Apologetic Opening Authoressial Note: Oh man, it's been SO LONG since my last update. I seriously hate it when that happens. But I have my reasons, and they are stated in the (really long) EAN. But I'll stick an apology up here just 'cuz: I AM SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME. Look at my sad face. :(
Disclaimer: Guess what? There's actually stuff in this that belongs to ME! Except for the obvious. Like Javert. And Valjean. Cosette, too. OH FINE, I'll admit it. Les Miz isn't mine. …Now everyone gasp in shock and disbelief to make me feel better.
Two cats sat on top of the piano in the sitting room of 1463 Rue de Luce. One of them was black, with sleek, glossy fur and a vaguely irate look about its features. The other was a tomcat, its red-brown fur short and scruffy and the corners of its mouth turned up in what was undeniably a smirk.
The black cat stiffened sharply and let out a sharp, brief yowl. In response, the tomcat lazily lifted a paw and cuffed his companion on the ear.
Why, how, these are all deep philosophical questions better left to those who are still human. That Vivaldi guy got me too, though. I thought he was just bein' nice and friendly, buyin' me a drink. Next thing I know, I'm sayin' it tastes a bit funny an' then WHAM! I'm unconscious. I wake up, I'm a cat. Green eyes narrowed and peered at Javert through the darkness. I must say, you seem to be handlin' this rather well. I've had some blokes attack me because they can't take the weirdness.
One of Javert's ears twitched back. Suffice it to say that I've experienced something like this before.
A flash of kitty canines in an attempt at a grin. And survived? Good for you! But I wouldn't get too keen on thinking you can get out of this one, bro.
What do you mean? Javert inquired, one of his ears twitching back as he frowned.
I mean that Vivaldi's only the messenger boy. There's this lady behind it all, and she's got a system. A working system. And she's got it down pat. Perhaps it was mentioned while you were in her presence that you had to stay with them for a while?
Yes. I was curious about that, as a matter of fact. Javert leaned forward. Raymond nodded.
Well, here's how it works. She gets Vivaldi to turn ya into a cat. Then she gives you her whole "blah blah blah" speech, I dunno, I wasn't listening at the time. Too busy tryin' to claw her face off, y'dig? After that, the redhead takes you and dumps you in a room somewhere. The thing is, this room always has an escape route. No matter how small it may seem, it's never too small for a cat to get through.
What are you trying to say?
Raymond's tail swished irritably. I'm sayin' it's part of the plan. The process, if you will. Everyone gets turned into a cat, and everyone escapes. Then everyone turns back human, usually after about a week. I guess whatever Vivaldi gives ya wears off by about then. But don't get too excited, bro. It's when you're human again that you've really got to watch out.
There was a brief period of silence before Javert's patience ran out.
Wh –
Because that's when the kid shows up.
Raymond leapt off the piano and onto the floor, making a soundless landing. Javert followed, but chose to hop first to the piano bench and then to the floor, not quite trusting himself to jump that far in his feline form.
No one's seen the kid look the same. His hair color changes, his clothing changes, his accent and his slang change. But his eyes are always the same. One's gray, the other's green. Then again, it doesn't matter what he looks like, because his personality is always the same, too.
The two cats padded through the house and into the kitchen. He shows up out of nowhere. No one else ever seems to notice him. He acts like he wants to be your friend, but not really, because he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's insane. And he – Raymond stiffened all of a sudden. Ah, snap. I gotta run.
What? No! You can't just –
I can, and I gotta, Raymond insisted with a strained yowl. Us fully-transformed kitties, we can't stay in the house for too long or – or we get in trouble, 'kay? Just be sure to get outta here before you turn back, and – hang it. I can't stay. He leapt up to the open kitchen window. Catch me tomorrow, bro! I'll be in the garden!
As he leapt out the window, he left a final yowl hanging in the air. The collar! Watch out for the collar!
A frustrated Javert watched him disappear. After a moment, though, he cheered up. At least he knew more than he had earlier. Even if it had involved a talking cat.
~x^^x~
The next morning, Javert was awoken by a half-asleep Valjean treading on his tail. With a cross between a shriek and a yowl, he shot across the room, banged into the cabinets beneath the counter, and then proceeded to scramble for cover underneath the table, where he lurked and fumed, in pain and feeling thoroughly undignified.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" Valjean exclaimed, sounding truly contrite. "So that's where you got to. Cosette was looking for you last night. I am sorry, chat." He tried to coax Javert out from underneath the table, but the former inspector was having none of it. "Well, when you decide to come out, there will be breakfast for you."
This peace offering did not affect Javert in the slightest, mainly because he wasn't hungry. At the first opportunity, he took himself and his still-throbbing tail and went outside via the route Raymond had taken the previous night. He wasn't quite as graceful about it, though, and ended up falling off the windowsill into the bushes below.
As it turned out, this was only the beginning of what ended up being a very bad day.
Raymond was not in the garden. In fact, he wasn't anywhere. Javert tried speaking to several of the other cats, but they either couldn't or wouldn't converse with him. It was two in the afternoon when he finally got fed up and cornered one of the smaller cats, a timid-looking creature with light gray fur and blue eyes.
What's going on here? he snarled, going into full interrogation mode as the cat mewled in terror and pressed itself up against the wall of the house. I can tell that something happened, and I want to know what. You're going to tell me.
The cat started to cry, a sound that was surprisingly loud especially considering its small size. Javert cuffed it on the ear, much as Raymond had done the same to him the night before.
Don't make me use force. And cut out that ridiculous racket.
I can't! it wailed hysterically. Anyone who talks will probably end up the same –
It broke off, clamping its tiny mouth shut. Javert's ears went back.
Go on.
Its only response was to start crying again. Before Javert could say anything else, he was bodily tackled and sent sprawling across the yard. His self-defense instincts kicking in, he struggled out from underneath his attacker and whirled to find himself facing a yellowish tabby that was at least a size bigger than he was.
Leave him alone, the tabby snarled. All the fur on its back was standing on end, and it looked ready to fight. You're the newcomer. You don't know what it's like.
Maybe I WOULD if someone would TELL me! Javert shot back, his body coiled in an attack crouch. But all I'm getting is vague hints and –
You don't get to KNOW until it happens to you, hissed the tabby. That's the rule.
Whose rule? I thought cats didn't follow rules, Javert spat contemptuously. The tabby's eyes narrowed.
We're not just cats, though. We were people, once – all of us. And we've seen the price to be paid for disobeying. Raymond was a fool. Not only did he stay inside the house for far too long, but he talked to you about all kinds of things that he should never have mentioned to anyone. Ever.
Oh, really? That doesn't sound foolish to me. That sounds more like he was trying to be helpful. Now it was Javert's turn to narrow his eyes. Trying to be BRAVE. Unlike the rest of –
He didn't get to finish his sentence. The tabby cat leapt at him, and Javert was ready for it. As a hissing, spitting catfight ensued, the gray cat from earlier started crying even louder.
Javert should have been at a disadvantage, but unlike his opponent, he knew how to fight – in a human body, at least. Adapting his knowledge to his feline form, he ducked under a flying leap from the other cat, twisted his body, and delivered a powerful kick to his opponent with one of his hind legs. Amazingly, the tabby seemed mostly unfazed, diving for him and digging its claws into his back. Javert yelped in pain and surprise as it also fastened its teeth into the skin at the back of his neck.
Out of nowhere, ice-cold water descended upon the pair, causing them to leap apart with startled cries. The tabby fled to a distant part of the yard, while Javert remained in place, shaking himself off and looking up to glower at the culprit.
Valjean's hand descended upon Javert's feline form and grabbed him by his already-injured neck scruff, hauling him effortlessly into the air. "Really? A fight? I had expected more out of you."
Well, I'm sorry I don't meet your high standards of feline behavior, Javert yowled. Valjean ignored him, holding the cat against his chest as he inspected the hand that had picked him up.
"Oh, dear! You're bleeding! That won't do at all. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you'd gotten injured. Come to think of it, that cat was much bigger than you. He probably started it, didn't he? Don't worry. I'll get you fixed up in no time."
As it turned out, the injuries were not very bad at all. The fight had been brief and fairly unimpressive, and the damage inflicted on Javert, at any rate, reflected this. However, he did like to think that the tabby would be nursing a giant bruise later from that kick. It had been a rather impressive kick.
"You're staying inside for the rest of the day," Valjean said, his tone of voice reprimanding. "I don't want you getting into any more trouble."
Javert glared at him sullenly from the position he had taken up on top of the piano. The tip of his tail flicked defiantly. Fine.
As Valjean left the room, Javert noticed his hand rest on the piano keys for just a second, and a pang of guilt made his ear twitch back. It then proceeded to get stuck that way, which led to him batting at his head with one paw, losing his concentration, and falling off the piano for the second time in as many days.
#! I HATE BEING A CAT!
~x^^x~
"What happened, Vivaldi?"
The redhead knelt in front of the woman, his head bowed. "The one named Raymond took a chance. He remained in your house beyond the allotted time period and gave Inspector Javert vital information regarding our practices."
"And have you dealt with the situation?"
"Yes, my lady. The rulebreaker has been… detained."
"And suitably punished?"
"Of course."
"And what of the inspector? He is clever, he would not simply let it go at that."
"He attempted to obtain further information from the other feline residents. They would not disclose anything to him, and one of them got into a fight with him over his inquiries."
"Excellent. My plan is coming along very nicely. And I think we can safely disregard anything that this Raymond may have told our good inspector. After all, my kitten does his job very well."
There was a brief pause, and then Vivaldi was dismissed. With a bow, he made his way out into the hall, where someone was waiting for him.
"Well?"
Vivaldi sighed. "You'll be going in soon."
"Yippee! You should look more excited, Viv. After all, this is only the culmination of how many years of hard work…?"
"Exactly. You forget, I never wanted to be a part of this in the first place."
A hand reached up and chucked him lightly under the chin. "Chill out, Viv. You forget, Madame saved your life. You owe heeeerrrr."
Vivaldi's expression darkened. "A life for a life hardly seems fair."
"Yeah, well, life ain't fair. Figure it out." So saying, his fellow conversationalist skipped off down the corridor, leaving Vivaldi to slump against the wall and bring a hand up to brush against the scar on his face.
"…Brat."
A3: Yo. So, it's apology time.
Enjolras: Dang straight.
A3: Shut up, you don't get to talk yet. (Official ahem-ing) I AM VERY SORRY THAT I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG AND LEFT YOU ALL WITH KIND OF A TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGER. But I have a reason! And this time, it isn't ninjas.
Pretty much I had this whole thing where I somehow came to the conclusion that this was not a good story, none of you liked it, and I should simply let it lapse into obscurity and oblivion. Part of this was also because I was stressing over the plot and its intricacies and whatnot, and worrying that I might inadvertently make a mistake.
And then one night, while I was cleaning the kitchen – it was around midnight-ish – I said to myself, "Hey! I am writing a fanfiction about a very serious man from a very serious novel getting turned into a cat. …WHY AM I EVEN WORRYING ABOUT THIS." And just like that, I pounded out chapter 11 (the next day, though) and HERE IT IS. I will proceed to no longer worry excessively about it, because it's already ridiculous (but the FUN kind), not to mention a rough draft, and therefore there shall be no more of these 3-month hiatus-thingies.
ALRIGHT, the rest of you may speak now.
Enjolras: I don't feel like speaking. Sacre bleu, my HEAD. What happened…?
All: (Uncomfortable silence)
Courfeyrac: Um… well, you see, Oh Great and Fearless, not to mention Most Dignified, Leader –
A3: Nah, you'd better shut it, Courfey. It's probably better that he doesn't know. It'll let him keep him sense of personal dignity.
Courfeyrac: Yeah, you're probably right.
Enjolras: …Hunh? What are you two talking about? OW SERIOUSLY MY ACHING HEAD.
Grantaire: What you're currently experiencing, Apollo, is commonly known as a –
Courfeyrax+A3: DON'T TELL HIM!
Grantaire: - hangover.
Enjolras: …WHAT.
A3: HE SPEAKS BLATHER. Don't listen to him. Listen to me! You tripped and hit your head! You just don't remember it because you've got, um, temporary amnesia, yeah!
Enjolras: (Glower) WOMAN.
A3: (Glower back) PRETTY-BOY.
Bahorel: Oh, for Heaven's sake. Enjolras, you inhaled massive amounts of sugary substances at an alarming rate (Skittles), experienced the sugar-high of the century (last chapter), and just woke up from a massive sugar crash (now). Your headache is a hangover, one brought about by the aforementioned events.
Enjolras: I… have… a hangover?
Grantaire: (Sage nod) That's what I said.
A3: A SUGAR hangover. Let's be specific, dude –
Enjolras: (Roar) I HAVE A HANGOVER? YOU MEAN I ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON WITH THAT DEGENERATE SPECIMEN OF HUMANITY? (Stabs finger in direction of Grantaire)
A3: Well, it's awfully mean of you to call him degenerate, I mean he's not bad-looking and when he's not drunk out of his skull he makes for quite an amiable conversationali –
Enjolras: !
Courfeyrac: Oh good, now he's too mad to do anything but emit punctuation marks until he cools off a bit. This used to happen at our meetings sometimes, you know. Never made it into the book, though. Not very grammatically correct.
A3: You know about the book?
Courfeyrac: Well, duh.
Enjolras: !
A3: Trying to chew through the chains with your teeth won't do you any good. They're CHAINS, ducky. …Made out of reinforced steel.
Enjolras: !
A3: I know you hate me. And you'd better watch that mouth, or I'll get Erik to gag you again. And you know how he LOVED doing that last time.
Erik: (Whips rag out from a pocket) OH DO LET ME.
Enjolras: ! & ? & !
A3: How long does it usually take him to –
Bahorel: 'Bout an hour. At the café, we used to just play cards and ignore him until he became sensible again. Either that, or we'd dump a bucket of cold water over his head. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it just made him madder and we had to wait longer.
A3: Hmm. Well, we'd better do the closing plea for reviews, then. Combeferre, would you like to – oof.
Bahorel: (Elbows her) He's conked out in the corner over there. Apparently caffeine doesn't agree with him.
A3: Oh, he'd better not have a hangover TOO when he wakes up. I don't think I can deal with two revolutionaries with sugar hangovers…
Courfeyrac: Hey readers! If you give us reviews, we'll use them to make cold compresses for Enjolras and Combeferre! You will be making the Authoress AND our leader and his second-in-command ALL happier! So, what do you say? PLEEEEEASE? Ha, it's not like you can resist my gorgeous pleading face anyway…
Bahorel: That last comment probably ruined all our chances of getting reviews from anyone, pretty-boy. Thanks a lot.
Courfeyrac: HEY! What? I AM –
Bahorel: Yeah yeah, whatever. IGNORE HIM, ladies and gentlemen. And do forgive the Authoress for her long absence. She did apologize, after all. And also, just for the record – I'm far better-looking than he is. I'VE got a MOUSTACHE. *Strokes it*
Courfeyrac: MOUSTACHES ARE SO –
A3: HEY! What are you guys doing? This is way too long already, END IT!
Bahorel+Courfeyrac: BUT –
A3: I SAID END IT.
