Light sucks, the world's gone to shit, what the fuck else is new. Doesn't make it any less annoying. There were always problems in New York City--it's a special place, one where the Waking World and Dreaming World collide together. It's messy, it's nuts, and Kugrash is always handling something but most of the time it's little things, not a huge sucker punch every month.
He likes a bit of routine, so at least the little food and care routes are good. He's been spending some time in the sewers lately, avoiding the lights, but has made it a point to poke his head up now and then.
Neal passes by just as Kugrash is crawling out of a sewer grate--it looks incredibly horrifying, given his human glamour--and he's halfway out when he looks up and spots him.
"Fuck you," he quips, "My tail's gonna get frostbite." He'll squeeze himself out of the impossibly small hole and grunt, moving towards Neal. "Nice to see you though, kiddo. You find a place anywhere that gets pastrami on rye right? I want to eat, like, twelve of them right now."
Neal has a hard time not looking disgusted by the visual of human-Kugrash freeing himself from the grate, but he mostly manages. He always has a moment of pause when Kugrash calls him something like kiddo, but after his initial protests he let it go. There is nothing to examine there about why he lets it happen and finds it vaguely comforting.
Nothing.
Shut up.
"Not a decent one, no." He looks off down the road, making sure there's no holiday decorations in their path. "How are you keeping?"
A pause, hesitation, then, "How's Jeff?"
He hasn't spoken to him yet, hasn't worked himself up to seeking the musician out, but he's still low-level worried. After the sleepwalking incident, he's had Jeff's words hovering in the back of his mind. I messed up, bad.
It barely registers that it's gross or unsettling--Kugrash just sort of does whatever he wants. After years of both working on Wall Street and years of living in the tunnels of a subway, you kind of automatically stop giving a shit about how people perceive you, be it with tailored suits or scars and fur.
He sort of shrugs absently at the first question (he's never keeping well, that's sort of his default mode, though, and he'll yell about it to anyone who asks) but it's the second one that gets a bit of a squint.
"Uuuh... I mean. He's got all his limbs." He frowns, walking a few steps forward, keeping pace with Neal and shoving his hands into his illusions' winter peacoat.
"Eh," Kugrash's shrug is a full body one, keeping even pace with Neal as they take a casual stroll.
"Between you and me, I don't think he's ever been okay a day in his life." Maybe that's projecting, either way. "I kinda worry about that kid. Knew someone back home that acted an awful lot like him. Great kid, good facade, but that's all it was for a while, you know? Kinda like you, too, I guess. More drugs though. I saw him pull, like, six bricks of cocaine out of his trenchcoat at one point. Not Jeff--my guy."
Neal snorts softly at the first declaration. "I don't think you're entirely wrong."
Neal glances sharply Kugrash's way when he blithely points out Neal's own defense mechanisms, smothering a little twinge of annoyance at the bluntness of it. The mention of drugs, though, and the similarities the stranger has to Jeff--those are more of a priority.
"A while back, when the music was all over town, making people fall asleep... I stopped him from walking into traffic. He thought I was his brother. He said he messed up, badly, that he didn't think we could fix it when I said we could try."
He lifts one hand to nip at a hangnail on his thumb. "I haven't been able to get that out of my head, but I don't know how to bring it up."
Kugrash watches Neal for a moment as they step into the lights, shrugging lightly for a second time. It's a habit. He's a shrug-y guy.
"Hey, uh, you probably don't want to hear this, but have you tried just asking about it the next time you two are alone instead of worrying about waiting for the right moment?" It's blunt, and crass, but Kugrash doesn't look annoyed at all. Just tired.
"Life's too short to pussyfoot around if you're worried about someone. You never know what's gonna happen next month, especially in this fucking place. Don't think it's really a good idea to be tactful."
And, with a grin: "You're gonna regret it when he goes, you know?"
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no subject
He likes a bit of routine, so at least the little food and care routes are good. He's been spending some time in the sewers lately, avoiding the lights, but has made it a point to poke his head up now and then.
Neal passes by just as Kugrash is crawling out of a sewer grate--it looks incredibly horrifying, given his human glamour--and he's halfway out when he looks up and spots him.
"Fuck you," he quips, "My tail's gonna get frostbite." He'll squeeze himself out of the impossibly small hole and grunt, moving towards Neal. "Nice to see you though, kiddo. You find a place anywhere that gets pastrami on rye right? I want to eat, like, twelve of them right now."
no subject
Nothing.
Shut up.
"Not a decent one, no." He looks off down the road, making sure there's no holiday decorations in their path. "How are you keeping?"
A pause, hesitation, then, "How's Jeff?"
He hasn't spoken to him yet, hasn't worked himself up to seeking the musician out, but he's still low-level worried. After the sleepwalking incident, he's had Jeff's words hovering in the back of his mind. I messed up, bad.
no subject
He sort of shrugs absently at the first question (he's never keeping well, that's sort of his default mode, though, and he'll yell about it to anyone who asks) but it's the second one that gets a bit of a squint.
"Uuuh... I mean. He's got all his limbs." He frowns, walking a few steps forward, keeping pace with Neal and shoving his hands into his illusions' winter peacoat.
"Honest answer?" You want one, Neal?
no subject
"Yes." He studies Kugrash's human-glamour-face, trying to guess what's going on. Feeling a little queasy at the possibilities. "What's going on?"
no subject
"Between you and me, I don't think he's ever been okay a day in his life." Maybe that's projecting, either way. "I kinda worry about that kid. Knew someone back home that acted an awful lot like him. Great kid, good facade, but that's all it was for a while, you know? Kinda like you, too, I guess. More drugs though. I saw him pull, like, six bricks of cocaine out of his trenchcoat at one point. Not Jeff--my guy."
no subject
Neal glances sharply Kugrash's way when he blithely points out Neal's own defense mechanisms, smothering a little twinge of annoyance at the bluntness of it. The mention of drugs, though, and the similarities the stranger has to Jeff--those are more of a priority.
"A while back, when the music was all over town, making people fall asleep... I stopped him from walking into traffic. He thought I was his brother. He said he messed up, badly, that he didn't think we could fix it when I said we could try."
He lifts one hand to nip at a hangnail on his thumb. "I haven't been able to get that out of my head, but I don't know how to bring it up."
no subject
"Hey, uh, you probably don't want to hear this, but have you tried just asking about it the next time you two are alone instead of worrying about waiting for the right moment?" It's blunt, and crass, but Kugrash doesn't look annoyed at all. Just tired.
"Life's too short to pussyfoot around if you're worried about someone. You never know what's gonna happen next month, especially in this fucking place. Don't think it's really a good idea to be tactful."
And, with a grin: "You're gonna regret it when he goes, you know?"