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vagrantblvrd · 6 years

Text

Strays (1/1)

Summary: It’s not the first time Ryan’s seen this particular stray around his building.

Notes: Because reasons.

AO3

It’s not the first time Ryan’s seen this particular stray around his building.

Lean and lanky, sand colored fur with muted tabby markings. Bright green eyes and gentle temperament, loud little bastard who does his best to trip him up when Ryan comes home.

Showed up out of the blue one day with a fancy gold collar pulled so tightly around its neck it wasn’t breathing properly. Fur matted with mud and dried blood, limping along with a bad fracture in one its forelegs. Sharp eyes and sharper claws, it didn’t hesitate to flash when Ryan got too close.

Patience and a bit of kindness had won it over, allowed him to get close to it. Coax it out of hiding and see to its injuries. Earned him an odd little friend of the four-footed kind over time.

“Hey,” Ryan says, tied and aching, shoulder twinging uncomfortably as he bends down to scritch the stray’s ears because he knows what will happen if he doesn't.

Sad eyes and soft, pitiful cries as it trails him up to his apartment as though Ryan is the worst kind of person there is, career choices aside.

The stray meows, accusatory as it looks up at him, look on its face as though it’s annoyed Ryan’s late.

“Look buddy,” he says, past the point of caring that he tends to talk to the stray as though it can understand him. “These things run long sometimes.”

Because sometimes the asshole you’ve been hired to kill has access to things like grenades and homemade explosives and things get tricky. Especially when the guy’s the paranoid kind who knows someone’s coming after him and things go to shit for a bit.

The stray sneers at him, trotting ahead with its tail held high and this flounce that has Ryan shaking his head as he follows.

========

Ryan had done some looking, put out feelers around the city for anyone missing a cat with a fancy gold collar worth a pretty penny. Did a little looking online too, just in case, and when no leads turn up he figures it’s probably some rich asshole who has enough money not to care if their cat goes missing.

So now the stray isn’t so much a stray as it is a frequent visitor in Ryan’s life.

It lounges around his apartment like royalty, loud and demanding and bossy as hell, and Ryan -

Well.

He knew what he was in for when he made the mistake of letting the cat stay the first time it set paw inside his apartment. (It’s a cat, that’s what they do.)

At the moment Ryan’s tending to an array of minor injuries from his latest job. Picking bits of dirt and crumbled masonry out of a gash thanks to flying debris and bad luck. The stray’s watching him, tip of its tail twitching.

The stray smacks his hand with just a hint of claws when Ryan when Ryan thinks about passing on stitching it up. Thinks butterfly bandages will do the trick just as well, if a bit messily.

Ryan looks up to see the stray has this displeased look on its face, starts growling when Ryan just sits there, and flashes its claws. Mean looking things that would undo what progress Ryan’s made so far.

“Christ, alright,” Ryan mutters, wondering when he started taking orders from a damn cat.

========

Ryan knows there’s more to Los Santos than the rampant crime and corruption. Desperate souls just trying to keep their heads above water.

There’s a flipside to everything here. Go down this street and knock on the door with a mark on it, and if you know the password you’ll find yourself in a goddamn fantasy novel.

There are creatures here - ‘shifters and vamps and everything in between.

Beings from the old country who’ve migrated to America generations ago and found their way to Los Santos. Gotten lost in a city that doesn’t care who (what) you are or where you came from so long as you know how the city works.

Ryan’s heard the stories, all these beings with powers and abilities and how one terribly fragile human like him can’t possibly hope to match up against them – and yet.

He’s garnered a reputation of his own in this city, made a name for himself that stands him on level footing with some of the most powerful names here.

There are crews, gangs, you learn to be wary of if you last long enough. The Fake AH Crew are at the top of the list, notorious wanted criminals known for being ruthless when it comes to their enemies.

They say Ramsey’s something old – no one’s sure what he is, just old and tired and waiting for the world to end. Passes the time entertaining himself, gathering strays of his own with mixed heritage and watered down bloodlines, wreaking havoc and making sure the whole city knows who’s behind it all.

“You’re the Vagabond, hmm?”

Ryan sighs, looking up to see Ramsey watching him, amused little smile on his face.

He's had a long day and isn’t really in the mood to entertain guests at the moment. Just wanted to go home, deal with his latest injuries in peace.

His arm stings, parallel scratches bleeding sluggishly and nursing what feels like cracked ribs.

“Ramsey.”

The man moves forward. Looks disheveled with sleepy eyes and that smile like he’s laughing at the world. (Something he knows no one else does, perhaps, or maybe he just finds what people will do to get by so terribly amusing.)

On the surface of things he seems like he’d be the harmless kind, but there’s this air of subtle power about him. The kind of person who knows their worth, is comfortable with it.

“Looks like you’ve had an exciting day.”

Ryan’s been fucked over, is what he’s been.

Contacts who were blinded by greed and a phone call that led him to a construction site expecting to meet with a potential employer and finding an ambush instead.

Pair of ‘shifters with sharp fangs and claws and looking to make a name for themselves by killing him, not realizing the mistake they’d made. (The same one so many of their kind make, again and again and again because how could a squishy little human ever be a threat to something like them?)

And now this.

Not his day, really.

Still, it’s not Ramsey he’s worried about so much as the banshee. Eyes on Ryan the whole damn time, and angry as hell about something.

Steps up beside Ramsey who watches, mouth quirked in a faint smile.

“Where the fuck is he?” he demands, so very quiet.

Ryan stares at him, bemused.

The banshee takes another step forward, pushes into Ryan’s space -

They both freeze when there’s a rattle and clank above them, and look up to see the stray making his way down to them via drain pipes and rusty fire escapes.

It drops down in front of them, this smug little look about it.

“You little fucker,” the banshee snarls. “Do you have any fucking clue how long we’ve been looking for you?”

The stray’s tail flicks once, twice, and then it makes a little run at the banshee, leaping at the last moment to land, lightly, perfectly, on his shoulders. Purrs up a storm as it butts its head against his face, making these chirping noises like laughter as the banshee seethes, muttering darkly under his breath.

“Gavin,” Ramsey says, and the cat looks over, ear flicking.

There’s an amused smile on Ramsey's face. Shoulders loose and easy as he takes in the stray draping himself across the banshee’s shoulders like it’s a favorite perch of his, and Ryan -

Ryan’s just so very tired because this is Los Santos and there’s a flipside to everything here.

========

“You know,” Ramsey says, eyeing Ryan thoughtfully. “We could always use someone as resourceful as you in the crew.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow at that, sounds of Ramsey’s crew getting the stray – Gavin – to spill what he’s been up to for the past few weeks. Where he’s been after disappearing on them after a job went bad and he ran into Ryan. Thought he was interesting and all and decided to stick around for a bit. (Clearly Ryan is even more of an idiot than he thought for not realizing.)

Still.

A crew like this doesn’t need a mundane like him, fragile little human up against the things that go bump in the night.

Sure, Ryan can hold his own in Los Santos, but running with a crew like Ramsey’s is on an entirely different level.

He doesn’t go looking for trouble deliberately, but hell if he turns tail when it comes looking for him. (Surefire way to paint a target on your back, that. Get the wrong kind of people interested in you.)

They both look around as the banshee’s voice rises in pitch.

Anger and exasperation and this distinct note of concern.

A moment later Gavin comes tearing out of the living room, ears pinned back as he leaps for Ryan, sharp caws digging in as he scrabbles for stable footing.

When Michael comes skidding around the corner Gavin meows somehow managing to make it sound insufferably smug as Michael regards Ryan warily.

“Give it some thought,” Ramsey says, this little curl to his mouth as he watches the three of them locked in their little stalemate. “You might like it here.”

========

Gavin on two feet is just as much as a menace as Gavin on four feet.

The only difference is that he can use actual human words now, which makes acting like he doesn’t understand what he wants a bit harder for Ryan.

Still, there are workarounds.

“What does that even mean?” Ryan asks, not-so-secretly enjoying the exasperated look on Gavin's face.

Gavin sighs and repeats himself, a string of unadulterated British nonsense spilling from his lips that, sure, Ryan could make an educated guess about, but this is far more entertaining.

“Ryan,” Gavin says, bit of a pout creeping in and it’s honestly a little bit annoying at how adept the little bastard is at manipulating Ryan and the others. “Don’t be a minge.”

See, Ryan can guess what Gavin means by that, but -

“That’s not a real word,” Ryan says, biting back a smile at the look Michael tosses him from across the room.

Little bit wary of him still, but that’s fine. Ryan’s the newbie here, gun for hire for job Geoff insists will more than make up for the hassle of having to deal with the others for the duration.

Gavin throws his hands up and launches into a rant about idiot Americans who doesn’t understand clear English, and Ryan -

Ryan sits back and lets Gavin’s little rant or lecture or whatever the hell it is wash over him while processing none of it.

He’s not entirely certain he’s cut out to work with a crew, but for now this isn’t so bad.

#fahc au #werecats #freewood #vagrant fic #Touch Not the Cat #just like ALL the werecat aus i guess???#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#still working on prompts my friends #:DDDDD!#i love that there was a tag for werecats on ao3 to btw #beautiful #werecat aus

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