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gen_storytellerTITLE: The Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.5:
Characters: Spike,Dawn,Clem
Summary: Buffy is dead and Dawn’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. A penniless Spike wants to get her the greatest present ever. It proves to be harder than he expected. He encounters kittens, and Clem and nosehairs and learns some valuable lessons about life.
Rating: PG for swearing
Warnings/Notes: A Sunnydale version of a Victorian Morality Play. Inspired by Kipling’s ‘Just So’ stories and served with a side dish of Dr. Seuss. A mixture of humor, angst, and reflection upon the foibles of a vampire who wants to be a good man.
Mr. Spike and Mr. Clem have a meeting of minds and the plot thickens.
TSTOMKF 5
The 'Fish Tank' was primarily a demon bar, containing an abundancy of secluded nooks and niches whereby the darker of demon doings might be discussed - presumably in private - so when Mr. Spike and Mr. Clem discovered that the most desirable among these was already appropriated, Mr. Spike acted with that abrupt efficiency that characterized all his actions. He suggested, most reasonably and politely, that the occupants of the booth conclude their business while he simultaneously grabbed the largest among them by the collar, hauled it from its seat, and sent it sliding across the floor as though it were a bowling ball that knocked over tables and chairs instead of pins.
Mr. Spike supposed that his feat would have a twofold purpose - encouraging the impromptu bowling ball's companions to remove themselves and convincing others lurking about that it would be unwise to pry.
Our tale might have ended differently had Mr. Spike been less assured that he had effectively made his point. He might have paid more attention to the patrons that sat in close proximity. He might have discovered that Ph'ulup'thhButt had followed behind them and was sitting around the corner, (her)his nose hairs still vibrating from the violence done them but perfectly able to pick up sound waves. He might have but he did not, and on such things do fortunes turn.
Mr. Spike placed the kitten on the table for examination and Mr. Clem gently stroked his claws through her coat. The sweet-faced kitten peered up, her flower-petaled eyes wide in wonder, her inexperienced mind amazed at such a world that contained such hulking creatures, such ponderous beings! Mr. Clem pulled back each of her ears in turn, pulled her to and fro to glimpse each body part, then ran his fingers cunningly along the table - snatching them back and forth - until the kitten could not resist but must attack such frisky fiends. He observed her movements as she pounced in palpable joy, delighted with her playmate. Finally, he hefted the kitten in his palm, which she filled comfortably.
Mr. Clem rubbed his chin with his thumb and two forefingers - which you or I might be afraid to do if you or I had such claws or chin - but a lifetime's experience allowed him to do so without either catching his claws or scratching the skin that hung in saggy folds from his face. His usually bright, red eyes were pinkish and dulled with doubt as he spoke. "You got a certificate? Not one of the Egyptian breeds. Seems healthy enough, but – well - not purebred."
"Pureblood's not the only reason for breeding." Mr. Spike blustered, holding back his true argument - or rather the argument he believed to be most persuasive, for none of Mr. Spike's arguments were truly true this day. Nonetheless, he believed he had a compelling card and was waiting for the right moment to play it.
"Ye-ah, but the Bastets are looking for special cats. Rare Egyptian breeds, and this one..." Mr. Clem pulled the kitten's tail ever so gently, making her flip about to catch the evil enemy that had cravenly attacked from behind. "Well - cute - but nothing out of the ordinary."
Mr. Spike squared his shoulders and gazed directly into Mr. Clem's eyes, his face the embodiment of bonhomie, and he tilted his head. Now Mr. Clem, having had acquaintance with Mr. Spike for some time and being a fellow of some perspicuity, was immediately struck with mistrust – he was certain he was about to hear a lie.
Mr. Spike unconsciously inhaled a breath, holding it for a moment within his lungs, and then all in one exhalation - words tumbling forth as though they were weighted heavily from shock and incredulity - he spoke.
"You saying the Son of the Slayer's cat is nothing out of the ordinary?"
Mr. Clem was perhaps a bit more detail-oriented than Mr. Spike, and he had just examined the cat.
"It's a female, Spike."
Mr. Spike's eyes widened as though in surprise, not entirely feigned as he had not thought to check the kitten's sex. He injected a measure of hearty pleasure into his voice, smiling the most sincerest of smiles. He was absolutely the most congenial of fellows.
"Even more valuable then! A female just like Miss Kitty Fantastico! Just like her mum!"
Now there is an ability, inherent not just to demons but to humans and perhaps to all beings that inhabit this earth, whereby one can start with an indisputable truth but by means of excuses and explanations one can twist this truth until it has been made suitable to one's own desires. Mr. Spike was lying, and Mr. Clem knew that he was lying, but Mr. Clem wanted Mr. Spike to be telling the truth. You may understand his motivations more clearly when we explain that the Bastets paid extremely well for the kittens they purchased. Mr. Clem was among the most level-headed and least greedy of demons, but even he had a place where reason ended and rationalization began. Still he hesitated for long moments, unwilling to yet succumb to dreams of undreamed of riches.
"The Bastets want Miss Kitty because they think she's the reincarnation of one of the Slayers. They think she gravitated to the Slayer's home because they're kindred spirits - and she'll bring a warrior's essence to their sacred cats. I don't know if they would be interested in one of her kittens..." Mr. Clem continued hesitantly, uncertain of Mr. Spike's temper, "...and that's if she is one of Miss Kitty's... I mean, she looks like Miss Kitty... but there's nothin' on the grapevine about the Slayer's cat having kittens..."
At this outrageous – and truthful - affront to his veracity Mr. Spike's face became stormy, threatening blue eyes gleaming beneath darkened brows, lower lip gliding forward like a protruding cloud. He slammed his arm on the table with the most horrific thump, which horribly startled both the poor kitten and Mr. Clem. When he spoke, his voice was loud and deepened with righteous indignation. "And the Slayer's going around these days telling just anyone what's happenin' in her household is she? Maybe ol' b'Huh's got a better in then me? Just 'cause I talk to the slayer every day, visit like I was a friend and all – why should I know anything?"
You might think this hostile display would send Mr. Clem into a frightful state of fear, all goosebumps and palpitating heart, but in fact he appreciated the hostility for the show that it was. No blood had been spilled, and Mr. Spike was speaking with heat and gesturing with broad flourishes. Like any predator, Mr. Spike was most dangerous when he turned cold and unmoving. Like any predator, Mr. Spike would then remain unmoving until he moved with the direct intent to attack.
Mr. Clem knew he would be fortunate if he actually saw the vampire move before feeling teeth at his throat, before feeling warm blood flowing from his veins, should Mr. Spike actually be angry. Mr. Clem allowed himself to skitter away from that thought by bringing forth another possibility. "You could still go after Miss Kitty herself...you've got this little sweetheart," Mr. Clem again ran frisky fingers past the kitten, encouraging her to pounce, emphasizing her playfulness, "Dawn probably wouldn't miss the..."
The flow of Mr. Clem's words drew to a halt, goosebumps popping up all over his voluminous folds of skin and his chest thrumming from the force of his palpitating heart, as he noticed Mr. Spike's eyes turning to wintry crystals, his face chilling as though rimed over with frost, and his body freezing into glacial stillness. At once Mr. Clem's facial wrinkles clustered around another one of his smiles. "But, hey guy! Why not give the kitten a try? The Bastets will only say no if they aren't interested." Mr. Clem's smile twisted a bit. "Might look for another scout. But... I think it's worth a try!"
Mr. Clem sighed with considerable relief as Mr. Spike's aspect immediately thawed, his tongue sliding over his upper teeth, his features melting into a self-satisfied smirk. You might be surprised to learn that Mr. Clem held no rancor towards Mr. Spike for his lies, his deceitfulness or his coercion. After all, this was business between demons and Mr. Clem expected no less. And having now accepted Mr. Spike's lead, he himself was able to turn a blind eye to any niggling doubts Now he could fall full-hearted into dreams of undreamed of wealth.
"What say we have a drink to celebrate our partnership, eh?" Mr. Spike's sneer made clear that Mr. Clem was expected to pay for the celebratory drinks, and Mr. Clem had no objections but rather embraced the idea with some alacrity.
Mr. Spike sauntered off to the bar, Mr. Clem skittered his fingers past the kitten's rapt gaze, and ...Ph'ulup'thhButt scurried out the door.
PREV NEXT
Characters: Spike,Dawn,Clem
Summary: Buffy is dead and Dawn’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. A penniless Spike wants to get her the greatest present ever. It proves to be harder than he expected. He encounters kittens, and Clem and nosehairs and learns some valuable lessons about life.
Rating: PG for swearing
Warnings/Notes: A Sunnydale version of a Victorian Morality Play. Inspired by Kipling’s ‘Just So’ stories and served with a side dish of Dr. Seuss. A mixture of humor, angst, and reflection upon the foibles of a vampire who wants to be a good man.
Mr. Spike and Mr. Clem have a meeting of minds and the plot thickens.
TSTOMKF 5
The 'Fish Tank' was primarily a demon bar, containing an abundancy of secluded nooks and niches whereby the darker of demon doings might be discussed - presumably in private - so when Mr. Spike and Mr. Clem discovered that the most desirable among these was already appropriated, Mr. Spike acted with that abrupt efficiency that characterized all his actions. He suggested, most reasonably and politely, that the occupants of the booth conclude their business while he simultaneously grabbed the largest among them by the collar, hauled it from its seat, and sent it sliding across the floor as though it were a bowling ball that knocked over tables and chairs instead of pins.
Mr. Spike supposed that his feat would have a twofold purpose - encouraging the impromptu bowling ball's companions to remove themselves and convincing others lurking about that it would be unwise to pry.
Our tale might have ended differently had Mr. Spike been less assured that he had effectively made his point. He might have paid more attention to the patrons that sat in close proximity. He might have discovered that Ph'ulup'thhButt had followed behind them and was sitting around the corner, (her)his nose hairs still vibrating from the violence done them but perfectly able to pick up sound waves. He might have but he did not, and on such things do fortunes turn.
Mr. Spike placed the kitten on the table for examination and Mr. Clem gently stroked his claws through her coat. The sweet-faced kitten peered up, her flower-petaled eyes wide in wonder, her inexperienced mind amazed at such a world that contained such hulking creatures, such ponderous beings! Mr. Clem pulled back each of her ears in turn, pulled her to and fro to glimpse each body part, then ran his fingers cunningly along the table - snatching them back and forth - until the kitten could not resist but must attack such frisky fiends. He observed her movements as she pounced in palpable joy, delighted with her playmate. Finally, he hefted the kitten in his palm, which she filled comfortably.
Mr. Clem rubbed his chin with his thumb and two forefingers - which you or I might be afraid to do if you or I had such claws or chin - but a lifetime's experience allowed him to do so without either catching his claws or scratching the skin that hung in saggy folds from his face. His usually bright, red eyes were pinkish and dulled with doubt as he spoke. "You got a certificate? Not one of the Egyptian breeds. Seems healthy enough, but – well - not purebred."
"Pureblood's not the only reason for breeding." Mr. Spike blustered, holding back his true argument - or rather the argument he believed to be most persuasive, for none of Mr. Spike's arguments were truly true this day. Nonetheless, he believed he had a compelling card and was waiting for the right moment to play it.
"Ye-ah, but the Bastets are looking for special cats. Rare Egyptian breeds, and this one..." Mr. Clem pulled the kitten's tail ever so gently, making her flip about to catch the evil enemy that had cravenly attacked from behind. "Well - cute - but nothing out of the ordinary."
Mr. Spike squared his shoulders and gazed directly into Mr. Clem's eyes, his face the embodiment of bonhomie, and he tilted his head. Now Mr. Clem, having had acquaintance with Mr. Spike for some time and being a fellow of some perspicuity, was immediately struck with mistrust – he was certain he was about to hear a lie.
Mr. Spike unconsciously inhaled a breath, holding it for a moment within his lungs, and then all in one exhalation - words tumbling forth as though they were weighted heavily from shock and incredulity - he spoke.
"You saying the Son of the Slayer's cat is nothing out of the ordinary?"
Mr. Clem was perhaps a bit more detail-oriented than Mr. Spike, and he had just examined the cat.
"It's a female, Spike."
Mr. Spike's eyes widened as though in surprise, not entirely feigned as he had not thought to check the kitten's sex. He injected a measure of hearty pleasure into his voice, smiling the most sincerest of smiles. He was absolutely the most congenial of fellows.
"Even more valuable then! A female just like Miss Kitty Fantastico! Just like her mum!"
Now there is an ability, inherent not just to demons but to humans and perhaps to all beings that inhabit this earth, whereby one can start with an indisputable truth but by means of excuses and explanations one can twist this truth until it has been made suitable to one's own desires. Mr. Spike was lying, and Mr. Clem knew that he was lying, but Mr. Clem wanted Mr. Spike to be telling the truth. You may understand his motivations more clearly when we explain that the Bastets paid extremely well for the kittens they purchased. Mr. Clem was among the most level-headed and least greedy of demons, but even he had a place where reason ended and rationalization began. Still he hesitated for long moments, unwilling to yet succumb to dreams of undreamed of riches.
"The Bastets want Miss Kitty because they think she's the reincarnation of one of the Slayers. They think she gravitated to the Slayer's home because they're kindred spirits - and she'll bring a warrior's essence to their sacred cats. I don't know if they would be interested in one of her kittens..." Mr. Clem continued hesitantly, uncertain of Mr. Spike's temper, "...and that's if she is one of Miss Kitty's... I mean, she looks like Miss Kitty... but there's nothin' on the grapevine about the Slayer's cat having kittens..."
At this outrageous – and truthful - affront to his veracity Mr. Spike's face became stormy, threatening blue eyes gleaming beneath darkened brows, lower lip gliding forward like a protruding cloud. He slammed his arm on the table with the most horrific thump, which horribly startled both the poor kitten and Mr. Clem. When he spoke, his voice was loud and deepened with righteous indignation. "And the Slayer's going around these days telling just anyone what's happenin' in her household is she? Maybe ol' b'Huh's got a better in then me? Just 'cause I talk to the slayer every day, visit like I was a friend and all – why should I know anything?"
You might think this hostile display would send Mr. Clem into a frightful state of fear, all goosebumps and palpitating heart, but in fact he appreciated the hostility for the show that it was. No blood had been spilled, and Mr. Spike was speaking with heat and gesturing with broad flourishes. Like any predator, Mr. Spike was most dangerous when he turned cold and unmoving. Like any predator, Mr. Spike would then remain unmoving until he moved with the direct intent to attack.
Mr. Clem knew he would be fortunate if he actually saw the vampire move before feeling teeth at his throat, before feeling warm blood flowing from his veins, should Mr. Spike actually be angry. Mr. Clem allowed himself to skitter away from that thought by bringing forth another possibility. "You could still go after Miss Kitty herself...you've got this little sweetheart," Mr. Clem again ran frisky fingers past the kitten, encouraging her to pounce, emphasizing her playfulness, "Dawn probably wouldn't miss the..."
The flow of Mr. Clem's words drew to a halt, goosebumps popping up all over his voluminous folds of skin and his chest thrumming from the force of his palpitating heart, as he noticed Mr. Spike's eyes turning to wintry crystals, his face chilling as though rimed over with frost, and his body freezing into glacial stillness. At once Mr. Clem's facial wrinkles clustered around another one of his smiles. "But, hey guy! Why not give the kitten a try? The Bastets will only say no if they aren't interested." Mr. Clem's smile twisted a bit. "Might look for another scout. But... I think it's worth a try!"
Mr. Clem sighed with considerable relief as Mr. Spike's aspect immediately thawed, his tongue sliding over his upper teeth, his features melting into a self-satisfied smirk. You might be surprised to learn that Mr. Clem held no rancor towards Mr. Spike for his lies, his deceitfulness or his coercion. After all, this was business between demons and Mr. Clem expected no less. And having now accepted Mr. Spike's lead, he himself was able to turn a blind eye to any niggling doubts Now he could fall full-hearted into dreams of undreamed of wealth.
"What say we have a drink to celebrate our partnership, eh?" Mr. Spike's sneer made clear that Mr. Clem was expected to pay for the celebratory drinks, and Mr. Clem had no objections but rather embraced the idea with some alacrity.
Mr. Spike sauntered off to the bar, Mr. Clem skittered his fingers past the kitten's rapt gaze, and ...Ph'ulup'thhButt scurried out the door.
PREV NEXT
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Date: 2007-02-01 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-02 12:18 am (UTC)And I wouldn't have thought of the story, if not for... well, that would give too much away.
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