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What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

. . . Yes.

Eliot Spencer vdistinctive
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75 Godiva, late Thursday night
Eliot gnawed at the spot where his feathers met his fur with his beak. That sentence was the downside of this whole "griffon" thing. He was trying to get the damned dried chocolate out of his . . . pelt from his time practicing flying around the preserve today, chasing and getting chased by cotton candy clouds.

Dried sugar was a bitch to get out of both feathers and fur.

"Can someone get my brush? The really bristly one? Or -- possibly a curry comb. . . ."

[for the partners! And potentially epic slowplay.]

"I can get your brush." Parker wandered in, still human, and cranky about it. ALthough, seeing the tangle Eliot was in was going far to reconcile her to it. "What is all this stuff in your feathers?"

It'd be easier if he wasn't a little too awkardly shaped for the shower right now. "Chocolate milk. Cotton candy. Whatever crap the sky is dumping on us, today."

"Oh, of course." Parker flopped down on the couch, and ran the brush over his head, first. She grimaced. "I'd say it isn't fair because I want to be a flying cheetah. But Hardison might bite me, and, well. This doesn't look anything but itchy on you."

Eliot sat down on the floor in front of her and leaned into the brushing. Holy crap, that was almost better than when she played with his human hair.

"It's pretty gross," he said after a moment of luxuriating in being brushed. "I had to dice tomatoes today with my claws."

Had to, wanted to try to. . . .

"How well did that work?" Parker asked, curious. She flicked the brush to get some of the dried candy out of his feathers, amused at how relaxed Eliot was becoming. "I just hung out on the roof and yelled at the sky. Then parkour'd around a bit... did you see there's a new tower in the middle of the park?" She worked her fingers through part of his fur, separating out the strands that had gotten all sticky. "Do you think a bath would help?"

There was a reason cats and birds both basically melted when someone they trusted pet their heads. "Mmm," he said. "Yeah. Kinda matches the maze, I guess. Not sure I'd fit in the bathtub." He was not small as a griffon. Which was part of the fun, but also part of the irritation. Funny how that happened. "How'd the parkour go on the soap streets?"

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"I got junk in my mane and tail, too, you know," Hardison mentioned. Not that he was specifically asking to be brushed or anything. Just, you know, putting it out there.

"Awww. And it's such a pretty mane, too. All those colors." Parker smirked at him a little. "Would you let me braid it if I brushed it, maybe?"

If Parker looked closely enough, she'd realize that his hair was the exact same shade as Squeeze Orange soda and gummy frogs. Hardison wasn't sure what the island was insinuating with that bit of detail, but whatever it was, he was ignoring it completely.

"Is there enough to braid?" he asked, a little dubious. "It ain't as long as Eliot's."

There was plenty, he just wasn't used to having this much. Or this texture.

"Maybe a teeny one," Parker coaxed. "Just to see if you like it." As much as it annoyed her to be left out of magic-talking-animal-time, it was kind of fun to get to play with two life-size talking fluffy versions of Hardison and Eliot. "You didn't get chocolate milk in your mane like Eliot did, did you?"

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"Yo, was that a pony joke?" Hardison asked, sulking as hard as a cartoon pony could sulk. In most circumstances, he wouldn't mind being a pony so much, but he has just stopped being a teddy bear. This was entirely TOO SOON.

"What?" Eliot looked up from his attempts to self-groom and scowled faintly. "Nah, it's just what I figure might actually work on this gunk in my pelt."

"Gunk" was not the word he'd meant to use, there.

"How come you get to be a griffon an' I'mma damn pony?" Hardison grumped. "At least you get claws. How'm I supposed to work a keyboard with only hooves?!"

He would be surprised at how well he could type when he got around to trying it. It wasn't easy, no, but it was surprisingly possible.

"Yeah, it's much better to slice everything I touch instead of crushing it," Eliot said. He didn't look nearly as grumpy about that as he probably should. "Might as well ask why I was a wolverine and you turned into a teddy-bear, man, there ain't no reason to it all."

Oh yeah. Toooootally no reason for it at all. Why Fandom chose those shapes was a myyysteryyy.

"Yo, you at least got somethin' like fingers," Hardison objected, raising a hoof right to Eliot's face. "Lookit that! What'm I supposed to do with that? I do exercises in the mornin' to keep my hands supple an' look at this!"

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