MCA, Apartment -2, Wednesday Morning [10/24].

[died8yearsago]

Well. Rosa had finally spent the night at Seivarden's place for a change, but she was having some pretty mixed feelings about the fact that that hadn't been the only thing different about last night. On the one hand, being in a different body completely alien to your own was weird as hell and kind of creepy and gross. On the other hand, she'd turned into a seriously bad ass animal (surprising no one, really), and it was kind of hard not to acknowledge the fact that animal her was freaking awesome.

But by the time the morning rolled around, she was feeling bored and restless, unable to help a persistent need to prowl and hunt (namely: squirrels, which she was pretty sure was not a typical natural prey for a panther, but why was she trying to make sense out of this, anyway?), and there was only so much room to pace in her, so she decided to just claim the couch for herself, stretching out comfortably, idly grooming her paws.

And occasionally sending a cool, smug glance across the living room to where she knew Issa was hiding from the much bigger, much less domesticated feline in the room. Yes, she knew it was stupid and petty as hell, but she just couldn't help feeling lofty about clearly being the superior, dominate predator in the room. Yeah, that's right, you dumb cat. Maybe she'd remember this, too, when Rosa was back to her normal self.


[[ apartment and pet modded with permission, and for the people who actually live here if they waaaaant ]]

Comments

[died8yearsago]

That was....a good question. She had been feeling restless, sure, and bored, extremely bored, but at the same time, she had just gotten really comfortable on the couch, and the compulsion to be lazy was a lot stronger in her than it ever was. And she couldn't tell if her rising curiosity was a symptom of the boredom or just the island being too literal and on the nose now that she was a cat. So she considered the door for a moment before giving the approximation of a shrug, shifting very pointedly to make herself even more comfortable and settled than before.

Hey, if he didn't mind some strange panther just hanging out on his couch, she was going to keep taking advantage of it.

[2_old_for_this]

Peter shrugged back. "Okay, then." He hooked a thumb at the easel not far from her. "I was going to paint a bit before work. Try and let me know if you need anything."

He headed into his room to change into a shirt he didn't mind getting paint on, then settled to stand in front of the easel.

[died8yearsago]

With her sense of smell heightened considerably more than she was used to, Rosa didn't know how to feel about having to deal with paint, but what was she going to do about it? It's not like she lived here or anything, she was just some random panther crashing on his sofa, so whatever.

She may have shifted her position on the couch by the time he got back, too, in a way that helped her see a little better what he was working on. Not that she cared, she didn't, she was just bored, and, honestly, she was just sort of spending most of the time watching him. She figured it had to be at least a little unnerving--she'd be disappointed if it wasn't, but she was just sort through that she was pretty sure she'd met him at least once, but it clearly wasn't enough to really stick, and so her entire picture of this guy was basically build of Seivarden's complaints about his lectures.

Which didn't seem to gel with the guy who was just okay cool, there's a panther-person in my living room, I guess I'll just go paint now, so it was all just....interesting.

Maybe she should have just pretended to be a regular random panther she'd brought home with her, but the idea of the words pet, Seivarden and her lumped together in the same context forcefully prevented that from ever being possible.

[2_old_for_this]

Sorry, Rosa; Peter had a healthy respect for predators, but he wasn't going to be uncomfortable when faced with one. He was still top of the food chain.

Instead, he was closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, then firmly shoving the memories of Hell back down and picking up his paintbrush to paint vines crawling up a wall from a home he'd lived in for a few years in France. The tendrils went like this, and the shadows like that.

Sorry, Rosa. He was painting flowers.