30 Tales of Sweet Ginger
the second tale.
word count: 2,444 words.
note: the senior puss squad training together while they were teamed up is my headcanon. this drabble is inspired by a nightwing/starfire dance from the movie teen titans: the judas contract. also i'm bad at flirting.
"You can do it, Duchie!"
The Duchess, effectively startled, turned her head to face Artephius, and blushed as madly as a bride when their eyes locked—but the distraction was to be her downfall. With a devious smirk on her face, the Sphinx pushed herself up from the floor in a crouch, her tail swishing agitatedly, before she dashed forward with the powerful beat of her wings—and aimed her blue firebolts.
"Take…that!"
The Eldritch Witch turned her head just in time, but it was too late—she shrieked a hellish shriek as the Sphinx's cerulean firebolts hit her on the chest and she fell from the air. Artephius scrambled to catch her, though the two of them only ended up rolling over the plaza's dusty ground until she ended up staring down at him.
"Ooh, hey there, mon cherie," cooed Artephius when he found himself pinned onto the ground, his voice suggestive and low. He was ridiculously wriggling his eyebrows up at her as he reached up a hand to tuck a strand of her behind the Duchess' ear. "Didn't see you there."
The blush on the Duchess' face was undecidedly flustered or angry.
She settled for angry.
"Ugh!" She scrambled up from Artephius, her face and neck still furiously flushed. "I am so not speaking to you, Arty! It's your fault I just lost!"
"W-wait, Duchy," Artephius stammered, getting up from the ground, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it! Forgive me, please? Please! I'll do anything! Duchy!"
His voice faded as he followed the angrily stomping Duchess who made it clear from her yelling that she wanted absolutely nothing from him.
As the two left the plaza, Puss put two fingers on the bridge of between his eyes and sighed, exasperated. "This again…"
The Sphinx was flying around the air, apparently the only one of them who didn't give a care about the town's resident magicians' budding relationship. Or whatever it is they had. "Whoop! Hey, I won the match, right? Does this mean I can go get back to slee—I mean…guarding…the town?"
Puss sighed. "Right. Of course."
"Yes!" she sang happily, then was immediately on her way flapping her wings to the sky. Puss—and everyone else near the vicinity—coughed as the dust got stirred up from the ground.
Puss groaned into his paws afterward.
"The Duchess…" El Guante stepped forward to offer his opinion. "She has been a bit emotional lately, yes?"
"Indeed," answered Puss, "and it is not good for the team. She must stop being so distracted—she must focus! But not only the Duchess—all of us must focus in our training. But with one member down, we cannot train properly. Look at the Sphinx! She thinks she is already at her top shape when the only reason she defeated the Duchess is because she was distracted!" He was stomping around frustratedly, wildly throwing his hands up in the air. "We only have a month left till the Val—the…Walpur…!"
Ugh. He got even angrier at the fact that he did not even know how to pronounce the stupid day.
"The Walpurgisnacht," patiently supplied Dulcinea, walking from behind him with cookies and drinks on the tray she brought for them from the cantina.
"Yes," Puss melodramatically agreed, and, surely, the only reason his heart began beating faster was because his frustration was spiking. "It is nearly," he snatched a cup of leche from Dulcinea's tray, "that day, and we have not yet fully prepared our team for the danger that is to come."
Dulcinea rolled her eyes and moved to offer El Guante a cup and a cookie before settling down beside him as well, seated on the steps leading up to the Treasure House.
The first step was already done—he'd already gathered a team of heroes. El Guante Blanco and the Goodsword, the Sphinx, the Duchess, Dulcinea, and finally, him.
The second step was a little bit more difficult. They had to train.
Not only that—they had to train as a team.
Every day, Puss made certain that he fulfilled his role as a leader well. He would have his team members pair off and spar with each other. Sphinx against El Guante and his sword. The Duchess against Dulcinea. Him against the Sphinx. And on and on and on. Today, they had the Sphinx spar against the Duchess. Different opponents with different fighting styles every day. That way, they'd be ready how to fight against anyone—or anything—that can fly, perform magic, shoot projectiles, or engage in close-range combat.
After having interrogated Uli about the arrival of the Bloodwolf, it was finally revealed to them that the monster shall come on the day of the Walpurgisnacht. Artephius explained that the foreign word was literally translated to 'the Night of Walpurgis'. A little more research into myth and legends revealed that this Walpurgis was a vicious witch who utilized dark magic so ancient, it even preceded time.
And like any other witch, she had violent little familiars at her beck and call.
Puss cannot be certain what the future had in store for them, for San Lorenzo. Artephius himself said that they cannot be certain whether it really is dark magic that they're up against.
But he worried. If it really was dark sorcery they had to battle, then they'd have to be ready. He had to train their sorceress.
Their only sorceress.
And yet here she was, distracted by what was apparently a relapsing crush on a senile alchemist.
He was startled from his thoughts when he felt Dulcinea's paw land on his shoulder.
"Don't be mad at the Duchess, Puss," she placatingly pled, "I'm sure we'll figure this one out."
Puss sighed a big breath of air. He didn't even realize he'd been clenching his fists so tightly until now.
"I am sorry, I am sorry," he amended. "It is just that—our time is running out, and the Duchess—"
"Don't worry," Dulcinea cut off, collecting his empty cup of leche before walking up to El Guante and the Goodsword to collect theirs. Snack time is over. "She's just…confused. I'll go talk to her."
"No," he said, stopping her with a paw on her upper arm before she walked away. "I will talk to her. I am the leader, Dulcinea. This is my job."
She rolled her eyes. "This is girl talk, Puss, and leader or not—"
"It is my right to know everything that is bothering my team."
"Puss…"
Puss only crossed his arms over his chest and haughtily tapped at the floor with his boot, determined not to back away from her glare.
She sighed. "She's confused. We just suddenly dragged her back here in San Lorenzo and she's seeing Artephius for the first time and she—"
"—is distracted," he firmly asserted with an accusatory point of a finger, "and I mean to teach her a lesson how not to be."
"She's confused," Dulcinea insisted, pulling him back because he'd just attempted to walk past her, "and she needs help with her feelings! Why are we even arguing about this?"
Well…he paused. Even he cannot be certain. But ever since that incident where he failed the team as a leader and it was Dulcinea who took his place, well…he had been feeling quite…
Inferior to her.
Yes, yes, a disgusting proposition! But he cannot help it. He felt that…in comparison to Dulcinea…
He was a failure of a leader.
And he wanted to prove to her that he was not.
He shall be a good leader and talk to the Duchess himself. She shall see…!
"Oi, the two of you," interrupted El Guante Blanco from where he comfortably sat to watch the drama unfold. The two cats turned to face the smiling maestro. "How about we settle this productively, eh? Eh?"
A spark danced in Puss' green eyes as he saw through what his maestro was suggesting.
"Ahh." He let his fingers drum over the hilt of his sword like fingers on a piano and smirked over at Dulcinea. "Of this, I approve."
Dulcinea looked like she was keeping herself from bursting, but was able to compose herself quite quickly with a resigned exhale.
Poker-faced, she knelt and put her tray on the ground. When she stood, she held out a paw. The Goodsword, seeing her expectant look, obligingly flew to her grasp, and she tightened her fingers around his hilt.
"Ah, this shall be exciting," commented the Goodsword. Even El Guante Blanco looked on approvingly, leaning back on his seat with his arms crossed and a smug smirk on his face.
Puss strutted forward, gracefully gliding over the dusty ground like he was walking on water. He slowly drew out his sword and he circled Dulcinea when she began doing the same. They held their swords at the ready, every muscle tense, bodies angled away from each other and ready to back off, just in case the other one decided to attack first.
"Now that I think about it," Puss arrogantly started, "We do not usually train together."
She scoffed. "I wonder why that is, dear leader."
"I do not wish to pair myself with you only to fight you. I was being gallant."
Dulcinea rolled her eyes. "Gallant? Is it sad I predicted that kind of answer from you?"
He gasped. She better not be saying that he, Puss, in Boots, was predictable!
"Impossible…!"
"You're male," she deadpanned. "You're predictable."
"How rude. I am just being honest—I really do not want to fight you."
She arched a brow. "Then why do you suddenly want this fight now?"
"Ah, but I am not asking you to fight, señorita," he smirked, and finally lifted his sword. "I am asking you to dance."
She returned the smirk with a fleer of her own. "Took you long enough."
And she stepped forward to attack.
Puss sidestepped so Dulcinea tripped, then he moved behind her to attack—but she quickly recovered and spun around in place to block his sword with the flat side of the Goodsword's blade.
Then he began a series of parries that pushed Dulcinea back, but she deflected and suddenly it was her turn to deliver her parries and it was Puss flailing for the ripostes. They drew back from the fight to take a breath and circled each other, then clashed their swords again. Indeed, it was a dance—they seemed to float in the air, moving as gracefully as a couple would in a ballroom, the synchronization of their steps and attacks a choreography conducted by their tenacity to win.
Suddenly, his foil struck the Goodsword's metal blade—"Ooh, ouch!" the enchanted sword mock-exclaimed—and Puss twirled his weapon to disarm her in seconds, flinging the Goodsword away so that it was far out of her reach.
She gave him a disapproving look before running for it, but then he caught her by wrist and he pulled her to him, and she felt the entire world whirl around her until they were suddenly chest to chest.
She squirmed, but he had her caged in his arms and he was not letting her go. He knew it was foul play but what the heck, whatever it takes to win.
"Predictable, am I?"
"Puss!"
"I thought I had made it clear, my señorita," he began, smirking, "that I wanted a dance, not a fight."
He thought he saw a flicker of something pass through Dulcinea's sky blue eyes.
"Oh, Puss…" she said breathily, and suddenly Puss couldn't help the loud beating of his heart in his ribcage because he only had to move his head a little to the side and he could dip her a ki—
No. No. Uh-oh. Stop it! What had he gotten himself into? They were so, so close, and he realized that he himself was running short on breath. He could not stop his eyes from stealing a glance of her mouth and Dulcinea, Felina, why was she staring at him like that?
"Puss…"
He swallowed thickly. "…yes?"
She closed her eyes.
She closed her eyes.
…Felina, here, now?
Well, what can he say? He was a male. So he closed his eyes, too.
But as he leaned forward…
A sharp pain erupted from his shin and he realized that Dulcinea had kneed him. He fell forward with a manly cry of pain. Dulcinea quickly escaped from his arms and moved behind him to grab his wrist to make him fall backward instead. Soon, Puss' head collided against the floor with a dull thud, and when he opened his eyes, he was suddenly met with the tip of his own foil sword being pointed at the space in the middle of his eyes.
And he was gasping for breath because it all happened in two seconds flat.
"Pre-dic-tuh-ble," she sing-sang triumphantly.
Great. Apparently Dulcinea had managed to wrench his sword out of his paw, too.
Both El Guante Blanco and the Goodsword—who'd flown to his wielder's side by now—were hysterically guffawing like his utter humiliation was the funniest thing in the world.
"I…I demand a rematch," he objected dully. He would call her out for foul play, but even that sounded lame to his ears. He was the one who started it, after all.
Apparently, she thought so too, because she simply ignored it and smiled sweetly.
"Are you sure the Duchess is the one who needs lessons about distractions?" she asked, oh so ever sweetly, before dropping his sword to the ground beside him and walking away to pick up her tray. With one last triumphant smile at him, she sashayed her way out of their sight.
Puss grunted as he got up his feet, dusting off the dirt from his fur.
"She got you there, Ginger!" he heard El Guante laughingly remark as he put his sword back in its place on his leather belt.
He was not happy about this. He was the one who should be doing the romancing. He should be the expert on romancing! But no, he fell for it. He fell for a woman's charm—no—bewitchery—no—wiles, which should not have to happen if he had her fall for him first.
Unless he was losing his touch with the ladies.
Ugh. He needed to beat up some thieves. The Thieves' Market sounded a good place to sulk. He walked glumly to the stables where Babieca usually kept to himself, but El Guante's voice followed him still when the maestro's laughter finally calmed down to a breathy sigh—
"Ah, yes, Ginger. She got you good."
Puss groaned.
2
whirl.