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On a cold winter night, when the moon is nearly full and bright in the sky, you hear laughter. At first, you can't place it, but then you feel little pokes and prods, tugs on your hair, your clothes. Sometimes you think you see something out of the corner of your eye--a small, icy body. Sometimes you hear wings flapping in the night. As long as you are out in the cold, you feel eyes on you and you find yourself the target of small mischief from what seems to be icy little fairies, though they move too fast for you to see or grab. They never speak, only laugh. When you go inside, or venture to anywhere with too much light or heat, they seem to disappear and do not bother you again.
It was quite the trek home from the Finn's lairhouse to Stroud's sumptuous digs, but since he had been grudgingly allowed a single beer during an evening of video games and harassing Sourpatch, Tibs needed to work off the associated calories before they reattached to his 'chomnk'. Tiberius moved across the snowy streets of Destiny City as a puffy shadow: he was built for the cold with thick fur and undercoat, with tufts between toes to keep his beans warm and also create 'snowshoes' - never mind that no matter how strictly he'd been on a diet and exercise regimen, he still had some fat padding his plush body that would help keep him warm.
Crisp air tickled at soft, velvety nose and set the Chaos Mauvian sneezing, small sprays of snow flying up around his head from the violence of the repeated action. Ugh, the ********> Further action was needed to smooth the ruffled fur of his face back to the typical handsome configuration, during which the Mauvian caught glimpses of something small and twitchy in his periphery.
As nothing new registered with his sensitive (but slightly chilled) sense of smell, Tibs ignored the weird sensation he had of being watched, and of the small twitchy thing that may or may not have been there to set back on his way home; his progress occasionally halted by another bout of sneezing, or something tickling at the various guard whiskers along his massive (but less substantial than before) body. It was strange, but he chalked it up to the beer having a stronger affect than usual due to having been forced to abstain for so long right up until he heard laughter as tiny crystalline bells.
Tiberius whipped around to the source of the sound, jaws open to catch whatever the thing was, but snapped down on empty air. More laughter and the sound of frantic flapping could be heard distinctly. I got close...there's more than one? "Alright you little ba--OW!"
Something had just yanked his whiskers. Something with wings that sparkled like razors in the moon light, though the feline could not get a solid look at the darting distraction during its dismaying antics.
Softer still, what felt like small hands jiggling his sides and parting the fluff to reach the velvety under-puffs. Again and again the Mauvian whirled, swatting at his tormentors, but no matter how swiftly he spun nor how quickly his claws slashed the air: nothing came of it but giggling.
Huffing with exertion, Tiberius stood in a pit of churned snow and grass. Tiny hands returned to pull and poke and pat pat pat his kitty fat fat fat. There were definitely more than one of the little monsters, whatever they actually were, but he couldn't get an accurate count because of how many places they were at once...and because they seemed to be like his Mistress in that two arms could very well have been eight.
Dealing with the Negaverse, one never knew, and Tiberius measured all weird s**t in Destiny City by his dealings with the Negaverse. "Go play with someone that wants an icy hand job, leave me alone!" Growling and annoyed, the fluffy Mauvian crouched and sprung from the pit he'd managed to make in the deep snow and took off running; there was no reason to not attempt to out-run the icy bastards - cats were sprinters, after all!
At first, it seemed to be working, but then the tiny laughter cut through the air behind his ears.
To his left.
To the right.
Tiberius slowed and puffed up even more mightily with aggrieved realization: he'd been ridden like Seabiscuit.
Turning his gaze heavenward like a sitcom actor towards the camera during a particularly trying scene for comedic effect, Tiberius sighed. Now he could feel the tiny heels drumming against his back. He could also feel sharp yanks to his tail and butt puffs, which were swiftly losing their charm. If I could just...catch one. I'd take it to Mistress and then dissect it. And then piss in it's vivisected body...yes. But how to catch one? Maybe if he could see it better?
Quick-but-distracted calculation of distance told the cat he had about sixteen feet to the next street light, perhaps the additional light would bring them more into visibility than the ambient light from the moon and the reflected glow from low-wattage halogens bulbs on some buildings. Another sprint brought the frustrated feline and his frosty 'friends' into the pool of piss-yellow light. Strangely enough, though the presumed fairies did not become easier to catch or see, they did become more lethargic. Or there were less of them.
Either way, he'd take it. "Not fond of light, huh? Sucks to be you!" Normally he'd be more interested in taking down informational notes for his Mistress, like he had the previous year - honestly, why hadn't he remembered that nothing good ever happened around the holidays in Destiny City? - but with how personal the frigid little faerie bastards were getting with his tender puffs, Tiberius could not have been less interested in the scientific method if he'd actually been inebriated.
After another series of half-hearted swats in the general direction(s) of where the magical, mystical beasties had been mere seconds before, Tiberius took off like a fuzzy rocket for the next street lamp: fifty meters didn't necessarily sound like a great stretch of distance unless one was was a goddamn cat. Then it was sizeable to undertake at speed. In the snow. When (slightly) out of shape. But if those little ******** disliked light, he was going to run like hell so he could go from post to post and dwell in the weak halogen light like the sun-loving semi-solid magical feline he was every single chance he got, all the way home.
Or right up into Faustite's very brightly lit arms.
Whichever he found first.
WC: 1,009
