"I don't want your brother in my den one more day, Munk." Demeter said as she slammed down her mug of coffee on the kitchen table, making Munkustrap jump, even halfway across the room at the piano. "He's a bad influence." She muttered as she continued with her usual morning routine, only much, much, angrier. She threw the dishes around, and slammed chairs into tables as she moved about the kitchen.
"I know it's not the…best situation, but he's my brother, and scum of the tribe or not, I'm the protector, and that means everyone." He lifted his paws off the keys, declaring it a lost cause with Demeter storming around. "…Even if it's protecting someone from himself." He closed the lid and leaned his elbows on it, putting his head in his hands.
"How long?" She asked from across the room. She had finished with whatever she had been doing, and was now standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room of their den, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed.
"Not long, I promise." Munkustrap stood, holding his arms out to his wife.
"I said," She put up a single paw to stop him. "'How long?"
Munkustrap took her paw and held it tight. "A month, tops" He said calmly to her, in an almost pleading tone. When he went to kiss her paw, though, she pulled away, obviously angry once again.
"A month?" She took a step back. "A month, Munkustrap?" Her paws flew into the air as she stomped back towards the kitchen. "A month!" It wasn't a question anymore; she was just yelling the statement out to the world, trying to make herself believe it. "Can't he have one of his devout followers take care of him for…" She blew out a huff of air before continuing. "…a month!" She finished the sentence under her breath, as if saying the very words pained her. She paced up and down the floor of the kitchen, mumbling words Munkustrap couldn't—and probably didn't care to—hear.
"I know it seems like a long time, dear, but you'll see, he'll be gone before you can say Rum T—"
"Do not say his name." She froze and glared at him. "It is only by the grace of the Everlasting Cat, that I have not marched into our bedroom, and dragged him out into the clearing by his ears. Don't push my patience."
"Message received." He nodded. "But I promise, it won't be that long." He walked back over to her, and this time she didn't move. He put one paw on the wall above her, and the other on her shoulder. "Trust me." Munkustrap said. "It won't be that bad." He kissed her forehead. "He'll be gone before you know it." He kissed her nose. "It'll only be a month before he—" And Demeter cut him off with a soft kiss on the lips.
"Stop talking about him." She stepped under her husband's arms and walked towards the door. "It ruined the moment." She laughed and blew him a kiss before waltzing out the door.
Munkustrap was left alone, one paw leaning on the wall, and the other hanging in the space his wife had just been. The house seemed too quiet, and the unusual presence of another tom was eerie. He had nowhere to be this particular morning, so he sat back down on the piano. The lid creaked, but soon the den was once again filled with a cheery Chopin piece he had been working on for a few weeks. It wasn't long, though, before he heard a noise that was all too familiar.
"Ughhhh." Moaned Tugger from the other side of the den. Munkustrap continued to play. "Ughhhh!" He heard again.
"If you're not going to use clear words, I will have no choice but to assume you want me to play louder!" Munkustrap hollered over his own playing.
"Shut up!" Tugger yelled. Munkustrap got up from the piano once again, and trotted into his bedroom.
"What, Tugger?" Munkustrap sauntered into his room and stared, annoyed, down at his brother.
"I think it's clear who got the musical talent in the family…" Tugger mumbled under his breath.
"What was that?" Munkustrap asked.
"Help me!" Tugger hissed, all four limbs flailing in the air.
"What's the magic word?" Munkustrap teased.
"Help me or I'll wring you neck the second I get these casts off!"
"You're close, but it's only one word." Munkustrap sang, stepping around his brother to his desk.
"I swear, so help me, the second I can, I will kill you!" he flopped back down on the pillow. "Wait," he said, but when he instinctively went to sit up, his back once again went into spasms, forcing him flat on his back once more.
"Fine, I'll help you, but only because you asked so nicely." Munkustrap leaned over and grabbed his brother by the scruff of the neck.
After almost ten minutes of trial and error pushing and pulling, Tugger was vertical, and Munkustrap was exhausted.
"What time is it?" Tugger asked, shaking his mane carefully, being cautious of his still aching head.
"Eh, about nine, I'd say." Munkustrap looked, in between panting breaths, out the window at the sun, which was about halfway up in the east.
"Oh, that's not so bad." Tugger began carefully towards the bathroom.
"It's Tuesday, Tug." Munkustrap said, crossing his arms and giving him an 'I-told-you-so' look.
From inside the small bathroom, Tugger's voice rang out. "YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"
"No, Tugger, you've been asleep for almost three d—" He began to lecture, only to be cut off again by his brother's frantic voice.
"Who give a rat's how long I've been out…" He gasped. "Look at my mane!" He began to shuffle through the draws beneath the sink desperately, never taking his eyes off of the mirror for more than a second. "Do you own a comb!"
"Actually, no; Demeter does, though." As Munkustrap said it, Tugger came across the small, pink comb.
"You've got to be kidding me—!"
"You've been saying that an awful lot, you know."
"Don't test me, Munk." Tugger held one paw up to his brother's face, and Munk didn't know if what a finger, or a fist.
"Look, Demeter and I hate this situation as much as you do." He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Trust me. But being frantic won't help anything. The important thing is that you need to get some rest. Think about your issues, maybe read a book, contemplate your life as of right now. It's obvious to everyone but you that you need to slow it down. How many times can you come home clinging on to consciousness by a whisker before something actually happens?" Tugger stuck his head out of the bathroom and looked at his brother, sitting cross-legged in his desk chair. "I really am thinking about you, here. I'm thinking about you, and your fan-club, and Dad, and your girlfriend-of-the-week—who is it this week, Cassandra?" Tugger grunted affirmatively from the mirror. "—the point is, the tribe as a whole would suffer greatly if any one of us left for any reason at all. Whether it's to some far off land, a pound—Heviside forbid—or worse." Tugger stepped out of the bathroom looking only slightly more put together than a few moments ago. "As distant and independent as you want to think you are, we all have the same kind of responsibilities and everyone needs everyone to stay together. Are you following any of this?"
"Yeah, yeah. I get it. 'I'm important; we're all equals; the tribe needs everyone! I get the gist." Tugger crossed his arms tentatively.
"I hope you do. Now," he stood up and stretched, and Tugger itched to do the same, before thinking of what happened the last time he had moved his arm like Munkustrap was. "Let's get you some breakfast.
