AUTHORS NOTE: I learned something new today. I learned the meaning of "OTP". Now, I'm sure a lot of you out there are laughing your asses off. You're probably thinking I must live under a rock to not know what it meant before today. Well, maybe I do. Once you decorate your rock it's really hard to decide to move- it's just the way you like it. In all seriousness though, I must thank the reviewer of "Commodities" who made mention of the acronym, which then led me to urban dictionary for its meaning. For those of you who also live in the "Under Rock" community, OTP means One True Pairing. It's the characters you think work best together or have the likelihood of becoming a couple. I plan to add this lovely little term to my vocabulary and use it on unsuspecting RL types who also live beneath rocks. I'm just catty like that. ^_~
Speaking of Catty…
This is a fic between fics, a small few chapters that has been rolling around amongst the marbles in my head, trying to put itself together into something readable and maybe even interesting. It is a gift to my reviewers, who have been so supportive with "Commodities" and hopefully it will make up for the terrible things I have done to Grell in that story arc. It caters to those who see Sebastian and Grell as the OTP (SEE SEE, I used it!). This story does not have anything to do with "Commodities", so yeah… this is just a much lighter, shorter piece. To everyone who has been so wonderfully supportive and to those who just stumbled across it- I hope you enjoy, "Purrfect Love".
Purrfect Love
Rain pelted the cobblestone streets of London like knives in the night, each drop falling with an unearthly velocity which warned mortals to stay in their homes. Most people heeded the roar of water, closing their doors and windows against the wet. They lit cheery fires to keep their domiciles warm, replacing the sound of drumming water with the sparkly crackle of dancing flames. That was the smart thing to do, the mortal thing, hideaway warm and dry. For those who were not so smart, or particularly unlucky, there was no fire to keep the night away. They crouched and huddled in the deluge. They hid in doorways and under bridges, wrapped in whatever they had to keep warm, at the mercy of the weather. But not all were so pitiable; some were simply at the mercy of themselves. They ventured out, believing their own sorrows to be more upsetting than nature's fury. They defied the storm's warning wantonly, and their self importance would help them meet their ends.
It was the unlucky and careless cases which made the immortals stray from their own glowing hearths, breaking their cover as humans, forcing them out into the icy storm to do their job. They would put down the books written by mortal authors and fold away the latest newspaper heralding the latest depressing events of an ever evolving, or perhaps devolving, human society. The rain only added to their laden schedules, especially after dark.
Grell Sutcliff rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, balancing on the edge of the stone beveled rooftop like a scarlet gargoyle in the inky night. He sat low on his haunches, hugging his knees lightly against his chest as he looked at the lamp lit street a fair distance below. The wind whipped around him like a girl eager to tease. It grabbed loose twists of his hair and flung it this way and that playfully before letting it drop back against his back, sodden. It pushed at him lightly, testing his balance on the ledge. Would he slip? Would he fall? The wind would not say for sure, but it seemed more interested in toying with the lone reaper than hurting him. But wind was could be so fickle, blowing one way only to come back around and reverse directions. Sometimes it even spun in a circling tantrum, ripping across the landscape as a lover scorned.
He had Angelina's coat over his shoulders, rather than looped casually over his arms. The weather was really nasty and he didn't really want ugly water stains on his white dress shirt. Even though it was easily replaced, the pay cut he had taken gave him new incentive to take care of his things. The coat wasn't as tight across his back as he had expected, which was nice. While posing as The Madame's butler he had lost a considerable bit of muscle and he didn't mind at all, enjoying his new thin, long limbed build. If he could keep himself this slender and still do his job, he concluded that he would do so. Dresses fit a lot better as well, an added bonus.
He hummed a catchy little tune he had picked up at his last mission, waiting for his latest assignment to hurry up and kill himself. He wasn't allowed to go into the house until the man was done and considering the stupid human hadn't even returned home yet, Grell knew he had awhile to wait. It would be so much easier to go to where he actually was and kill him, but Will had already given him a lecture about "All souls in their time" coupled with the dry rhetoric concerning what it meant to be "patient". Grell couldn't understand what the difference was, really. The guy was going to off himself anyhow and waiting around for it to happen was wasteful. Yes, that was it, a waste of time. He would bring that up with William when they spoke next. This job was about being efficient, right?
His humming slowed as he tried to remember how the next part of the song went. He couldn't quite hear it in his head, so he backed up a few bars and hummed it again. How did the next part go? Ah yes, he remembered, not how the next verse went, but why he couldn't remember it. That was about the time people had started dying.
He idly thought back to his last assignment, a dinner party William had actually let him attend before death struck the guests. He didn't know if Will let him go because he knew Grell would enjoy himself, or because the pandemonium which followed after would have made reaping nearly impossible. It was most likely the latter, but Grell let his romantically inclined side believe it was a little recreational gift from his superior.
It really had been fun until the poison punch kicked in. What a bad hostess, Grell thought to himself, poisoning her guests over something as small as her husband's infidelity. Yes, she killed them all because her husband was running around on her and she was the last to know. She blamed her friends for letting her make a fool of herself, for not telling her what was really going on. In Grell's estimation, she had ruined a perfectly good party. What a laughable fiasco, people dropping like narcoleptic cattle, never to reawaken. And the stupid woman had drunk her own deadly brew, dropping right amongst them. She sure showed them who had the last laugh at her expense!
Grell huffed quietly, pulling the coat tighter around his body. He wasn't cold quite yet, but the pouring rain was starting to make its way through the water resistance of the red overcoat. His long red hair was completely soaked through and clung to his back. It was amazing just heavy it was, especially waterlogged like this. He took a moment to push his water splashed glasses a little higher on the bridge of his nose and tuck the shorter layers of his hair behind his ears. As his gloves grazed the tops he realized they were numb. Ok, so maybe he actually was getting a little cold. Where was this guy anyway? He was supposed to be writing his sappy suicide note and hanging himself a full hour ago.
"Well I don't know how long you're planning to hang around here, but I don't think your boy is coming home tonight, meow." A voice said in a very matter of fact tone in the dark beside the reaper, "Probably just as well."
Grell knit his brows quizzically, turning to face the voice. How did someone come up without him noticing, who even knew he was there? "Excuse me?"
"Oh really," the voice continued, sounding just a touch annoyed. "I know you heard me just fine, even with those ugly little things you human types call ears."
In the dark, Grell could just see the outline of the small creature seated just beside him. It was just a touch blacker than the surrounding darkness, with deep sapphire eyes that flashed as they looked up at him. A pair of pert ears flicked this way and that as water hit them, sending droplets flying uselessly as the rain just poured more down, "You're a… cat?"
"Yes," it answered simply, bringing one black paw across its face to wipe its whiskers clear of rain. Almost immediately more water beaded along their length.
Grell reached out, touching the creature's small fuzzy head with the tip of his index finger experimentally, "And… you're talking?"
"It would seem so," it replied, batting Grell's hand away, "Please don't do that."
"Um, sorry,"
"In all seriousness though, your suicide isn't coming home. You are wasting your time."
Grell was thoroughly confused. He had never run across a talking cat before, which was strange considering his line of work. He saw all sorts of bizarre things on a regular basis, but this was a new one. Grell rose to the bait, "How do you know that?"
With a little mewl the cat hopped with weightless grace onto Grell's hunched shoulder, "I'm a cat, I know all sorts of interesting things."
Grell could see it clearly now, so close to his face. The little cat had jet black fur from nose to tail with a small heart shaped patch of white just below the throat. Its eyes were large and round even by feline standards, sharded by black pupils, opened wide to take in the limited light. It looked at him expectantly, dark tail swishing in the rain. Grell brought his index finger up once more, touching it between the cat's luminous eyes. Was this for real?
The cat opened its mouth in a short hiss, striking at his hand with claws out, "Seriously, cut it out."
"Sorry,"
"So can we get out of here?" it asked, "I would really prefer to go somewhere dry, warm would be nice too. I like warm."
Grell wanted out of the rain too, but the whole situation was surreal. He didn't know if he should listen to the cat, run to William and admit his final and absolute insanity, or throw the beast off the roof and see if it actually landed on its feet. Yes, that actually occurred to him.
"Look, it is against everything I stand for as a cat to be blunt, but I can see if I don't get down to it, we'll be out here all night." It said, "Your death assignment is already swinging from a tree, dead as it gets. He decided that a big oak tree was more poetic than the rafters of his flat."
Now that was very strange indeed. Deaths almost always happened as they were supposed to, given a few minutes leeway for unforeseen circumstances. The time, the place, and the means, so long as nothing supernatural was involved, were almost always per the script.
Grell had the itching urge to poke the little cat again, but thought the better of it. Strange as it was, it was sentient and had already told him, twice, to not poke. Instead he decided to press for more information, "And why would he have done that?"
"Probably because I talked him into it," the cat chirped, giving a light shake to free itself of the water beading against its pitch colored coat, "I can't really be sure though. I mean, who listens to a cat?"
How ironic that the cat would say something to that affect. Grell had been wondering that during the whole conversation. Who would listen to a cat?
"So now you know, that's where he went." It continued, "I must really insist we go to your place. I want to dry off."
"My place?"
"Well yes, your place. Where you live? It should be dry, right? We can talk there."
"We have something to talk about?"
"Certainly," it cooed, gingerly sliding against Grell's neck as it nested between Grell's chest and legs in his crouched position, "I have a proposition for you."
The cat curled against the reaper, worming its way into an open gap of his coat, "Carry me, I don't want to walk in the puddles."
Despite the feline's expectant pushiness, Grell found himself bowing one arm beneath the little beast while the other wrapped his coat more firmly around its body. He peeked down his collar at the wet ball of fur settling against him, smiling despite himself. He liked cute things, and odd as this particular animal was with its talking, it was adorable.
Grell stepped away from the ledge, turning towards home with a quick spin before taking off at a dead run over the rooftops. The flat he currently called home was less than a mile away. Not that he spent a lot of time there, opting to sleep wherever the mood struck him and eat when he was out and about. It was more of a human accoutrement than anything, an address to point at when people asked what part of the city he was from. Occasionally he would use it as a workshop for his death scythe or other little projects, but generally it was empty.
He touched down on the railing of his faux balcony window with practiced precision, balancing on the metal bar as he had countless times before. He pressed one hand against the glass, letting it swing gently inward with a quiet creak of salutation. It wasn't that he didn't like using the door, but after a night out, it was always easier to come back through the window, which was why he left it unlatched.
Stepping into what officially amounted to his bedroom; Grell reached a hand into his coat, petting the now dry cat within. "We're here," he said pleasantly.
The sharp nip at his fingers made him jump, sending the little cat to the floor as he lost his grip around its body, "Ouch!"
The cat landed perfectly on its feet, tail twitching nervously as it looks back up at the redhead, "Do I really strike you as the kind of cat you pet? I asked you to stop, more than once."
"I don't know," he said, rubbing his injured fingers with his other hand, "I'm not sure I really thought about it."
"Ok, well now you have. Don't pet me, don't poke me. If I want to be touched, I'll let you know."
Grell shrugged off the coat, hanging it on a nail in the wall, "How will I know?"
"I'm a cat, you'll know." It said, sauntering across the dusty wood floor daintily. It sniffed at the cracks in the floorboards as it went, "You have mice, you know."
"I know," Grell admitted, moving to the hearth to get a fire going, "I'm not here very often."
"Ah, I see." It paused, trotting to sit beside the reaper as he grabbed kindling and paper from beside the simple brick fireplace, "But then where do you take your naps?"
"Naps?" Grell repeated. He chuckled lightly, grinning ear to ear, "You mean like cat naps?"
"Is there any other kind?"
"Wherever I am at the time, I guess. I'm not particular about my sleeping arrangements."
"Me either," it admitted, "But I do have my favorite places."
"So what shall I call you? Kitty?"
"Oh, I don't think so. I have a name and it definitely not kitty."
"Enlighten me?"
"You can call me Clover."
"Clover? That's an interesting name."
"It's after the four leaf clover, you know, for luck?"
"Ironic, considering you are a black cat." He continued to grin at his own little jokes. It had been a long time since he was able to talk to someone so casually. Angelina hadn't been that sort of company, William and his other co workers barely tolerated him, and the Phantomhive household? Well, no, it just wasn't like that.
"No more so than a grim reaper in bright red, I would imagine," She meowed, rubbing her head against Grell's elbow before fluffing herself with a good shake.
"Touché," he said, giggling lightly, "But really, you had some sort of reason for talking to me, right? I hope it isn't just to tell me I'm crazy because I'm talking to a cat. I figured that part out on my own."
"You're not crazy for talking to a cat; it's everyone else who is crazy for not taking the time to listen."
"You mentioned some sort of proposition?" he said, adding a few crumpled balls of newspaper to the fledgling fire, "What could you have that would possibly be of interest to me?"
"I fear I will have to be blunt again," Clover said thoughtfully, "But I just don't want to play cat and mouse with you all night."
"Cat and mouse," he repeated, "You're a funny one."
"No, I'm not," the cat said seriously.
"No, I mean… what you said was, eh, never mind."
"You and I have a common acquaintance, a one Sebastian Michaelis."
Grell's eyes were focused on the little black cat immediately, mood turned serious. What did the cat know about Sebastian and what did it have to d with him? "Go on," he urged carefully, "You have my attention."
"Oh, I know I do." She said, "But do stop looking at me like that. You're giving me the look I give my dinner before killing it. It isn't a very friendly look."
"Sorry," He sure was apologizing to that cat a lot, "So please tell me more?"
"Well it has come to my attention that you want to be with Sebastian, and he unfortunately does not want to be with you."
Grell stiffened, grin slowly fading to a hurt frown, "I'm not sure I would say that exactly. I just don't think Sebby has given it the proper thought. We have a lot in common and I think with some time-"
"No, I don't think so," the cat meowed, "I have spent enough time with that one to know, he isn't interested in you, at all."
"What does a cat know about such things anyway," Grell mumbled, embarrassed.
"There you go, not listening like everyone else." She said noncommittally, walking towards the open window. "I'll be on my way then."
Part of Grell urged him to let the rude little cat go. In retaliation he would lock the window behind it so that it was stuck out in the rain. That would show it who had the final triumph! However, the cat knew Sebastian and was offering… What was the cat offering?
"Wait a minute, I'm sorry," There was that word again. The cat possessed the magical ability to make him apologize, repeatedly. There was simply no other way to explain it, "I want to listen."
Clover turned, smiling as cats often did when they had a mouse cornered, "That makes me happy, because I like to talk to people who will listen."
What an odd little creature, Grell thought for the hundredth time, "So what are you proposing?"
"A simple trade, really." It purred, trotting back to Grell. "You want to be with Sebastian and I want to go talk to an old friend."
"What's stopping you from visiting your friend?" Grell was once again, confused, "It doesn't sound like you need me at all, though I certainly want to get close to Sebby."
"I thought it was obvious," It said, yawning widely, "I talk and talk but you don't listen much better than any of these other human types. He doesn't listen, no one listens."
"What does that mean?"
"Look, I want to trade places with you for a little bit. I promise Sebastian will lavish attention upon you, feed you, sleep with you, touch you in all the right places- but in return I get to go visit my friend."
That was a deal just too good to be true, but in true Sutcliff form, Grell decided to jump in head first, "Done, I accept your offer." He beamed, "How does this work?"
"Something like this," the cat purred, placing its paws on Grell's folded knees as it reached up to touch its nose to the reaper's.
