gen_storyteller

TITLE: The Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.11: by

myfeetshowit
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 runs away from his troubles.

TSTOMKF 11

The kitten was but a tiny kitten and her weapons were small. Nonetheless, she was a clever cat and she chose her target well. She sank her tiny claws into tender nose hairs and tiny teeth followed. She was a tiny burr burrowing, biting, bothering. Ph'ulup'thhButt fumbled furiously at the kitten and the scent of mackerel perfumed the air as (s)he stepped in the untouched plate of Seafood Delight. Time and time and time again (s)he grabbed, groped, grasped only for the kitten to slip away.

Then, all of a sudden the kitten was seized with a malaise of weariness, a sudden seizure, not quite pain but rather a dull leaden ache. The energy leached from her body as though it seeped into the concrete floor below her. Ph'ulup'thhButt honked with satisfaction and took advantage of the kitten's disorientation to sweep her into the cage once more.

Although the kitten was clever she was but a cat and she did not hope or dream of rescue as a human would. Nonetheless, firm within her mind was locked the yearning for the scent, the sight, the stroke of the only person she loved. Misery welled into her eyes, green dulled into gray and the source of that desolation was the desire to be with Mr. Spike. Each miserable mew she uttered was an utterance of his name. The coat that Mr. Spike had groomed to such immaculate gleaming was knotted and lackluster; a counterpoint to her wretchedness within. She did not know how to hope so she simply hunkered down in her misery and yearned for Mr. Spike.

* * *

Mr. Clem led Mr. Spike into one of the demon neighborhoods that were dotted throughout Sunnydale.

A pervading air of abandonment lay upon the buildings, boarded up and dusty windowed. Here and there a weathered sign swung above a door top but little else was there to signal that any business survived and thrived in this place - during the day. At night all manner of strange creatures wandered to and fro. Multicolored lights of mystical origin strobed in irregular fashion and the sounds of demon language issued forth in hoots and honks and whistles that blended into an outlandish music.

Mr. Spike had ceded to the wisdom of Mr. Clem's design but still he was deep in vampire bloodlust and while thus maddened he viewed all as through a narrow lens – prey to be killed, a foe to be fought, a superior strength to give way to. A rare few he labeled family, though this did not grant them immunity to threat of violence.

When Mr. Spike followed Mr. Clem into the garish and dank parlor his gameface surged forth – Ordinary Joe was human. Prey! Mr. Spike bit down into the flesh of his own tongue and sucked at his own blood and stared at Ordinary Joe with unblinking, yellow eyes.

Ordinary Joe placed his needle tip with infinite care - a Flayjack's wing was a lacework of gristly fibrous stuff, tough but thin and it required the most deft of touches to pierce yet not pierce through. He neither ceased his work nor glanced up at the new visitors to his shop though he sensed their presence and aura and unease of mind. "Only do vampires by appointment. Gotta special order the inks."

"Not here to get tattooed."

At the sound of the voice Ordinary Joe started and the Flayjack bellowed as the needle pierced through but Ordinary Joe paid no heed. He swung around to see the owner of that voice and upon his face was writ a most curious expression of wonderment, incredulity and amusement intermingled.

He blinked and he stared and he did not speak.

"What are you lookin' at?"

"Now that is a question I'd love to hear answered. I can't help you."

"What the blood... oh, you are an oracle aren't you? Don't even know the question but the answer's always the same. Can't help." Mr. Spike strode stiff-legged, placed his face close up to Ordinary Joe's. His blood-smeared tongue slid forth as though testing the air but if he expected to smell fear there was none. Ordinary Joe simply blinked and smiled.

"Dude, I would like to help you. Never seen one quite like you before... but... not my place. You have to take responsibility."

Mr. Clem, well versed in his role as the peacemaker, now came forward seeking to forestall further argument. "We're actually here to see the Mau. Got a bit of a problem with that Bastet business. But then you probably know that already."

"Yeah. Bummer for you guys." Ordinary Joe pulled his gaze from Spike's face as though with difficulty and turned to Mr. Clem. "Head on up. Candles are in the usual place."

"Come on, Spike. Mau's upstairs."

Mr. Spike did not wish to go. He was watching the pulse in Ordinary Joe's throat and had fallen into a fantasy where he sucked and savaged there, gloried in the brilliance of the blood, drank deeply...

"Spike, come on."

Mr. Spike was pulled back to the real world sharply, aware that he had been moments from an actual attack. He gazed for one more moment into Ordinary Joe's eyes seeking a flash of fear, some sustenance not blood, but a boost to the ego. He was disappointed. Ordinary Joe's eyes had softened from wonder to an expression perilously close to pity. Mr. Spike turned away in disgust and forced away his demon face.

Ordinary Joe watched the two ascend the stairs and whispered in a voice they were not meant to hear. "Really wish I could help you, man. You want it so bad but you're taking the wrong road again." Perhaps with his vampire hearing Mr. Spike should have heard these words but perhaps he did not truly wish to hear them.

Mr. Spike was overcome with a sense of disorientation. He thought they were at the top of the stairs but saw there were yet seven steps to be taken. Though he disliked magic he was no stranger to it and suspected he was about to enter a magically hidden place, possibly even another dimension. He considered descending the stairs but when Mr. Clem continued without pause he followed.

When the landing at the second top of stairs was reached Mr. Clem moved to a basket that contained candles. Hundreds of candles allused, burnt to stubbins, small remnants that would burn only briefly. He pawed through the selection carefully, looking for the longest length, examining the quality of wax, the extent of the wick. Finally he chose, not the longest but the finest of beeswax.

"We're going to have to talk fast. None of these will burn long. Mau must not be in the mood for discussion."

"Not following, mate."

"It's not important. Just let me do the talking ok? I've dealt with Mau before."

"Sure." Mr. Spike could do the silent thing, at least as long as Mr. Clem was asking the right questions. Mr. Clem gave him a look, laden with doubt, but lead him to a door without further argument.

The room inside was dimly lit, candle-cast shadows dominating the light from their flame. Mr. Clem went to the back and set his candle in a dish. He removed a match from a box nearby and lit the wick. The new light flared and Mr. Spike saw a bronze life-size statue of a sleeping cat. Mr. Clem pulled the ring from his pocket and read the inscription. All the while he stroked the statue as though it were a living thing.

As we have said before, Mr. Spike was familiar with magic and although he seethed inside with impatience he stayed silent. He closed his eyes and sought composure. His blood demanded blood. b'Huh was fleeing further with every moment that passed and he yearned for action with every fiber of his being. This was his decision though. He had agreed to go this route. He had to give it time. No sense going off half-cocked.

"Yes, vampire. You must think before acting."

Mr. Spike's eyes flew wide open at the sound of a feminine voice and he stared at the lithe and lovely feline that arched against the weight of Mr. Clem's hand. He remembered his agreement and kept silent, allowing Mr. Clem to do the speaking.

"Hey, Mau. Nice to see you again. That kitten that we talked about. There's been a problem."

"Yes, we hear her cries. She calls for you vampire. Will you respond?"

Mr. Clem spoke quickly, not wishing Mr. Spike to answer. "Well, see we handed over the kitten to Mafdet but then we found her dead. We don't know where the kitten is."

"Mafdet is here. She thanks you for preserving her body for proper ritual. You must bring the kitten here."

"But we don't know where she is. Someone stole our money. We'll come up empty-handed if we spend time looking for the kitten. We want to, really, but a guy's gotta be practical and go with the money. We did our end delivering the kitten and came here as a favor to you but we've gotta get going. All that money..."

"At least you do not concern yourself overly about the loss of money." Mau's voice was throaty with amusement.

"Sorry about that. But you see our dilemma. Now maybe if you guys were willing to pay for us to find the kitten?" Mr. Clem peered at the candle, which was sputtering. It was burning even faster than he had anticipated.

"The responsibility is the vampire's. He must bring the kitten here."

It had not escaped Mr. Spike's notice that the candle was burning with unnatural speed or that Mr. Clem was disturbed. Once again he felt he was being cheated after attempting to do the right thing and he could hold back no longer. "I did what I was responsible for. Delivered that kitten and even came here. You want us to go lookin' for the kitten you pay us. Otherwise we're just wasting our time."

"You move heaven and earth for your goal. You must take responsibility for what you cause. Bring the kitten here."

Mr. Clem attempted to save the day. "Does that mean you'll pay us if we do?"

"Bring the kitten here."

Bronze flash-froze Mau's form and all candles in the room guttered and failed.

Mr. Clem said, "Damn."

Mr. Spike slammed through the door and Mr. Clem scrambled to follow, moving his bulk with dangerous speed down the narrow stairway. Even without his broader frame as impediment Mr. Clem did not have vampire speed and he was being swiftly left behind. "Wait up! Maybe we can still talk Ordinary Joe into helping."

"You try. I'm going after b'Huh." Mr. Spike spared no glance at Ordinary Joe as he passed, moving single-mindedly to the street outside.

He paused, feeling the slight breeze wafting over his skin. He inhaled, knowing he would not find the scent he sought but he did smell salt. His mind raced. The docks! b'Huh was crafty, he'd know Spike was on his trail. He'd plan on getting out of Sunnydale as quickly as he could. How many ships had sailed while Spike had been pussyfooting around?

Mr. Spike utilized all the speed available to a vampire, recharged with energy now that that he was moving with purpose.

Mr. Clem reached the street and was not surprised to see the vampire a tiny, distant figure, smaller and smaller and gone. He grumbled and grit his teeth and then he sighed and at that moment Mr. Clem resigned himself to being no richer than ever before. Life wasn't so bad as it was. No use getting het up over something you couldn't change. He headed back into the tattoo parlor. Something would need to be done about Mafdet's body and he wanted to make sure he hadn't alienated the Bastets.

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