Your OC Is Having A Sleepover With The OC Above

Minou stared at the girl when she approached the bird, yet funnily enough… She remained still, except for the occasional rustle of her feathers while she blinked and cocked her head at her. With a chirp, the bird hopped forward before sticking her snout into the other’s hair.

Aww?

A low sniffing sound could be heard while Minou took the scent of the girl’s hair, before chirping again when she reached out and gently grabbed the bird’s jaw. Normally, touching Minou was a free way to getting their ass kicked in a double serving - first by Minou herself, then by Brown when she arrived at the scene and figured out what the hell just happened. Not a fun time! But alas, this was different. Not only was Brown not here to witness this - as she was currently busy talking on the telephone with someone - but Minou just… Happened to like the girl.

She sniffed again and chirped, having no idea what the girl was talking about. However, Minou’s eyes were focused on what was likely her pocket area… Probably just in case the girl had treats in tow. Minou, despite not being nearly as food-motivated as Tabby, still liked food. She blinked when the girl jumped slightly, before curling her lip back instinctively; however, no teeth were bared…

It seemed that she was just more surprised than anything else.

With Brown still gone, Minou stared at the hand before starting to sniff at it, as well as occasionally nudge it with her snout. Okay, that was kind of cute. Now hopefully she actually started doing this to more people instead of just her owner, and one of her twenty million not-children.

The bird continued to sniff and shuffle her feet as the girl spoke. She had… No idea what the fuck the other was talking about, but she still fidgeted and chirped every so often. Once, she reached out to give the back of her palm a slight insistent nip, but it was more playful than really aggressive; hell, the skin wasn’t broken at all here! Minou shook her feathers out when the girl suddenly stood up. Disappointing. The bird actually bared her teeth as she hissed, before stepping back slightly.

It was, still, for the best that Minou couldn’t speak. She watched the girl leave before hopping back onto her usual perch and starting to preen herself. As a treat.

"Hi there, Minou," Zinnia gushed, glancing behind her before seating herself on her knees. After she shifted her body so that she could lay on her stomach, she watched the Archeops intently as she allowed her eyelashes to flutter. She raised her hands so that she could support her head, her palms cupped around the edges of her jaw.

"Mmh, you know, you're pretty lucky. You don't have to go to school, and you get to stay here and...well...do bird things...and whatever other things you do," she chuffed. After a brief pause, she glanced behind her, making sure that Brown was still occupied. After she turned back around, she jumped in surprise when she noticed that the bird was right in front of her. However, her surprised expression slightly shifted into a frown. After she held one of her hands out for Minou to sniff, Zinnia allowed her lips to purse and her head to tilt.

"Heh, maybe if you weren't so bitey, you could come in handy there! I could take you to history and gym class, and—and the other girls there wouldn't bother me so much. Yeah, they would probably stop calling me so gross and fat, and pushing me into the lockers, and—" she abruptly silenced herself, glancing behind her again before whipping her head back over to the bird. She listened closely to the noises the Archeops made, allowing her lips to smack before holding her hand back out to her.

"Ooh, nevermind that. I'm not gonna drown you in all my problems, sweetie. I just went off on a tangent, I'm not gonna bother you anymore." Allowing her eyelashes to flutter again, she pushed herself onto her feet.

"Hey, I'll be right back, okay? I'm just gonna check in with your mama really quick to see if she needs any help," she informed the bird, stretching out her arms as she walked out of the room.

Hala was surprised to find I'sen at her doorstep, and then more so appalled that he had a young child with him. The woman flinched at the sound of the toddler's voice, heart leaping into her throat at that moment, uncertain of whether or not to refuse. In a dazed state, she didn't quite look at I'sen, but rather over his shoulder at the twilit sky, lip curled into a shaky scowl.

More children, no more wife.

"No." She snapped, though she immediately regretted it as her eyes trailed after the boy. She watched him scuttle around the sitting room, before eventually landing in the cabriole. The instant he was settled, she stepped outside, pulling the door into a loud shut behind her. "My husband may not be here, but listen, you--" She stammered a moment, wincing as the autumn wind whipped at her face. "You can't just leave your son alone with me, I'sen. This is-- This is too sudden, alright? Gods, I can just give you the money for an inn, but you can't..."

She stopped. Overwhelmed, she ran her hands down her face, desperately trying to calm herself down. It was embarrassing, standing out on the porch ready to bawl her eyes out. Embarrassing, pathetic, unsightly -- this was a stupid thing to lose her shit over, and she knew it. Once her hands were back down, she looked up at the man tiredly.

"I have work to do." She half-lied. She did indeed have work to do, but never did she busy herself so late into the day. She was going to pull an all-nighter. "I have a letter I need-- I need to write to one of my co-authors, and then I need to read the papers, and... Books." Books? "I need to work on my projects tonight, because I-- I have a deadline to meet soon." That last bit was a total lie, but oh well.

She opened the entrance door behind her, peering inside at the toddler. "You need to stay here with him." she told I'sen, "I have a guest room for both of you to stay in, and the servants can tend to the boy, and I can make tea for the two of you to help sleep, but I'm not..."

Another pause given, she sighed, "I'm bad with young children. I can't do this."

"Oi was in de neighborhood," Roswell said. A lazy teeth baring smile on his face. His hand rested in hers and gave it a soft squeeze. "Just wanted suprise yer," and get out of the rain. Let's be real. He stretched his legs while seating himself better on the couch. His boots were smeared with mud. So was the duffel bag filled with silverware. He gave the bag a soft nudge with his foot. Smiling brighter at the sound of silver clank against silver. Seems like a successful visit in the neighborhood Ros.
"Aye yer did," he reminded her. His other hand resting on her cheek. Softly rubbing it with his thumb. "Oi remember dat loud and clear," just as he remembered how Minou had plucked his hair and pricked his shoulder with her talons.
Salvador's birthday though? He had no clue. Priorities he suppose.

Roswell laughed. His breath smelling of tobacco. "the only thing oi want to steal from yer," his gaze shot at her earrings for a second before smiling sheepishly, "is yer toime." Sure. He did however lifted the hand resting on Brown's cheek a bit higher, letting his thumb rub her earlobe.  He eyed her. A bigger smile on his face. This teasing glimmer in his eye. "Come on yer loike it when oi slip into yer home," Roswell pestered. He leaned a bit closer, giving her cheek a soft peck before he continued. "Beside yer attic window was open. Just slightly though." Imagine climbing a three story mansion, with a bag of stolen silverware on your back, just to get out of the rain.
He laughed and leaned back. Giving her hand a soft squeeze. "Tell me. How am oi finicky," he challenged her. His question answered by a kiss on the cheek. Roswell shrugged. Fair enough.

Roswell wasn't the type that said; oh you shouldn't have done that. I cant accept that, this is too much.. as well.. He could accept gifts. Always. "Oi hope oi've got some room in me bag," he said. Eying the gifts with that smile on his face.
A thank you? Never heard of her.
Roswell kissed her back. Pulling her slightly a bit closer as he laughed. "I prefer to have at least one peaker," he half joking said. "Missin' just one is kinda of me thing," keep talking with slangs like that old man and you'd need to get use to having 0 peakers.

"Oh oi will, don't yer worry sweetcakes," Roswell said. "For now oi'm content with such stron' arms holding me save and warm in dis storm," Roswell continued with a smooth voice. Storm though? It was just a drizzle.

With a nervous yet chiming laugh, Brown opined merrily while leaning her head on Roswell’s shoulder, “You know, otterface, you could have just told me you wanted to come up to these quarters if you wanted a break from all that Gespan business… Especially after the latest news regarding the strike.” Or maybe he just wanted to spend time with you away from the rain, you fucking idiot. “Not that it matters, to be honest,” added the aristocrat, “I believe I did say I liked spending time with you, yes? I just… Did not expect for you to try breaking in at the middle of the night. Again, I mean. Breaking in at the middle of the night again.”

But hey! At least he didn’t get his ass kicked by her bird! (Even if he could still faintly hear her hisses and flapping coming from a nearby locked room.)

“I guess, then, it would be futile for me to warn you to not come here at this time again, even if you do not plan to steal anything from my manor,,” she continued while rubbing Roswell’s hand with hers, “You always have a way of weaseling your way here, huh?” The middle-aged shrew laughed again, with that same moderated bashfulness and mirth as before. Sure, it was difficult to ignore all the politics surrounding Drakenburg at the moment, but… Previously looking up at the leidsman, she eventually broke off eye contact and gave his hand a squeeze. “You little stoat, you little otter…” She trailed off for the sake of reaching her free hand up to stroke his cheek.

“First you sneak your way into my life, then into my mind, then into my house… I have to commend you, in a way. Most men tend to be rather finicky, and you are no exception, but you… You are the good type of finicky, I suppose, otterface.” That’s… One way to say it?

Fluttering her eyes for a few seconds, Brown then leaned in to deliver a quick peck on the leidsman’s chin. Her free hand remained on his cheek while she hummed and focused her gaze back onto the amenities she had dished out for his arrival: a bottle of whiskey (as well as an appropriate shot glass), a rabbit’s fur blanket that was presumably for the leidsman to take back to the Old Chapel when he left, and a neat-looking little brass canister of lard. It didn’t even matter that he probably didn’t touch like… Most of these. He most likely asked for them at some point, and so she provided; personal titles aside, he was - at the end of a day - a guest of hers.

Well, a guest of hers that she could break the normal rules of hospitality with via stupidly corny flirting, as the aristocrat teased, “Besides, there has to be a reason, otterface, why I keep letting you in here and keeping you away from the bird…” You could just teach your bitch of a bird to leave him alone, asshole. Still, even if Brown did find it funny when Minou menaced anyone she saw… Brown did suppose it’d be a shame if her avian menace ended up beating the shit out of the leidsman, as she rubbed his cheek (which reminded her of peach fuzz) with her hand, then leaned in again for a peck on the lips. “No gashes from bird’s talons,” she remarked with another flutter of her eyes, “Just how I prefer it.” That didn’t stop her from finding it funny when her bird screamed at him. Or not being that bothered when she punched him and he still tried flirting with her. It’s okay. At least the weird shit is mutual.

“By the way,” the aristocrat piqued in while huddling herself against the other party, “if you need anything else during your stay, just tell me. Just know that right now, or if you are fine enough, I’ll be right here.” Smooth. Besides, Minou had become quiet by now. The only ambient sound at the moment was the rain, and though her Starq blood normally would’ve chilled slightly at the mere thought of a shower… Now could be an exception. Why not?

Fun fact: Brown hated being hostess.

She saw it as more of an obligation than anything else, not that the bar was very high given her status as a bit of a social pariah in limbo (having the money and power, but not the respect). Technically, she could get away with beating the shit out of any guest who happened to stay at her home for the night, since that would’ve conformed to the expectations set upon her by her peers, but… At the same time, it just wasn’t fun. It’d be too predictable, and then nobody would want to stay at her home full of menaces- Well, except for Tabby. Tabby was perfect and didn’t deserve any slander.

Though hey! At least she wasn’t hostess this time!

The problem was that Brown was still a bitch regardless of whether she was a hostess or guest, because the rules of hospitality didn’t seem to apply to her… Not that she really gave a shit about them anyway. Oops! This will be fine.

With a sharp glare, she regarded the teenager before grunting, “Thank you for showing me the room. I hope it is not too miserable.” Gee. Thanks. She shook her head before feeling the walls to make sure they weren’t somehow booby-trapped, before starting to laugh with far too much merriment for such a stone-cold expression. “Not that it matters! I think it would be more for you than for myself, given that you are so… Tense,” the older woman teased with a flutter of her eyes, “No big deal. I am sure that will change in time… For better or for worse.”

What. the. Fuck. Did. That. Mean.

“And come on,” sighed the virago with a roll of her eyes, “I am not going to tattle to your parents like some bitch if I catch you getting some alcohol. I have done worse things than that.” She wasn’t wrong! Brown ran her fingers through her hair while continuing to flutter her lashes. “I can take coffee or whisky, by the way. No tea,” she grunted.

“Tea is fucking disgusting.”

Then she slinked off to the room she was supposed to stay in, like a wolf of the night. The real question was whether she was going to strike or not. Once reaching the door, Brown felt the doorknob to check for potential traps, before chuckling then opening it… Just to content herself for a bit- Then she heard a curse (or at least what she thought was a curse) before perking her figurative ears and looking over at what appeared to be a cage.

“It’s fine,” growled Brown with knitted brows, “Again. There has been worse shit that I have gone through, or experienced, than this. I just prefer cats though.” Her look sharpened again before she nodded at the girl. “Goodnight to you too. Hope the wolves don’t howl tonight-” she teased with a wave of her hand, before turning back to the nightstand and hearing the door close. A toothy grin was on her face while she ran her fingers through her hair and hummed to herself.

“Maybe I should do this more often,” she pondered to herself aloud, “just for the fear factor… Wouldn’t that be sublime, darling?” Or… Just… Not.

“Fuck off,” Fitzgerald immediately spat in retortion, as if that was a mature reply to be conjuring up at this moment, “It’s not my fucking fault I don’t know how the damn heater works, just to let you know. The servants are supposed to be in charge of this, you know?”

There were just two problems with this particular conjecture. The first was that, yes, it was this rich dumbass’s fault that he didn’t know how to operate a heater that probably had the instructions already laid out for him through labels. The second was that there weren’t any servants around here; hell, they weren’t even in a mansion! They were just in a rather homey cottage, with nothing extraordinarily fancy or remarkable, in the middle of a mild climate. Great.

Fitzgerald, who didn’t know how to fucking read a thermostat, continued with a huff, “And by the way, you sound like a bitch when you shift the blame onto me.” That’s real fucking funny… “Maybe it’s your fault for being such an obnoxious hotblood. Southerners are like that from my experience.” Wow! What flattering words to say for an aristocrat!

Perhaps such crass words were why the youth wasn’t particularly fazed by the other’s gaze, though that may have just been due to Fitzgerald being a dumb bitch fueled with nothing but the highest caliber of hubris.

Crossing his arms, he then huffed as the other started to shuffle through his bag, “Well, at least the disdain is mutual, old man.” What the fuck? He doesn’t even look that old? “So we have that going for us,” sighed Fitzgerald with a dismissive wave of his hand, “but I’m not a murderer. I’m not going to stoop down to that fucking level at least. I can just get up, pack up my bags, then get the hell out of here. This isn’t even my lodging, anyways. Sure, the homeowner let me stay here for the night, but…” He narrowed his eyes into a glare. “I’m sure they wouldn’t be very happy about me taking in a fucking murderer into this house.”

Uhhh… Why even let him inside in the first place?

His brows raised when the other finally pulled out a bottle of what appeared to be of whiskey. Oh shit, oh fuck.

“I don’t drink,” grunted Fitzgerald with a roll of his eyes, “even if you think that’s a smart way to ‘escape’ from all this… Alcohol tastes so bitter. I don’t know how you fucking deal with that shit.” Nonetheless, he stared down while the older fellow got out some glasses, then started to pour some drink for the both of them. Now, if Fitzgerald was with his boss, he’d force the latter to down that shot of whiskey for him, but… Alas alas.

“Uhhh…” he started when the other downed that entire glass and continued to speak. Fitzgerald wrung his hands before nudging his still-completely-full glass towards the other. “Yes, there are different types of creatures out there, besides the everyday ones that I don’t specialize in. Some tend to be more powerful than others, but it more so depends - well - on the species than anything else.” A bead of sweat made its way down his cheek, though it was quickly wiped off. “... Do you need more alcohol, sir? You look like you could use it…”

Rəşad pulled his sleeves up so that his fingers were the only parts of his hands visible.

“Don’t make fun of me for this, but it’s honestly cold as hell in here,” he complained. The temperature on the thermostat said otherwise, though. “How do you even stand this? Well, I guess that’s my fault for growing up in a warm city.”

He then straightened his posture and gave the other man a rather intimidating stare.

“I think you’ve already deduced by now that I don’t want to be here. And I’m beyond sure that you don’t want to spend the night with some creepy purple-haired murderer like me, either. I’m not joking about that last part, by the way. I don’t think it would hurt to mention it, since I’m confident in my ability to beat the shit out of any cops that you decide to call on me. That is, assuming you’re the type to snitch on people.”

Rəşad reached into his bag and began to pull out a bottle of some sort.

“I’m sure you’re already tired of hearing my voice. I understand. I’m also tired of hearing my voice. But because you’re over 21 - or...18, I honestly don’t remember what the drinking age is around here - you get the privilege of legally escaping from those annoyances.”

He fully removed the bottle from his bag. It was a liter of whiskey, and it appeared to have already been opened before. He then took out two medium-sized glasses from the bag. Setting them down, he poured some whiskey into each of them.

Rəşad took one of the glasses, and downed all of its contents in one sip.

“That’s some good stuff right there,” he commented, slightly disoriented. “I think I now have the capacity to listen to you for more than two seconds without wanting to drown myself in the Atlantic Ocean. Why don’t you tell me more about those things you’re into...like, the things that come in different types? So there’s the grass types, the bug types, what else? I’ll tell you to shut up if I feel like it, but for now, go ahead.”

Johnson was, again, pretty fucking sure that Brown planned this out, because she was a spite-fueled witch who apparently wanted nothing more than to see her so-called friend suffer in the worst ways possible. And apparently, the more ridiculous these ploys panned out, the better! For her, obviously!

It was… Just a shame that she wasn’t here? Maybe?

“I doubt you even know her, though,” the middle-aged man spat at the lich as he feebly shook his wrist, the clanging of the handcuffs and the cold touch of metal against his skin both being familiar sensations at this point. And he did actually mean it! The problem was just that his conniving bitch brain cell tended to be guilty of this little logical fallacy known as guilt by association. It kicked him as much in the ass as you’d expect.

It kicked him even more in the ass when he looked over and saw his “companion” (with plenty of air quotes surrounding that) just casually laying on his stomach and kicking his feet up in the air - as if being handcuffed to someone he disliked didn’t particularly faze him at all.

Oh, how Johnson fucking wished to have as little fucks as this fellow.

Just… Don’t make him say, or even imply, that shit.

“I’m pretty sure this is just a farce for you ‘kicking my ass’ later on, in my friend’s words,” grunted Johnson with a raised brow, though it wasn’t like his muted voice was going to be heard over the other’s excited squealing. With a grimace, he looked away and added, “Besides… This isn’t a metaphorical connection. We’re literally just handcuffed to each other. I don’t know how else to say it.” Oh, and did the possibility of mayhem cause his lawful evil ass to die inside. Ever so slightly… He leaned back when the other tried to wrap his hand around his shoulders, though of course, Johnson felt a hand on his collarbone seconds later.

Joy.

With a roll of his eyes, Johnson drawled in response to the other’s proclamations, “Listen, just don’t do anything stupid, and I won’t die prematurely. How about that? If you die, on the other hand…” Don’t bring that shit up?

Not that he could protest very much, as he felt himself hit the ground with a thud when the lich laid back down.

“Greeeeeaaaaat,” droned the middle-aged man with a grimace when he heard the other’s suggestion… Not that he knew how any of that work. He was exhausted and dying inside, and it showed. “Eat that marshmallow,” he then added when the lich took out that single gelatinous treat, “I’m sure it’s not poisoned.” And yet, for once, he hoped Brown had tampered with the damn thing somehow...

Spot gurgled on her shoulder while Rochester gestured at the slug, then the boy. Poor kid. At least the slug wasn't breathing fire, but to be stuck in the same household as a sassy scientist and her wife... Wasn't that bad? The worst that one could receive from the elders was some sassy words thrown about every so often, and that could easily be seen as a charming trait - not something to be reviled.

Besides, considering some of the other residents in the city... Rochester wasn't that much of an asshole. She may have scanned the child carefully when he first entered the household and tried stepping past the apparent cracks on the floor, even though she left the door unlocked and floors cleaned, but hey! At least she locked the door afterwards! It was, after all, one thing to rob her house when just Rochester and her wife were present, but... When a guest was over? A child? It was another matter entirely!

"Don't worry too much about that," sighed the older woman while carefully stepping past a box of books that she hadn't even touched. The thin film of dust that had settled on there suggested that it had been there for some period of time, but... As her foot dislodged a cobweb, she grunted, "I do keep the house clean. I just tend to buy things that I end up forgetting about. As in... You know that 'just in case' mentality so many people have? I use it, but to a fault. But I'm old, so there's no use in changing that. Still, feel free to look through there. Something could appeal to you, and you would be doing my wife a favor by decreasing some of the clutter in the household."

Her eyes then drifted to the plastic horseshoe he carried around, but she didn't comment on it. Plastic was... An odd material for such an archaic object, but - again - it was easy to dismiss it as just another romanticization of the olden days. She did find it vaguely amusing, though, and she chuckled while setting down a platter of fruit for the boy to take.

Oh, and of course, she allowed Spot to climb down from her shoulder and onto the table with the fruit. The slug stared at the fruits with widened eyes, though his attention soon focused on the child. His brain was empty, and he probably wasn't sapient enough to ask where the fuck were this kid's parents anyway... Or why Rochester was so uneasy as the sun started to set - and the "wolves' hours" were about to start soon. Nighttime, in less pretentious terms. Still, the "wolves' hours" were different from the normal nights in that the violence rates tended to be rather high - attributed to copycat criminals who wanted to imitate the crimes of the infamous Wolf...

Wherever she may be... I hope-

"Try not to consider it as a product of luck," she sighed in reference to the arrangement both parties were in, though she honestly had no idea whether she was reassuring him or herself. "I have no idea where they may be, but it is not a conspiracy, okay? Do not construe it as such. You can have a fruit if you want. It's no four-leaf clover, but I sometimes chew on apple cores when I'm nervous." Nobody needed to know that? Rochester wished she was kidding, but alas alas. Her deadpan voice made it sound like she was one-hundred-percent serious. "Not the seeds though. Those contain poison. Cyanide, I think? Either way..." She carefully stepped off to the side while Spot tried to blow some bubbles. Glancing at the stairs, she grunted, "... I will be setting up your room in the meanwhile. If you need anything, just call me. But... Keep the door locked. For everyone's sakes. Okay?" Hmmm...

Rochester raised her brows at the teenager before shrugging and grunting, “Honestly, don’t waste your fucking time worrying about such things. She doesn’t care, and I don’t either.” She paused to gesture with her hand, before placing it back down on her lap, where a platter of fruit lay while she rolled her shoulders.

What a lame attempt to not roll your eyes at a minor.

“Beatrice is not even a surname,” Rochester continued with a huff, “At least around here, we only apply titles to surnames. It’s why you always call aristocrats ‘Ms. Smith,’ or ‘Mr. Jackson.’ That sort of shit. You probably should not be referring to laypeople like that…” She leaned in slightly and held a hand to the teenager’s ear as a whisper escaped from her lips:

“... They see it as patronizing, and the aristocrats would lose their fucking minds over it. Not that I care about the latter, but if you want to stand a chance of looking remotely decent around here…”

Her eyes then drifted over to the Scottish Fold that the other held. It seemed… Awfully large, now that she thought about it. Sure, it was familiar enough to the point where she preferred her above the company of pretty much any of the girl’s other cats - whether it be the screaming Persian with that stupid fucking smushed-in face, or the cream bobtail with nothing but hatred in those feline eyes of hers.

Rochester shuddered, then sat up in her seat.

She then snapped, “Oh, you never fucking know. It’s how it is sometimes, you know?,” and pointed a finger at the girl. “I do not see you shopping around all that often, as far as I am concerned. Maybe I should be the one questioning you, instead of vice versa.” Woah there, lassie.

At least her hostility was quick to fade when the cat was offered to her… An offering that she accepted with ease and enthusiasm- Too bad it was one-sided! Spot could only squeak while the cat squirmed in Rochester’s hands with far, far more enthusiasm than his gastropod body could ever do.

“Shit-” interjected the elder before giving the cat back to the girl, who then placed it on the floor. That was unfortunate. Still, Rochester just grunted while she watched the girl shuffle towards the kitchen, proclaiming that she needed to get… Something? She could tell, because the aroma of chocolate just barely tickled her nostrils…

“If you say so,” Rochester grunted with a shrug, “but I don’t need anything.” She gestured at Spot, who gurgled at both women, then explained further, “I managed to bring along some fruit and tea. It should be enough to last my slug and I until we get back from the stores. Trust me on that.”

How the fuck are your teeth not rotten again?