A/N: Sorry for the insufferably long delay, everyone. The last few months
of school were utter hell, and I have a commitment to boot camp in about a
week, but until then I shall do my best to juggle upcoming chapters with
everything else in my book! (Special apologies to Jesta, and thanks for
the encouragement! ^.^) I'll try to get through the filler chapters as
quickly as possible without missing any important plot bunnies…and I
promise all the naughty little careless errors in grammar and typing and
such will be mended when I begin corrections. PS: I know this chapter's
short, but just hang in there my little anoraks! *insane laughter*
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine…(two simple words can bring such sadness, ne?)
Old Deuteronomy lay in his usual place on the vicarage wall, enjoying the feel of stray sunbeams dancing across his face and half-listening to his human, the vicar, speaking to his own little tribe about the values he gave to them to uphold in life. He rarely spent much time at the Junkyard anymore, if nothing else but for the fact that he was getting on in years and savoured every lazy moment he could find. It was also better for the Tribe itself that he wasn't available to solve their every little problem. Munkustrap would soon be their leader, and they would have to learn to trust the silver tabby as much as they trusted him, if not more. Deuteronomy took advantage of this to spend more time with his human pet. The vicar was a kind man, old enough to be content simply sitting with the Jellicle Leader and scratching his ears, keeping him company with idle conversation.
The old tabby twitched his tail affably as his protégé approached reverently, leaping up to the wall and waiting silently. "Yes, Munkustrap?"
The younger cat – no longer surprised at the Leader's ability to sense his identity after an unfortunate encounter with the shrubbery on the other side of the vicarage wall – lowered his body down to a position of humility. "I must confess I am at a loss, sir…current events at the Junkyard seem a bit out of the ordinary, to put it lightly."
His attention caught, Deuteronomy carefully shifted his position so that he was facing the silver tom and urged him to continue.
"Well, sir, it actually began a day or so ago, but I thought it best to wait and see if the problem could be solved easily before petitioning your aid. Demeter woke me up one night recently saying that one of the younger kittens was in trouble. Electra was waiting for me, upset to the point of tears, and led us – Demeter and I, sir – to Mr. Mistoffelees' pipe…"
Munkustrap paused there for a moment. "Yes?" the older Jellicle said softly. "What happened?"
"He was…on the floor, sir, I don't know exactly what happened. Electra was saying something about coming in and finding him like that, but it was hard to understand her through her tears. At first, I thought he was only exhausted and was sleeping, but he was shivering uncontrollably, and his whiskers twitched…almost like he was dreaming. Sir…most of his body was freezing, but the area around his heart was burning up."
"That certainly does sound strange, now. Have you been able to find anything more about what happened?"
"No, sir, but I am worried. Mistoffelees himself does not seem inclined to talk about it, and some of the other cats have heard bits and pieces about it and are asking for an answer."
The aging Leader caught the unspoken query in his voice. "A leader's life is a bitter brew, Munkustrap, as you have undoubtedly realized by now. Sometimes it is hard to ken when we should leave matters as they are and when the best time is to seek an immediate answer. I think right now the best solution is simply to sit back and watch. Trust those you lead, my son. An answer will present itself soon enough. We do not always have to go searching for one."
Silently, Munkustrap nodded, and took his leave. Deuteronomy watched him go with a wry look in his deep eyes. Somehow he had the feeling that this matter ran deeper than it appeared to.
* * * * *
Just a few more steps, he told his bleeding paws as he limped onto the dirty cobblestones. He didn't have to have anyone tell him this was Tottenham Court Road; the smells of rotting garbage and the sight of desperate humans sleeping beside their roadside flower baskets were testimony enough. Vainly he longed to veer off and surrender himself to sleep in one of their wicker baskets – surely one of these humans could benefit from a cat's company – but his body kept stubbornly plodding along. He didn't need the conscious guidance of his mind – that was occupied with other things. He had no discernible purpose, anyway, unless it were to prove to himself through some rough revelation that his ephemeral existence gave some hint of aid or service back to the world. With a regretful pang he remembered that his late pets had kept many interesting books, a fact which he had discovered and utilized on the countless nights after someone had inadvertently left the old table-lamp burning, one of which had explained the concept of dharma. The idea of owing a debt to the world seemed to hit a sore point with many others, but it slid into Mistoffelees' philosophy like just another piece of the puzzle. It seemed fitting that he should give something back to the world which had given him the blessing of life, although sometimes its gifts were overshadowed by the hardships, and what better way than through his magic?
He stopped that train of thought before it had a chance to give form to the unuttered fear that had always haunted him: But what good is just another clown?
So intent was he on his inner struggle that he did not notice the paperboy, also lost in his thoughts, until the bicycle was almost on top of him.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine…(two simple words can bring such sadness, ne?)
Old Deuteronomy lay in his usual place on the vicarage wall, enjoying the feel of stray sunbeams dancing across his face and half-listening to his human, the vicar, speaking to his own little tribe about the values he gave to them to uphold in life. He rarely spent much time at the Junkyard anymore, if nothing else but for the fact that he was getting on in years and savoured every lazy moment he could find. It was also better for the Tribe itself that he wasn't available to solve their every little problem. Munkustrap would soon be their leader, and they would have to learn to trust the silver tabby as much as they trusted him, if not more. Deuteronomy took advantage of this to spend more time with his human pet. The vicar was a kind man, old enough to be content simply sitting with the Jellicle Leader and scratching his ears, keeping him company with idle conversation.
The old tabby twitched his tail affably as his protégé approached reverently, leaping up to the wall and waiting silently. "Yes, Munkustrap?"
The younger cat – no longer surprised at the Leader's ability to sense his identity after an unfortunate encounter with the shrubbery on the other side of the vicarage wall – lowered his body down to a position of humility. "I must confess I am at a loss, sir…current events at the Junkyard seem a bit out of the ordinary, to put it lightly."
His attention caught, Deuteronomy carefully shifted his position so that he was facing the silver tom and urged him to continue.
"Well, sir, it actually began a day or so ago, but I thought it best to wait and see if the problem could be solved easily before petitioning your aid. Demeter woke me up one night recently saying that one of the younger kittens was in trouble. Electra was waiting for me, upset to the point of tears, and led us – Demeter and I, sir – to Mr. Mistoffelees' pipe…"
Munkustrap paused there for a moment. "Yes?" the older Jellicle said softly. "What happened?"
"He was…on the floor, sir, I don't know exactly what happened. Electra was saying something about coming in and finding him like that, but it was hard to understand her through her tears. At first, I thought he was only exhausted and was sleeping, but he was shivering uncontrollably, and his whiskers twitched…almost like he was dreaming. Sir…most of his body was freezing, but the area around his heart was burning up."
"That certainly does sound strange, now. Have you been able to find anything more about what happened?"
"No, sir, but I am worried. Mistoffelees himself does not seem inclined to talk about it, and some of the other cats have heard bits and pieces about it and are asking for an answer."
The aging Leader caught the unspoken query in his voice. "A leader's life is a bitter brew, Munkustrap, as you have undoubtedly realized by now. Sometimes it is hard to ken when we should leave matters as they are and when the best time is to seek an immediate answer. I think right now the best solution is simply to sit back and watch. Trust those you lead, my son. An answer will present itself soon enough. We do not always have to go searching for one."
Silently, Munkustrap nodded, and took his leave. Deuteronomy watched him go with a wry look in his deep eyes. Somehow he had the feeling that this matter ran deeper than it appeared to.
* * * * *
Just a few more steps, he told his bleeding paws as he limped onto the dirty cobblestones. He didn't have to have anyone tell him this was Tottenham Court Road; the smells of rotting garbage and the sight of desperate humans sleeping beside their roadside flower baskets were testimony enough. Vainly he longed to veer off and surrender himself to sleep in one of their wicker baskets – surely one of these humans could benefit from a cat's company – but his body kept stubbornly plodding along. He didn't need the conscious guidance of his mind – that was occupied with other things. He had no discernible purpose, anyway, unless it were to prove to himself through some rough revelation that his ephemeral existence gave some hint of aid or service back to the world. With a regretful pang he remembered that his late pets had kept many interesting books, a fact which he had discovered and utilized on the countless nights after someone had inadvertently left the old table-lamp burning, one of which had explained the concept of dharma. The idea of owing a debt to the world seemed to hit a sore point with many others, but it slid into Mistoffelees' philosophy like just another piece of the puzzle. It seemed fitting that he should give something back to the world which had given him the blessing of life, although sometimes its gifts were overshadowed by the hardships, and what better way than through his magic?
He stopped that train of thought before it had a chance to give form to the unuttered fear that had always haunted him: But what good is just another clown?
So intent was he on his inner struggle that he did not notice the paperboy, also lost in his thoughts, until the bicycle was almost on top of him.