bet on losing ᶜᵃᵗdogs !

ཐི ( ᶠᶸᶜᵏ ᵧₒᵤ! ) ཋྀ ︶꒷꒦︶ ๋   ⊱༒︎            ❝  So that's why she's used to dealing with ANIMALS like you ! ˎˊ˗  ❞ Flushed cheeks && harsh words are the only way he knows how to shield himself from feelings of awkwardness ( or any feelings he can perceive as weakness due to his family power struggle ). Still, the gears in his head started turning when he heard the word BOSS ──ཀཀ FUCK HIS ANCESTRY ──ཀཀ HE WILL FIGHT.

It's time to turn on that "vampire charm" && basically skip over to the kinder woman loving on the chickens in his gothic heels. Countenance softens to something SWEETER && he lightly pokes her side ; voice slightly higher in pitch.

❝  Arin said you were going to eat my babies. PLEASE, don't do that... I am highly against murder ──ཀཀ you can eat other chickens but not these ones. ❞

𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤—how observant. Oh well, Aluin can tackle this one on his own. Airin decides to saunter off to one of the standing tables and props his cheek onto the heel of his palm to watch the show.

Mama Bull didn’t see the little vampire approaching. She was too busy picking up the chickens and giving them not only kisses but also little pat-downs. When she’s prodded, she stands up with pressed, pink lips.

" Oh! These little ones are yours? " It IS a shame she can’t eat some of them. The stout woman looks around, wiggling her fingers a little bit as she looks around the hen-house that is her bar. " What if… I buy three off of you? " She then holds her hands politely, looking expectantly at Aluin. " For no particular reason. "

Bewilderment immediately takes over as the little creature was able to casually toss out regular speech despite being some form of... canine? cat? Something.

He tries to give a response himself, but the entirely expected drone of guttural noises that follows somehow manages to convey very little in the form of intelligent information. He follows it with a huff. Of course. That still wasn't an option why'd he think it would be?

His large head would turn back down towards the the Felicid, the body following slightly. It takes him longer than he would have wanted to realize he still had fully functioning limbs and that there were quite a few methods of communication that relied on those.

He'd follow up the confusing pause with a rather curt shake of the head. At least he was pretty sure on that response. A more certain one could would be given after taking more time to confirm the lack of a recognizable scent. There was certainly... something familiar about the little guy. His senses were lulling him into a place of trust, hitting all the same feelings some form of nostalgia might give, but try as he might to place it he couldn't put a paw on who this might be.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠—Fenrir or not—reminds him of a week-old pup still trying to find its legs. Which is odd since not even a moment ago he killed the behemoth mother. Iras, instinct is one hell of a bitch.

At least such ire isn’t directed towards him. Even if the massive pup can’t speak in tongues, his body instinctively tells Airin most of what he needs to know, and that is he’s curious. A calm kind of curiosity that the tiny felicid is able to appreciate because it’ll make searching for answers… possibly easier.

The felicid arches back, eyes narrowing from the warm, damp rush of wind coming from the canine’s sniffing. Shaking his head, he spats a little before tacking a courageous leap and lands on the canine’s nose. " We’re going to have to figure out what happened to you… " Airin shakes down his pelt—eugh, giant puppy snot. " If you were a humanoid child before, that means there are others like you, and they should know… "

He’s practically thinking out loud at this point, but his new companion might as well feel included. " What’dya say? You wanna’ go find some humanoids? "

──ཐི ྐ( ᶠᶸᶜᵏᵧₒᵤ! )ཋྀ ྐ─•──   TICKLISH .ᐟˎˊ˗ ──ཀཀ EXTREMELY TICKLISH ──ཀཀ only made worse by feather-like fur grazing against delicate && tremendously sensitive nerves. The short vampire couldn't handle it ; he had to squirm around on the ground in a fit of laughter. NO ARIN FOUND HIS ONLY WEAKNESS ──ཀཀ ESPECIALLY HIS BACK .ᐟˎˊ˗ He could take his father's undying wrath, but cute little fluffy paws would be the DEATH of him.

AND NOW, whenever he misbehaves, what's going to stop the felicid from doing this again?! Sadly, Aluin didn't have too much time to think about that──ཀཀ needing to find quick reprieve from this attack──ཀཀ the vampire rolled to his stomach and freed the bats from his shoulder.

With a simple shift of density ──ཀཀ pale skin like a doorway out of a void ──ཀཀ all of the bats are free to squeak and fly into the ceiling ; if Arin is not careful, he could fall into the hollow form crying && laughing on the floor for mercy. It is fine, he can simply call his bats back later, he does literally speak their language && controls them.

                                  ❝  I AM GOING TO FUCK YOU UP⭑.ᐟˎˊ˗ Those are my babiesss──ཀཀ my army ──ཀཀ my KIN  .ᐟˎˊ˗  If you hurt any of them ──ཀཀ I DON'T CARE how much fur you have, I'll eat you  .ᐟˎˊ˗    ❞ ──ཀ♡ཀﮩ٨ـ 𖦤 ̊ ̟ ⊱༒︎

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐳𝐳𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐩 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐬. Poor Aluin would feel heavily calloused paw pads, but also the threat of those claws prodding at tender flesh with each hit. Airin isn’t paying attention to what the little vampire is doing, though, so when Aluin rolls onto his stomach—Airin cheeps and wriggles to counteract being smushed.

He ungraciously breaks free, staggering beside Aluin. The felicid’s gaze is wide with the real bats now in view, and unfortunately for them, he bunches up his hind quarters and leaps into the air. Paws extended, he snatches one between them and, as they fall, places it in his maw before he lands.

He got it!! This is so much better than one of those red dots!

Airin trots over to Aluin with the wriggling, unharmed—just manhandled—bat in his maw still. He drops it in front of Aluin and places a paw over it. The felicid chirrups—He did it! He got the bat!!

Augustine listens as the other speaks to him. Understanding what he was saying to him. There had been studies recently about alternative dimensions and certain beings that were able to transport through them. Was this poor being one of those beings accidentally brought through one of those wormholes ？

❝ Well after all you've been through I like to think you landed in one of the safest places in a strange new place. ❞ He tells him gently. He doesn't press a reassuring head pat like the other's head like he would other creatures wandering around.

❝ The strange creatures you see here are called Pokemon. They all have unique abilities , names and bonds with the people here. I'm Professor Augustine Sycamore and you're in my research lab and observatory. ❞ He settles down the first aide kit as he smiles gently.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝’𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐩𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 when the man responds gently. He speaks as if… something like this has happened before? Or… are these Pokémon creatures odd enough that an animal speaking is not out of the ordinary? Yet Airin hasn’t heard any of them talk outside of repeating the same words over and over again…

He outstretches his front paws and lays his head sideways to watch Augustine; his eyes now rounded with intrigue. " Home might be far away. " He replies softly, seemingly in thought. " …They call me Airin, by the way. Thank you for all your help so far, Augustine; you’re very lucky I didn’t bite you. " His tail quivers as he gives a soft trill.

︵‿₊୨ ཐི ྐ ❤︎ ໒ ୧₊‿︵. ❝ Ohhhh, I see, you're like one of those adorable Library cats. The whole workplace takes care of you... ❞ There's a slight pout, feeling as if she's missing out on a rare Pokémon or something ──୨ৎ── insistent, yes, but she takes the no. Panori is not one to kidnap, but she is one to move her hand back to their head for another pat.

❝ What kind of place do you work at? Sounds like a good place if they have chicken strips... and cute fluffy guys like you. A fox cafe? A petting zoo? ❞

" 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐬. " He pushes his head against her hand—if she’s going to start petting him, she better not stop! " It’s a bar for the supernatural, or myths if you know local slang. I’m a bouncer over there. "

His coworkers would laugh if they heard her say they all take care of him. Airin is pretty independent, outside of the shenanigans or Irish Goodbyes he inflicts on the others. Those are worthy of scolding, but being taken care of? Well, he actually doesn’t want to think too hard on that.

"Great, more of the same cryptic bullshit..." Ava mumbles, tearing her gaze away from Peony to take in what he exactly is. Had it not been for the way she'd intruded, there isn't a doubt in her mind that the first thing she would have been is amazed. That curiosity is still only barely smothered by some amount of anxiety, though she has enough of a mind to not step closer to him to try and get a better look.

She reaches up to grab both of other dragonflies, to settle them on her shoulders before either of them can make a rash decision. "Safety isn't somethin' I expect anywhere I go," Danger would find her anywhere she went, or she would stumble upon it. "But I am a little stupid and accidentally go places I shouldn't." Ava leans in slightly, trying to catch sight of where exactly the rest of him is.

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 that doesn’t exist, his throat clicks. He cares not for her fumbling explanation, but rather the curiosity fluttering within her life force. It beads up, then pops softly at its peak in hues of yellow. It’s very different from human intrigue. Though from one extraterrestrial to another, his surprise is not on the tip of his tongue.

Slowly, his head turns further—Peony rotating with the motion as if his whole, hidden body is a murky, matte kaleidoscope. A hum bubbles from the murk along his neck, but he simply stares at her in silence after her inquiry.

" Depends… " He finally answers with an air of nonchalance. Which, to him, is basically the whole answer to her question. She’s aware of her brother, the aroma of the Gear Shift clinging beneath her nail beds; she should simply know in his diluted mind. But another curiosity of his own arises, one far away from the topic at hand…

He never hunts bugs. They’re small and of little value to him, but this large and insistent one… It makes him as curious as a child experiencing a little creek for the first time. A tendril that’s locked around one of her back legs snaps it like a twig—cruel and unusual, yet he wants to know if it reacts like a mammal—will it cry?