I'm coming up on infra-red, there is no running that can hide you...

[nowinprint]

At the Kashtta, Dmitri Lang is just stepping indoors with a duffel bag and a serious need to have words with Jack Bristow. She's a native Chicagoan, even if it's not this Chicago, and she knows exactly how to deal with threats against Wanderers: shove her hands in her pocket and head wherever she's going with no more indication that she cares than

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[allmydiredreams]

Babel is very sneaky. She has been sneaking about the Gauche all day, playing her spy games with herself again to keep herself amused and off the streets, at least until the most recent rash of violence dies down from a boil to a simmer. Or until she can't stand being in one place any longer, whichever comes first.

Oho! She spies a Malek! An oblivious Malek in a sunroom. Babel is very sneaky.

Hey, Malek, have a tinygirl suddenly flopped all over you and giving you an awkward hug. And grinnnning.

[homoraptor]

Malek jumps a bit when she flops on him, making an undignified "Qork!" and then rolling over in an attempt to get her in a bearhug with a couple of good thumps on the back. Malek loves his tiny girlthing.

"Lockt out a post t'scrumfolks," he says. They need no greetings! They are Malek and Babel! "Ja, bet who-so thinks t'mess wit wanderers at a Scrum game gonna get their ass bit. Maybe have all a trip out, cutta the tension, ja? Getch allll t'friends together."

[allmydiredreams]

Babel squees when Malek rolls her into a bear hug and thumps him back before wiggling to sprawl next to him, propping her chin on her hand and poking at the Rubix cube. "Scrum?" she asks. The idea of a trip out sounds like a wonderful idea, and even if she wasn't particularly scared before (though the idea of being beaten to death again isn't all that appealing, really, so she was looking to avoid that even if it's not permanent), bodyguards in the form of fun brotherthings are even better.

[homoraptor]

Malek grins a grin he reserves for the best of all best things. Ahh, scrum: the stimulant for the behemoth masses. Expression of strength, goodwill, and demonhood among behemoths. Great venerable institution of behemoth culture.

You know.

"Scrum!" he says. "You get, ah, some number o'behemoths, all out - rah! - in t'eir monsters, give 'em ball, bout... so big." He indicates something the size of a pumpkin. "Set up goals, ja? Then just... scrum! Good fun. Great time."

[allmydiredreams]

Babel grins. "Brilliant! Perfect beats, then, no hiding -- in your element," she says, getting slightly less coherent in her excitment, not that that matters much when she's around Malek, of all people. She makes a little flaily motion with her hands, one still holding the Rubix cube. "Count me in?"

Behemoths are her favorite. So far, anyway. In that she's liked every one of them she's met.

[homoraptor]

"Sattdays, usually," Malek says. "'n' special 'casions. Scrum boss 'as job fixin' cars; keeps hours, yanno. But, ach da, better t'believe - in th'element like y'say. Very best. 'n' bring snacks, fire up t'grill..." He's getting into it now. Watch out or this may devolve into Storytime With Malek.

[allmydiredreams]

Storytime With Malek is not a time that Babel objects to, really. She wiggles again, poking at the Rubix cube a bit more. She's gotten six of the yellow squares to line up, at the expense of the order in every other part of the cube. "Proper cookout with monsters in!" she says. "Long as they don't get overenthusiastic and eat me, sounds like a lovely way to spend a Saturday." In other words, Babel will hide in your car and make sure you bring her along.

[homoraptor]

"Pfft. Plenty o'food on hand, make sure thant dun't happen." Malek's joking. Mostly. "'sides, law of the sort: y'don't eat another body's friendies 'less you got an urge t'start somethin', an' scrums all nice." He ruffles her hair. "Long time goin'. Hear stories in war, ja? 'hems get t'fightin', tough 'n' bloddy, diff'rent sides, still can come 'gether 'n' scrum. Wat. 's beautiful, so."

He dips his head. In raptor-form, he'd be preening. Here, it's not clear.

[allmydiredreams]

She shakes her head after the hair-ruffle, letting it sort itself out after that and tucking a wayward strand behind her ear. "I like not being eaten," she says, reaching up to...well, she'd ruffle his hair if he had any, but he doesn't really, so instead she just pats his head. The preening-bob makes it easier anyway. "Like Christmas!" she squeaks. Yeah, so she really means 'that time during World War I when the Christmas Truce happened', but that would be too many words and too much of an explanation.