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You come recommended from a mutual friend.
Short, red hair, loves a pantsuit.

[ Read: He's being negged into this. ]

And since we have a friend in common, I'm assuming I can send you the address without ending up on the side of a milk carton. We can talk more there.

Well, a friend of Dana's is a friend of mine.

Definitely not going to be a milk carton situation. Murdering strangers is, like, a lot of work.
Send me your address and I'll come see the space.

Oh
Are you allergic to cats?

[ Dana.

Dana.

That's going to take some getting used to.

The address he sends is in among the "so you just got here and you somehow acquired an unfurnished apartment" area of the Emerald district. ]

No. Are you going to bring a cat?

[Oh, he knows exactly the area. Reminds him of his first week here and only that, because he'd upgraded his living conditions as soon as humanly possible.]

No
Well
Kind of. You'll see.
I can be there in 30 minutes.

See you then.

[ Thirty minutes later, he'll answer the door, and he'll be - ugh - a kitsune. Furry orange ears, golden eyes, paw-like hands covered in charcoal fur, nine tails that mix black and orange fur - the full red fox experience, minus the whiskers. (He likes being clean-shaven, and that didn't change when his species did.) It still feels incongruous to see himself in the mirror, mixing a mock turtleneck and jeans with mythological trappings.

Behind him, his apartment's nearly empty. There's a sleeping bag and pillow on the floor of what's probably supposed to be the living room, along with a stack of books with esoteric titles on the windowsill. That's...about it. ]

Mr. Rose?

[If it makes Mulder feel any better, the man on the other side of the door is almost as much of a furry shitshow as he is. From the waist-up, he's mostly human: dressed in an expensive-looking black sweater patterned with geometric white shapes, a white gold chain around his neck, his hair impeccably coiffed. There are, of course, the fluffy black ears, the whiskers, the fangs and claws. But it's below the waist where things get truly wild. His human hips meld seamlessly into the body of a giant black jaguar, the spotted markings muted tone-on-tone black and grey, with a long fluffy tail. If that weren't enough, he's got a huge pair of grey wings sprouting from his feline shoulder blades, dotted with snowy-white spots like an owl's.

All of this stands in Mulder's doorway and gives him a brief, practiced once-over. A man who's used to monster bullshit, clearly. Then he looks past the furry red Fox in front of him and his eyes go wide with alarm. He ignores the question in favor of a scandalized question.]

Is that a sleeping bag? Okay, I can see why you were referred to me. [He remembers his manners belatedly, holds out his hand.] Um, hi. David Rose. And you are?

[ Turns out it's a good thing he's not allergic to cats.

Mulder can't help but scan over Rose's body as they shake hands, his palm made rough and hard by transformation. Ears and body like a cat, wings like a bird, a single tail - that, he's envious of. Was gryphon one of the options? He's paid the most attention to ruby and sapphire transformations, and he knows it's not on the list for either of those gems.

Rose, he notes, is doing the same to him; maybe this is just expected when transformations happen. That suits him. ]

Fox Mulder. I'm Scully's partner.

[ He steps aside from the doorway to let the guy in, already half-bristling in advance of more commentary on his sleeping habits. ]

Edited (love to think of one phrase and type another) 2022-10-21 02:12 (UTC)

[His powerful hindquarters propel him over the threshold and past Mulder, his arms folded over his chest as he gives the rest of the apartment a cursory, but thankfully silent sweep. There are a few cues in that answer that catch his attention, though, and he turns back to Mulder with an arched brow and a flick of his huge tail.]

Nice to meet you, Scully's Partner. I'm assuming work colleagues? Is that why you're on last-name basis?

Mulder.

[ Though he has to admit that Scully's Partner has a better ring to it than Fox - especially at the moment. He watches Rose look over the space: living room area, kitchen (now with two mugs!), doors to a bathroom and a bedroom with clothes in the closet and little else to recommend it. ]

We're a two-person department. Has she told you about our work?

Edited 2022-10-21 02:46 (UTC)

Mmm. Mulder. [It's so formal. Kinda cute, actually. David stalks through the apartment with an air of slight trepidation, as though slightly afraid of what he might find around every corner.]

Mmm, not really? I asked, she was super vague about it, I dropped the subject. Are you guys, like, secret agents or something?

Special agents, actually. We work for the FBI.

[ He's a half-step behind Rose at every turn, not quite at his side but close enough to it to see what a wildcat-man looks like when he frowns.

Which - fine. Scully's friend can't judge his apartment any harder than Scully already did, if only because he actually cares about Scully's opinion. ]

Don't tell me she's embarrassed to talk about the X-files here. [ But more importantly - ] Looking for anything in particular?

Oh. [David pauses in his inspection of the kitchen, which at least has the decency not to be disgusting. His feline lower half folds itself into a sitting position, tail curled around his legs and wings folded as compact as he can manage. It's clear he's used to trying to make himself small in this shape.]

The 'X-Files'? That sounds...hmmm. Like a really cheesy television show.

[There's no malice behind it. Just an observation.] Oh, nothing. Just getting a feel for the space? I assume you've been here, like, three days or something.

It's not.

[ With the deliberate patience of someone who's had to explain this more than once.

My job is real is enough for now. Mulder hops up on the countertop, and it's probably better that he doesn't own much, or his tails would have knocked everything askew. He regards Rose with the attitude of someone who's never been in the habit of folding himself up for others' comfort and gives a wry, fanged smile. ]

Three weeks is closer to the truth.

Uh-huh.

[David plants his hands on his hips, falling easily into his natural state: bossy and entitled.]

Okay. So three weeks in, and you've got...no furniture. I shudder to think of the state of your spine. First order of business is buying you a bed. Frame and mattress.

[Even if mattress-on-the-floor is a huge upgrade from sleeping bag-on-the-floor.]

[ Mulder shrugs, stretching his back after for good measure. As explanation - ]

I don't sleep much.

[ Now doesn't seem to be the time to inform the guy that he catches his z's on a leather couch at home. ]

Okay, well, what if you have guests over?

[He shoots Mulder an appraising look. The whole fuzzy-fox thing is cute, but if he squints, he can imagine that as a human, he's not at all bad to look at.]

Tall drink of water like you, I'm sure you're bound to have some company sooner or later. And nothing kills the mood like "right this way to my sleeping bag."

[ He raises a brow, and though there aren't any whiskers up there, there's a few dark dots where whiskers might have been, not unlike a particularly thin five o'clock shadow in a particularly odd place. ]

All right. So I get a bed. Nothing fancy.

Doesn't have to be. Although...

[He hesitates.] I have to know what you consider to be fancy. It's a pretty subjective word.

[And he has, well. Fancy tastes.]

Let's say overly complicated. [ There's a pause, as he considers how best to elaborate. ] I'll spend money on things that last, but I'm not interested in scrollwork or little decorative plaster cupids on columns.

[ Please don't make his apartment look like a mobster's house on Long Island circa 1996. He's not new money here. ]

Interesting patterns are fine, though. I'm red-green colorblind - whatever color scheme you pick out, I probably won't notice.

[ This also means his knowledge of Dana's hair color is purely academic. ]

Oh. Oh, God, no. [David waves his hand, a quick, almost-nervous laugh escaping him.] No, no, there won't be any of that.

[Absolutely no cupids are happening on his watch.]

Besides, the whole point is to make it look like you picked everything out, not me. So tell me what you do like. Wood? Metal? Leather?

All three?

[ A shrug. ]

I had a leather couch at home. Wooden bookshelves. I could use a desk in here somewhere. [ The details feel random as he throws them out there. The idea of decorating a place deliberately, as opposed to slowly filling it with more and more clippings of news articles and the detritus of existence, feels more than a little alien to him. ] Oh - would you like some coffee? I'd offer you a seat, but.

Okay. Okay, that's good. Good starting point.

[He pulls his phone out of what turns out to be a belt bag tucked beneath his sweater—the best alternative to pants pockets he's come up with in his monster form—and starts typing a new note.]

A desk, okay. Desk chair, too, and a lamp...hmm? [oh. Coffee. He smiles thinly.]

Mmmhmm. I'm not exactly chair-friendly anyway. Yes to the coffee, though. Do you have almond milk?

Almond milk? [ David might as well ask for zebra milk - even Starbucks doesn't have anything but cow's milk, where Mulder comes from. ] I take mine black, usually.

[ Which is to say, there's currently a half-eaten takeout box of noodles in his fridge, and nothing else.

Regardless, he slides down from the countertop, his tails swishing along the surface and then continuing to do whatever the hell they want behind him as he gets some water and coffee grounds. At some point, maybe he'll get better than alien Folger's, but so far, he's made no effort. ]

You can pick up anything else that looks useful, too. [ With considerable fondness: ] It'll get Scully off my back about this place.

Uh— never mind. Black is fine. I'm just going to...take some notes.

[He gestures vaguely as he heads back toward the living room, though Mulder's last comment doesn't escape him. He pulls out a tape measure and starts taking measurements of the room.]

Oh? She's...on your back?

[Intriguing.]

Metaphorically speaking.

[ Mulder follows, leaving the Mr. Coffee equivalent to drip. And he follows - Rose isn't the first one to make noise about Mrs. Spooky. He leans against a wall, arms crossing, as he takes in the details of the man's feathers, tries to imagine what kind of bird they might belong to under other circumstances. ]

You're not the only one who believes in furnished apartments.

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