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"Honestly, it's out of our way. But it would be a bigger deal if we didn't get you back home." That, and Ame likely wouldn't let him hear the end of it--or see, since the little bird was more prone to looking unhappy than he was to whining. Ambrus, on that thought, reached over and ruffled his Tale's feathers almost without thinking about it. It provoked a warble out of the bird, who then turned his attention back to Sylvester with as much of a smile as he could give with a beak.

"Welcome!" Ameretat chirped, giving a cheerful bob of his head. Sylvester did look much healthier without blood smeared all over, which definitely brightened Ame's outlook on things.

"Trash can's over there," Ambrus added, more helpfully, and gestured--at a beat-up plastic thing that looked like it had caught worse than bloodied paper towels in its time. "Let me get my coat and we can go." He stepped out of the kitchen, disappearing down the hallway with that same eerie silence. Ame watched him depart, before turning back to the other Tale, canting his head to one side.

"Need anything else?" Worriedly, and then, more curious: "Why werrre you out herrre?" Not that Ame's neighborhood wasn't interesting and full of all manner of fascinating things, but he'd never seen another Tale in it. Furthermore: "Not to get 'urrrt, one hopes!"

Training, mostly. A lot of what Ambrus took for granted where his abnormal skills of sneaking were concerned was training that had taken hold in his bones. He didn't open doors without easing them up on their hinges to avoid a squeak; didn't shut them if he could avoid it and ghosted them closed when he did.

If Ameretat weren't so weird all on his own, he'd probably be bothered by his Author's habits of sneaking about. As it was, though, he had something more interesting to pay attention to in Sylvester--and he gave a curious trill as the Tale explained how he'd come to be in their neighborhood. "Things? Weirrrd things?" He flared his wings, then refolded them with a rustle of feathers, suddenly looking agitated. "Did they follow? Will make them go away!" This, too, felt Right--though he calmed down immediately as Sylvester remarked on their house, rustling his wings again.

"Is a good 'ouse. Verrry good." Ame gave that affable beak-gape that passed for a smile with him. "Old. Interrresting."

"And falling apart." This last was from Ambrus, who had returned to the kitchen in the same silence he'd left it, black longcoat draped over his shoulders and a ring of keys in his hands. "Interesting, though. You kids ready to go?"

"Snow globes?" Ame echoed. That was one he'd need to refer to Father; he wasn't quite sure precisely what a snow globe was. It didn't sound particularly ominous, especially since they weren't alive, but he'd heard some bad things about snow in his time. He looked away from Sylvester as Ambrus stepped in, nodding almost in time with the other Tale in return to his Author's question.

"All right. Let's go." The half-faceless made another of those little "come-along" gestures, returning to the entryway and heading for the door. Ame looked back at Sylvester, mimicking his Author's gesture, before pattering after Ambrus. The car was, fortunately, parked not too far from the fire escape they'd scaled in the first place.

"There again," Ambrus replied, evenly. Then--as if picking up on the Tale's unease--he added, "They don't come out into the light. They shouldn't be a problem." That said, he headed back toward the "emergency" exit at the end of the hall, propping it open with a foot long enough for the Tales to catch up before he started down.

Almost as if of its own volition, the flowerpot he'd kicked off earlier had come back. Ambrus kicked it back off again, repeating the distant CRASH and skittering from the alley below that followed.

Sylvester's explanation of the snow globes won an appreciative whistle from Ameretat. Likely the little bird's shorthand for an "aha!". "Rrremembrrrances," he remarked on them. "Places you went, things you did?" He canted his head to one side as they walked down the hallway, and added, "Memorrries--sometimes scarrry to face them, yes?"

Ameretat whistled at this, finding reason a moment later to fall silent as he negotiated his way down the fire escape. Memories--he didn't have many of his own that made sense, but if memories in this world showed up in snowglobes in your room one morning, he'd wait to see what they might look like. Perhaps they'd be illuminating, or maybe he'd run away from home like Sylvester had...

The little bird looked over as the other Tale asked him a question, a half-vocalized warble in his throat. "Arrround?" he asked, as if clarifying the concept for himself. At last he gave a brief bob of his head and bounded down two steps of the fire escape. "Not long. Days. Met Tybalt! A brrotherrr, with wings--" He hopped down another step, giving a flick of his own wings.

"Wrrrong colorrrs, but wings." Another hop, which made the fire escape creak dangerously as the little bird landed at last on the ground of the alley. Ambrus glanced back over his shoulder at the Tales, one brow quirked, but no real question in the look he gave them. They were following, good enough for him; he'd let them chatter so long as they did, and get the odd little group to his car meanwhile.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Ambrus's car was the only one in the neighborhood that looked like it hadn't been broken into or torched in the past week. Someone had keyed the doors, though, leaving the silvery-gray paint flaking in places, but otherwise none the worse for wear. It was a literal hop and skip down the street from the shaky fire escape, twenty yards if you were being generous. Ambrus stopped beside the car when he reached it, unlocking it but leaning slant-hipped against it as he waited for the kids to catch up. Never could be too careful in this neighborhood.

"Fly?" Ameretat waited for Sylvester to put himself in order, before giving a trilling noise like unto a laugh. "Glide, a little. Not flying. Not yet. Will fly, though!" He pattered over to Ambrus and the car, peering up at his parent before looking into the vehicle--as if seeing it for the first time.

Ambrus didn't so much as look impatient as he tapped his Tale on his feathery head and motioned toward the door. "C'mon, Ame. In the car. Nothing you haven't done before."

Everyone piled into the car. This is largely unremarkable except for the fact the car definitely did not explode as Ambrus started it up, and Ameretat refused to put his seatbelt on.

Not that Ambrus had, either. They were living in dangerous times, this Author and his Tale. "Tirrred?" Ame inquired of his fellow-Tale, pausing to rearrange his wings and tailfeathers on his side of the car. Then rearranging them again when the first arrangement ended up with his tail uncomfortably cramped and his wings smushed up against the window.

Ambrus's attention was on the road, and so he didn't so much as remark when he briefly got a fluffy golden primary up near his ear. "Mmf," Ameretat grumbled, then whistled to himself in Avestan as he made a third and a fourth attempt at rearranging himself to take up the least amount of space without damaging his feathers. This was probably unintentionally comedic, right down to the scowl of annoyance on the little bird's face.

Ameretat was just about to rearrange himself a fifth time as Sylvester spoke up, and he looked over instead at the other Tale--before nodding solemnly. "Yes. Old language. Know..." He tapped one finger against his feathery temple, trying to get the point across. "Always know it. Not so 'arrrrd...to talk." He gaped his beak in thin amusement, and shifted his wings again.

Then he made a quiet noise of dismay, and turned all the way around to sit backward on the back seat, leaning back against the empty passenger seat. This time his whistling sounded almost relieved. "...sorrry! Don't like--need rrroom, forrr wings."

From the look of things out the window, they were on the outskirts of Aekea. "So what street am I looking for?" Ambrus cut in on the conversation between the two Tales, not taking his eyes from the road.