Roadhouse Blues [Prp]

[Sabra]

Some asshole had sent her back the same steak twice, twice in a row, complaining it wasn't 'rare' enough. Sabra was gonna give him rare, and by god if he made a peep about it she was going to shove the whole damn thing down his throat and see how he liked it then.

She marched out of the hot kitchens with her apron strings swinging around her hips, purpose in her every stride and her boss calling her name. "KROSS! Getcha ass back in here!" She pointedly ignored ol' Larry, at least she was taking a more direct way of approaching problem customers than his solution of spitting in folk's dinner. Which Sabra frankly thought was nasty and she much preferred giving the prissy ladies regular soda in the place of Diet, messing with their 'low fat' meals and giving them the full calories versions instead. There were simpler pleasures in the world than watching someone eat your nasty tobacco spit.

A little meat on the bones never killed nobody.

The guy at table five was alone, but he still managed to take up most of the space, looking like a regular basketball player, line backer hybrid than the fat cat she'd expected. Still, Sabra was a woman without judgement and she believed firmly in bind justice.

The plate of raw steak clattered against the table and she set a hand on her hip, smacked down another set of utterly for him and did her best beady eyed glare she could manage. "On the house, I hope you like it." She ground out, grip tightening around the spatula in her other hand. The spatula she was gonna use to whack him upside the head and send him out of her restaurant and crying for mommy to make his macaroni and cheese the right way.

She didn't get paid enough for this shit.

[James Morgan]

In James' defense, he does like his meat bloody and practically winking at him from across the table. And sometimes certain places just didn't quite get that. He's picky-- despite his animal half, that would eat just about anything that was laid in front of him. James, a different kind of man, wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection in his tastes. And maybe he finds it just a little amusing when this angry woman came marching out towards him, plate in hand and looking like she was about to take that spatula and shove it halfway up his ass. Or maybe all of the way-- he couldn't tell.

The plate clatters down and James looks down at it with an arched brow, green eyes taking in what was quite obviously a raw as hell slab of meat, still oozing that bloody-looking fluid and probably full of bacteria that no normal person could stomach. But instead, he looks back up at the fuming woman with a million watt grin before nodding in a "not bad" manner and picking up a fork and a knife, cutting a chunk off and eating it like there was no problem at all. Someone next to him looked repulsed, and he had to stuff down the chuckle that was threatening to come from his lips.

"Thanks," He says, "It's perfect." His voice is laced with an appropriate amount of sarcasm, looking into her own green eyes with a small hint of a challenge reflected in his own. He takes a breath, taking in the smells of the area around him, of the meat below him, of the woman in front of him. A musty smell hits him, one that's unique and familiar to his nose. Though his sense of smell was nowhere near as good as say a vamp or a wolf's, he could, among a few other things, identify this particular animal easily...sort of. And it seemed to match up alongside the temper that she so courteously had thrown in his face, seething and fuming with what appeared to be a lack of control of her beast just yet.

"So you're young," He muses outloud, talking about her own animal rather than herself.

He drops his voice, low enough so that the people around him wouldn't hear among the other voices filling the building. "Been a while since I met a wolf."

[Sabra]

She watches him with narrowed eyes, clearly displeased with his reaction, or rather his lack of one. Most city boys would be cringing just at the sight of blood, but instead of shying away from the fluid glistening slab of beef he cuts right into it, plops it into his mouth with a smile. Sabra watches him intently, but he never falters, swallows the whole thing looking pleased as a cat in cream.

And managing to freak out every customer in the section who had gotten a look see.

Sabra reminded herself to ask for his name later, so she could look it up in the obituaries when he croaked from E.Coli or Salmonella. It wouldn't be her damn fault either. You could hand a man a gun, but just because he pulled the trigger didn't mean you murdered him, although she had a feeling her boss wouldn't quite feel the same way.

A bridge to be crossed when she got there.

"Thanks," "It's perfect."

The audacity alone is enough to send her gritting her teeth and the dose of sarcasm is just enough to get her wolf rumbling. "You're very welcome, Sir." She spits out the title like it's laced with venom, feels the beast stir under her skin with malicious intent. Sabra never liked to be challenged, even when she was a little girl, and the addition of a volatile, dominance seeking other half has done little to improve her temper over the years.

"So you're young,"

She jerks her head up with indignant rage, ready to start in on him. If he thought he could get steak and a piece of ass on the side he had another thing coming. Namely Jezebel pressed in places no man wanted sharp and pointy things. Sabra's hands tightened into fists at her sides and she opened her mouth to spew fire when he cut her off.

"Been a while since I met a wolf."

In that moment, Sabra wouldn't be too surprised if heart skipped a beat, in fact she was sure of it. The southern woman had met one or two others like her, who balanced between human and something else. As big as the man was she was almost afraid to ask what he turned into once the sun set.

There's a lengthy pause before she shifts the line of her shoulders, forces herself to relax. "Been a while since I met a creep like you. " She muttered, still stubbornly standing at the table's edge. This was her territory and to sit would lower herself to his level, something she refused to do. "I bet you used your nose," Sabra didn't know a whole lot of other ways there were to figure out a supernatural being, although the woman was sure they existed, being as naive as she was to a world Sabra felt she teetered on the edge of.

Did she dare ask? Dip a toe into a still lake and see the ripples grow and expand, to gleam a look at something she could never hope to understand completely.

[Jethro]

"You're very welcome, Sir."

He smiles a little more at the tone of her voice. He'd always found it amusing, how quickly the younger wolves would completely lose their shit so easily-- it never even took pushing. It took needling. So simple and so easy, he knew that if he really gave her a good hard push of her temper she'd probably go ballistic. Best not make the poor girl lose her job though-- whoever the moody princess was. He rolled his shoulders back, straightening himself, looking at her with pure amusement. Her rage and fury seems to only heighten at his next words, causing him to roll his eyes.

Women.

But finally the dragon speaks. "Been a while since I met a creep like you." She snaps back, and he grins. "You should feel honored," He comes back in a calm tone. "Not often you meet creeps like me." Sure, he may be a rare breed... literally, but he didn't think he was a creep. And if he is a creep, well, he's a damn awesome creep at that.

"I bet you used your nose," She says, and he wants to make a "captain obvious" remark, but even a jackass like James knows when to keep his mouth shut. And on the flipside, he didn't want that spatula permanently imprinted on the side of his face. That sure as hell wouldn't be fun. "What other way would I have, ma'am?" He says, slipping a finger under the collar of his shirt to get a finger under his chain, to pull it completely out of his shirt and show her the giant four-inch tiger claw that he so proudly wore around his neck.

"Why don't you sit down and take a guess?" He said, the same grin as before sliding easily back onto his face.

[Jethro]

ooc; PERSONA FAIL~

[Sabra]

"You should feel honored," "Not often you meet creeps like me."

Really, he walks right into it. "How about I honor ya with a boot up your ass?" She snaps back, sharp as the knife she carried. Boy, would that be a pleasure, seeing his smart alec mouth howling with pain as she dragged him by the ears back to the kitchens and stuck his face in a vat of boiling oil. Sabra was pretty sure those violent images were exclusively her own, usually the wolf just thought in blood and teeth, rather than the detailed sort of stuff she preferred when talking about murder.

"What other way would I have, ma'am?"

Sabra taps her temple in indication, "I don't know, you tell me. Maybe you've got some freaky psychic powers or somethin', rattlin' around in my skull like it's your own personal playground." Hell if she knows all that goes bump in the night and scares little children. Maybe she has a damn troll sitting in her restaurant or a griffin or a dragon--the possibilities are endless.

"Why don't you sit down and take a guess?"

A necklace dangles from one finger, smug smile still on his face and really Sabra hasn't had such good motivation to strangle a person in a long time. Still, she slides into the booth across from him, slapping the spatula down in front of her. "Big cat." The college student answers confidently, arms folded over her chest as she leans over the table, although she has to crane her neck back to look the man in the eyes. "Probably, unless you're overcompensatin'. " She bet he used steroids and his ding a ling was the size of a goddamn subatomic particle. "If I had to narrow it down I'd say your animal is most likely either from Africa or Asia." Lions, tigers, and leopards oh my.

This guy was gonna be a rug on her floor if he didn't stop playing "Guess Who" and just tell her.

[James Morgan]

"How about I honor ya with a boot up your ass?"

"Touchy." He says, the smug grin never once faltering. She's a sharp one, he can tell that much, and he can't exactly say that he doesn't like it. It gives her more character-- no one liked the typical boring dumb broad. And plus, he enjoyed a challenge. And with her attitude, she wasn't presenting anything but just that. He'd try to avoid getting his face in oil-- he liked his face. And that would be if she managed to reach him anyways. She looks, from where she stands, over a foot shorter than him and a hell of a lot lighter. He almost tipped the scale at 200 pounds and she looks like he could snap her in half.

"I don't know, you tell me. Maybe you've got some freaky psychic powers or somethin', rattlin' around in my skull like it's your own personal playground."

The man shakes his head briskly, leaning forward with an elbow on the table and pointing up at her like a teacher correcting a mild error. "If I had psychic powers, I'd be havin' a lot more fun than this." Who knows what strange little creepy dirty dirty things she had hiding in her mind? Tch, to have psychic powers would undoubtably be the most badass thing that has ever existed.

But unfortunately he is just a tiger shifter.

(an awesome tiger shifter, duh.)

"Big cat. Probably, unless you're overcompensatin'."

She says it as she slides in across from him, and a triumphant expression crosses his face. He brings his hand back towards him before she can wack it with that damn spatula, running his thumb across his beard and nodding at her. "Definitely not overcompensating." He says, trying to let the truth ring in his voice. Why would he ever need to lie about that kind of badassery?

"If I had to narrow it down I'd say your animal is most likely either from Africa or Asia."

He grins again. "Ding ding ding~ We have a winner." Even though he himself was from Russia, his animal belonged to both Russia and Asia. He wouldn't mark her wrong for such a technicality. And now he leans back, well, as much as he can. With his bulkiness there's not a lot of room between the back of the seat and the table. "Tiger." He answers, with a grin that spoke nothing but, Aw yeah, I'm awesome, "Siberian." And he prided himself to all hell with that fact. What's not to be proud of, belonging to the largest living big cats?

[Sabra]

"Touchy."

Tired of touchy customers was what she was. Larry was probably docking her pay as they spoke, but Sabra didn't really have the patience to deal with her boss on top of whatever this guy was. Everything in time, everything spaced out so she didn't go crazy and start making rocky mountain oysters out of anyone who bothered her. You could do that with women do--you'd just have to do a bit more slicing and dicing was all.

"If I had psychic powers, I'd be havin' a lot more fun than this."

She ignores the comment, sends him a death glare for his trouble though. He could try all he like, Sabra didn't have a damned thing to be ashamed of. Perhaps except that one time she'd let--best not to go down that path. Because what if he did have psychic powers and he just wasn't telling her about them. Then he'd hear, maybe even see that one night where she'd tapped into her own wares a little and there was this curious girl from the art school and really it'd all gone wonderfully down hill from there.

She sure wasn't giving some random, ate his steak raw, smug, sarcastic ass man a free screening of said events.

"Tiger." "Siberian."

Sabra sits up in her seat, "You're a no good dirty liar." She accuses, shock and more than a little curiosity written across her features. "Stop yankin' my chain, I bet you're just some ol' bobcat, or better yet just a house cat." Not that either of them would explain the man's rather...built physique, but it was easier on her pride to believe he was just some old alley tom, puffing out his chest and telling tall tales to random lady chefs, perhaps in the hopes he could lure her back to his lair and seduce her.

Not happening, not in his wildest damn dreams.

[James Morgan]

"You're a no good dirty liar."

He rolls his eyes with a crooked smile. "Ouch." But there's not a single thing on his face that might suggest he's an ounce hurt or even disturbed by her accusation-- there's only amusement left on his face, and a hint of the desire to prove. "That hurt." He lies with an exaggerated pout. He didn't come here to dick around... or maybe that's a lie and he totally did. Either way it doesn't matter. He has a new goal in mind. Such trivial things don't matter when his badassery is on the line.

"Stop yankin' my chain, I bet you're just some ol' bobcat, or better yet just a house cat."

The grin widens and he folds his arms at her, tilting his head with a laugh. "Seems pretty big to be any old housecat." He says in an upbeat tone. "You SAY that... But you want to know, don'tcha." Something sly slips into his expression. He could see the curiosity written all over her, and he played on that. He looked up at the ceiling with a mock thoughtful expression, hand moving back to his beard with a thumb tapping his chin. "Well, I do have pictures." He mumbles. And he does, somewhere buried in his wallet, pictures of his daughter clinging to the neck of the massive animal. But that would ruin the surprise, in fact, ruin two surprises.

"But I could always show you." And he knows full well that she may decline. But he figures if he could get her to sit here, could get her to talk to him without shoving a spatula up his ass then he could probably convince her to come home with him. And hey, he didn't even really have sleeping with her on his mind. All that was there was the growing desire to redeem his awesomeness full force and of course, to stroke his ego once she sees that he's not lying. And what's better than having a pretty girl with a kick ass attitude to boot, stroke his ego?

Nothing. Nothing is good as ego-feeding.

And he's bound and determined to get just that, bound and determined to reel her in. He knows it'll be difficult. BUT HEY! It's worth it in the end-- worth it to prove just how fucking cool he is.

[Sabra]

"Seems pretty big to be any old housecat." "You SAY that... But you want to know, don'tcha."

"Nope, I couldn't give a damn if you turned into Winnie the Pooh." Of course the proper course of action is to deny, deny, deny. Even if the chance to see a Siberian Tiger up close is a once in life time opportunity that, perhaps in any other situation Sabra would be jumping up in down in her seat to take.

"Well, I do have pictures."

She cocks her head to the side, genuinely confused. "How'd you manage to take a picture of yourself in tiger form? No thumbs, man." Sabra twiddles her's in demonstration. She's always wanted to get a better look at the beast she changes into under the light of the full moon, but being that she didn't know anyone else of her kind and you couldn't exactly ask your neighbor to snap some photos of the prowling werewolf you turned into she was left with only a vague idea of what she looked like, stolen from fuzzy memories and glances in the mirror while roaming her apartment.

"But I could always show you."

The offer's more tantalizing than Sabra wants to admit and she forces herself to play it 'cool'. "Back at your place, right?" The dark-haired woman cocks a brow, leaning back into the old seat cushions with suspicion a plenty. She didn't trust this guy, no matter how interested he'd gotten her, but neither was she the type to just pass up something like this. Something that could be used for her thesis project. "I'll go with you, but you step a foot out of line and your striped ass is my new rug, capeesh?" Sabra slides out of the booth, hollers to Larry that she's taking work off early and that he can shove it where the sun don't shine if he doesn't like it. With a triumphant grin directed towards the man she undoes the strings of her apron and slings it across a nearby chair.

What harm could a little investigating do, after all? Jezebel would make sure he stayed on the straight and narrow.

[James Morgan]

"Nope, I couldn't give a damn if you turned into Winnie the Pooh."

He snorts. "Now you're the dirty liar." He can tell she's denying it-- she has to be. Who wouldn't wanna see winnie the pooh in real life? Implying that he stayed the fuzzy cute motherfucker and not some giant snarling yellow-gold colored monster.

"How'd you manage to take a picture of yourself in tiger form? No thumbs, man."

He waves that off. "I have friends, you know." Shocker, right? Not so much. There was one or two friends of his that knew what he was, both of them being his closest bros at the shop. They had been more than happy to take pictures for him when he asked them to, provided that he didn't eat them or some whiny stuff like that.

"Back at your place, right? I'll go with you, but you step a foot out of line and your striped ass is my new rug, capeesh?"

He lets it roll off his back as he does everything when she slides out of the chair. "I'd be a pretty expensive rug." He says with a nod. He'd be a pretty cool looking rug too. Plus he'd be a ~rare item.~ There are only, what, four hundred or so of him left in the world? He may not be a real animal nerd or whatever but he at least did some research on his own breed.

He stands from his seat, enjoying the opportunity to stretch his legs, and then realizes just how small she is next to him. Over a foot shorter than him indeed and skinny as a twig next to the bulk that he was. He shrugs and turns, walks out of the building and holds the door for her, making his way back outside and over to his car.

A gorgeous 1968 Pontiac Firebird, shining with what looks like the most reflective black paint it could have possibly been given. It looks out of place next to the typical hustle-and-bustle type cars that are driving around the city. It's a car that he had proudly adopted from his father, and James had done his best to take care of it. As he approaches it, keys in hand, he speaks up again. "Mind if I pick someone up?" He gestures to the pink car seat in the back, and the few toys that were strewn over the back seat. He's shameless in his daughter's presence in his life, not caring whether a bright pink flowery and butterfly-covered car seat in the back would taint his manly image. If anything, it made him feel better.

He gets into the car, shuts the door, buckles up and starts it. He backs out, and within a few seconds, they're en route.

[Sabra]

"I'd be a pretty expensive rug."

Sold on the black market for probably more money than Sabra had ever seen at once in her lifetime. "I could sell you for a pretty penny," The southern woman says with a shrug, checking for her car keys in her jeans pockets. Yeah, Larry was definitely gonna dock her pay for this one, but it was worth it if he turned out to be a genuine article and she could get an up close and personal look with a damn Siberian Tiger.

The man stands up and for the first time in a long while, since a 'bear' had thrashed her around by her shoulders and she discovered she shared her skin with a damned wolf Sabra feels genuinely threatened. This guy certainty wasn't the college boys she put in head locks and made taste dirt. She gulps, jerking her gaze away from him. If she looked too long it made her feel like she was at the bottom of Mount Everest or something. It didn't help that the guy had hands the size of dinner plates.

"Mind if I pick someone up?"

She shakes her head, thanks him when he holds the door open for her. His car is quite simply gorgeous and Sabra has to restrain herself from dancing around the Firebird, drawing a knowing hand over the frame and paint job--ask him a million questions that would probably only set him grinning at her. Instead, she makes it look like she's unimpressed, but can't help sliding in with some obvious respect for the car, shutting the door gently and taking a look around the interior. Her eyes widen as she understands what he means exactly.

"I don't think your wife or girlfriend would really appreciate you bringin' home some random chick to check out your other form." Sabra says cautiously, taking another look at the girly car seat, and the floor dappled with baby toys here and there. "I didn't figure you for the kids type." She murmured, turning back in her spot and fiddling with the seat belt straps. It was sort of alarming to know she'd allowed herself to form such a low opinion of the guy and here he was going to pick up his daughter.

Then again this could all be a big evil plan that would end up with her body dumped behind some bushes in the local park or something.

[James Morgan]

He feels that same triumph when she gently closes the door, looks around at the car with what he knows is appreciation. It's loud and clear in her eyes and he resists the urge to be like, yeah, I know it's awesome, and instead keeps quiet while she buckles up.

"I don't think your wife or girlfriend would really appreciate you bringin' home some random chick to check out your other form."

Oh, yeah, that. Whatever smug front he had on dropped for a second, before the smile picked right back up in its original place. James has always been one to make jokes of things, whether it be revolving around a friend whose been diagnosed with cancer, or someone on their deathbed... or someone whose already dead. Never one to brood or to dwell, the light sarcasm slips its way back into his tone. "I doubt she'll so much as roll over in her grave." He mutters, before realizing that saying that probably made him sound like a serial killer or something. Oops. "She died after childbirth." He says, trying to rectify that mishap, looking at the woman next to him with a smile. "Single dad~" He says with a joking tone, grinning again. Maybe his daughter hadn't been a planned birth, maybe he never wanted her in the first place, but he owned up and took care of her. The baby of a woman he'd been dating for less than a month... His own child.

"I didn't figure you for the kids type."

"Neither did I." he answers honestly. Hell, he never thought he'd have kids his entire life. Still doesn't plan on having any more. And to this day-- is still convinced that the woman had poked holes in the damn condoms or something. "But she's the best thing that's ever happened to me." Ain't that the truth? He drives on, and within ten minutes is pulling over outside a small house just outside of one of the many developmental areas of Boston. He gets out of the house, the door opens to reveal a woman even smaller than Sabra, and he returns to the car with a baby in his arm that looks the size of a football in comparison to his stature.

The baby is no more than a year old, and James kisses her on the forehead before holding the gurgling, grinning girl out to Sabra. "Meet Izzy." The baby makes some noise at her and then James is back to the car seat, strapping her in and eventually making it back to the drivers side. He looks at Sabra and smiles, "Oh, and by the way, I'm James." And starts driving, back on the 15 minute drive to his place, where he'd park the car, gather the happily squealing baby once more and approach the apartment building.

And once inside of his own apartment, would turn on the lights, set Izzy down on the floor temporarily an swing around to grin at Sabra. His home is immaculate, not a thing in sight that might be unsafe for a baby's curious roaming, livingroom floor only tainted by two or three toys on the floor, a diaper bag by the foot of a chair with a baby sling over it. Because oh yes, he wears a baby sling and totes his child around in it shamelessly.

"I promised you awesome, so, mind watching my girl for a few minutes?"

[Sabra]

"I doubt she'll so much as roll over in her grave." "She died after childbirth." "Single dad~"

Well, now she felt like a bitch. Sabra cleared her throat awkwardly, trying to find a way to apologize without just coming out and saying sorry. "Not an easy thing to do alone." Or so she imagined, being a single mother wasn't exactly on her list of things to do. Nope, she was gonna graduate college, maybe go back to Louisville in a few years and be that amazing equine vet she had always wanted to be.

"Neither did I." "But she's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

The rest of the trip is made in relative silence, and Sabra keeps her eyes on the passing scenery rather than make herself out to a bigger jerkoff than she already has. When he stops at the small house she steps out, unsure of what to expect exactly, but he's quick to come back out, toting a happy baby with him.

The two are adorable together and James changes from a smart alec giant into this sweet dad, Izzy so small in his arms and looking absolutely ecstatic to have her father back. In a way it makes Sabra ache for the days when she was a little girl with her own dad, when she wasn't sure there was even a world outside him and his praise could sooth any hurt she had. That was a long time ago, and things had changed so much. Her father had told her family would always be there, but through the years Sabra found that even with the people you loved most in the world you ended having to rely on yourself.

It was a harsh truth, but even so she was glad to see a kid growing up with a stable father. It was nearly as rare a commodity as Siberian Tiger skins.

"Meet Izzy." "Oh, and by the way, I'm James."

"I'm Sabra." She says, genuinely pleasant and the earlier wrath in her tone gone. In a way she was surprised he was letting her around his kid at all. If James knew she was a wolf, one with a temper at that--why would he just hand her his daughter as if it was nothing? Maybe it was to him, and maybe from the perspective of a guy who supposedly turned into a giant, skull crushing, spine smacking predator she was like a Pomeranian. All bark and no bite. Either way she holds the baby girl as he sets up her car seat, hands her back thinking just how much this has snowballed from rare steak to oh by the way the mother of my child is feeding the worms and do you wanna see the rare, endangered animal I turn into?

They make it back to the apartment and Sabra scopes out the place, finding it not exactly the man cave she'd envisioned.

"I promised you awesome, so, mind watching my girl for a few minutes?"

"Uh, sure." Why did all guys think having breasts immediately lent itself to child rearing capabilities? "C'mere kiddo," Sabra bends over to scoop her off the carpet, her hands under the girl's chubby arms. She finds an armchair to sit down in, bounces Izzy on her knee absentmindly as the one year old gurgles and grins at her. "Your dad is something else." But, at the very least this was a hell of a lot more interesting than standing in a sweaty kitchen for two more hours.

[James Morgan]

He nods thankfully at her agreement and slips off somewhere else in the apartment. His bedroom, Where the man strips down to nothing but the long chain around his neck, thick and sturdy with a massive claw hanging from the end. The point reaches just under his naval, long enough so that his shift won't stress the chain. And the chain sturdy enough so he doesn't accidentally break it. He carelessly flops down onto his bed, internally claws at the chord that would call his animal out.

His shift is longer than what most peoples would be-- It's one thing to go from a normal man to a small animal, or even a man to a medium to large animal. But shifting from a two hundred pound, six foot tall man into a six-hundred-and-fifty pound, ten foot long beast was something completely different in and of itself. It's painful-- moreso than whatever a normal shifter might experience. He didn't know whether other shifters experienced any pain or whatnot but he knew he sure did. He's just happy he's not a wolf, the grueling hours that go by. He's seen it. He doesn't keep track of whatever amount of time passes, only grits his teeth. What once was a man had become a striped beast nearly seven hundred pounds, standing on thick legs and massive paws and leaping to the ground with a loud thud.

The massive animal extends his claws, wedges them through the small crack in the door to open it some, soon using his muzzle to shove it aside and push his way through. He moves quietly forward, jaw hung open just slightly to taste the air, slinking into the living room where the baby and the woman called Sabra were still residing.

His pace quickens to a trot to the pair, any stealth he'd been using before gone. The baby, his baby, showed no real signs of being anything even close to disturbed by the giant's presence. If anything, more excited to see him. The orange, striped beast faces Sabra, paled green eyes lit with triumph as he leans his one side against her legs, chuffing at her in her obvious defeat.

Hah-- Domestic cat, yeah right.