she was lookin' to kill Who: Gabe & Brent What: Edward Scissorhands gets into some shit. Where: the eighth floor When: Monday, April 17
Ever since his booze-laden interaction with Max the day before, Brent had been intent upon finding food to his liking. He had tried a number of things, from freshly picked fruits and freshly dug-up vegetables and an assortment of what he could only assume were meats, but nothing had truly satisfied whatever it was he craved. So he retraced his steps, beginning at the Deluxe floor and slowly, steadily working his way back down. This time, however, he wasn't alone. A massive Maine Coon followed at his heels, yowling her displeasure at all that surrounded them. By the eighth floor, even Brent had had enough.
He stopped at one of the altars, picking up items and setting them back down, pushing things out of his way as he sought something both of them would enjoy. In the end he found only more booze and more fruit. He drank deeply from an unmarked bottle, choking on the strong liquor within; he tossed a fragment of a peeled orange down, and the cat fell upon it as vigorously as if it were a living, breathing bit of prey. Brent laughed as he watched her, and kept tossing sticky, juicy portions of fruit down onto the floor before her.
Cat and companion both looked up at the sound of a door opening. Both had mouths slightly parted, sticky with their chosen refreshments. And both grinned, one more effectively than other, in what might have been meant as a greeting.
Gabe slowly coaxed Spot out of the apartment into the incense-laden statuary that now seemed to permanently decorate his hall. He was so focused on the Australian Shepherd that he didn't immediately notice his guests; instead, he crouched down, whispering soothing words to the unsure elderly canine.
"It's OK, old man, we're just gonna do a few laps around the floor, alright? Can't have you cooped up and going crazy on me." He tugged Spot on his lead further out the door, glancing over his back and freezing as he noted Brent and whatever that thing was that lingered near him. Gabe quickly pressed a smile to his face, attempting to be amicable.
"Hey, uh, hi," he said, feeling foolish. "Didn't realize anyone was up here." His eyes went from the odd man to the food on the floor, to the cat playing with said food. They were making quite a mess. "Everything...alright?"
"Yeah, man. Absolutely." Beside him, the cat began to growl. "Never better. Have you seen all this?" Brent gestured with the bottle, now half empty. He took a step closer, holding the bottle out to his neighbor. "I'm Brent, by the way. This is Edward Scissorhands." The cat, apparently in an effort to introduce herself, bowed her back into an even sharper arch, and spat vehemently at the aged Shepherd. "She's not very good with people. Or dogs. Or other cats." He shrugged. "You want some, though? It's really good. Strong, too."
"Gabe," he returned, just as Spot started to growl in response to Edward's spitting. The dog did not move forward and instead seemed rooted to the spot.
"Can you...do you have a leash...?" The cat was huge, and while Gabe could only imagine the amount of damage the thing could do to his dog, he didn't much like the idea of getting in the middle of it if required. As things were now, he was slightly off to the side, just in front of Spot, and Gabe could feel the lead in his hands tensing as the dog strained to move closer to the floor.
"A leash?" Brent brayed a laugh. "For a cat?" Noisily chewing another orange slice, he shook his head. "No, dude. She just sort of goes where she wants. She'll be fine, she can take care of herself." He lifted the bottle again, its lip out toward Gabe. "Sure you don't want some? It's crazy how much booze they just left laying around."
Edward advanced on Spot. Her intentions were clear; all along her nape and spine her fur stood on end, her tail thickly bristled. She moved too quickly, darting around Gabe's legs.
"She's not the one I'm worried about," Gabe replied, trying to step in front of the cat and already grimacing at the thought of what those long claws would do to him. Spot likewise tried to move around his owner, to confront the thing that had crept into his territory, an angry bark trying to offer some kind of warning toward the charging feline.
"Seriously, get your animal under control!" Gabe's voice rose, uncharacteristic of him. He stuck out one jean-clad leg, not wanting to kick the cat, but making it clear he would do so if pushed.
Brent threw up his hands. "She's not mine, dude. I don't know what you want me to do." The cat lashed out, claws flashing as she leapt at the dog. "Oh come on, Eddie," Brent said, chiding gently as if the cat had merely hissed again. "Play nice…" She seemed to listen, but only for a moment. Then her hooked claws lashed out again to the sound of Brent's exasperated groan.
Gabe danced around the swipe, keeping himself between the animal and his pet.
"OK, if she's not yours, how is she in the fucking building?" Gabe didn't swear often, but when he did, it was used to great effect. He wanted to turn around and open the door to his apartment, but he wasn't sure that he'd be able to maintain control of both his dog, protect his backside, and open the door without minimal damage.
"Can you just... I don't know, can you at least give me a hand?" His foot swept out, trying to push the apparently aptly-named Edward Scissorhands back enough so that he could put even the smallest part of his plan into action. The cat hissed and spit, lunging across Gabe's shoe to get at the dog.
Brent groaned again, louder and more petulant than before. "Okay, fine." He danced around Gabe, moving awkwardly given his intoxication. At one point he bumped directly into him, nearly knocking them both into Spot. When he managed a modicum of self control, he reached out to the cat, unflinching. His hands wrapped around her ribs; though his fingers splayed wide, he could not fully reach around her.
"That's enough, Eddie, or you're going back outside. When you can. I don't even know." The cat's terrible, screeching growl continued, but she allowed Brent to pull her away from the dog, for the time being. Brent looked up to Gabe. "See? No harm, no foul. She was just playing. And she's not mine, I just feed her and stuff. She and the others sorta come and go when they want. So if you see some on your fire escape or whatever, just maybe throw some scraps out there."
"Is that what you've been doing?" Gabe still held Spot's taut leash, trying to unsuccessfully get the dog to calm. Spot continued to growl unceasingly in Edward Scissorhands' direction, unwilling to let the cat get the upper hand in any area of the disagreement. Gabe's gaze, however, was fixed on Brent, hugely incredulous. "Is that why there's so many feral strays around here? Do you know how dangerous that is, for the people living here as well as for the animals?!"
"Well they're not strays," Brent insisted. "Feral, okay. I'll give you that, a little. But they're not strays if they live here, right? They live here, I feed 'em when I can, they keep rats and mice away from the place. It works out for everybody. Nobody else seems to mind. I know you're new here, but you don't need to be so uptight about things."
Edward Scissorhands, however, seemed absolutely set upon remaining uptight. She swiped at Spot again, one claw catching the hem of Gabe's pants on the backswing.
Gabe did his best to pull his leg away, but he half dragged, half remained in place as he struggled to free himself of "Eddie's" claws. Spot moved around Gabe while he was otherwise trapped, barking incessantly at the cat.
"Spot, no, down," he muttered, wishing he'd sprung for dog training after all. He'd never envisioned finding himself in such a situation.
"Brent, get this fucking cat under control or I swear--" Spot made another go of it, getting nearly around Gabe. He moved, instead, directly in front of the dog, dragging the cat with him. His patience worn thin, Gabe kicked the animal, instantly feeling terrible for having done so; but the motion won him a foot of space between the combative cat and his anxious canine.
"What is wrong with you, man?" Brent's voice had raised to an ear splitting shriek fit to match his cat's. "Why'd you kick her?" He darted down into the fray, gathering up the cat in his arms. He hefted her up against him with noticeable effort, his breath coming in great, heaving gasps. The monstrous beast hissed and spat, but she did not turn her sharp claws on her friend.
"God damn, dude. Completely uncalled-for."
Gabe's face swung to stare at Brent; had the other man gone blind?
"So I was just supposed to let her draw blood? Are you starting to get why I said it was dangerous to have feral cats around the building?" He forced his dog back toward his door, the task easier now that the cat was held back and Gabe didn't have to worry about it attacking his backside. He pulled keys out of his pocket.
"No, I am not," Brent said. It was unclear if he was being ignorant or willfully obtuse; neither were particularly desirable options. "She's an animal. She was just doing what animals do. I'd have thought a pet owner would understand that. Kinda makes me feel bad for your dog." Eddie punctuated his assertion with a renewed growl of warning, low and long.
"My dog is trained to live with humans," Gabe retorted, completely at a loss of how to illuminate the situation for this man. "Your cat clearly has no issue with maiming either me or my dog. I don't know about you, but I don't enjoy living in an anarchist society where it's a free-for-all. You need to get that cat under control, or I'm calling Animal Control to have it removed before it seriously hurts someone. You know there's a child in this building? Your cat's probably half the size of it, do you realize what kind of damage it could do?" His words were imploring, as if trying to reach the last (or only) bit of reason within the other man.
"If the cat did anything it'd be because the kid provoked it. Kids do that. And Edward Scissorhands has a right to defend herself." Frowning, Brent leaned over and let the cat jump down from her unwanted cradle. Still yowling, she circled behind Brent's legs, remaining there with a suspiciously smug grin on her feline face. Brent folded his arms over his chest. A thought occurred to him, half-formed, but good enough for him to give voice. "I mean, Eddie has kids, too. Think what that human kid could do to them. She can't be too careful."
Gabe had nothing more; clearly there were no appeals to reason to be made with this man. And now that the cat was back on the floor, he wanted to get Spot away from the thing before more combat was instigated.
"Take it downstairs," he said, his tone brooking no argument as he turned to open the door to his apartment and push Spot back inside. With one hand on the knob, he looked back at Brent with a frown. "Or I'll find a way and I can't guarantee it'd be pleasant for....Ms. Scissorhands." His eyes tracked down to the hissing feline on the floor, and he knew very well that the animal would not make it easy for him, either. With one last glare in Brent's direction, he disappeared back inside his apartment, closing his door behind him.