Hello there. Narya's Bane here. This is my first Neverwhere attempt. I may or may not develop, but I got myself caught in a thought considering the Marquis and his relationship with "Puss in Boots." So, here is the resulting moment… could be more, but unlikely.
As usual, I own nothing but the plot bunny. And, perhaps, the cat.
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The Marquis did his best to seem in control of every situation, and for the most part it was true. He put on the aires of a person who was owed favors, and rarely owed one in return, and usually this was the case. He was the Marquis de Carabas, and as such had always known that he must do his best to live up to the name by being as intelligent and in control as possible. Usually, he certainly was. In the whole of the Underground, in any of the cities Below, there were few who could match him. And only one could best him on his own turf.
Because the Marquis de Carabas, fictional as he was, could not set himself up for success.
Time was likely running out. He had received a pigeon from Lord Portico's daughter, and knew immediately that this favor was going to be harder to pay off than he had imagined. Hopefully Miss Door would add a favor to the pot, particularly if the adventure proved hazardous. For the moment, he had to take matters into his own hands. There was a person to whom he owed quite too much- it was time to rectify the situation.
The Marquis moved swiftly, heading right to Picadilly Circus. This was the artisan's sector of London Below, where Inspiration ran rampant and made most people silly. There were few people in the Circus who were not in some way insane, as this section called to the most disturbed denizens of the Below. The Marquis moved quickly and deftly through the village, past the dancers who tiptoed up and attempted to kiss his cheek, and past men who painted signs in the mud.
He waited, and finally found a small tent on the edge.
It was a lovely tent from the outside. It was about ten feet cubed, and seemed to glisten a lovely light violet. There was no door to speak of, not that a human could go through. So the Marquis tapped on what was there: a two foot high flap in the tent-cloth.
"Mreow."
The Marquis sighed. He was not particularly fond of entering this place, realizing that he had briefly hoped to avoid the physical act of going inside, but based on the answer at the door he knew there was little hope of that. He knelt down in the dirt, set his head in, and pushed his shoulders rather harshly into the entryway.
His shoulders presently folded into themselves, and the rest of his body was pushed through in a motion that was rather uncomfortable. Inside, de Carabas stretched to his full height and shuddered. He then glanced around the one room in the tent, peering for the inhabitant.
There was a kitchen in one corner, with a sink that had water constantly running through it and a single small counter. Beside this was a pail that seemed to empty automatically, and beside that a mess of pillows. Where de Carabas finally settled his eyes was beside a large cushy chair, where a petite ginger cat lay comfortably across the length of a single arm. The cat's ears had raised, and as the Marquis entered the rest of the head moved. The cat stood, stretched, and looked over expectantly.
The Marquis de Carabas considered the cat, then bent on a single knee before her. "Miss Delgato," he addressed the agile feline.
The cat finished her stretch and raised a paw. She licked the paw, wiped her face, and gave an expression that seemed as near to humor as could be managed by a feline. This impression was only multiplied by the fact that the face turned rapidly into that of a petite female, the rest of her body following suit, and she truly did laugh.
"My dear de Carabas," the woman laughed, "do get off the floor. We've known each other too long for you to speak so to me."
The Marquis got off the floor and went forward, finding himself captured by a hug from the werecat. "Who are you swindling these days?" she continued, whispering the last into his ear gently enough that he knew she was only partly serious.
"I gather," the Marquis ensured. "I create, and I offer. I never swindle." At that, he broke off the hug and looked her straight in the light green catseyes. "How are you doing, Variel?"
"Well," Vari answered. "Still working off my debt to Inspiration. Still stuck here." She waved a hand around the tent, though that surely showed the entire of the Circus. It was no secret that Variel hated would rather be almost anywhere besides Picadilly. She was stuck here because she had, long ago, borrowed her life from Inspira- from whom all inspiration came. It had taken a few years for her to be called in, but when she did it was with a vengeance. As her life rightly belonged to Inspira, she would spend much of what was left here- pointing a finger at those who needed a thought, and thus bestowing inspiration on behalf of the entity.
It was a boring existence for someone with Variel's bright and colorful history.
In all honesty, it would take little for the werecat to free herself. Or, more rightly, to have the Marquis pay the debt in some other fashion. The Marquis owed her.
THIS was the secret the Marquis told no-one. For here was his debtor, the mystical cat who walked about in footware…
This, in fact, was the legendary Puss in Boots, and to her the Marquis de Carabas did owe his life.
Many times over.
It was a debt that he could never repay. She had pulled him from the rebellion in Paris, when he was stuck as a young boy, and taught him quickly how to fall into the cracks. It was her training that had led him to London Below, and helped him quickly set up as though he had always been there. Puss was the only one who truly knew the marquis, and the lone soul to whom he owed anything.
She was not content, yet here she stood, keeping herself indentured to Inspira.
"I have come to stop you collecting favors from me," the Marquis finally explained, cutting to the chase rather than wasting time.
"Oh?" Variel asked, hardly surprised. "How do you intend to do that?"
"I'm taking the box."
Variel looked to the side, away from his face. "Oh," she commented.
"You do still have it?"
Variel forced herself to turn forward, though she still looked over his head. "Don't you think you'd have noticed if I'd lost it?"
The Marquis shrugged. "I don't know. Would I?"
Variel gave a nod, and stepped adeptly past her visitor. She moved towards the door, shutting the flap a moment before opening it again. She knelt down and stuck her hand inside what was now a closet. "You would," she assured. "You will be careful with it, won't you?"
"I'll guard it with my own life," the Marquis quipped, noting the distinct pursing of his companion's lips. He came to kneel across from her, looking gently at her. "I'll be careful, Puss."
Variel's eyes sparkled, and her cheeks burned a pretty pink color. "See that you are." She drew her hand out, depositing an elegant box into his hands gently. The Marquis peeked in, ascertaining that the item needed was indeed inside. He met Variel's gaze and nodded.
"Pleasure doing business with you again."
"I don't suppose," Variel asked, "that this is the last time?"
The Marquis looked at the werecat a moment and considered. She had been quite useful in the past, and was likely to remain so even if she was indentured to Lady Inspira. Besides, if he found he needed, he could always release her from that. "I don't suppose it is," de Carabas commiserated.
"Until next time, then."
At that, Variel closed the flap and opened it back to the door. She tapped the Marquis on the shoulder, and he found himself outside. The flap was already closed, so he began to run off to meet with Door's representative, going over again in his head how to go about this "mission." He already knew he would be late.
Inside the tent, Variel looked around and sighed, looking down at her comfortable trousers and orange tank top. With a hint of sadness she closed her eyes and nodded, ending up in a lovely purple number of frilly lace- one the marquis would have found as funny as he did intriguing. She took a step, and was outside her tent.
It was going to be a long day, and now she had a new fear on her mind. Her protégé had taken the last link between them, and was off on his way. She had long ago stopped truly worrying about him, of course, but it was unnerving knowing that he had… that he had "the box" with him. Hopefully he would hide it, or give it to someone who owed him enough that they would be brave enough to use it.
With that thought, Variel went about her work again, muttering, "A long day indeed."