Altaica's Story
Part one-Boston
Authors note: this is part one in a probably looooong story about a CATS character that I've made up: Altaica. All of the characters in this fic are made up since it takes place in Boston instead of London. The only mention of a CATS character is the mention of Altaica's cousin, Jemima. There will definitely be more fics about Altaica at a later date. Thanks! -Amber
The slender queen hissed and jumped to a windowsill in a streak of black and white, the groping claws missing her by a millisecond. She didn't wait for her attacker to regain his senses but continued on, leaping to a fire escape and climbing quickly onto the roof. She raced across as fast as she could, leaping to the next roof, and the next, in a mad attempt to escape.
But the inevitable soon took place, and five rooftops down she flew into a set of inky black arms. She screamed and her mouth was clamped shut by a black paw, a paw that smelled of tuna and catnip.
She struggled in vain, and the paw over her mouth flicked out its claws, leaving four deep gashes around her white muzzle. Soon, they were moving, back along the route she had taken in her attempt to escape.
So," her captor said eventually. "You tried to escape yet again, Altaica. Have you not learned? Will you never learn? I'll keep you as long as I want you, and currently that seems to be forever. Resistance is futile."
They arrived back at the hated lair and he promptly took her to his "throne room" rather than to her cell. Knowing what was going to happen, as soon as he set her down she raced to the corner, huddling up in a small ball so that only a few streaks of black showed in her otherwise white fur. Her blue eyes watched him as he slowly, maddeningly made his was over to her, ever cautious.
She knew that she was trying his patience, and she knew that it was a dangerous game, but it was all she lived for: to die, that is. She eagerly awaited the day that she would push him too far and he would finally kill her, death being the only true escape she could find from this prison she was in. It was a game she played willingly, much more willingly than the other games she was forced to play, as Engle's toy. That's all she was, as he and his henchcats had hissed at her on many occasions, a toy that could be knocked off the shelf and broken. Oh, how she longed to be broken.
He finally reached the corner where she lay helplessly, reaching out a black paw to stroke her cheek. She hissed at him then, but he only laughed. "Ahhh, Altaica, how I admire your fire," he said quietly, stroking her tearstained cheek despite her protests. When his paw began to wander despite the small ball she was curled up in, she drew back and spat in his face.
He blinked once or twice, surprised, and then his tone became dangerously soft. "If you didn't have your uses, I would dispose of you, you pathetic little whore."
She sneered at him, although she was shaking inside. "I wish I didn't have my uses, you pathetic excuse for a cat!"
He drew back and kicked her viciously in the leg. She uncurled rapidly with a small cry, and he continued kicking at her. She felt a rib crack as he dealt blow after blow to her midsection, and gasped and he picked her up to slam her back against the wall. Almost unconscious, she couldn't summon the strength to cry out as he put his plan into action, defiling her in the worst way possible.
Some time later, Alta regained consciousness. She was still lying on the dusty floor of the throne room, bloodied and bruised. Judging by the shadows, it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon. A figure kneeled next to her on the floor, the red patch on his shoulder identifying him even though she couldn't see his face. "Ocenir?" she mumbled incoherently, trying to talk although her mouth was crusted over with blood.
The patched tom shushed her quietly, still in shock at her condition. Engle had beaten her and harmed her before, but never this badly. "Why do you provoke him, Taica?" he asked quietly, using a moist rag to clean off her face. "You know all he does is hurt you more."
She began crying now. "But that's what I want him to do, Cenir! That's the only way I'll ever get out of here...."
He frowned. It wasn't the first time she'd talked like this, but she seemed so dead-set on it this time. "Shh, Taica, don't talk like that. You know that the Guards are trying to figure out a way to help...."
She groaned as the pain set in. "I know, I know, 'Cenir. . . .oh, it hurts, it hurts . . ."
He bit his lip and gently gathered her in his arms. She mewled in protest, but he merely shushed her. "I'm taking you to see the healer, he got you pretty badly this time," he said, walking out of the throne room. IN the hallway, he started jogging and then flat-out running to the guard's quarters.
He cautiously moved aside the blue cloth that covered the door to the guard's quarters, trying not to shift Altaica too much. Stepping inside, he let the cloth fall behind him.
"Whatcha got there, 'Cenir?" asked a large orange tabby lounging near the door. "Some meat from the butcher's?"
"You could say that," Ocenir replied grimly. "Engle caught her again, Sarge. She needs Trista's help, badly."
"Bloody hell! That's our Altaica?" asked Sarge, leaning forward.
"Afraid so. Is Trista here, Sarge?"
"She left to take care of a sick dame on the Third Floor. . ." Ocenir nodded as he heard this. The Third Floor contained Engle's private quarters...including cells for torture.
"Typical of Trista. Problem, when need her HERE and NOW."
Sarge stood and walked over. "How bad is it?" he asked, looking over Ocenir's shoulder at the bloody mass of fur that was Altaica.
Ocenir shuddered. "Bad. I saw the whole thing through the spy-hole in the ceiling...he wasn't too kind."
Sarge shook his head sadly. "Is he ever?" He wished that he could kill Engle at that very moment. He wasn't as close to Altaica as Ocenir was, but he couldn't stand to see any queen as bad off as she was right then. He felt nothing but pity for the petite queen who showed nothing but kindness to everyone she met, stopping in at the guard's quarters often. She made the place less like the pits of doom and more like a normal place simply by being there.
"I doubt it. Let's put her down over here on the couch.... Careful, now . . ." Ocenir lowered Altaica onto a small couch with Sarge's help, and covered her over gently with a blanket. All the two could do after that was watch to make sure she was still breathing and wait for Trista to arrive.
A small, brown tabby burst through the curtain some time later. Ocenir was on his feet immediately. "Trista! We need your help, it's an emergency!"
The small queen rubbed her temples wearily. "Is it really? The queen on the Third Floor didn't make it, and I had to perform last rites, and you know how THOSE can be." Sarge nodded sympathetically, but nobody and nothing was going to make Ocenir give up.
"It's Altaica," he said, gesturing toward the couch. "Engle got her pretty bad this time, Trista. It doesn't look too pretty."
Trista groaned loudly and moved over to stand beside the couch. "Does that sick, twisted bastard ever take a vacation?" she uncovered Altaica and they heard her breathe in sharply. "Did either of you see what happened?"
"I did," Ocenir said sadly. "She'd gotten out again, but he caught her just as she was running across the top of the building on the corner of Second and East streets. He brought her back here, naturally, and to the Throne Room. She ran to a corner, the corner under the spy-hole as we've discussed before, and she angered him somehow. He began kicking her and eventually threw her against a wall. I believe she was knocked unconscious or close to it, because she couldn't even struggle while he was having his fun."
Trista shook her head sadly. "Then what?"
"Oh, he left eventually and I got down there as soon as I could. I revived her and brought her here."
"I see. Well, it isn't too bad. . ." Trista said as she set to work. "A broken rib....two, actually, some bruises and cuts and a minor concussion and the usual damage from whenever he enjoys himself...." Approximately an hour late, Trista was done and Altaica was just awakening.
Alta squinted up at the three cats surrounding her bed. "Sarge? Ocenir? Trista? What are you guys doing here?"
Trista smiled. "The usual, you know, cleaning up after your scraps with Engle." Alta shuddered at the mention of the name. "We have to get you out of here, Taica, before he does kill you."
Alta's eyes clouded over briefly. "It isn't likely, is it?"
Trista paused for a minute before slowly shaking her head. "No, it isn't, but the guys have been discussing something that might just work."
Alta cautiously propped herself up on one elbow. "What's that?"
Sarge smiled at the small queen. "Well, we all know that Engle takes his massage at two o clock on Saturday afternoons. That's the only time that his spies aren't out and about looking for runaways, instead they're looking for saboteurs. If any of them saw us, they could be paid off to....forget what they saw."
Alta nodded slowly. "What's the escape route?"
Ocenir spoke up. "Through the East Passage up to the roof, down to Beacon Hill on rooftops and down into the T station using the entrance on the next street. Follow the lines in the air ducts as close to the wharves as we can get, and then onto a boat to sail for London."
Alta squinted. "London?" she asked, confused.
"Your cousin, Taica. Jemima, was it? In London?"
Alta nodded. "I remember. Is this job solo?"
"No. Ocenir will be accompanying you," Trista said quietly. "All the way to London."
Alta gazed at Ocenir in wonder. "Is this true, 'Cenir?"
He bowed his head. "Yes, Taica. I have family in London too, and I can go to them after delivering you to the Junkyard."
She nodded slowly, and then looked at Sarge and Trista. "But what about you two?"
Trista smiled serenely. "There are others here in need of my aid, and I will continue helping them."
Sarge cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I'll be Head of the Guard when Ocenir here is gone, and we're going to try and overthrow Engle... to allow for your return, Altaica, and yours, Ocenir."
Alta's eyes brimmed with tears and she shot up to hug the two tabbies. "I'll be back, I promise," she whispered fiercly.
Sarge hugged her back, followed by Trista. "Here...lie back down for awhile," Trista said quietly. "And then I'll take you back to your room."
Alta subsided back onto the couch and allowed Trista to cover her with a blanket. Soon, she was fast asleep.
He rest of the week passed quickly, and all too soon it was Saturday. Ocenir, Trista, Sarge, and Altaica went through the passage and emerged on the rooftop. Blinking in the bright sun, they sneaked past various guards at various postings along the rooftops till they got to Beacon Hill. Alta turned to Trista and Sarge on the edge of the rooftop. "Well....I guess that this is goodbye," she said, sniffling a little.
Sarge shook his head. "Not goodbye, Altaica. Never goodbye. When Engle's gone, we'll send for you, and everything will be fine."
Alta flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. "I'll always remember you, and I promise, I'll be back someday."
Sarge let her go and looked at her one last time, memorizing her appearance. Then, he stepped aside, and Trista stepped forward to hug Altaica.
"Trista, I promise you that I'll be back, I promise!" Alta said, hugging her friend as tightly as she had Sarge. They broke apart, and Alta stepped back.
"Well, old buddy," Sarge said, clapping a paw on Ocenir's shoulder, "I suppose it's time. Take care of her for me, okay?"
Ocenir nodded. "You and Trista take care of each other."
Sarge smiled. "Don't we always?"
And so, on that sunny Saturday afternoon, the four parted, and Altaica's escape was finally successful.
Part one-Boston
Authors note: this is part one in a probably looooong story about a CATS character that I've made up: Altaica. All of the characters in this fic are made up since it takes place in Boston instead of London. The only mention of a CATS character is the mention of Altaica's cousin, Jemima. There will definitely be more fics about Altaica at a later date. Thanks! -Amber
The slender queen hissed and jumped to a windowsill in a streak of black and white, the groping claws missing her by a millisecond. She didn't wait for her attacker to regain his senses but continued on, leaping to a fire escape and climbing quickly onto the roof. She raced across as fast as she could, leaping to the next roof, and the next, in a mad attempt to escape.
But the inevitable soon took place, and five rooftops down she flew into a set of inky black arms. She screamed and her mouth was clamped shut by a black paw, a paw that smelled of tuna and catnip.
She struggled in vain, and the paw over her mouth flicked out its claws, leaving four deep gashes around her white muzzle. Soon, they were moving, back along the route she had taken in her attempt to escape.
So," her captor said eventually. "You tried to escape yet again, Altaica. Have you not learned? Will you never learn? I'll keep you as long as I want you, and currently that seems to be forever. Resistance is futile."
They arrived back at the hated lair and he promptly took her to his "throne room" rather than to her cell. Knowing what was going to happen, as soon as he set her down she raced to the corner, huddling up in a small ball so that only a few streaks of black showed in her otherwise white fur. Her blue eyes watched him as he slowly, maddeningly made his was over to her, ever cautious.
She knew that she was trying his patience, and she knew that it was a dangerous game, but it was all she lived for: to die, that is. She eagerly awaited the day that she would push him too far and he would finally kill her, death being the only true escape she could find from this prison she was in. It was a game she played willingly, much more willingly than the other games she was forced to play, as Engle's toy. That's all she was, as he and his henchcats had hissed at her on many occasions, a toy that could be knocked off the shelf and broken. Oh, how she longed to be broken.
He finally reached the corner where she lay helplessly, reaching out a black paw to stroke her cheek. She hissed at him then, but he only laughed. "Ahhh, Altaica, how I admire your fire," he said quietly, stroking her tearstained cheek despite her protests. When his paw began to wander despite the small ball she was curled up in, she drew back and spat in his face.
He blinked once or twice, surprised, and then his tone became dangerously soft. "If you didn't have your uses, I would dispose of you, you pathetic little whore."
She sneered at him, although she was shaking inside. "I wish I didn't have my uses, you pathetic excuse for a cat!"
He drew back and kicked her viciously in the leg. She uncurled rapidly with a small cry, and he continued kicking at her. She felt a rib crack as he dealt blow after blow to her midsection, and gasped and he picked her up to slam her back against the wall. Almost unconscious, she couldn't summon the strength to cry out as he put his plan into action, defiling her in the worst way possible.
Some time later, Alta regained consciousness. She was still lying on the dusty floor of the throne room, bloodied and bruised. Judging by the shadows, it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon. A figure kneeled next to her on the floor, the red patch on his shoulder identifying him even though she couldn't see his face. "Ocenir?" she mumbled incoherently, trying to talk although her mouth was crusted over with blood.
The patched tom shushed her quietly, still in shock at her condition. Engle had beaten her and harmed her before, but never this badly. "Why do you provoke him, Taica?" he asked quietly, using a moist rag to clean off her face. "You know all he does is hurt you more."
She began crying now. "But that's what I want him to do, Cenir! That's the only way I'll ever get out of here...."
He frowned. It wasn't the first time she'd talked like this, but she seemed so dead-set on it this time. "Shh, Taica, don't talk like that. You know that the Guards are trying to figure out a way to help...."
She groaned as the pain set in. "I know, I know, 'Cenir. . . .oh, it hurts, it hurts . . ."
He bit his lip and gently gathered her in his arms. She mewled in protest, but he merely shushed her. "I'm taking you to see the healer, he got you pretty badly this time," he said, walking out of the throne room. IN the hallway, he started jogging and then flat-out running to the guard's quarters.
He cautiously moved aside the blue cloth that covered the door to the guard's quarters, trying not to shift Altaica too much. Stepping inside, he let the cloth fall behind him.
"Whatcha got there, 'Cenir?" asked a large orange tabby lounging near the door. "Some meat from the butcher's?"
"You could say that," Ocenir replied grimly. "Engle caught her again, Sarge. She needs Trista's help, badly."
"Bloody hell! That's our Altaica?" asked Sarge, leaning forward.
"Afraid so. Is Trista here, Sarge?"
"She left to take care of a sick dame on the Third Floor. . ." Ocenir nodded as he heard this. The Third Floor contained Engle's private quarters...including cells for torture.
"Typical of Trista. Problem, when need her HERE and NOW."
Sarge stood and walked over. "How bad is it?" he asked, looking over Ocenir's shoulder at the bloody mass of fur that was Altaica.
Ocenir shuddered. "Bad. I saw the whole thing through the spy-hole in the ceiling...he wasn't too kind."
Sarge shook his head sadly. "Is he ever?" He wished that he could kill Engle at that very moment. He wasn't as close to Altaica as Ocenir was, but he couldn't stand to see any queen as bad off as she was right then. He felt nothing but pity for the petite queen who showed nothing but kindness to everyone she met, stopping in at the guard's quarters often. She made the place less like the pits of doom and more like a normal place simply by being there.
"I doubt it. Let's put her down over here on the couch.... Careful, now . . ." Ocenir lowered Altaica onto a small couch with Sarge's help, and covered her over gently with a blanket. All the two could do after that was watch to make sure she was still breathing and wait for Trista to arrive.
A small, brown tabby burst through the curtain some time later. Ocenir was on his feet immediately. "Trista! We need your help, it's an emergency!"
The small queen rubbed her temples wearily. "Is it really? The queen on the Third Floor didn't make it, and I had to perform last rites, and you know how THOSE can be." Sarge nodded sympathetically, but nobody and nothing was going to make Ocenir give up.
"It's Altaica," he said, gesturing toward the couch. "Engle got her pretty bad this time, Trista. It doesn't look too pretty."
Trista groaned loudly and moved over to stand beside the couch. "Does that sick, twisted bastard ever take a vacation?" she uncovered Altaica and they heard her breathe in sharply. "Did either of you see what happened?"
"I did," Ocenir said sadly. "She'd gotten out again, but he caught her just as she was running across the top of the building on the corner of Second and East streets. He brought her back here, naturally, and to the Throne Room. She ran to a corner, the corner under the spy-hole as we've discussed before, and she angered him somehow. He began kicking her and eventually threw her against a wall. I believe she was knocked unconscious or close to it, because she couldn't even struggle while he was having his fun."
Trista shook her head sadly. "Then what?"
"Oh, he left eventually and I got down there as soon as I could. I revived her and brought her here."
"I see. Well, it isn't too bad. . ." Trista said as she set to work. "A broken rib....two, actually, some bruises and cuts and a minor concussion and the usual damage from whenever he enjoys himself...." Approximately an hour late, Trista was done and Altaica was just awakening.
Alta squinted up at the three cats surrounding her bed. "Sarge? Ocenir? Trista? What are you guys doing here?"
Trista smiled. "The usual, you know, cleaning up after your scraps with Engle." Alta shuddered at the mention of the name. "We have to get you out of here, Taica, before he does kill you."
Alta's eyes clouded over briefly. "It isn't likely, is it?"
Trista paused for a minute before slowly shaking her head. "No, it isn't, but the guys have been discussing something that might just work."
Alta cautiously propped herself up on one elbow. "What's that?"
Sarge smiled at the small queen. "Well, we all know that Engle takes his massage at two o clock on Saturday afternoons. That's the only time that his spies aren't out and about looking for runaways, instead they're looking for saboteurs. If any of them saw us, they could be paid off to....forget what they saw."
Alta nodded slowly. "What's the escape route?"
Ocenir spoke up. "Through the East Passage up to the roof, down to Beacon Hill on rooftops and down into the T station using the entrance on the next street. Follow the lines in the air ducts as close to the wharves as we can get, and then onto a boat to sail for London."
Alta squinted. "London?" she asked, confused.
"Your cousin, Taica. Jemima, was it? In London?"
Alta nodded. "I remember. Is this job solo?"
"No. Ocenir will be accompanying you," Trista said quietly. "All the way to London."
Alta gazed at Ocenir in wonder. "Is this true, 'Cenir?"
He bowed his head. "Yes, Taica. I have family in London too, and I can go to them after delivering you to the Junkyard."
She nodded slowly, and then looked at Sarge and Trista. "But what about you two?"
Trista smiled serenely. "There are others here in need of my aid, and I will continue helping them."
Sarge cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I'll be Head of the Guard when Ocenir here is gone, and we're going to try and overthrow Engle... to allow for your return, Altaica, and yours, Ocenir."
Alta's eyes brimmed with tears and she shot up to hug the two tabbies. "I'll be back, I promise," she whispered fiercly.
Sarge hugged her back, followed by Trista. "Here...lie back down for awhile," Trista said quietly. "And then I'll take you back to your room."
Alta subsided back onto the couch and allowed Trista to cover her with a blanket. Soon, she was fast asleep.
He rest of the week passed quickly, and all too soon it was Saturday. Ocenir, Trista, Sarge, and Altaica went through the passage and emerged on the rooftop. Blinking in the bright sun, they sneaked past various guards at various postings along the rooftops till they got to Beacon Hill. Alta turned to Trista and Sarge on the edge of the rooftop. "Well....I guess that this is goodbye," she said, sniffling a little.
Sarge shook his head. "Not goodbye, Altaica. Never goodbye. When Engle's gone, we'll send for you, and everything will be fine."
Alta flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. "I'll always remember you, and I promise, I'll be back someday."
Sarge let her go and looked at her one last time, memorizing her appearance. Then, he stepped aside, and Trista stepped forward to hug Altaica.
"Trista, I promise you that I'll be back, I promise!" Alta said, hugging her friend as tightly as she had Sarge. They broke apart, and Alta stepped back.
"Well, old buddy," Sarge said, clapping a paw on Ocenir's shoulder, "I suppose it's time. Take care of her for me, okay?"
Ocenir nodded. "You and Trista take care of each other."
Sarge smiled. "Don't we always?"
And so, on that sunny Saturday afternoon, the four parted, and Altaica's escape was finally successful.