Ragnar was busy tending to a young cat under a bush, curing a cold and banishing parasites. He looks up when Jack appears, tilting his head to one side. The cat makes a nervous noise and Rags give him one last lick.
"You will be fine. Go on."
He strides out to meet the confused-looking human. "Good evening."
A quick scramble for composure. This may be the first time he's actually thankful his mother forced him into etiquette classes when he was a kid.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Cat." His best courtly bow. "You took me by surprise, I didn't mean to offend."
Going for his cell phone to get a picture of the talking cat would probably be a bad move, right? Also pointless. So he doesn't. But he thinks about it.
"And, yes. I think I need assistance. I have no idea where I am or how I got here."
A brief, enlightened look. "Ah. So, then, you are not native to Chicago? Are you perhaps a 'wanderer' as well?"
He stands, still giving Jack a grave look. "I am Ragnar Gustaffson Coeur de Lion, of the breed Norsk Skogatt. That is to say, Norwegian Forest Cat. I, too, am a stranger here. You have heard of Tintagel, in England? That is my home."
Lots of places that don't sound even remotely familiar. Yep, not home. "Definitely not a native. How did I get here?"
That's a pretty impressive name. So Jack's gonna break out the full title: "Major Jonathan Benjamin, Crown Prince of Gilboa." A salute, followed by his best rakish grin. "But call me Jack."
"I suspect that you arrived in the same manner as myself. That is to say, through a 'Rift.'" He pauses, a contemplative look on his face. "They are pathways, it seems, though they only flow in one direction. They abduct you from familiar surroundings and deposit you in this world. So I have been told."
Ragnar sighs. "From whence you have come, you cannot return. A way has yet to be found. It is a problem."
At Jack's title, Ragnar's ears swing forward. "Indeed? I have not heard of this place, I fear--'Gilboa'--but it is nevertheless a pleasure to meet one who shares the responsibility of rulership."
Jack's smile dims a little at the news that he can't go back. It's a little hard to doubt a talking cat's word, though. Especially given that the more he looks, the more obvious it is that he really is not in Gilboa, and there's no other explanation for how he got here. Still... "No return? Are you sure?"
An arched eyebrow, a veiled look -- "The prince of cats, eh? It's a pleasure."
Ragnar inclines his head slightly in what might be a very human attempt at a bow. "King," he says, though there's no admonition in the correction. "Perhaps you see why I do not give up the idea that a way can be found--indeed, one must be found. My Queen and my kittens will not be left without me. So, too, you should not give up."
There's bedrock finality in the words. Ragnar may not be the most intelligent creature in the world, but his faith and determination more than fill the gap intelligence leaves.
That gets a brief moment of Jack imagining what it would have been like, if it were his father who'd disappeared instead of himself. It's not a nice idea, and he warms up to Ragnar a little more. "A way must be found," he agrees.
Jack isn't exactly famed for his integrity and sense of responsibility. That doesn't mean the idea of abandoning his family and his men is appealing.
"Do you have any knowledge of this place, then? Somewhere you might go? Humans are more preoccupied with having a roof under which to retreat, I find. And those who have better knowledge of the Rifts might assist you better than I."
Ragnar spots several people staring and sighs. "Perhaps we should walk."
Yeah -- if this place is anything like home, Jack doesn't really want to get a reputation as the guy who stands around talking to cats. "Walking sounds like a really good plan."
"I'm a complete stranger here. All I've got with me is my cell phone and debit cards, and I somehow doubt they'll work here. I have very little idea where I am, much less where to go."
Ragnar hrmphs. "This is a problem. There are several places of which I know. The Kashtta Tower, where I stay, in the company of April and Julian Sark and many others. The Conrad, to which I have not yet been. And there is, as well, a place called 'the Main Gauche.' Though it is far more distant than the first two."
He looks up at Jack as they walk. "The Kashtta and the Conrad are close to each other, as I understand it. It is your choice. What is a 'cell phone'? And a 'debit card'?"
"Well, a cell phone is a...It's a way of getting in contact with people." He takes his out, just to show Ragnar. "You can bring it with you and call anyone, if they have a phone too. Of course, that kind of hinges on their being in the same world as you. And a debit card is a very adaptable form of money." Pause. "They don't have those here?"
He can live without the cell phone, but Jack loves his debit cards.
"I do not know. I am a cat. I have no need of such things." He pauses on a street corner, his ears swiveling. "I believe this is where one turns to reach the Kashtta Tower. Would you prefer that or the 'Conrad Hotel'? I have heard that the Conrad is less... intimidating, for most humans."
"You will be fine. Go on."
He strides out to meet the confused-looking human. "Good evening."
Hi, Jack. Welcome to Chicago.
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"Am I going crazy or did a cat just speak to me?"
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"I beg your pardon, but I must ask this: Are all humans so narrow-minded?"
He curls his tail around his paws. "You seem in need of assistance."
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"I beg your pardon, Sir Cat." His best courtly bow. "You took me by surprise, I didn't mean to offend."
Going for his cell phone to get a picture of the talking cat would probably be a bad move, right? Also pointless. So he doesn't. But he thinks about it.
"And, yes. I think I need assistance. I have no idea where I am or how I got here."
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He stands, still giving Jack a grave look. "I am Ragnar Gustaffson Coeur de Lion, of the breed Norsk Skogatt. That is to say, Norwegian Forest Cat. I, too, am a stranger here. You have heard of Tintagel, in England? That is my home."
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That's a pretty impressive name. So Jack's gonna break out the full title: "Major Jonathan Benjamin, Crown Prince of Gilboa." A salute, followed by his best rakish grin. "But call me Jack."
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Ragnar sighs. "From whence you have come, you cannot return. A way has yet to be found. It is a problem."
At Jack's title, Ragnar's ears swing forward. "Indeed? I have not heard of this place, I fear--'Gilboa'--but it is nevertheless a pleasure to meet one who shares the responsibility of rulership."
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An arched eyebrow, a veiled look -- "The prince of cats, eh? It's a pleasure."
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There's bedrock finality in the words. Ragnar may not be the most intelligent creature in the world, but his faith and determination more than fill the gap intelligence leaves.
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Jack isn't exactly famed for his integrity and sense of responsibility. That doesn't mean the idea of abandoning his family and his men is appealing.
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Ragnar spots several people staring and sighs. "Perhaps we should walk."
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"I'm a complete stranger here. All I've got with me is my cell phone and debit cards, and I somehow doubt they'll work here. I have very little idea where I am, much less where to go."
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He looks up at Jack as they walk. "The Kashtta and the Conrad are close to each other, as I understand it. It is your choice. What is a 'cell phone'? And a 'debit card'?"
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He can live without the cell phone, but Jack loves his debit cards.
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"Less intimidating sounds...less intimidating. Let's go with the hotel."
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