maskormenacelogs | lone ex-wolf and ex-cub

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lone ex-wolf and ex-cub

WHO: Sal, Marty
WHERE: Maurtia Falls
WHEN: a late late night
WHAT: a rescue and reunion
WARNINGS: rude language cuz of rude folx

"Speak up, weirdo -- you got somethin' to say to me? Huh?"

"N-no, I--sorry. Sorry, I'm just--"

"Just what? Snooping? Tryina scope out my business?"

"No! No, n-no no, sorry, I--"

"Yeah, you're sorry? You're gonna be sorry."

It's so rare for Martin to interact with people outside of his circle in general, let alone so late at night and by himself, that he's at a loss for what he can do. Apologizing isn't helping, trying to excuse himself isn't helping...all he can do is shrink away where he can as the angry, possibly-drunk trio of people who he had meant to pass by on his way home seem to get angrier and angrier with him.

What is he supposed to do? Andy's told him to fight anyone who tries to hurt him, but does that cross over into this posturing and threatening? He'd imagine just trying to leave would be better. Yet the next time he tries, he finds himself shoved against the chain-link fence beside him, and he freezes up, bringing his arms up defensively.

He doesn't want to do this -- to fight people! Why can't they just leave him alone?!

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Sal's no stranger to the city at night. Maurtia Falls can be dangerous, sure, but it's no worse off than the Scar, and she's plenty dangerous herself besides. Flying over the neighborhood and out of sight from most people, she looks down on the streets with an aloof perspective.

When she can't sleep well, sometimes it helps to fly around, to find either some sense of calm or—a fight's not bad either, really. She's spent so much time around Superboy, it's becoming harder for her to just turn a blind eye at the friction on the ground. Personal growth, perhaps? The results of a good influence?

However it is, once she hears the rowdy voices down below, Sal pauses in her flight. Hovering high above, the people don't take any head of her presence. Pulling up her scarf around her face to ward off the wind, she frowns down at the kid who's being singled out and cornered.

She's seen plenty of this in her life. Maybe it means something that this time she doesn't turn away. "So much for a quiet night," she grumbles, flying down to plant her boots on the top of the fence.

"Mind if I cut in?" It's just enough to get their attention. Sal doesn't wait for them to make a move before she crashes down on the main attacker with a kick to the face, pushing him away in a gust of sudden wind. Positioning herself between the kid and his antagonists, she's turned enough to show the scar racing down one cheek.

Her hand pushes her jacket back, revealing the shine of a large brass pistol. It seems to radiant some kind of malicious energy, like it just wants them to try something.

Things move so fast.

That's honestly nothing new for Martin -- he often finds himself swept up and overwhelmed in most situations, but most situations don't escalate and threaten harm like this. Many more don't often lead to a radical stranger dropping in to shake things up.

Even as his mind was racing, desperate to recall what guards and movements Kanan had taught him to use in danger, things changed quickly. The next time he peeked behind his arms, there she was...

A total stranger with her back to him...

And one of his antagonists sprawled a few feet away, nose bleeding, while the others bristled and started to back down.

Wha...?!

Just like that, the antagonists flee, leaving Martin to gawk in alarm and wonder at his surprise rescuer.

"H...how...?"

It's almost disappointing to watch the group of men flee so quickly. Letting out a terse sigh, she waits until they're out of sight before paying the young man her full attention. "It's just magic," she says with a roll of her shoulders. As if that explains anything.

Brushing aside the question, Sal sticks her hands into her jacket pockets and gives him a stern once-over, making sure he's not wounded or anything serious. She remembers that imPort girl not too long ago with the messed up hand and tries not to grimace; really, these kids should know better than to fuck around these streets at night.

"You're not hurt, are you?" Even if her manners are pretty rough, it's obvious she means well. Those concerned blue eyes that are now looking him over seem strangely familiar...

It's a strange kind of blessing that Martin is so adept at collecting rough-around-the-edges types -- in fact, Sal's posture and demeanor exude an energy not unlike Andy, the woman who's taken it upon herself to be his guardian.

It means he's learned that not all threatening energies are threats to him...especially when they put themselves between him and another danger. Still, it can't quell his nerves entirely; he's too predisposed to being timid for that to be so.

"N-no," he manages, still pressed against the chain fence behind him. "No, ma'am. Sorry. I--No, I mean...thank you..."

The eyes, bright though they are, don't bring an animal to mind right away; he's too unfamiliar with eye contact to connect those dots on-the-spot.

The stuttering, though? It might strike more familiar to a keener mind for recollection.

Sal feels a little bad for a moment, with how this kid is keeping himself pressed against that fence. There's plenty of memories she'd like to avoid; among them, people running in fear of the big, bad vagrant out to burn the town down (or whatever birdshit they say about mages), not unlike the fear that this kid seems to exude. She almost looks away from him, but that stuttering, shy voice of his...

She frowns to herself, tangled up in the sudden, strange feeling that she knows this kid. Of course that's fucking absurd; for all the strange things that have happened here, she doesn't have any memories of his face. Reaching up to scratch the scar on her face, the feeling of familiarity continues to nag at her.

"Say kid, you don't think we've met somewhere before, do you? Maybe at one of those swear-in things, or..." Well, what else? She probably ought to leave this young man be and go flying back toward the route she was headed in, but...

She heaves out a sigh, frustrated at her own memories. If only she was better at articulating things.

"Uh--"

His gut-instinct was to immediately say no, but that could've easily been false if he stopped to think about it. Which he did, his brow furrowing with the effort of wracking his memory for glimpses of yellow hair, blue eyes...

The scar...

He squints for a moment. Where did he see a scar recently? It was recent, wasn't it?

His face reddens, realizing the time it's taking for him to offer any kind of answer.

"Uh, I--m-maybe? I'm sorry. I...I don't remember people really well a lot. Unless I...see them. A lot, that is. I don't go to a lot of things a lot...I mean. Sometimes? But I...N-not a lot. Sorry. Um."

The scar-thing is really nagging him now, though, and he scratches at his head as he grimaces.

"M-maybe...?"

The good part of Sal (there's a conscience in there, somewhere!) feels rotten for suddenly putting him on the spot like this. Shit, it's probably shocking enough that she shot down from the sky just to pick a fight with his aggressors. Not really the best time to ask questions, probably, but the feeling of familiarity won't stop bothering her.

Especially with all of that awkward stuttering and shyness...

"Wait a fucking second, you—" Sal realizes her voice is raised and she visibly forces herself to appear calmer. "Little fuzzy kid?"

She shakes her head, immediately realizing how silly that sounds. Gesturing with both hands, she indicates the small size of a small dog. "A puppy, right? That street vendor I hassled into giving us lunch, remember?"

As the words leave her mouth, Sal realizes that he might not remember any of it. Or it could very well have been someone else, but the more he speaks the more certain Sal seems.

Little fuzzy kid leaves him looking baffled and worried, but puppy? His mouth hangs open as she expands on that, the pieces quickly clicking into place. He nearly cuts her off in his excitement to answer.

"Yes!" Of course, he is still true enough to himself to recoil when he does blurt that out, reddening in the face anew. "I mean-! I remember...The big wolf!" He gestures to his own face. "The mark...it matches..."

Slowly his head tilts, echoing the way it did when he was smaller and fuzzier. "That was you...?"

Sal can't help but grin at the boy's sudden show of recognition. Shit, she couldn't forget about that pup she had tried to help that day. And while sure, everything about that situation was upside down to say the least, but in a way it was almost freeing, to be a wolf for a while. Animals, admittedly, don't have to worry about silly human problems.

So she's weirdly relieved to know that a tiny part of that day isn't totally lost to the past. "Yeah, that was me," she confirms with an inarguable certainty in her voice. Sal crosses her arms, and with that level of self confidence, the similarity from person to wolf seems undebatable.

"That's right, you live here in the city too, don't you?" The more she talks about that day, the more she remembers of their brief journey together. Trying to guard him as they made their way back to his home, for instance. Sal looks thoughtful. The idea that he runs into trouble even as human is...she can't really place the emotion. Can you worry about someone you barely know?

"Does that mean this kind of shit happens to you often?" Sal's blunt, but the curiosity over his well-being is evident.

"The...huh?" Martin blinks. "N-no, I ...I'd never been a dog before. Before then. I mean--wait. Oh, uh..." Did she mean being harassed by strangers? Perhaps she meant that. Or did she mean the dog-thing? He isn't quite sure.

"Sssorry, um. The...being a dog thing, no. The, uh, people...doing things like that...also. Not really? I mean. Sometimes, but not. Not always a lot, not, not often. Since I'm usually...out of the way. At home." The more he rambles, the hotter his face gets, and he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his head in a self-conscious fashion that does no favors for the want to worry.

"Now that I have a job, I guess...I guess it can happen more. I can just...try a different path home, I guess. I don't know. Sorry."

I don't know. Sorry. His default phrases, practically as necessary as breathing, even if he catches himself doing it. He wishes he could stop that.

Sal has to work harder to concentrate on his words and his nervous, meandering train of thought; typically, whenever someone is this flustered, she's busy strong-arming someone into giving her information. She's not exactly practiced in doing things in a kind and gentle manner, in other words, but the look on his face makes her want to try...to be less like that. Somehow.

"I see," she says, although she doesn't. Sal's frown comes back for a moment as she tries to think of something better to say. Shit, this really was so much easier as a wolf.

"Anyway, my name's Sal. If you need...another walk home, I guess I could help out a little. Just for tonight at least, if those fuckers are waiting down the street or something." She tilts her head slightly, looking concerned. Not unlike her previous wolf form, strangely enough, her protective nature apparently bleeding through to her normal human form.

The propensity Martin has for drawing these gruff-yet-soft-hearted people to him is almost comically lost on him. True, he can sense some semblance of Andy in Sal's demeanor and even in the way she carries herself, but she's not Andy. Nor is she Archie, nor Cassandra, nor any of the other rough-around-the-edges sorts who gravitated to him. They were all themselves, as she is herself. Perhaps that's something of a good quality growing in him: He's begun to stop seeing others in the people in front of him.

That said, the influence of her being like Andy in a way is still an unconscious balm that coaxes him to relax a bit more, rather than, say, duck his head and stammer in fear as he might someone different. And though his mouth is twitchy with nerves, it's still cocked in a faint, sheepish kind of smile.

"I mean, you did...get me home that one time. So I guess...you already know where to go, huh..."

Sal listens intently to his response, checking maybe too carefully for signs of concern. When it seems as if he's alright with a little extra help again, even from someone as rough-looking as she is (outside of being a wolf at that), she allows herself to take a big sigh of relief. It's nice, sometimes, when she doesn't feel like some kind of dastardly opera villain.

"Yeah, I still remember," she says with confidence. It's easier to manage now, and she wills herself to relax a little. "Flying around this city so damn much, I've got a decent map of this place in my head now."

She scratches her cheek and gestures for him to walk with her; not a couple of stray mutts this time, just a pair of people out for peaceful stroll back home. Sal feels exceedingly confident that, at least with her around, nothing short of another apocalypse threat will muck up the rest of the walk. "You know, I think there's a place selling hotdogs that's right along the way too..."

After a slight hesitation, Martin pushes himself off the fence and falls into step half-a pace behind her -- a habit he still carries with him, about as ingrained as I don't know, sorry is. As ingrained as hesitations to process and consider answers are.

That said, it takes a moment to react to the mention of hot dogs.

"Uh, you mean...the diner? Back, back that way?" He juts his thumb over his shoulder, regardless of whether she looks or not. "That's where I work. I was--that's where I was just now. I was leaving there. Or, uh, did you mean somewhere else?"

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lone ex-wolf and ex-cub

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