Finally, a real story from me! Haha. This has been swimming 'round in my head for a very long time. Basically it's a bunch of my ideas slapped hastily together. It's one of those Macavity theory stories, and Plato is the star. Later on, Demeter will be making a very big entrance, and she won't leave. She. Won't. Leave(This will turn into Plato/Demeter). I don't want to say anything else for fear of spoiling my great ideas. If you're confused, let me know and I'll clarify it in the next chapter.

Anyways, this will be sort of a Jellicle High sort of thing. In my mind's eye, they are humanoid, but they have fur and cat ears and cat tails. Just like the movie.

A.N. : Gestation period (how long they're preggers)for my jellicles is about six months. No particular reason, except for that I didn't want to make it nine months, and I didn't want it to be as short as 65 days, which is the typical feline gestation.

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The queen tilted her head back and uttered a long, low moan as she reached the final stages of labor. In a matter of minutes, the children inside of her would come out to face the world, vulnerable and ill-prepared for the misery sure to await them. She felt darkness at the corners of her vision and nearly swooned.

A few feet away, Macavity was crouched on the concrete floor, watching her intently as her legs twisted in the sheets of the filthy, blood-smeared mattress that she was lying on. A hunch-backed, mousy servant of his busied itself around her, dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth and attempting to keep her legs straightened out to see the progress of the kits. His heirs. Macavity chuckled with satisfaction, and the noise caused the unfortunate queen to turn her head and look at him. Her green eyes were almost black, and flashed with hatred towards him. He merely smiled.

Soleil knew she was dying. She wouldn't die a martyr, a saint like she had always dreamed of. Instead, she would die in service to the enemy, practically handing his assured future over to him. As another contraction wracked her thin frame, she had never hated anyone as much as she did in that moment. She hated the children that had burdened her; she saw them only as demon spawn that had stolen her life. More than anything, she hated this amused, hateful creature watching her bleed her life away; this spawn of Satan who had kidnapped her one dark night and forced himself upon her, and keeping her locked away in this filthy hovel for the past six months as she slowly grew heavier with his spawn.

Now her time had come. Soleil felt an immense pressure, and suddenly a tiny kit was lying before her. The servant scooped it up and cleaned it off, pronouncing it as a boy. Macavity held him for a proper moment before handing him back to the servant, who tried to show him to his mother. She hardly glanced at him for a moment before screeching and pushing him away, half in pain of the second kit pushing its way out and half out of the fear that pulsed through her when she saw the big, dark eyes staring at her and the tell-tale sign of Macavity – a wild streak of red hair on his matted head. He hardly made a peep as he was handed off to someone else who stood by, waiting for the second child.

The second of twins made a bigger entrance than his brother, arriving with a loud wail as soon as his lungs filled with enough air. He, too, had red in his hair, but it was less pronounced than his brother's, making him secondary heir. He would live his entire life in his brother's shadow. He, too, was given to his father, and, again, the servant attempted to show him to Soleil. She waved him off vaguely, her eyes fluttering. The darkness that was at the corners of her vision spread slowly, and she finally succumbed to it. Her head fell back, and she was still.

The mousy servant approached Macavity, who was watching the still body of the mother of his children. Tentatively, he asked if his Lord had names for his sons.

Macavity pursed his lips, thinking, "Well, the eldest is to be Zane, like my father. The younger, well, you can name him whatever the hell you want, Mathis. I haven't the time for this nonsense." And with that, he strode off to attend to more pressing matters than the name of his second son.

The mousy servant, Mathis, looked down at the still squalling infant in his arms and offered it a finger to suck on as he and the other servant carried the two heirs down to the nursery that had been laid out for them. They had tried to get input from Soleil while she was pregnant as to how she wanted the layout to be, but she never seemed interested, ignoring them completely sometimes. It's as though she knew that she was going to die, and therefore wasn't interested.

They placed the two infants in the cribs that had been built for them, and a few servants crowded around the crib of the younger twin, trying to decide on what to name it.

"We could always named it Deuteronomy, as a joke," This idea was greeted with instant denial.

"Wot 'bout Franz? Tha's me pa's name."

"Nah, if we're gonna name the son of Macavity anything, it should be something with an edge to it."

"He migh' end up bein' pretty smart. Why don't we name him Socrates or the like?"

"You don' even know who the bloody 'ell Socrates is!"

"I knows that 'e's smart. Tha's more'n I can say 'bout you."

"Shut up, the lot of you. He doesn't look like he's going to be very smart. Look at him, the stupid little thing. Given who his parents are, it's no wonder. He's still crying, the little bugger."

"Shaddup! He kin prob'ly understand you all, dafties. Iffn he's gon' be second in charge, and iffn you really want him to be smart, let's call him Plato."

"Wot's second in command got to do with anyfing?"

"Are you an idiot? He's the second born. Look at that hair. His brudder's hair is bright red. That means he's to be Macavity. This 'un's only got a bit of red, so he's the second heir. The second best. The second in command. That's sorta what Plato did. For Socrates. You know."

"Nah, it warn't Socrates, were it? You've got your philophosers mixed up."

"Philosophers, idiot. And no, I don't. I don't know."

"Well, Plato'll have to do for now. We're not meant to be in here, anyways. None 'scept Mathis. Let's go, you old gossiping spinsters."

The group of servants trooped out with the exception of Mathis. He stared down at the tiny newborn, who stared back with the dark, wise eyes of children. He felt as though the child were somehow calling out to him, putting his trust in him and begging him to love him. Mathis knew that he wasn't capable of love, but he also knew that Macavity wouldn't pay proper attention to his sons until they were of age to begin their training. He vowed at that moment to be their caretaker until then.

Unaware of their future devoid of any hope or paternal love, the two tiny boys slept, exhausted from their efforts to enter the world while their makeshift father watched over them, his watery eyes hardly blinking. Their real father went out and assassinated an official, while their mother was carelessly covered in a makeshift coffin, really a rough homespun sack, and dumped into a hastily dug, unmarked grave. As soon as she had completed her task, the world forgot about her.

And so begins another tale of woe and misery.

TBC

Please review and let me know what you think.