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Fine Zinc Teeth
There was a time Jedao would have said that half a century was barely any time; less than a mortal life, not more than two generations. But the world has changed so much since he first put the Americans' uniform on. Even the uniform has changed - they don't call dance halls dance halls any more, for another thing. But the smell of the place - sweat, desire, alcohol - that much is the same.
He slinks in under a stranger's face, although he doesn't disguise his own scent when he smiles, glittering, at the bouncer: a flashed lure that Fives might not even notice or recognize, let alone pursue. It took a few months to get someone to handle all the things which apparently needed handling for his "retirement", and a few more to track down one particular squad of decommissioned weretroops, out of thousands, mostly paperless, in the busiest city this side of the Pacific. But Jedao did find them.
He dances without keeping track of the time, lets his face slowly slide back to its default arrangement, lets his spine relearn how to hold him up without being army rigid. He has several drinks - people buy them for him, which is nice; one or two of them he even dances with until they can't keep up with him any more. Fives rotates from the receiving line onto the floor as the night wears on and patrons get drunker, and he maneuvers himself into Fives' line of view, always moving, twisting, flashing glances that catch on Fives' eyes as the beat hits. Slowly, as if by the whim of the music, he draws closer.
He slinks in under a stranger's face, although he doesn't disguise his own scent when he smiles, glittering, at the bouncer: a flashed lure that Fives might not even notice or recognize, let alone pursue. It took a few months to get someone to handle all the things which apparently needed handling for his "retirement", and a few more to track down one particular squad of decommissioned weretroops, out of thousands, mostly paperless, in the busiest city this side of the Pacific. But Jedao did find them.
He dances without keeping track of the time, lets his face slowly slide back to its default arrangement, lets his spine relearn how to hold him up without being army rigid. He has several drinks - people buy them for him, which is nice; one or two of them he even dances with until they can't keep up with him any more. Fives rotates from the receiving line onto the floor as the night wears on and patrons get drunker, and he maneuvers himself into Fives' line of view, always moving, twisting, flashing glances that catch on Fives' eyes as the beat hits. Slowly, as if by the whim of the music, he draws closer.
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He points across the street, to a tidy little shopfront with fresh produce in displays on the sidewalk under an awning. "That's our bodega." He sounds proud of it, which might not make any real sense, but he likes having something that normal--a little local shop where he's known, where he has credit now because they trust him. It makes him feel real in a way he hadn't for a long time when they'd gotten out.
"Their cat, Felix, always hides when any of us come in." That, he sounds a little disappointed at, and the big black and white tuxedo cat is clearly visible right now, lounging under one of the displays. "Are domestic animals afraid of you too?"
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"Are foxhounds part fox? What do they do that's weird?" He doesn't know much about these things, clearly.
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CW: killing and eating animals, blood
"Men don't seem to be very good hunters." He sounds more than a little disdainful of it. "But I guess they're very good at getting others to do their hunting for them."
Re: CW: killing and eating animals, blood
Re: CW: killing and eating animals, blood
Re: CW: killing and eating animals, blood
He gets a little bit of a wistful look, despite the subject. There's no sky anywhere like the sky on the steppe.
Re: CW: killing and eating animals, blood
The subject does remind him of something else, something he finds fascinating about this strange city they've made their home. "Have you seen the hawks that nest on some of the skyscrapers? It's like they think these are canyons and plains to hunt in."
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He shakes his head. "The hawks never like me quite as much as I like them. They're my cats, I suppose. But you've got a sharp eye. Those are peregrines. Bar magic, when they dive those are the fastest things alive under the sun."
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"They're gorgeous, and I can believe that about their speed. I saw one kill a pigeon in midflight last week, it just... came out of nowhere." He turns to grin at the General, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It must be amazing to fly. Really fly, not in a chopper or a plane, but out in the air, using your own muscles, feeling the wind. I think parachuting's kind of the same." He'd loved HALO drops, feeling the wind rushing past, the breathless anticipation of that one, precise moment when you had to open your chute, because if you were early you'd be a target and if you were late you'd be a smear.
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"Diving probably is," he agrees. "Although the distance fliers do more gliding - I don't know how you'd get into hang gliding, but people do it. And then hummingbirds are a class of their own, of course."
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"I don't understand how hummingbirds even fly," he agrees with the same wonder and enthusiasm. "Echo and Tup have some flowers on the roof, and a hummingbird found them, so they put a feeder up there and now four or five come by a day. They're so tiny and fast and bright." He's clearly absolutely charmed.
Tup will probably want to show you their garden," he adds, beaming. "Mostly they grow vegetables, but Tup fell in love with the flowers at the bodega, so Cutup and Hevy bought him some plants as a surprise."
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"It's important to have flowers," he says, with baseless conviction. "I'm glad."
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Fives spins as he walks, looking up at the buildings rising around them. In this part of town, few of them are more than five stories, most of them only three to four, but it's still enough to block a significant amount of the light, and the only green are some scraggly trees and the weeds pushing up from between concrete slabs, or the occasional display of flowers and plants at a shop.
"It is amazing, all the lights and colors, and the different people. Sometimes you can hear seven or eight different languages just walking a couple of blocks. But sometimes it almost feels like being back in one of the training mazes," he adds, more quietly.
"The park's just up around the corner, though?" He perks up and gestures left at the next cross street. "It has a lot of flowers in the spring. And grass and trees and a pond and a playground."
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