Well I know it's just a spring haze, but I don't much like the look of it...
Even though her parents disapprove of her drinking coffee, Zoe has pretty much decided to disregard that today. She's curled up in an armchair in the Coffee Shop with a mocha and a book, reading and looking sleepy, and very cranky about it. Creepy journal conversations late at night do not make for restful sleep.
In the kitchen of the Kashtta, Sam ( Read more... )
In the kitchen of the Kashtta, Sam ( Read more... )
...actually, scratch that, there probably isn't.
He was just strolling about, using dogshapedness as an excuse not to get into awkward conversations with people, and then he decided to see if there was anything left out on kitchen shelves or tables which he could nab, and what does he find instead? Sam. And a skunkmonster.
He's not sure if this is more Sam's life or his, at this point.
His nose wrinkles. Apparently the Rift didn't decide to make the species smell any better while it was tossing it through, and it would just figure that the first time he actually runs into the man would involve way too much fur and too many limbs. Hopefully this isn't First Week Of January Redux: The Rift Monster Edition. No one needs that.
"Rrrrou..."
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Not startling it is pretty much what Sam has been doing for the past three minutes since he noticed it. He hasn't quite worked out what he should be doing beyond that, but not startling it seems like a good start.
The skunk... creature looks over at J. Back to Sam. Back, again, to J, the more obviously predator-shaped of the pair. A pair of its eyes blink. The other eight don't have lid to blink with.
For some reason, Sam finds the multiple eyes more disturbing than the excess of legs. "I refuse to wash you in tomato juice if you get sprayed," he adds.
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I do have a guardian angel, he thinks. Not that Sam, so far as he knows, can hear his thoughts, but the snark... helps. Ish. She'd probably want to kill me for it, but that's not exactly new. ...I suppose no one's thought of tranquilizers?
...there's a moment's pause while he tries to work out how to communicate tranquilizers.
...stupid canine anatomy. Shifting back human would probably startle the spider, wouldn't it?
After a moment he picks up a forepaw and taps out «TRANQ» in morse code on the floor. Now to wonder if Sam actually, y'know, knows morse code.
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Sam actually has no idea where they keep the tranquillizers. Every other time they've been necessary, there was usually someone like Juliet around who keeps them on hand.
He takes a slow step to the side, toward the door. As he takes another step, though, the skunk swings its head back toward him and hisses. Sam glares at it and mutters under his breath, "You are kidding me."
He has the vague suspicion that this is happening simply because nothing like this has happened to him in a while. He is not amused, Chicago.
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What they need, he thinks, is backup. Preferably backup with the sense to stop in the doorway and run off for a firearm/tranq gun without setting the spiderthing off. ...really, given Torchwood, why doesn't anyone keep tranqs in the kitchen? At least back home, Miadok was always joking about putting antidepressants in the coffee.
Well, I suppose I could sit here and gnaw on my own wrist until my guardian angel comes running...No. His guardian angel would not come running. His guardian angel has pretty much worked out that having J as her ward means essentially having an intermittent pain-disorder-plus-emotional-disorder which, while annoying, is not really something you treat like a building burning down. He could probably sit here gnawing on himself all day, looking like an idiot, before she sauntered down to hit ( ... )
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He moves another cautious step backwards. The skunk's tail twitches as it swivels its head to keep several eyes on both of them. Surely at some point they have to reach some sort of minimum safe distance where it stops considering the two of them a threat...
"You wouldn't happen to know how far these things can spray, would you?" he says, keeping his voice low and soft. Well, even J probably doesn't know about spiderskunks, but some knowledge of the regular variety couldn't hurt.
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He shakes his head, but very slowly. Back away, a step at a time, and surely this thing's instincts have to realize that if your opponent is disengaging, it's not time to escalate, right? It had better. Because if he's just going to get sprayed anyway, he is going to cut his losses and go straight for the jugular.
Or... arachnid equivalent.
He takes another slow sidle. Really. Everyone just relax, and we can all get out of this alive.
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Knowing the Kashtta, and his life, if it gets away, it would probably wander down the evil hallway and turn into a giant, bloodthirsty spider-skunk that sprays acid or God knows what.
One more step backwards, and-
Sam's leg hits an open cabinet door. It clatters shut loudly. The skunk pivots toward Sam, not away as he'd expected, and lunges at him with much too large tarantula fangs bared. Sam swears and clambers up onto the counter before he even realizes he's doing it.
Oh yes. This is going well.
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Of course, sudden movements around rottweilers with emotional problems are also pretty bad.
J doesn't even have time to think things out - like he's avail himself of the opportunity if he had it - before he's launched himself forward with a bark, heroically throwing himself into the path of certain skunkdom.
Oh yes, he decides, an instant later when his brain's caught up. This is ridiculous. If anyone other than Sam ever finds out about this, he's never going to hear the end of it. ...Sam, on the other hand, he's pretty sure he can persuade never to talk about this again.
He's kinda hoping those fangs don't have venom in them.
...or skunk musk. Getting sprayed might actually be preferable than having the stink injected intravenously.
This, he's pretty sure, as his teeth simultaneously sink into fur and scrape against what may be part of an exoskeleton, is not one of the brightest tactics he's ever tried.
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Sam thinks it's obscenely unfair that the Rift would arm a creature with fangs and skunk scent, on top of unnecessary aggressiveness. Any one of those things would have been quite enough... and he's almost certain tarantulas come with venom.
He could probably go run for a gun now, and hope J doesn't get bitten before he gets back. Or he could just not pause to think about it, pull his shirt up over his mouth and nose with one hand, and jump down from the counter while swinging the heaviest frying pan within his reach with the other.
Sam has noticed he tends to pick the stupid choice a lot more often when he's around J.
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On the minus side, J's eyes are watering so badly he can hardly see, and he's trying to convince himself it's really not necessary to breathe. Also, spiderskunk tastes foul, even without the spray cloud settling onto every available surface, including his teeth and maw.
The spiderskunk has way too many legs with way too many claws, and it's twisting in such a way that J is locked into a hellish sort of beastly waltz trying to keep his flank away from the fangs, but like he's going to let go. Sooner or later his jaw is going to prove stronger than this thing's neck - this is what the species is good for, right? - and giving the monster any chance to make a free move strikes him as a really bad idea.
You know, worse than getting into this in the first place.
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