Disclaimer: Universally acknowledged as not mine.
A/N: Written for Challenge #231 'Pastiche' at KH Drabble.
Lost in Austen
© Scribbler (and Jane Austen), June 2010.
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a Master in possession of a Keyblade, and all various powers and responsibilities thereof, must be in want of a companion. Such is the loneliness associated with traversing the cosmos in pursuit of minions of darkness, this truth is well fixed in the minds of all in a position to form an opinion on the matter. However little known the feelings or views of such a Keyblade Master may be on his first entering a world, this truth arrives before him and, as such, he is automatically considered the rightful property of some one or other of its denizens.
"Mes chers petits chatons," mewed one such inhabitant, a white cat of noble breeding whose owner had, accordingly, bestowed upon her the equitable name 'Duchess'. Her lineage was so noble, in fact, that she didn't question the Keyblade Master would follow correct protocol and accept one of her children even over the local humans. Two legs were all well and good, and humans did think they reigned supreme, but unless one's bloodline could be traced back fifteen generations, it was all a case of monkeys in gowns and breeches. "Mes enfants sont bien-élevés et parfaitement comportés."
The Keyblade Master, who had never excelled at languages, stared blankly at the refined feline. "Huh?"
Of course, since she was so refined, Duchess altered her own speech to allow for the unfortunate deficiencies of two-leggers. Cats had an ear for language and music, but she could forgive others for not being so nuanced. "You already travel with a duck and a… dog?" She nodded politely at the fellow bearing a shield extolling the heraldic sign of his native land. This link with aristocracy did, in her opinion, provide ample scope to forgive the misfortune of his species. "But for true dignity there is no better companion than a cat, and my kittens are far and above the best in pedigree, behaviour and talent."
The Keyblade Master turned to the taller of his regrettable escorts. "Why's this cat meowing and staring like that?"
"Gawrsh," opined the one to whom he had spoken, "I dunno. Maybe it's hungry?"
Duchess, displaying the finest qualities of her pedigree, called on her reserves of patience and put her proposal to the Keyblade Master again. "Any of my kittens would make an excellent mascotte and would lend some gravitas to your party. I would accompany you myself, but the house would fall into chaos if I were not here to attend to its daily running. Therefore my sons or my daughter would be an excellent addition in my stead."
"Here, kitty, kitty." The duck crouched in a most unbecoming manner and produced a plate of foodstuff from nowhere. The action was quite rude, since he had not enquired after Duchess's tastes, nor, indeed, even made a proper dinner invitation. The gesture amply reflected his lack of breeding and re-emphasised the need for a good influence over the Keyblade Master considering his current choice in companions.
"I don't think it's interested, Donald."
"Picky cat. Starve, then." The plate vanished without so much as a by-your-leave. "Stupid dumb animal."
Duchess sighed, but her spirits lifted when the Keyblade Master approached and knelt to offer his hand. Of course, he then toyed with the fur behind her ears, but at least his manners were an improvement on the others'.
"Hey, puss. Are you trying to talk to me?"
"Indeed I am."
"Because I can't understand anything except 'meow'."
Duchess blinked, and then allowed him to scratch her back, even though it was quite improper to purr at such rough handling.
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a Keyblade Master must be in want of a companion. It is not, however, acknowledged anywhere that getting him to accept an appropriate one is easy.
Fin.
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