Mark's bellow echoed even into the library.
Christian dropped the book he was reading and the apple he was munching and ran for the door, didn't even close it behind him. Out in the upstairs hall, he could hear Mark cursing.
“May your fur fall out and your teeth rot and mice nest in every place you rest and fleas bite your most sensitive parts every time you try to sleep! May hellhounds chase you across a desert with no trees and when you turn to fight may your claws be as soft as Chris's wits were bringing you into this house!”
“What's wrong?” Christian asked, skidding to a halt in Mark's doorway.
“My bed! That infernal useless creature of yours pissed on my bed!” Mark flung an armload of pillows on the floor in disgust, and began stripping off the blankets in sharp jerks. “Where is it? It's dead as soon as I get ahold of it.”
“He's still trying to get used to living here,” Christian said soothingly. “Julie tried, but between living with that super-dominant aggressive cat for a while and constantly having a lot of strangers around and moving every month or two, he's feeling kind of insecure no matter what I tell him, even after four months of being safe. He didn't do it as a personal insult or anything. He was just marking his territory. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“I don't go around soaking the beds of innocent people with... with this incredibly noxious scent! This isn't territory marking, this is chemical warfare! Why bother with expensive weapons? All anyone has to do is drop a few blankets scent-marked by that creature and his kind in any area they'd like to conquer. The inhabitants will surrender in minutes! This is foul, foul stuff!”
“That's because he isn't fixed yet. He had to have all his shots and everything first, and I have to save up enough to cover it now that he's done his vaccinations.”
Mark stopped, and looked at him. “He'll stop doing this after he's neutered?”
“Well... I'm not sure exactly, but it won't smell as bad, and probably he'll do it less. And it should be easier to convince him to stop entirely.”
“Fine. How much more do you need? Nevermind, I'll pay it, whatever it is. Get that animal to the vet now, or I'll set Lexa free to do the job personally.”
“Um, okay, I'll call in the morning and make an appointment for him. He really didn't mean anything by it.”
“Right. It's not enough that he did this two weeks ago in the basket of my dirty laundry...”
“Which I did for you, and I got the smell out.”
“But on my bed?”
“I'll clean it up,” Christian promised. “Leave that, I'll take care of it. You'll never know he did it.” Some vinegar, a little witchy help to get it dry and unvinegary afterwards, and he was sure he could fix everything.
“Trust me, this isn't something I'm likely to forget in a hurry.”
“Why don't you go have a shower or a long hot bath and I'll get started on cleaning this up?”
Still muttering curses under his breath, Mark left the room. Christian heard him start the water in the tub.
Chris took the armload of blankets down to the laundry room, tossed them in the washing machine with a liberal amount of vinegar, and took the vinegar and a couple of rags upstairs with him. For all his quirks and his shyness, Sid was sweet and charming, and Christian loved him dearly. He didn't think Mark would really hurt him, not knowing how much it would upset Chris, but life would certainly be more peaceful if Sid could just outgrow this kind of behaviour.
The domovikha was already there, grumbling softly to herself as she inspected the damage; she pulled a rag from the pocket of her apron and knelt on the bed to add her vigorous efforts to Christian's.
* * *
Mark woke abruptly, and lay still in the darkness, listening intently. Another creature sent to investigate Christian? He switched to Alexandra, and scanned the house.
No, there was nothing there that shouldn't be, only the domestic liminals, who disliked her presence and refused to be near her but tolerated her in the house for Christian’s sake, the plant-spirits, nothing else. Simply paranoia, because there had been so many recently. All minor nuisances at worst, boringly easy to kill. Weak creatures, that any witch with a mediocre talent and a minimum of training could summon and utterly dominate.
She sighed, switched back to Mark, and got up. Maybe a walk down to the kitchen for a drink would make him sleepy again. If that didn’t work, a prowl around the neighbourhood might work off some extra energy, even if it meant sleeping through part of the day. Christian would be at work so it wouldn’t matter much.
That it mattered, whether it would have any influence on how much time he spent with Christian, was still disquieting and he hadn’t really figured out how to come to terms with that.
Downstairs, he rounded the corner to the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks.
Half the bag of rolls he'd bought so they could have a simple meal of sandwiches lay on the counter. He could see it moving, very slightly, and could hear the plastic rattling just a little.
The cat crouched at the far end of the counter, a blacker shadow in the streetlight glow, its tail hanging down and twitching.
Christian hadn't wanted to kill the mice in the walls, and Mark didn't care whether they lived or died as long as they stayed out of his way, but it would appear that Christian's cat had other notions. Careful to make no sound, Mark leaned against the wall, watching curiously.
The cat inched silently closer, attention never wavering. Mark unconsciously licked his lips, memories of Alexandra's hunting-anticipation stirring.
The cat's entire back end wriggled a bit, and with no more warning than that, it pounced, both paws sweeping out. With impressive aim, it flung the suddenly-panicked mouse into the air. As it scurried desperately across the linoleum for cover, the cat lunged off the counter and very nearly on top of it, tail lashing in excitement. Another pounce pinned the mouse between both forepaws, and the cat seized it in its teeth, flung it in the air again. The mouse hit the floor, ran towards the nearest shelter, the space under the edge of the counter. It never reached it; the cat slapped a paw down on top of it.
The cat could kill it, Mark thought. It wasn't, because it was enjoying the hunt too much, enjoying having something living to play with instead of toys. An animal evolved for millennia to be one of the ultimate four-footed land predators, forced by this new world of human threats to live indoors and make do with unresponsive toy imitations of his proper prey.
He slipped away, back upstairs, leaving Sid to his hunt. Back in his bed, he thought for some time before drifting off.
Christian's yelp jerked him back to alertness, this time with sunlight pouring in the window. Yawning, he rolled out of bed, and wandered out to the hall to see what was wrong.
His witch was on one knee in his own bedroom doorway, cradling something small in his hand, his expression full of sorrow. “Poor little one,” he whispered, one tear sliding down his cheek as he straightened slowly.
“Sid brought you a present?”
Christian nodded mutely, and sniffled.
Mark kept his sigh carefully to himself, and came nearer to slide an arm around Christian's shoulders. “Hey,” he said gently. “Hunters hunt. They can't help it.”
“I know.”
“He probably thought he was bringing you something really cool.”
“I know.” Another tear escaped. “I'm not mad at him. It’s what cats do, and you’re right, he’s rightfully going to be proud of himself and probably did mean to give me something great. Just... it must have been so afraid, and hurt so much.”
Mark weighed choices, and decided on a small harmless lie. “I doubt it. Given how fast that cat of yours can move, the mouse probably never even knew it was in trouble 'til it was dead. Trust me, this is something I know all about.”
Christian looked up a bit. “You think so?”
“Yeah.”
“The ground's frozen. I wonder if I can talk the earth elementals into helping me bury it.”
Bury it? It's just a mouse. Mark kept that sigh, too, hidden. “Go ask them. I'm sure they will, they like you.”
Christian nodded, and retreated to his room, presumably to find clothes that would be warmer than a worn, fuzzy green robe. It didn't take him long; in black jeans and a mist-grey knitted sweater with odd raspberry and cream symbols repeated as a border, he left for downstairs.
Sid peeked out the door of the bright enclosed porch he loved to spend mornings in, his black fur absorbing the sunlight until he was hot to the touch. He looked up at Mark, and said, “Mrrrp?”
Mark sighed out loud. “I don't understand it either, but that's Chris for you. Maybe just as well for both of us that he's so softhearted, though.” He shrugged. “What can y'do? C'mon, let's go make bacon and eggs for breakfast. Want some bacon? It's not as good as killing your own dinner, I know, but it's the best I can do right now.” He headed down to the kitchen, careful not to step on the energetic black cat racing around madly underfoot, his mind turning to things to do today. He could think of things he could buy to make Sid's life more like it should be... it would be easy to fill Sid’s porch with plants to make him a proper jungle, for example, instead of just a few old bits of furniture that offered comfortable spots for sunbathing. Christian could talk the earth elementals that tended to the plants in the loft into looking after more. Some plants might be safer than others for a cat; he’d have to look into that. And there was furniture meant for cats, wasn’t there? For climbing and things like that? Like that tree thing already in the porch that looked as old as Christian? Knowing humans, things like that were probably too expensive for his witch. Christian would object to live mice or fish to chase, unfortunately.
There might be little he could do about the tangle of confusing and unprecedented feelings that frequently ambushed him when he had his guard down, but at least he could ease the frustration of another born hunter.
Mark's bellow echoed even into the library.
Christian dropped the book he was reading and the apple he was munching and ran for the door, didn't even close it behind him. Out in the upstairs hall, he could hear Mark cursing.
“May your fur fall out and your teeth rot and mice nest in every place you rest and fleas bite your most sensitive parts every time you try to sleep! May hellhounds chase you across a desert with no trees and when you turn to fight may your claws be as soft as Chris's wits were bringing you into this house!”
“What's wrong?” Christian asked, skidding to a halt in Mark's doorway.
“My bed! That infernal useless creature of yours pissed on my bed!” Mark flung an armload of pillows on the floor in disgust, and began stripping off the blankets in sharp jerks. “Where is it? It's dead as soon as I get ahold of it.”
“He's still trying to get used to living here,” Christian said soothingly. “Julie tried, but between living with that super-dominant aggressive cat for a while and constantly having a lot of strangers around and moving every month or two, he's feeling kind of insecure no matter what I tell him, even after four months of being safe. He didn't do it as a personal insult or anything. He was just marking his territory. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“I don't go around soaking the beds of innocent people with... with this incredibly noxious scent! This isn't territory marking, this is chemical warfare! Why bother with expensive weapons? All anyone has to do is drop a few blankets scent-marked by that creature and his kind in any area they'd like to conquer. The inhabitants will surrender in minutes! This is foul, foul stuff!”
“That's because he isn't fixed yet. He had to have all his shots and everything first, and I have to save up enough to cover it now that he's done his vaccinations.”
Mark stopped, and looked at him. “He'll stop doing this after he's neutered?”
“Well... I'm not sure exactly, but it won't smell as bad, and probably he'll do it less. And it should be easier to convince him to stop entirely.”
“Fine. How much more do you need? Nevermind, I'll pay it, whatever it is. Get that animal to the vet now, or I'll set Lexa free to do the job personally.”
“Um, okay, I'll call in the morning and make an appointment for him. He really didn't mean anything by it.”
“Right. It's not enough that he did this two weeks ago in the basket of my dirty laundry...”
“Which I did for you, and I got the smell out.”
“But on my bed?”
“I'll clean it up,” Christian promised. “Leave that, I'll take care of it. You'll never know he did it.” Some vinegar, a little witchy help to get it dry and unvinegary afterwards, and he was sure he could fix everything.
“Trust me, this isn't something I'm likely to forget in a hurry.”
“Why don't you go have a shower or a long hot bath and I'll get started on cleaning this up?”
Still muttering curses under his breath, Mark left the room. Christian heard him start the water in the tub.
Chris took the armload of blankets down to the laundry room, tossed them in the washing machine with a liberal amount of vinegar, and took the vinegar and a couple of rags upstairs with him. For all his quirks and his shyness, Sid was sweet and charming, and Christian loved him dearly. He didn't think Mark would really hurt him, not knowing how much it would upset Chris, but life would certainly be more peaceful if Sid could just outgrow this kind of behaviour.
The domovikha was already there, grumbling softly to herself as she inspected the damage; she pulled a rag from the pocket of her apron and knelt on the bed to add her vigorous efforts to Christian's.
* * *
Mark woke abruptly, and lay still in the darkness, listening intently. Another creature sent to investigate Christian? He switched to Alexandra, and scanned the house.
No, there was nothing there that shouldn't be, only the domestic liminals, who disliked her presence and refused to be near her but tolerated her in the house for Christian’s sake, the plant-spirits, nothing else. Simply paranoia, because there had been so many recently. All minor nuisances at worst, boringly easy to kill. Weak creatures, that any witch with a mediocre talent and a minimum of training could summon and utterly dominate.
She sighed, switched back to Mark, and got up. Maybe a walk down to the kitchen for a drink would make him sleepy again. If that didn’t work, a prowl around the neighbourhood might work off some extra energy, even if it meant sleeping through part of the day. Christian would be at work so it wouldn’t matter much.
That it mattered, whether it would have any influence on how much time he spent with Christian, was still disquieting and he hadn’t really figured out how to come to terms with that.
Downstairs, he rounded the corner to the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks.
Half the bag of rolls he'd bought so they could have a simple meal of sandwiches lay on the counter. He could see it moving, very slightly, and could hear the plastic rattling just a little.
The cat crouched at the far end of the counter, a blacker shadow in the streetlight glow, its tail hanging down and twitching.
Christian hadn't wanted to kill the mice in the walls, and Mark didn't care whether they lived or died as long as they stayed out of his way, but it would appear that Christian's cat had other notions. Careful to make no sound, Mark leaned against the wall, watching curiously.
The cat inched silently closer, attention never wavering. Mark unconsciously licked his lips, memories of Alexandra's hunting-anticipation stirring.
The cat's entire back end wriggled a bit, and with no more warning than that, it pounced, both paws sweeping out. With impressive aim, it flung the suddenly-panicked mouse into the air. As it scurried desperately across the linoleum for cover, the cat lunged off the counter and very nearly on top of it, tail lashing in excitement. Another pounce pinned the mouse between both forepaws, and the cat seized it in its teeth, flung it in the air again. The mouse hit the floor, ran towards the nearest shelter, the space under the edge of the counter. It never reached it; the cat slapped a paw down on top of it.
The cat could kill it, Mark thought. It wasn't, because it was enjoying the hunt too much, enjoying having something living to play with instead of toys. An animal evolved for millennia to be one of the ultimate four-footed land predators, forced by this new world of human threats to live indoors and make do with unresponsive toy imitations of his proper prey.
He slipped away, back upstairs, leaving Sid to his hunt. Back in his bed, he thought for some time before drifting off.
Christian's yelp jerked him back to alertness, this time with sunlight pouring in the window. Yawning, he rolled out of bed, and wandered out to the hall to see what was wrong.
His witch was on one knee in his own bedroom doorway, cradling something small in his hand, his expression full of sorrow. “Poor little one,” he whispered, one tear sliding down his cheek as he straightened slowly.
“Sid brought you a present?”
Christian nodded mutely, and sniffled.
Mark kept his sigh carefully to himself, and came nearer to slide an arm around Christian's shoulders. “Hey,” he said gently. “Hunters hunt. They can't help it.”
“I know.”
“He probably thought he was bringing you something really cool.”
“I know.” Another tear escaped. “I'm not mad at him. It’s what cats do, and you’re right, he’s rightfully going to be proud of himself and probably did mean to give me something great. Just... it must have been so afraid, and hurt so much.”
Mark weighed choices, and decided on a small harmless lie. “I doubt it. Given how fast that cat of yours can move, the mouse probably never even knew it was in trouble 'til it was dead. Trust me, this is something I know all about.”
Christian looked up a bit. “You think so?”
“Yeah.”
“The ground's frozen. I wonder if I can talk the earth elementals into helping me bury it.”
Bury it? It's just a mouse. Mark kept that sigh, too, hidden. “Go ask them. I'm sure they will, they like you.”
Christian nodded, and retreated to his room, presumably to find clothes that would be warmer than a worn, fuzzy green robe. It didn't take him long; in black jeans and a mist-grey knitted sweater with odd raspberry and cream symbols repeated as a border, he left for downstairs.
Sid peeked out the door of the bright enclosed porch he loved to spend mornings in, his black fur absorbing the sunlight until he was hot to the touch. He looked up at Mark, and said, “Mrrrp?”
Mark sighed out loud. “I don't understand it either, but that's Chris for you. Maybe just as well for both of us that he's so softhearted, though.” He shrugged. “What can y'do? C'mon, let's go make bacon and eggs for breakfast. Want some bacon? It's not as good as killing your own dinner, I know, but it's the best I can do right now.” He headed down to the kitchen, careful not to step on the energetic black cat racing around madly underfoot, his mind turning to things to do today. He could think of things he could buy to make Sid's life more like it should be... it would be easy to fill Sid’s porch with plants to make him a proper jungle, for example, instead of just a few old bits of furniture that offered comfortable spots for sunbathing. Christian could talk the earth elementals that tended to the plants in the loft into looking after more. Some plants might be safer than others for a cat; he’d have to look into that. And there was furniture meant for cats, wasn’t there? For climbing and things like that? Like that tree thing already in the porch that looked as old as Christian? Knowing humans, things like that were probably too expensive for his witch. Christian would object to live mice or fish to chase, unfortunately.
There might be little he could do about the tangle of confusing and unprecedented feelings that frequently ambushed him when he had his guard down, but at least he could ease the frustration of another born hunter.
