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Post by clayface on Apr 2, 2011 14:14:02 GMT -5
Matt, now known as Clayface, slid out of the sewer grate, his clay-like mass piling into a heap, then taking on the form of a man once more. He was breathing heavy, slumping against the brick wall of the narrow alley, his hands pressed against the wall for support. He looked around half-insane with frustration. He doubled over, his self-control vanishing as his body transformed back into what was now his normal form: a body of clay, barely recognizable as human except for the basic shape of a man.
He fell to his knees, one hand propping his body up as his body kept shifting into different appearances. He finally stopped, gaining some control over his emotions. The shifting tended to happen most frequently when he was under severe mental duress. The control was usually much better.
He eventually calmed down, his "real" face, his human one, taking over once more. He heard a noise and looked up, seeing a cat. He reached out toward it, fingers outstretched. He had an odd smile on his face.
"Sorry you had to see that, cat...."
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Post by cat on Apr 2, 2011 14:50:06 GMT -5
Even a cat living in comparative luxury gets tired of napping on the same plush couch and looking out the same large window all of the time. And this cat has an extra independent streak on top of that, so naturally he heads out every now and again to stretch his legs and prowl around - though he always returns to Catwoman's apartment when he gets hungry. And that Catwoman wasn't, well, quite herself added to the impulse to spend time away from his new home.
Now is no exception, and the cat was simply wandering the streets and alleyways, minding his own business, when an extremely odd sound reached his very sensitive ears. Like any cat he is full of curiosity, and his above normal intelligence for a cat does nothing to lessen his sense that he's able to handle anything. Therefore he doesn't hesitate to investigate, and comes across something that even he finds strange. He stops while still a distance away and simply watches as the being before him seems to switch back an forth from being a human and a pile of dirt in the shape of a human. Strange, that. But while the sensible thing to do may be to flee in fear, the cat merely observes.
At least until his idly curling tail brushes against some debris and gives his silent observation away. Even so, it surprised the cat when the strange man talks to him - normally people don't notice the cat. Still curious, he can hardly help himself and his collar translates a thought: "You smell like mud."
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Post by clayface on Apr 2, 2011 21:02:25 GMT -5
Clayface blinked a few times, at first not realizing what had just happened. There was a voice, but who's was it? He looked around quickly, thinking that someone might have snuck up on him while he was focused on the cat but he did not see anyone, or at least anyone visible. Clayface turned back to the cat, oddly rattled by such an event. No one else was here...so it had to have been the cat but...how? Clayface could not explain what was going on but, considering his own inability to understand himself, perhaps a talking cat was the least of his worries at the moment.
He sat back, a slow laugh escaping from deep in his throat. He sat forward, extending a beckoning hand to the cat. "So, you can talk, eh? Well, at least you don't run away screaming like people do. I didn't always look like this, but you're a curious creature. How are you able to talk to me?"
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Post by cat on Apr 2, 2011 21:53:54 GMT -5
If cats laughed, then this one might as the man-who-smells-like-mud looks around for who spoke. People are always doing that - slow to reach the conclusion that it could possibly have come from him. Of course, the disembodied, computerized quality of his 'voice' does little to help the ears locate the source of the sound. But instead of a laugh, he shows his amusement with only a slight narrowing of the eyes and an increase to his naturally smug expression.
The cat hesitates for a moment at the beckoning gesture, but after awhile he slowly walks closer. He tends to be very good at noticing the subtle cues of mood, after all, regardless of whose mood he's paying attention to, and is sure that he'll pick up the moment that the man becomes aggressive if that happens. Still, he slows and stops while he's still well out of reach - his curiosity is tempered by a small margin of caution, after all, though he would like to take a closer look and smell at the man.
"I'm a brilliant member of my species and my collar translates some of my thoughts into words that humans understand," he explains easily, but doesn't miss a beat before asking a question of his own, "Why are you made out of dirt?" Obviously the thought-to-speech nature of his way of communicating makes him excessively blunt. Of course, that's partly because he rarely takes the trouble to make his thoughts phrase what he 'says' more delicately.
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Post by clayface on Apr 4, 2011 13:32:04 GMT -5
Clayface leaned back against the wall of the alley, his arm propped over his knee as he looked at the cat. It was speaking to him, explaining how it managed to do so by explaining what it's collar did. Clayface leaned forward to look at the peculiar collar, yet it also appeared normal by all appearances. The science behind such a device was baffling to him, but whatever it was, the collar worked.
The cat, reiterating its previous statement of Clayface's scent, asked him why he was made out of dirt. Clayface smirked.
"Well, believe it or not, I used to be an actor, but an accident disfigured my face. I was approached by some men who supplied me with an experimental substance that they said would renew my face once again. What they did not mention was the side effects, which..." Clayface pointed to himself, "you can see for yourself."
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Post by cat on Apr 4, 2011 16:16:53 GMT -5
Figuring he might end up being here for awhile, the cat sits and curls his thick tail around himself against the cool night air as he listens to the man's story. Some of it is beyond him - he doesn't have much life experience, after all, so he has no idea what an 'actor' is. But then, he was born in a laboratory so he knows what experimental substances and side effects are.
However, being a cat means that he has a rather cut-and-dry take on the situation: "So you chose to use something without knowing what it really was? It's your fault then," he concludes. Probably an unkind thing to say, but what else does one expect from a cat? Empathy? Pity? He wouldn't really understand the meaning of those concepts even if you explained them to him at length. Of course, by the same token he blames himself for what happened to Catwoman because he was not strong enough to prevent it.
Then again, guilt is yet another one of those concepts that he's completely unfamiliar with. His is a world of the present: Catwoman's not acting like herself, he can talk through his collar, the man he's talking to is made of dirt. The only important thing to him about these facts is that they are - how they came to be is, at best, a matter of curiosity and of no real importance.
"So what are you doing here right now anyway? Most humans without a gun avoid this place at night," he has to ask. He, being a cat, can feel free to wander at will through the worst parts of Gotham without a care in the world - people hardly ever notice that he's even there. And even though there are more cats in this area than there are in the rest of Gotham and some of them are inclined to be hostile, this cat's greater intelligence makes convincing them to leave him alone nearly effortless.
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Post by clayface on Apr 5, 2011 17:07:51 GMT -5
Clayface huffed in reply to the cat's statement regarding that this current physical state was Clayface's fault. "Tell that to the men who looked like doctors, sounded like doctors, and had proper identification. It was obviously still in the early test stages, but I was desperate at that point in my life. Heh, see where that got me. At least it came with a few good things."
The cat then asked him why he was out in such a nasty part of town, inquiring about his lack of weaponry. Clayface laughed at that question, pointing to himself. "Look at me, cat. I don't think anyone is going to bother me, especially when I can defend myself without a gun." He held up his hand, the shape shifting into the appearance of a large sledgehammer. "It's not like bullets bother me, anyway. They just pass right through."
He sighed, glancing up at the sky then back down to the cat.
"That collar, who gave it to you?"
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Post by cat on Apr 5, 2011 18:15:10 GMT -5
The cat will not comment further on the matter of fault, already having given his opinion. His extremely superior an obviously correct opinion, at that, though he'll allow the man to try to justify his opinion to himself. It probably doesn't help that the cat can't identify at all with the concept of being that concerned about his appearance, if only because he's completely certain that even if he was horribly mangled somehow that he would still be an extremely prime example of his species.
Still, even he has to be impressed by the demonstration of the advantages of the man's condition, regardless of whose fault it is. His eyes narrow at the large sledgehammer shape, and he comments, "My claws and teeth would not work either." Still, he doesn't look very nervous, even though he has to be a bit suspicious of a person who can make weapons appear out of nowhere and can't be attacked. He's certain that he's still faster, he presents a very small target, and he regards running away as a valid strategy when facing superior weaponry and defense even if he's still superior in every other way. Though it may also help that he still isn't sensing any aggression from the man.
The question is answered very simply with, "The people at the lab." And he's not trying to be evasive with that answer. No, he's simply not spending much time or effort on a question that, in his opinion at least, doesn't matter very much. The lab is in the past - the distant past by his reckoning, though the fact that he's only two years old is a definite factor in that.
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Post by clayface on Apr 5, 2011 18:44:10 GMT -5
Clayface changed his hand back to normal once the brief demonstration, listening to the cat as it explained that its claws and teeth would not work on him. The cat was right, but Clayface had no intention of harming it, anyway. However, Clayface's attention was brought back to the question asked earlier, the cat simply explaining where the collar was from by mentioning "the people at the lab."
Always nameless, always seemingly sinister, the strange people that gave the cat the collar did cause a bell to ring in Clayface's head. Was it some kind of experiment of sorts? Who had invented the collar? Clayface was curious, but decided not to ask.
"Well, you seem pretty comfortable with such a device, so I guess it's not really a bad thing? I'd think it would be rather useful."
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Post by cat on Apr 5, 2011 19:05:21 GMT -5
Having left the streets for the world of an overly pampered house-pet only recently, even though he did keep a paw in that world, this cat always thinks of his personal safety first. That's only necessary when you never know when a stray dog with a vendetta against felines might walk around the corner. Even an extremely intelligent cat like him isn't immune to something like that - even if he is much more clever in how he'd react to such a thing. So even though he's not particularly worried by this man, the thought does come to him.
And the man's next statement proves to be far more interesting than any random question about his past. He became keenly aware of just how true it is recently. "Yes it is! Without it, it's nearly impossible for me to get anyone to do what I want. They always assume that I'm just like other cats, even though I can understand every word they're saying to me. And they say so many patronizing things to me. It's really, really irritating!"
No, the 'terrible' and 'unethical' part of this cat is not the collar. Actually, one might consider giving him the collar an act of kindness, all things considered. No, the part of him that would cause animal-loving people off all kinds to be up in arms is the enhanced intelligence and the massive amount of drugs, surgeries, and other unpleasantness that went into giving it to him. Not that the cat seems any worse for the wear now, but the first half of his life was pretty miserable.
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Post by clayface on Apr 8, 2011 22:27:11 GMT -5
Clayface laughed when the cat finished its story, complaining about how the humans simply assumed it was like all of the other cats that hung around the city of Gotham. He shrugged.
"Well, I guess cats have feelings, too. Especially talking ones like you. I bet it does make you feel bad, people just assuming you can't understand what they say, just doing whatever they want. At the same time, I bet you can do some really good snooping around. Very good snooping indeed."
To Clayface, the cat could be the ultimate spy. It was fast, small and compact, able to fit in small places, a great climber, the advantages were endless. Certainly seemed useful to him. He cleared his throat.
"So, cat, do you live with anyone or do you just roam around with that collar aiding you wherever you go?"
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Post by cat on Apr 8, 2011 22:50:09 GMT -5
To say that this cat is naive would probably be a bit of an understatement, and the comments about his snooping ability go uncommented upon with the rest of the completely true statements. Of course he's good at snooping around. He's just never seen any real point in doing so. It's not like he knows that there's such thing as valuable information. In fact, his whole concept of something being 'valuable' or not outside of food and a safe place to sleep is a bit hazy at best.
So naturally he hasn't the slightest idea where the conversation is going when the man asks him about his current situation, and he answers that easily. "Both, I guess. Catwoman gives me whatever I want when I go to her place, but I do whatever I want," he explains. Of course, given the quality of what he gets from Catwoman vs. what he can get for himself, he generally wants to go to her for everything. At least, when she's in one of her better moods.
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Post by clayface on Apr 14, 2011 16:56:41 GMT -5
Clayface was amused. He listened as the cat said that it did pretty much whatever it wanted. He could understand that: it was a cat. They were not exactly known for being the following-orders type. Yet, unlike other cats who were generally considered self-sufficient and pretty much loners, this cat, with its interesting collar...it was certainly different.
The next name caught Clayface's attention, though. His eyes narrowed in curiosity. "You live with Catwoman, eh? That's...interesting."
Ever since the Blackgate riot, Clayface had wondered about Batman and what his group were doing, Catwoman included. He did not know of their relationship, or if they even had one, but he considered it a safe bet that they had run into one another at some point. "So, whatever-your-name-is...where can I find Catwoman if I wanted to talk with her?"
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Post by cat on Apr 14, 2011 18:48:56 GMT -5
"She has too many cats," the cat comments instantly on the subject of living with Catwoman. Which is only a natural complaint for a cat - that means that he gets less than his fair share of her attention. Especially with Isis around - he's the number two cat in Catwoman's world, and that rankles. Then again, he'll only complain so much as long as Catwoman continues to give him human-quality food and a warm place to sleep without ever trying to restrict his freedom.
The next question causes the cat's ears to lift in interest. "People call me 63," he informs the man before answering, "And I don't know where you can find her. I find her at her place, but she's not always there. And it's too much work to follow her anywhere, but she smells like all sorts of places when she gets back. And I don't think that she'd like it if I told anyone where her place is - she wasn't happy when all those other people found it." Just because this cat is naive doesn't mean that he's stupid. Then again, refusing to say where Catwoman lives is based entirely on his desire to not upset the one who feeds him and not because he's actually aware that it may be harmful to her to do so.
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