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Little boys who had more in common with giraffes than humans were not a usual sight in Ambrus's neighborhood. Probably in large part because anything that strange-looking would quickly find itself ridiculed or attacked, which explained, certainly, why the assassin hadn't let Ameretat outside by himself, day or night.

Much to his dismay, however, the little bird liked the neighborhood, as bad as it was--liked talking to the schizophrenics and the homeless in his strange, twittering language; liked being outside, day or night, and never seemed to SLEEP. Not that Ambrus was much one for sleeping, either, but he did sleep occasionally and knew he'd pay the price for it when he didn't--Ame, on the other hand, seemed to have completely boundless energy.

That man Sylvester had noticed was a regular of the neighborhood, and one Ame was growing much friendlier with than Ambrus liked. Nor was he talking to himself--at least, not for long. A blur of white and gold with feathers everywhere, Ame went bounding down the sidewalk with a trilling cry of, "'Arrooold!" The schizophrenic actually looked up, out of his internal ruminations, and mumbled some sort of greeting to the little bird in a language that certainly wasn't English.

Ambrus followed at a sedate distance, keeping his good eye on his kid and the rest of his senses on the neighborhood. "Harold" was mostly harmless, but all it would take would be for Ame to set him off, and then they'd be in for it. Fortunately, the bum didn't seem to understand Ame's language any better than Ambrus did, so it didn't look like there could be too much harm there. Even so...

The scent of blood, attenuated as it was in the winter air, caught Ambrus's attention. He took his eye from Ameretat and "Harold", trusting that the little bird would start screaming if something went wrong, and... Was that a giraffe? Ordinarily, he wouldn't've cared about anyone walking bloodied through this neighborhood--it happened so OFTEN--but acquiring a Tale had twigged him in to the peculiar magical signature of the Tome's children. Which begged the question of what was one of those doing out here?

Casting another glance over toward Ame and his "friend", Ambrus took several quick steps to intersect Sylvester's path. "Kid. Are you all right?" Devoid of inflection, the question didn't sound particularly worried.

Ameretat's asymmetric conversation with the crazy guy wound on in the background, a barrage of high-pitched chirping meeting with toothless mumbles and mutters. Ambrus fancied he could probably keep track of the little bird just by listening in, and right now, Sylvester commands a little more of his attention. The little giraffe's assessment of the situation was met with no real surprise; most people Ambrus knew who could be leaking a pint of blood out their nose and still be "okay" weren't Sylvester's age.

The half-faceless made a quick review of his plans for the day. Nothing that couldn't be put off for another hour or so to make sure this kid got back home intact. "A bad neighborhood. Where are your parents?"

Meanwhile, over on Ame's end, "Harold" had apparently decided the little bird was another figment of his imagination and begun talking to a stop sign instead. Ame semaphored for the man's attention with his arms and wings, giving an arpeggio of querying whistles--before deflating when his friend at last turned away from him. Awww--but he'd been so interesting. Oh well! Wheeling on one foot, Ameretat raced back to where Ambrus and Sylvester were--and hauled up short, eyes widening with curiosity at the newcomer. Hey, was that blood?

Ameretat warbled at being acknowledged, shaping his expression into as much of a smile as he could manage and waggling his fingers. "'Ey," he parroted. "Am Ameretat." He made a few more noises that approximated English words, before giving up in frustration. Whistling would suffice, a rapid series of notes spilling from his beak as he gestured eagerly at Sylvester. It won a brief--almost amused--glance from his parent, before Ambrus's usual mask of impassivity settled once again.

"Aekea." Wasn't too far out of Ambrus's way, though taking this kid all the way back there would be an inconvenience. Probably too much of an inconvenience to warrant doing it--though Ame, damn him, already seemed very interested in the strange Tale. And when Ameretat got it in his mind to do something, Ambrus had found, it was very difficult to convince the Tale otherwise, or divert him from his task.

"Not too far out of our way. This is Barton." The slummy nether edges of Barton, but Barton nonetheless. Not that Ambrus wanted to leave the kid out here, either, but it would be a hell of a lot easier to call his mom to come pick him up. The street, though, was not exactly the place to be having this discussion.

"If you want to get cleaned up and call your mom, my place isn't far from here." And maybe the social interaction would keep Ame from talking to schizophrenics. The little bird was already investigating Sylvester's bloodied nose with entirely too much interest, whistling and warbling in a way that sounded, if anything, consoling.

Which probably came as no surprise, all things considered. Ameretat--fortunately--didn't keep up the same monologue he had with "Harold"; it didn't take him long to figure out that Sylvester wasn't exactly tracking what he was saying. A deep breath in, a whistle out, before the little bird shook himself all over with a violent rearrangement of his feathers. "'Ome," he squeaked, looking between Ambrus and Sylvester, before pattering over to offer a hand to the other Tale. It wasn't even something he thought about; he was Supposed to lead people.

Ambrus merely watched the two Tales assort themselves, before giving a minimal crooking of his hand over one shoulder. "Looks like you got in a fight with a trucker and lost," he remarked. "It isn't broken, is it." The nose. Something itching around Ambrus's brainstem said it probably would have looked a little worse if it had been.

The walk back to Ambrus's apartment was a surprisingly short one. He hadn't really thought about the fact--though he'd made note of street numbers as they crawled by--Ame's peregrinations made for very little forward progress despite an awful lot of walking. In short order they stood outside a dingy apartment highrise that had definitely seen better days; Ambrus bypassed the grease-smeared glass doors, headed for the fire escape in the scrofulous alley to the side of the building. Shadowy things took off running as he mounted up the creaking steps two at a time, offering only an "up," as indication of where the kids were supposed to go.

If Ambrus wanted to, he could've probably made a killing in the kidnapping business, as opposed to--making a killing by killing pe-- Regardless, it was something he might put a little thought to later. Not his place to be telling parents to keep their kids off the street, and all that--much as he imagined he might need to imply to Sylvester's mother she needed to keep her kid out of neighborhoods like Ambrus's.

Or maybe not, given Sylvester's comments. "You won." Good for him. "Suppose you'll need to tell us about that later."

Ameretat, too, had an appreciative if somewhat worried whistle for Sylvester's declaration. So long as he won, everything was okay, right? Fortunately for the conquering hero, and despite Ambrus's long-legged stride, the little bird didn't try to hurry the other Tale along too quickly. He knew the way back home--and his father had always slowed down before if he lagged behind! "Won? Who 'urrt you?" Ame inquired as they walked, having had some time to figure out the English words for what he wanted to say.

Sadly, while Ambrus was interested in avoiding the kind of confrontation he'd get by going through the lobby of the building with two kids--one with a nosebleed--in tow, he wasn't so fixed on secrecy as to try and lead the little assemblage through a window. It would only end in tears; besides, there were some perfectly operational doors leading out onto the landings. The half faceless stopped at the third to the top, kicking an abandoned flowerpot off of it with a sotto voce mumble about the fire marshal. (It smashed somewhere in the alley below, to a chorus of not-quite-ratlike noises from the skittering things.) It took but another moment for him to find his keys, unlocking the door and easing it open in a silence that belied its antiquated state. Waited, to usher the kids inside, before stepping into the ill-kept hallway behind them.

"Second door down. On your left." It would be locked, unless Jenner had decided to make another surprise visit. In which case Ambrus decided--not so mournfully--that he'd have to be indited for matricide.

Pulled off a guy's band-aid and--Ambrus stepped up behind the kids, keys still in hand, and leveled a bland look on the back of Sylvester's head. "Don't make me regret inviting you inside," he commented. Vampire giraffes. This was getting weirder and weirder, though at least it was a weird that didn't leave Ambrus feeling more homicidal than usual. He gestured the kids aside, unlocked the door, and kicked it open.

"Phone's in the kitchen, down the hall that way." A gesture on "that way" gave the proper direction to the comment, before Ambrus leaned his back against the door. "I'll be along." Bland and somehow ominous, as he cast a look back down the hallway. "Ame, be good."

The little bird fluffed up the feathers of his shoulders, giving a bubbling warble of amusement. Whether it was to the admonition that he "be good" or the biting comment--likely the former, but... "Won't bite," he repeated. "Bad idea. Don't want to 'urrt you." He released the other Tale's hand, pointing inward toward the kitchen in echo of his Author's gesture, then tapped a finger against his own arm.

"Blood. Is 'ot. Verrry 'ot." See, it wasn't a threat! Just a simple warning. "Phone? Phone, phone, phone..." Making a come-along gesture, Ame ambled down the hallway toward the kitchen, hanging a left at a cracked and broken entryway. The wall was almost more cracks than plaster; if the carpet and ceiling weren't equally dingy, it might have made a nice design statement. Ame simply brushed by it, apparently completely unaware of the fact his surroundings were falling apart.

"Phone!" A declarative point of one feathered hand, accompanied by another of those warbled phrases. The phone, at least, looked new.

Back in the doorway, Ambrus shut his eyes and scrubbed at his temple with the heel of one hand. He had to be seeing things--there was no other explanation for it. Sadly, that was not an explanation he much enjoyed.

"Welcome!" Ame replied, ably. He'd gone cross-eyed for a moment there as Sylvester had faded out, watching the other Tale with unabashed and solemn-eyed curiosity. He politely directed his gaze toward the floor, though, when Sylvester went for the phone, giving a little flick and rustle of his wings. After a moment, a thought seemed to occur to him, and he pattered deeper into the kitchen. Another moment, and the sound of a tap being opened and water running filled the air.

Ambrus stepped into the kitchen just as Sylvester made his declaration, somehow managing not to make a sound despite the creakiness of the floorboards. "Get the machine?" he asked, blandly, then, without waiting for an answer: "Great. Suppose you'll need a ride home."

The tap elsewhere shut off with a squeak, and Ameretat returned with a click-click of claws on vinyl tile, a handful of wet paper towels in hand. "Rrride 'ome?" he chirped, stopping next to Sylvester and his Author, glancing between them. At length he remembered his errand, and offered the towels to Sylvester--they'd already begun picking up warmth from his hands, letting off little curls of evaporated moisture.

"If he wants it, yeah, Ame." Ambrus wrinkled up his nose--that was the last of their paper towels, which meant they'd need to go shopping again today. Peachy.