A/N: Well, the original idea was for Kishan to fall in love with the sock, but that didn't happen here, sorry :(
But he plays with the sock! :D
Disclaimer: The Tiger's Curse series does not belong to me, that's Colleen Houck's problem. And, again, I have only read as far as Nella has blogged, so nothing will be Canonically correct/up-to-date.
It was a sunny day in the Indian summer. Well, Kelsey called it an "Indian summer", because the warm season, she said, had lasted longer than it usually would.
Kishan and his brother Dhiren were in their tiger forms, stalking around in the woods just beyond their Western mansion's garden. Kelsey and Anik were sitting on the deck of the liver-shaped swimming pool; both reading some classic Western novel Kishan didn't bother with. The same novel Dhiren would finish when he reverted back to his human-self. Kishan was the only one not interested with their little book club.
The black tiger walked through the underbrush of the forest, listening and smelling for small prey. He might as well snack while he's out here. Usually at noon, he would be in the pool, spending his time in human-form taking laps. Kelsey had taught him how to swim properly in the pool a short while after he rejoined his brother. Swimming with his human body was a talent he had lost long ago, and so he tried to practice laps everyday. But today he wanted to hunt.
Hunting was Dhiren's sport, believe it or not. Even with his sweet-tooth—always eating the melons and cakes Kelsey brought him—he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. In their day, Dhiren was known as the most-skilled prince in the field- not just out of the two of them, but in comparison to the princes of their neighboring kingdoms. Kishan himself liked more activity, and would often train with Anik and his men. So he more often would walk briskly on his four paws, or "jog" around, as Kelsey called it.
Kishan heard a twig snap somewhere ahead of him, and he stopped abruptly in his "jog"ing. He had been lost in his own thoughts—something he caught himself doing quite often after Kelsey and Dhiren had found him. He catches the scent of his brother, and relaxes. A little.
Dhiren, he growls out. I know it's you.
The white tiger steps out from the shadow of vegetation. I was hoping to catch you by surprise.
I could smell your stench a mile off. Of course, this was an exaggeration, but Dhiren didn't need to know.
Dhiren chuckles the way tigers do; a vibrato, like purring, but much eerier. You're cute, brother, he says. I just was going to remind you of something. He pauses dramatically.
… Of what something, Kishan nearly barks out in impatience.
Well, Dhiren purrs as he circles his younger brother, like a scene of orcas around a seal. Dear Anik had bought me a lovely pair of black socks, to go along with my new tuxedo. And I would hate to find them ruined. He stops right at Kishan's face. He'd always been taller than Kishan, even now as they are tigers. He towers over the black cat, his chest puffed and blue eyes blazing into Kishan's golden ones. I love those socks. They are very beautiful and I don't want them hurt. He pads closer, his claws unsheathed and pricking against the forest floor. You understand, Kishan? Little brother? You cannot have… my socks.
Kishan growls and turns away, jogging out of the forest. He continues to jog through the blooming garden—full of tulips and lotuses—and past the pool and the deck, where Kelsey and Anik are still reading. Kelsey looked busy, concentrating on the translated Ole English words, but she still greeted Kishan with her dazzling smile.
Kishan walked through the open French-door and into the Western mansion. The mansion was spacious and his padding paws echoed off the cream-colored walls as he walked on. He passed the modern kitchen, and smelled that Anik had a meat-dish brewing in the Crock-Pot, and bread rising in the gas oven. Kishan walks down the long hallway, where at the very end his brother's bedroom was.
The handles throughout the house were not difficult to open by tiger paws, Anik had made sure, and so Kishan easily slipped open the wood door. Dhiren's room was large, with a king-sized bed stuffed in the middle, red-satin sheets and fluffed pillows set neatly on the Tempur-Pedic mattress. A warm breeze blew in from the open set of French-doors (which matched the ones that opened onto the pool deck), and shook the light, red curtains that draped over them.
Dhiren's closet was adjacent to the French-doors, but Kishan didn't try searching there: he knew all that would be there would be his designer clothes and shoes.
Kishan knew Dhiren kept his undergarments in his cherrywood wardrobe. Kishan opened the bottom drawer first, but only found belts. He moved up—finding ties and pocket squares in the next drawer; boxers and briefs in the second—until finally finding the socks kept at the very top drawer. But as he sniffed around the stash, he couldn't find any socks matching the brief description Dhiren gave: black, for a tuxedo, nice. He huffs out if frustration.
Kishan looks around the lavish bedroom, but finds no sock. Nothing, not even a bag. He decides to check the towel closet in the master bathroom, thinking Dhiren might have hidden the socks there.
He wants to find Dhiren's socks. He wants to find them, and sink his teeth into them. Tear them apart with his claws. Or, keep them for himself.
The towel closet is a walk-in, like all the closets in the mansion. There are extra clothes, more casual wear, kept in the closet; and of course towels, and a few plush bathrobes. To Kishan's luck, he finds a labeled, black bag that looks like the bags fancy shoes come in. The bag is fabric, not plastic, which would be easy to tear. Kishan has to loosen the pull-string which keeps the bag closed. He unsheathes his claws and tries to pull the string apart that way, but finds it too difficult and adds his teeth to the strategy. When the bag is opened, he lifts it up with his mouth, opening-side-down, the black shoes and socks sliding down.
The socks are beautiful. Truly beautiful.
Kishan catches his breath as he spots them. These lovely socks… he whispers in his head. He pick up the socks gently with his mouth, and escapes Dhiren's room, rushing out the French-doors, and enters his own.
He pulls out the drawer of his nightstand, and stuffs the tuxedo-socks inside. He shuts the drawer, almost slamming it.
He lays on his plush bed; his black tail twitching against his satin sheets; his anticipation to play with the socks, like a cub. He turns his head away from the socked nightstand. He waits, knowing that soon Dhiren will come barging in, demanding his precious sock back. Kishan chuckles—that eerie tiger chuckle—at messing with Dhiren's pride, his materializm. Dhiren was always the prince of luxury…
Kishan's thoughts drift back to the black tuxedo-socks. He doesn't know what his tiger-instinct is doing, building this desire to play with socks. He tries to reign his odd desire in by focusing on something else. His mind wanders to a childhood memory—which surprises him, since he thought he'd lost those memories long ago.
"Give back my toy!" Dhiren cries out, trying to hold back the tears in his eyes.
Kishan taunts his older brother with the toy, dangling it over their palace's tallest tower. Dhiren steps closer, and Kishan reaches the toy out further.
"Why are you attacking me!?"
Kishan squeezes the toy in his small fist. He glares at Dhiren. "You…" he chokes out "...I don't like you… You're mean, and ugly! You don't belong around here… You don't deserve this. I do!"
Dhiren winces; he's all-too familiar with being called "ugly"—being the mixed child with blue eyes—but never by his younger brother. And the harsh words… He'd overheard soldiers before whisper this about him before, about him not deserving to be the prince, his father's heir. A tear falls down his cheek. "Kishan…"
"No!" Kishan snaps. "I won't! I'm not listening to you anymore!"
"Kishan," Dhiren cries his name desperately, coming closer. "Little brother…"
"I'm not your brother!" Kishan yells. He throws the toy down the tower. The tiger falls into the holy river, nothing but a speck of flashing white against rushing waves...
Kishan pounces on the nightstand and claws at the tuxedo-socks. He swipes at them with his playful claws, flicking them up and out of the drawer. He pounces again, landing on the socks. He pulls at them with his teeth, undoing the weaves of black fabric.
He flings the socks across his wide room and chases after them. He finds himself wanting Kelsey there, to throw the socks for him as he plays the game of chase.
Kishan continues to toss the socks back-and-forth through the room, and when he catches them on the other side, he flicks them around in his claws and bites them, tearing them.
But the door slams open. Anik is there, with tiger Dhiren at his side. Kishan must look like a little black housecat to them just then: clawing at the tuxedo-socks, his tail bushy and golden eyes wide. Kishan should be embarrassed by them catching him in this situation—but he had destroyed Dhiren's precious, beautiful socks.
Ah-ha! he meows like a kitten, I have one-upped you, Dhiren!
Really? Dhiren's blue eyes sparkle with a mischievous light. Kishan steps back. If he were human, his brow would be raised. Because the only reason I told you about the socks, the only reason I hide them, was to test you.
Test me? Kishan growls; but it comes out fumbled, unsteady. He winces.
Yes. Dhiren chuckles as he did before, and circles Kishan as he did before. Test you to see how willing you are to defy me. How willing you are to take something from me.
And?
You didn't pass.
The brothers snarl and claw at each other, and Anik and Kelsey have to pull them apart. By their orders, both tigers are put in an all-day timeout. No human form, and no dessert.
A/N:
~ Check out this cute music video: (youtube)watch?v=swmuqGWgZCc