The Hunt /Holden/

[HOLDEN MOORE]

Had Holden not been so taken aback by the fact that his foxy companion had more than two words to say to him, he might have missed the name slip. Now, he didn't know for certain if Hannah was her actual name or if it was something that just sorta popped up in her head; but the more he thought about it, there had to be some reason she didn't offer up her name, so if she was uncomfortable with him using it, there wasn't any reason to push buttons. Besides, he'd just got her talking, why ruin it with something as trivial as formalities.

"Yeah foxy, like Hannah." The not-so-chilly-at-first young man raised an eyebrow in interest as she went on to persecute him for his lack of imagination on the palindrome his father had, indeed, taught him some years ago. So What. Just because he didn't come up with it didn't mean it was that less impressive or inspirational. Whatever charm he had going for him was purely accidental. Holden didn't try to be charming; it wasn't something he stood in the mirror and practices, but as awkward as he was sometimes, little things like charm did sometimes leak through. "My father taught it to me. Words aren't really my forte for creativity though. I accepted that years ago and have moved on to bigger and better things, like industrial art.." He hoped he wasn't completely off by the mention of art; the smell he'd picked up from her the night before had that hint of developer, and it would be nice to have an art friend in the city. Having just moved to the area and unable to start classes until Spring, he was wasting his free time making extra cash in an art gallery; while he had a few usuals who stopped by to browse and carry on conversations, the fresh perspective was always welcome in his book.

Her agreeing to coffee brought a slight smile to his face, not that he wanted to show off how pleased he was that she didn't completely hate him, but because he wasn't ready to part from his newfound friend just yet. They needed to like, exchange info or something. Like phone numbers. That's what people did, right? I mean, that's what Holden generally did when he made friends. Could he really call her a friend? She was a bit... uh, not exactly condescending, but tip-toeing that egg shell line around such a description at times when she spoke. Whatever. He was glad for it. Kind of refreshing, really.

It was agreed that he would fork the tab for coffee. Holden paused a moment at the thought of making her pay for her own. Why would she think that? He'd asked her to go, anyways. It was the polite thing to do. Besides, if he was going to woo her into friendship - at the very least- he could afford the java joo joo. Not that he was trying to woo her.. Nah, that probably didn't work on a girl like her.

The topic of their... condition - for lack of a better word - was something Holden didn't exactly know how to handle. Beyond her, he'd only encountered two others with such a thing, but she was the first non-wolf he'd come across. Holden was itching to unleash a wave of questions, but as she continued with the rant-like mention of sweeping the whole thing under the rug, Holden's pace slowed a little so that he could let her lead the way along. Might as well let her lead the conversation on this whole shifty thing. After all, he was a n00b and she, a saucy looking little elite pro.

"We can blend it into typical conversation if you'd like.." He offered up with that same slight smile. Apparently, at least as far as Holden was concerned, it was something that they shared as an accepted, normal way of life. So why not treat it as such? As they walked and talked, Holden noticed the arm rub out of his peripheral vision, using the chance to walk a little closer, if only to provide a bit of buddy warmth. If he'd been wearing a jacket, he would have offered it, but thus was certainly not the case. "Until last week, I thought I was just some typical, cynical, run of the mill dude who was trying to be artsy in the big apple. I actually met my roommate in the park a few weeks ago, her and her alpha wolf-dude sorta.. I guess, sparked the change.. if that's what people call it.. I guess I fit with the wolf lore and change on the full moon.. Haven't exactly figured out how to hone in that change at will thing.. Mona said she'd teach me.. But beyond that, I'm pretty fucking clueless about all of it." Holden eyed the foxy lady as she tugged at his shirt, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. A clothes cache? Why? He didn't make it a habit of staying overnight in the park. At least, he hadn't considered it yet.. But maybe he'd give it a go, especially if it meant he'd get the chance to spend more time with his new.... friend.

Yup. He was certain they were going to be friends, regardless of if she liked it or not.

[HANNAH VULPINI]

He called her foxy.

She almost smiled. Her lips curled up in a wry manner, keeping her blue eyes forward instead of on him. The pet name wasn't exactly innovative, and carried the weight of Jimi Hendrix singing in her ear. The association nearly made her swear she was picking up the odor of reefer; though this could have been the case, as it was Central Park she was walking through. The idyllic scenery aside, it was home to many a crack and pot head, that was a fact.

To his benefit, the mention of art perked her ears. Art was the whole reason Hannah had picked New York, as oppose to somewhere warm like Miami or Los Angeles. It was a haven for the Bohemian revelation, if Broadway Musicals were any indication. "I went to a Ries Niemi show, about a year back. Is that you're style, or..." As lagging as her words were, at least she was being conversational. Half his battle was done, wiggle your big tow, all that jazz. "I paint. Photo conversion mostly, turning a photograph into something else, but I also do portraits." She looked at him, studying his face. The way light hit it, the curves and grooves. Fresh from a shift, her eyes were still keen. Might as well take advantage of it. However, the studious face was quickly replaced by one of intrepid skepticism. "Though, I imagine you had your suspicions." Her lips lifted again, as she poked his nose, light and knowingly.

Hannah entered the coffee shop, her nostrils slammed with the smell of various beans from various places, with pastries and axe body spray. Being a shifter had it's downsides, the main one being the susceptibility to sensory overloads. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a single serving tablet of asprin, wrapped in the same sort of paper towelettes were folded into. Tearing it open, his suggestion that they blend their 'condition' in to regular conversation brought out a laugh from the generally staid Hannah Vulpini. It didn't last long. Just a short, sudden, guffaw, that left as quickly as it came. Was this conventional now? She had always considered it her furry little problem, something she'd have to deal with whether she liked it or not, once a month. It was a bother when it came, but it would insight fear and discomfort if it left.

Dear God, it was like menstruating.

Chewing her asprin carefully, Hannah shrugged at his summary. "Full Moon, huh? Beware those silver bullets." She chaffed. moving up in line. "I still haven't figured out the why. Honestly, I don't really care. I mean, obviously there's something amiss, why elaborate on it? But you get use to it." Soon it would become a normal part of his life, just as it had hers. In a way, she was jealous... He had someone to walk him though it, someone to teach him and guide him. Hannah hadn't had that sort of luxury. "It's a matter of self control, shifting at will. Obviously last night wasn't a new moon, but I did it... Five years of practice. It's real handy."

It was their turn finally, and she ordered with a glib tone. Nearly ungrateful even, though she did not mean to be. Being unpleasant was sort of a reflex at this point. Involuntary, like a sneeze. Instead of mucus, bitchiness was exuded. Taking her coffee to a little table near the window, she sat, tone becoming professional. "Well, you got me here. What do you want to know then?"

[HOLDEN MOORE]

Foxy was a good a name as any; Holden might be something of a dolt, but he wasn't a complete idiot when it came to the ways of women, despite his horrid luck with his last ladyfriend who had him wrapped and under the impression she really cared oh so deeply for him. There was a reason that this foxy lady had avoided giving her name, be it personal to her or just something she didn't do; Holden understood that maybe she wasn't so comfortable with it, and wasn't ready to push his limits with the woman just yet. Had to secure friendship before you pushed buttons, that much he knew. So, he'd call her Foxy. All his friends had nicknames anyways. Mona was Mrs. Robinson, Jamie was Bossman, and Martin from the gallery was Asshole. Albeit, not all the names were really defining (even if they made sense in his own head) Holden could give two shits if they liked the names. After all, he was the only boss of himself... So long as Jamie wasn't lurking around... Or Mona raised her voice..

Glad for the picked up subject of art - because he could ramble about that shit for the next decade if given the chance - Holden was a little taken aback at her mention of Niemi. That was exactly the sort of thing he was into. "Yeah.. How'd you kno--" his words faltered a little as he shook his head slightly, a slight grin pressed to his lips as he made no attempt to brush away the 'boop' to his nose. Bringing a hand to his forehead and giving it a tap with his palm before dropping the arm. Oh yeah. Smell. He did reek of iron and rust, no doubt. "Nevermind. Yeah. I am a fan of the industrial art persuasion.. I can't paint to save my pelt... all pun intended.. But I slap a little on things from time to time, if the piece needs it." Holden was instantly intrigued at her mention of painting, joined with the satisfaction that his suspicions about the photography thing wasn't completely off. Photographs turned into portraits. Interesting concept. He was slightly curious if she'd oblige him and let him see a few.

That would require friendship status though. Holden hopes he has that chance, at the very least.

While the coffee shop does offer a warmth that even an unnaturally warm Holden can hold in such high revere, it does happen to plague his sense of smell. If not for the closeness of Foxy and the fact he'd been focused on drinking in what he can of her scent for future endeavors, he might have been completely overwhelmed. Instead of the deep breaths he so willingly took out on the streets, the wolfy boy manages to change his pace of breaths, indulging in the shallow sort for the sake of his stomach, which is growling in protest. He should have offered food instead of just coffee. Maybe if she wasn't sick of him after coffee he'd bring that notion up? Probably not. But who knew.

Certainly not him.

Conversation turned to the cliche sort of jokes that people made whenever the word 'werewolves' came to mind, and a generally irritated-at-the-sentiments Holden didn't mind so much the crude comedy. At least it came from a pretty lady, one who - though not exactly the same thing - shared in the little secret of his. It was an odd thought to Holden that people in the world would have themselves believing in such things as shifters and other mystical things. But it had to have originated from somewhere, right? It was a thought that had plagued him recently, though not enough to poke around book shops or order any online that read of such stories. That shit was ridiculous.

"Maybe it's something in the water.." Holden offered up as a response, though it sounded more of a halfhearted attempt at a joke. He hated poor jokes, but if he were making them, then he could look past his prejudice for a few moments. Foxy's mention of it just being something that someone got used to didn't really surprise him in the least. As she went on about the control aspect of things, he listened in relative silence, watching and moving with the line ahead of them. Control. Yeah. That was going to be an issue. Holden didn't really have much in the way of patience, so he was going to have to work double on the notion of not shifting out of rage as often as humanly possibly. Humanly. Was that something he could classify himself as anymore? God. When did the world around him become so full of questions.

Holden followed suit and moved his way to the counter to order, and after dolling out the money for their drinks, followed as his companion made her way to a small table near a window. He sat, using the moment she spat out her cold question to pour a bit of sugar into his to-go cup of good ole fashioned joe. "Can't a guy buy a cup of java for a foxy lady?" He asked, the slight workings of a grin pressing to the corner of his lips. Holden could spit out the compliments like every other fella, though his tone of voice betrayed his sincerity most times, which was why most people didn't completely shut him down. "So, you stay in the park often? I mean, I've only just started this.." A pause. "thing.. but the other times I, we, Mona, Jamie, and myself, we didn't stay out in the park overnight.. Tell me more about your art. Have photography and painting always been something you enjoyed?" Holden was just shooting off the questions at this point, hoping she'd pick something and go with it. After all, he enjoyed listening to her talk, even if most of what she said was cold and calculated, it was kinda cute in a way.