Spay And Neuter Your Pets

Spay And Neuter Your Pets

finnegan_icon.jpg harper_icon.jpg

Where: Grand Central Market
When: July 1, 2020
What: Natural rivals run into the common enemy: Tourists.

"Man is the only animal that can remain on friendly terms with the victims he intends to eat until he eats them." - by Samuel Butler

A couple of times a week, the Grand Central Market extends its usual daytime hours to the later evening for the more night-time-challenged clientele. Not all of the merchants are Fey friendly, of course, and some pack it up at the close of the normal business hours, but there are still quite a few stalls open. There are others who come on those nights just to get a look at the Fey and see what a vampire might buy from such a market. And there are others who only come at night because that's the time they manage to crawl out of bed on their days off — and that's the category Finnegan falls into.

The man's seen better days; a cut on his eyebrow is balanced by a bruise on the other cheek, but he certainly doesn't have the air of a victim. He carries a coffee in one hand and a plastic bag of some purchase or another in the other, as he pauses to peer at the offering of one of the stalls.

Being a night dweller, Harper has to comb the city for those businesses that cater to her kind and also carry anything she's interested in. She just so happens to be turning away from the stall Finnegan is peering at, shoving some sort of all-natural hair styling product into her own bag. Noticing him staring, even if it's not at her exactly, she frowns. A hand moves to rest on a cocked out hip.

"Brave puppy, showing up to Bite Nite with a welcome sign," she says, gesturing to her own eyebrow rather than his. "Might as well be neon."

At 'puppy,' Finnegan shoots a glare that can only be considered withering, not that Harper seems the type to wither under anyone's gaze. "I thought y'all were more civilized than to get a bit stirred up like a shark smelling chum," he says in a low drawl as he turns that glower on the room at large, his gaze alighting on the various vamps here and there.

"Bite night, that what you guys call this? I didn't know… since I don't schedule my shopping by sunlight, personally," he adds.

The glare doesn't make her wither, instead Harper whistles a little before she replaces it with a smirk. It might not be an apology, but it isn't outright antagonizing, either.

"That's what Anne Rice would have you all believe. Truth be told, it depends on the vamp. And how hungry they are." And since there don't seem to be many food-type stalls open, she doesn't mean for a Big Mac. "Some of us call it that. Colloquially. If we've got a sense of humor about the whole situation." In all honesty, her tone doesn't seem to carry much of that claimed humor for it. Maybe it's a dark comedy.

Finnegan takes a swallow of his coffee. "Is she the one that wrote about that guy Atlas?" he asks, but there's a smirk in the corner of his mouth that suggests he knows more than he's letting on. The southern drawl does add to the ploy, though.

"So What's a vampire need at a place like this anyway? Somehow I don't take you for a vegan soap kind of girl," he says dryly, with a nod at a nearby stall. He begins to walk, though slowly enough that it's not an obvious dismissal but almost — not quite — an invitation for her to join in the stroll.

"Don't they got a library near your place?" she asks, instead of indulging in some instruction. However tempted she looks to do just that. When he starts to walk, Harper hangs back for a moment, almost as if she's going to let that be goodbye. But a few long strides catch her up after the brief hesitation.

"And yet, I am a vegan soap kind of girl. Books, covers, all that." Her hair is rather gravity-defying at the moment. "I don't eat meat," she adds, her smirk returning. It might be an inside joke, but she thinks it's funny.

There is the hint of a smile under Finn's scruff as he pauses at a used book seller's table. "I'm about seventy-five percent sure that the Vegans wouldn't let you in their club, but what do I know." He picks up a worn looking copy of On The Beach, frowning a little as he turns it in his hands to read the back, then sets it down again.

He's the only wolf in the place, probably because most of his kind wouldn't go during an evening that's meant to service vampire clientele. There are a few other vampires in the place, though, and a couple of them are eyeing the two as they chat. "Your Sharks lookin' to rumble? You sure you wanna be seen with a Jet?" Maybe he's not as uncultured as he pretends.

"Hey, I don't kill anything." And that even seems like an honest statement. There's a pause before something more mischievous comes to her expression, even as she keeps it fairly muted. "You know, now I'm tempted to try. Just to see how long it's be before they kicked me out."

Harper glances around at the others, like maybe she didn't notice anyone else taking note of the werewolf but her. She even flashes fang to one of the dirtier looks she gets. "Don't mind 'em. Their sensibilities are offended, but it's still a free country. Even if you snack on who you like, most of us like a nice, easy take. Not someone who's gonna go fuzzy on us."

Another glower is thrown at the choice of wording when she says 'fuzzy.' "I ain't minding them. Not really too worried what they think, but you're the one who's gotta live with them for… well, more or less ever, right?"

Finn picks up another book, reading the back and setting it back down. The merchant looks nervous, watching the pair at his stall with wide eyes. It's not every day a vampire and a werewolf peruse your paperbacks, after all. "As far as killing someone to see if you'll get thrown out, let's just assume the answer's yes."

Harper laughs, which probably doesn't help the shop keeper feel any better. "I meant, try to join the vegans. Maybe you should start with this one," she says, picking up a children's book to push against his chest. She doesn't seem to mind making the merchant nervous, though. Maybe she likes it. Who knows.

"More or less forever, yeah. Or until an angry mob comes after all of us, whichever." Harper shrugs there, looking over at him more purposefully. "You find it useful to make friends with all the other Mutts?" It's pretty clear she's assuming not, as she gives a pointed glance around their surroundings.

"I read that one last week," Finnegan says, pushing it back away and finally selecting a novel and handing a dollar to the merchant who takes it and manages a nod of thanks. Luckily there's no change to be made so he doesn't have to fumble with any coins.

"Not particularly. I don't really find having fur now and then enough of a basis for a relationship," he answers as he turns away from the merchant, slipping the novel in the plastic bag with his other purchases.

"Well, there you go. We suck blood, we aren't necessarily pals," Harper says as she digs around in her bag before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. What does she care about lung cancer these days? "In fact, drinking blood together is like watching porn together. Needs to be a real special relationship for that," she says, words muttered around her cigarette as she fumbles to get it lit.

She doesn't pick a book, and in fact, doesn't seem curious about which one Finn settled on, either. But she doesn't seem to mind lingering in the marketplace, even if she got what she came for.

Could it be that Finnegan's ears grow just a bit redder when Harper compares feeding to porn? "Yeah? I'll take your word for it," he mutters, swallowing a gulp of coffee as he continues his slow amble along the stalls.

As they walk, a couple of teenagers turn the same aisle, and one snaps a picture with a cell phone, her eyes wide and wondering — clearly her first time seeing one or the other kind of Fey, or maybe the rare occasion of seeing them both together.

Harper must catch that reddening, because she nudges him with a playful noise sounding in her throat. So that picture is probably pretty classic. But Harper doesn't seem nearly as amused by touristing teens as she is by grumpy werewolves, and there's a quick snarl in their direction.

It all refreshes her annoyance when she turns back to Finnegan, and there's a shake of her head. "That is why we call it Bite Nite. Look, they come in two-packs." That is definitely spoken loud enough for the teens to hear.

One squeaks and stops in her tracks while the other grabs her arm and drags her away. "And so goes a million of LAFF's PR dollars down the drain," the werewolf says wryly, tossing his half-empty but too-cold coffee cup in a nearby trash bin.

He watches the two girls make their way out of the market and into the street, shaking his head. "Fucking groupies," he mutters. It's a common refrain. "Bet they'll be waiting around outside for you. Misunderstanding the whole prey concept."

"Well, they shouldn't be teaching anybody that we're not at least a little dangerous. Or that we're some kind of sightseeing attraction." Harper looks after them, frowning a bit as she turns back around. Her shoulder rolls a little.

"Doesn't it make you feel all…" She doesn't seem to be able to quite put a word to the feeling, so she leaves it in favor of another thought. "Maybe they will be. I'm surprised they haven't been bit yet, if this is how they pass the time." Of course, she's not begrudging a willing meal, exactly.

He scowls a bit, something conflicting with itself — what exactly is unclear, but the internal struggle is evident on his face. "I'm no more dangerous than an asshole with a gun or a knife. Sure, I'll beat any human in a fight, but I'd've likely done that before." The lady might protest too much, but he doesn't seem to be quite so ready to be lumped in with Harper's kind.

"Feel all… what?" he asks, reaching up to scratch that cut above his eye.

"True enough. But no one's making movements about learning to hug the knife-wielding assholes of the world. We — mine, anyway — can't not snack off them, you know what I'm saying?" Harper seems somewhat aware that she might not be making herself clear, but that's why she's left the politics to her father.

"I don't know. All… neutered, I guess." She looks over at him, eyes narrowing for a moment, like she's watching for his reaction.

"No." The answer is flat and dull, and she might for a moment mistake him for one of LAFF's believers — that is, until he speaks again. "What they do is pointless. No one's going to see us as less than monsters because of a fucking PSA."

Finn jerks his scruffy jaw at the exit. "Those little girls, they're the same dumb breed of little girls who fell in love with your Anne Rice vampires and whatever crap romance novel werewolves, thinking it's all some supernatural version of Romeo and Juliet. LAFF isn't making anyone with a fuckin' brain change their mind about what you or I are. It's a waste of money and energy."

His stride becomes longer and faster, the stroll now becoming a purposeful one toward the exit.

Harper opts to lean back against one of the stalls, which gets some sounds of protest from the merchant behind it that Harper doesn't seem to notice. She just folds her arms and watches as Finn lengthens his stride. Seems she isn't feeling the welcome of political discourse. Not this discourse, anyway. But a smirk forms on her lips as she calls out after him. "Bye bye, puppy."

She can't help herself sometimes.

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