know that, Rexxy."
Holding one arm behind his back with a hand on his wrist. As if he is dignified, he follows after her. There is a nod given to her wanderlust or lack of being nailed down. He is about to say something when Chicago is mentioned. He almost misses his step. "I am fairly certain I would remember those eyes if I had seen them before, toots." He deftly claims the bottle again and takes a swig, a sip, and a sniff--in that order--before he says more. "If you were really in C-town, tell me the name of the purple hob that ran the harem just inside East Gate." He takes one more sip and steps in very close to hand the bottle back over; eyes attempting to lock hers once more.
A glance of those eyes over her left shoulder, and they flash, like one of the stars in there just went out in explosive fashion. "Maybe you were distracted by the ass," Selina notes, with a shake of hers. "Or maybe I didn't have them, then. You should know just now much any of us change." There's no quirk of lips to be seen, but there's a shift in her cheeks to suggest it, before she snorts. "If I told you a name, I'd be lying. He was blue. He liked to be called Ty, but his real name was unpronounceable by my tongue." She doesn't try to evade his look into his eyes, or him. Stepping in a hair's breadth closer, in fact, as she wraps her fingers around the bottle. "I kept it low-key, in Chi town. That was then." Words, barely a whisper, coming on the chill that promises Autumn won't last long, not here.
The shake of her ass does get his attention, rather high-eyebrowed at that, but not so much to distract him from his test. "You got the name right, the color, and you didn't fall for my little trick. Not bad, toots." He looks her up and down once more before he adds, "Not bad. So." He sticks his chin over her shoulded to whisper a question in her ear. "What brings us both here from my homeland? ...You stalking me, fox?" His scent is almost non-existent. He smells of cold air. His hand--still on the bottle--is the source of the hoarfrost spreading beneath their fingers.
Selina's head turns, just the slightest bit. So that when she speaks, her breath can be felt against his skin, rustling the little hairs as she exhales. "No fox, Rexxy," she breathes out there, that barely whispered sound. Close, close enough as she inhales the coldness, the lack of scent, that he can feel lips that he can't ever see, by his ear. "Coyote. Give a girl her due, yeah?" Her free hand, not on the bottle, reaching up to run up his other side. "Change of pace. Of scenery. This place, it's so lacking in us. Or seems to be. We're quiet, but it's too quiet." Every word, given in hushed tones, right to his ear. "I know better than to stalk someone out of my weight class. Key would be to get here before you, set a trap. What brought you, Cornelius Rex? Or was it just the call of the void for you, too?"
Oh how that mixture of her warm breath on his cold skin makes his toes curl in his boots. In a daring--or perhaps aggressive--move, he pulls her in closer via the bottle. There is a moment where they are nearly cheek to cheek before he lifts his empty hand to place the pad of his clawed thumb on her cheek to feel the face beneath that shadow. "You seem like you might be on the up and up, starlight. If that's the case, we need you." He amends. "I need you. Our court here is... unorganized. A big city girl like you could be exactly what I need. If... If." He slides the thumb off her face and adds, "If you wanna fix this place before Winter comes and the entire freehold falls apart."
It's an aggressive move, and the coyote lets out a soft laugh as he pulls her in so. Her skin is soft, and that lower face promises to be just as lovely as the upper. The shadow's not hiding any weirdness, it seems. "I'd heard that. That it's been too little of a presence. And we can't have that, can we?" There's a tease of her own claws against his side, felt faintly through the fabric. "I want to help fix this. Before we fail. Or worse, the Moon Court gets the crown. I heard the Sun reigned, before Autumn. I've not signed up, yet, but I intend to, once I meet Her." Her head turns just a bit more, once his thumb leaves her, and her nose runs along his jaw, down to his throat. A hot breath, as her mouth opens. Like she's going to bite, before she pulls back a touch.
It seems that ears and neck are hot zones fior Cornelius. Selina is two for two. Maybe she has good instincts, or maybe he is just one giant hot spot. When she pulls her mouth back, his grip tightens on the bottle. It is covered in frost. "I would sooner give up wine than let that happen." He releases the bottle to make a point, then takes a step back. "What's the best way to contact my new partner in crime?" He begins to stroll a slow circle around her; examining her as he waits for the answer.
A breath is let out, through her nose, almost a huff. But when he lets go of the bottle, her grip on it keeps it from falling, if just barely. She lifts it, bringing it to her lips when he strolls around her. Taking a drink that is far from small, draining nearly the rest of the wine. Her eyes follow him, head turning when needed as he walks behind her. She might be spending extended hours behind a screen, but the coyote hasn't forgotten how to keep herself lean. A pause, and then she's stalking in towards him. Close, so very close. "Find me," she challenges. "And I'll give you my number then." Lips against his jaw, brushing this time, before she steps back, looks to the edge of the roof. "I've given you more than your hour and a minute. Envelope - and what was inside - please."
"Has it really? Time gets away from me, toots. What can I say?" Cornelius lifts his jaw to better present his neck even as her hidden lips are coated in snowflakes. "I planted it on you when I helped you onto the roof. Wouldn't know what to do with it anyways." He reaches an arm around her throws her, abruptly, into a dip worthy of a tango. "When I find you," he tells her as his eyes are locked on her stars. "I'm gonna get more than your number." He rights her and walks to the edge of the roof; casting one glance back.
Selina doesn't seem to mind the potential of frostbite on her lips, as they don't immediately pull away at that cold feeling. She doesn't reach back, to make sure that he's truthful about where he put the money, showing some sliver of trust. Honor, thieves. Or at least Winters. Before she can say much, she's dipped, and one arm drapes around his neck, looking up into his own golden eyes. "I do hope that you're deeds, and not just words, Rex," she breathes out as she's righted, and watches him go to the roof's edge. A kiss blown, with no visible lips to pucker at him, but the rest of the gesture's there.
He catches the kiss and even manages a wink as he falls sideways off the building. If she were to walk over and look down, he is nowhere to be seen.
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