John isn't sure quite how to feel about the possibility -- or, hell, the incipient reality -- of her taking cat shape. He knows he really can't complain; it's past midnight and she's going well out of her way to help him, for no more compelling reason than the fact that she knows Martin and probably feels sorry for the both of them. But he also can't help but feel preemptively embarrassed at how much he's about to be... well, shown up. There can't be more than a handful of people in this bloody city who can just become cats at will, and one of them just happens to live up a few floors and is about to show him how it's done. As if even this niche humiliation isn't so specific that there isn't someone within shouting distance who's ready and able to actually demonstrate how to handle it gracefully.
Maybe she senses his unease -- maybe her magic allows for that; he doesn't know much about it, and evidently Martin never had a complete picture, either -- but part of him rather suspects her 'boring' descriptor has less to do with painting an honest picture of how it will look and more to do with subtly trying to nudge Martin's attention elsewhere. He almost wishes it had worked; this is all intimidating enough without the thought of Martin's curious scrutiny added to the mix. But then again, what else is Martin supposed to do? Go to bed and pretend none of this is happening? Read a book?
"Actually," Daine says as she starts to get to her feet, "I've an idea about how the two of you might talk easier without me here. One of my friends... he's not here anymore, but he couldn't speak aloud, so he used this little board to talk to folk. It had letters and numbers and common words on it all laid out in a grid, and he'd point to them with a laser pointer, so you could read what he wanted to say. You could probably make something like that for John. It'd have to be bigger, is all, so he could use his paws." She straightens, then gestures towards the WC. "Um. I'm just... my clothes don't come with me, so."
John drops his gaze instinctively as Daine heads into the WC and shuts the door, wondering for an uncomfortable moment just where his clothes have got to. It's not as if he left them in a heap on the deck of that illusory ship. Are they still part of him, somehow? Transmuted into fur? Christ, they'd better still be on him whenever this wears off.
He can hear some faint rustling from the WC, but there's no flash of light or anything obvious to indicate that there's some astonishing bit of magic happening. There's just a brief pause, and an insistent meow. And when Martin goes to open the door, a fluffy tabby walks out.
Hullo, Daine says cheerfully, looking perfectly comfortable in her cat body.
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Maybe she senses his unease -- maybe her magic allows for that; he doesn't know much about it, and evidently Martin never had a complete picture, either -- but part of him rather suspects her 'boring' descriptor has less to do with painting an honest picture of how it will look and more to do with subtly trying to nudge Martin's attention elsewhere. He almost wishes it had worked; this is all intimidating enough without the thought of Martin's curious scrutiny added to the mix. But then again, what else is Martin supposed to do? Go to bed and pretend none of this is happening? Read a book?
"Actually," Daine says as she starts to get to her feet, "I've an idea about how the two of you might talk easier without me here. One of my friends... he's not here anymore, but he couldn't speak aloud, so he used this little board to talk to folk. It had letters and numbers and common words on it all laid out in a grid, and he'd point to them with a laser pointer, so you could read what he wanted to say. You could probably make something like that for John. It'd have to be bigger, is all, so he could use his paws." She straightens, then gestures towards the WC. "Um. I'm just... my clothes don't come with me, so."
John drops his gaze instinctively as Daine heads into the WC and shuts the door, wondering for an uncomfortable moment just where his clothes have got to. It's not as if he left them in a heap on the deck of that illusory ship. Are they still part of him, somehow? Transmuted into fur? Christ, they'd better still be on him whenever this wears off.
He can hear some faint rustling from the WC, but there's no flash of light or anything obvious to indicate that there's some astonishing bit of magic happening. There's just a brief pause, and an insistent meow. And when Martin goes to open the door, a fluffy tabby walks out.
Hullo, Daine says cheerfully, looking perfectly comfortable in her cat body.