"You're a coward."
"I know."
Summary
Mistoffelees had never truly been a fighter, he has always been one to flee from danger. He has been captured by his father who seems intent on rubbing in his cowardice, will he even be able to return to the Jellicles? Will he ever be the same tom? Can a certain white queen help him?
Authors Note; Hey guys! This is going to be a short little fan-fiction to keep my muse up between A Thousand Promises and Heritage. This is merely something my demented mind came up with. I do not own cats, no matter how many times I wish I did. The chapters for these wont be as long or detailed as they are in my other stories mainly because this one here is for my pleasure, I just thought my fans (if I have any!) would like to read it!
RATING MAY CHANGE
CATS belongs to RUG !
Cold, that was the first think his fuzzy mind registered. He was lying in a crumpled heap on a hard surface, concrete he supposed. His limbs were tangled in ways impossible for a human to manage, his headfur a mass of grime. He sat up, groaning as he touched a tender spot on the back of his head. His nostrils burned with the acidic smell of ammonia, he forced his ochre eyes open as he took in his surroundings. It was dark and damp, in the shadows he could make out crusty patches on the wall - he was certain he didn't want to know what those were - and he noticed the chains that were embedded in the wall, he followed them with his gaze and cried out in alarm, they were fastened around his hind legs tightly. The tuxedoed cat continued to entangle his limbs until he could lie comfortably on his side. He would have stood but he doubted his feet would hold him for more than a minute. His tongue felt like sandpaper as he rubbed its textured length over the roof of his mouth, his ears flicked as he caught the sounds of a rat outside. He longed to chase it, to hunt it and eat it. He was starving too.
He whipped his head around to the door as it sounded with a thunk, the tux slunk back into the darkest corner. His jailer had come to pay him yet another visit. His white bib caught the faint light that filtered through the door, revealing the imprisoned tom to his captor. The red, white and black striped tom approached his son with a sadistic smile - his only threat was now his hostage. He grabbed the ebony headfur of his rival and dragged him to his feet, relishing in his yowls. Macavity dug his overgrown claws into the younger toms scalp, breaking the skin. The fiend stooped slight to be eye level with the petite cat. How had The Napoleon of Crime produced such a scrawny coward of a runt? He was almost ashamed, only his powers made him worth keeping alive.
The chained one hissed and spat in the older toms face, he hated his father with a passion. The conjurer longed for his powers yet couldn't find them through the fogginess of his mind, he cried out as the paw dug deeper into his scalp. His back arched and the Jellicle's enemy clawed down his white chest, he felt his torso grow warm and wet with blood. He closed his eyes and swayed slightly, he had always been somewhat squeamish about blood and his own was the worst. He collapsed to the ground when Macavity released him with a shove, the tux hit a wall and groaned audibly. He forced his eyes open to glare at his father.
"Mistoffelees - what did I tell you about greeting your superiors?" The fiend asked casually yet mockingly, he loved reminding his eldest son about his brutal past. He loved the faces of horror and whimpers of fear he could ignite with a few simple memories, some of which he twisted into lies.
The bloodied Misto continued to glare before crying out as he was kicked in the cheek. He recoiled as his father laughed a menacing cackle. With a snap the chains were broken, the tux brought to his feet again. Mistoffelees stood with his shoulders apart and his chest out, the corner of his mouth was smeared with crimson. The ginger cat laughed at the petite magician and begun to taunt him.
"Come on then, fight me. Prove you can do something right with your life." The monster of depravity demanded, taking a step towards his captive that let out a hiss in warning. He took another step and continued to taunt him. "It's no wonder Victoria chose to dance the coming of age Pas De Deux with Plato, you're too weak to hurt a fly."
At the mention of Victoria the black and white cat lashed out, his ebony claws digging into any flesh they came into contact with. He was held back and only managed a few light scratches before his paw was grabbed and twisted behind his back. He yowled in pain as he was pushed onto his toes, his shoulder burning at the joint as he was lifted by his twisted paw. He shivered as he felt moist waves of air in his ear.
"You're a coward." Macavity growled into the pained tom's ear before pushing him away, into the wall. He had won, he couldn't help but relish in the pleasure of that fact - even if it wasn't a real battle. He turned to leave, stopping in the doorway as soft words sounded in the quiet of the cell.
"I know." The tux whispered softly as he curled into a ball, ignoring the rotten rat that was tossed to his battered frame. His back to the door as it clanged shut with a harsh laugh from Macavity. It was only now that he let the tears fall. He missed his home, his friends and his extended family. He longed to be messing around with Alonzo or dancing with Victoria. His heart broke at the thought of the white queen, he had let her down. He was a coward and there was no doing anything about it.