[IC] Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

[Thanqol]

Berserker solves the problem like she solves all problems: By constructing a castle.

Hers befits a feline imperator. A three-layer kitty tower, with numerous nooks, ledges, sight lines, pillows and squeaky toy. It is abundant with places to lurk, places to preen, things to do and comforts to rest under. She has even painted a scintillating pattern of paw prints and smiling kitty faces along the side.

She presents it to the cat with a craftswoman's satsifaction.

The cat takes one look at it and instead hops down a stormwater drain instead

Berserker picks up the kitty tower to use as a club to smash open the stormwater drain, the stormwater system, the earth itself and perhaps more besides.

[Phoe]

Kat is afraid of cats.

She has been most of her life, though it isn't the kind of terror that would leave her quaking in her foxy shoes, the way that certain kinds of demon or a particularly large and edgy looking bug might. It is more correct to say that she is intimidated, and that she has yet to internalize that she is now significantly larger than most of them (a fact which was not true for most of her life).

A cat is perfect. A cat never loses anything. A cat is proud and unafraid and must be coaxed after long effort into trusting you before they will accept anything you have to offer as better than what they can get for themselves. But mostly it the absolute lack of fear that makes them so imposing.

It's not impossible to briefly corner a cat, or to pick one up without its permission. It is impossible to do those things without being injured, and even a quarter moment's hesitation for fear of pain is too much reflex advantage to give these proud, fierce hunters. But this is a war, is it not? She had forgotten, until she saw Berserker move.

She's not going to get away with anything less than her best effort.

Katherine ducks under a vicious swing of the cat tower, which costs her a chunk of rock from the shattering storm drain to the shoulder. She winces, but there's no time to focus on that. It's a necessary risk to get position, to slide into this narrow corridor and use her body to head off the cat's most obvious escape points. It can outjump her, surely, but Berserker is rapidly seeing to that even being an option, let alone an issue. The storm above or the fox below? Your move, kitty.

As a pair they bound and bounce off of the walls of the stormwater system, narrow passageways cutting off the benefits of agility and creativity. They may reward small size over long arms, but Kat will wear every bruise with pride in just a few minutes time. Around they go, and around, three times in a loop. Berserker's rage is cutting off the escape points, whether she means to or not. And Katherine is well past the point with her Servant where she feels the need to call out and stop her.

No, it's time to trust her partner. It's time to trust her knight.

At last she finds her window, which hisses and arches its back in defensive posture. The cat growls around the bird still dangling from its mouth. But Kat does not flinch. She bends and she lunges, and she closes her arms around that furry belly. Yes, she is scratched. Yes, she is bleeding. From her arms, across her collar, one really nasty one on her left cheek, on the back of her hand where once burned three Command Seals. But she does not let go.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow owwwwwiiiiieeees!"

It's not her bravery that gets rewarded so much as the kitten-esque pitch of her exclamation. There are paw-knives dug deep into her wrist and it's hurting a lot more than she told herself it would. Tears bead in her soft eyes, when all at once the pain stops. She feels the wait of a robo-bird drop into her palm. The cat watches her calmly, clearly reassessing. Kat offers it a smile, carefully closing her eyes the way she was taught, to show trust and support.

And then she feels a bunch of sharp cat teeth sink into her arm. She screeches in pain and alarm, and is so surprised she drops the cat back onto the ground. Its eyes gleam in the dim before it lifts its proud snoot into the air and scampers off, slinking through the rubble and disappearing from view.

It's important this be realized: this is not a victory. No cat has ever lost a fight, and certainly not a kill. This is merely pity for an inferior opponent. An offering to an inferior huntress, as an act of generosity. Kat would do well not forget it.

"Got iiiitttt~" she chirps, thrusting the bird up out the shattered ground as proof. It takes her quite a while to scramble out. It takes her no time at all to pat Berserker on the back until she finally settles.

"I thought it was a nice tower," she says, "I mean, I'da gone in there. If I was a cat."

And that's really about as fair of a compliment as anyone can give or get. Kat glances down at her trophy, trying not to look at how many stingy cuts she's covered in, and smiles.

"At least we have this. Now we can... oh. Uh, hm. Hey Berserker, d'you know anybody who knows how to trace magic? 'Cause I got nothin'. Leastways without my phone..."

[Thanqol]

"Technology does indeed dull the mind," said the cats. "Why, back in my day..."

A cat is water with teeth. Eight of them together come as a river.

Clawing. Biting. Cuddling. Sleeping. Hissing. All the things that cats are and can be, through every gap and into every space, between every pair of legs and climbing every fabric surface. Fur as smooth and glossy as an otter's, leaving hairs as long and sticky as a web. Butts are placed in faces. Meows rise like a chorus. And the way they stand together...

It's like a magic eye trick. The eight cats are chaos, ceaseless movement, like looking at the rip and curl of individual waves. Look at them the right way, though, and you can see the ocean. A shape always in the center of that fluid movement; the outline of a person. That cat leaping up onto a fence post forms the outline of a face. That cat snatching at the butterfly gives the impression of a risen hand. A cat is water with teeth, and water shapes itself to the container it is placed in. In the center of all of this fur and pride and arrogance is a hole made out of kindness, patience, and wet meals reliably provided.

The jar is broken, but the water keeps its shape.

"Back in my day, if you wanted to find the gates of Hell, you usually had to die for it," said the catshape of Assassin. "Nowadays you can put a little portal to it directly in your pocket! Still, I like to think that my way has at least a little merit..."

The cats stopped, all looking at Katherine simultaneously, unblinking. "That is to say, hello. I am Richelieu, née Assassin. Please forgive the trouble I have caused you. I hope my master, Actia, is doing well? I could not find her, which I take to mean that she is in the field and does not wish to be disturbed."