TITLE: THE SORROWFUL TALE OF MISS KITTY FANTASTICO 8/?
Author: Molossus
Rating: PG
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know so that I can do the Snoopy dance.
Summary: A small tale wherein we explore the circumstances and events surrounding the disappearance of Miss Kitty Fantastico. Spike/Dawn friendship.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and ME own the universe that Spike adorns. I just worship there.
Note: I want to thank my beta Jenny for helping me to work the snarls out of the twisted braid I have woven here. Any mistakes are mine, she probably told me to take them out and I was too stubborn to do it.
Email:
Previously: Miss Dawn approaches her fifteenth birthday. Mr. Spike, having no funds, can think of no way to buy her the crossbow she wants until he stumbles across a kitten whose resemblance to Miss Kitty Fantastico leads him to conceive of a plan. He heads to the 'Fish Tank' where he has a confrontation with Ph'ulup'thhButt, a demon he has never met before. After examining the kitten Mr. Clem agrees to contact a group of cat-worshipping demons, who have previously expressed interest in Miss Kitty and to tell them that he has one of Miss Kitty's kittens. Miss Dawn unexpectedly visits Mr. Spike at the crypt and thinks Mr. Spike should keep the kitten. He and Mr. Clem stage an act to convince Miss Dawn the kitten cannot stay with Mr. Spike.
CHAPTER 8
Mr. Spike's leap left him for a long moment suspended in the sunlight, a leathered crow aloft on dark wings. Though his flight through the light was brief - a fleeting passage from shadow to shadow - smoke already danced with feathered feet about his head. As was his wont when he was disturbed, Mr. Spike was taking chances. The need to focus on the physical, to measure to the moment the length of time he could defy this natural enemy, this effort took the foremost of his thought and made other worry fade for a time. In the same way that he was driven to seek out and challenge slayers, so was he driven to seek out and challenge the sun.
Mr. Spike felt his wrist and palm seized and held by tiny claws so tiny teeth could have their way. He peered into his pocket, thinking for a moment that perhaps the kitten was frightened, but jungle green eyes gleaming with kitten mischief assured him that she found flying to be a wonderful game and she wished only to participate in the fun.
"Oh! No! She totally loves you... she'll be unhappy with anyone else!"
Miss Dawn's words poked at him - prickly little words - that pricked his conscience when there should have been no conscience to prick and he was sore confused. Why was Dawn so sad about the kitten? Why should he care what a kitten felt? Dawn was going to get her crossbow. That would make her happy, make him happy. He and Clem were going to get money which would make them both happy. And the kitten... that kitten was going to be a Goddess! What was there about this situation that could possibly be wrong? Why did he have this... feeling that somehow he was screwing up?
Mr. Spike sighed and chose to dash through another sun-dappled patch of ground rather than traversing through shadowed safety.
He erupted through the 'Fish Tank' door - a wraith wreathed about in smoky plumes - frantically spanking at the sparks that danced about his head, all the while attempting to hold back the kitten. She had latched onto his coat sleeve, laddered her way up his arm and swung her paws into wild gleeful swipes, determined to catch the elusive sparks. Once the inferno was quenched and the kitten secured, Mr. Spike glanced at the clock overhead – almost noon – right on time. Uncertain of his welcome, he cast a wary eye at b'Huh who gave him a slow measured stare but made no protest when he made his way to the booth where Mr. Clem and another demon conversed over a pitcher of Yak urine.
"Spike!" Mr. Clem rose up from the table in a sudden rush as though frightened that Mr. Spike would not see them or would perhaps change his mind and turn to leave where he had just entered. His words spurted forth in a tumble. "This is Mafdet, fifteenth holder of the clan denomination Mau. If she decides the kitten is worthy of ascent to Mau designation then she'll be the kitty's body servant... you know... fetch and carry, every desire... Mafdet, this is Spike and that's the kitten... which you probably figured out... " Mr. Clem's smile seemed to slide from his face slowly as though tacked there with a faulty pin. He sat down.
Miss Mafdet stared for a few long moments, the blinking of her large, bisected eyes and the twitching of her rosette-tipped nose the only movement she made. With a suddenness that was shocking her expression became scornful and mocking, her features twisted into a frightful face – ears flattened to her head, eyes slendered into slits, teeth rendered into pointed threat and when she spoke her words punched at them like bullets.
"You are a vampire."
"That a problem?" "I'm sure I mentioned that." Mr. Spike and Mr. Clem spoke at the same time but Miss Mafdet chose to respond only to Mr. Spike, her now unblinking eyes - predator eyes - boring into his, her malevolent scowl smoothed into a still and steady glare.
"Vampires stink."
Mr. Spike was wounded. He cared little for the opinion of someone he had just met, but the injustice – that someone who was enjoying a pint of yak urine should complain about the way HE smelled...
Mr. Spike became as still and motionless as Miss Mafdet – two predators staring one another down. The patrons at nearby tables rose and left as though the temperature had dropped and they wished to seek out warmer climes. The clock on the wall struck twelve. Then Miss Mafdet's face shifted into that shocking, mocking scowl...
Mr. Clem was the most moderate of fellows - normally a bit timid - but on this occasion he smelled neither vampire nor urine but rather the smell of minted green money and he showed a flash of true grit by jumping up once again and approaching Mr. Spike to take hold of the kitten.
"Hey, let's get down to business. Mafdet, why don't you take a look at our little princess here..."
His words brought Mr. Spike back from that place of hurt and anger he had been inhabiting and reminded him of his goal. Mr. Spike closed his eyes, took a deep breath and rotated his neck. He reminded himself... this was for Dawn...
Mr. Clem was struggling with a kitten that refused to be dislodged. As though they were a species of tiny burr, she sank the claws from one paw into the leather of Mr. Spike's coat. No sooner would Mr. Clem succeed in freeing all the claws from that paw then he would find that another paw had affixed itself. The kitten had only four feet but Mr. Clem had only two hands and the kitten was winning.
Mr. Spike forced a smile to his face and removed the kitten from Mr. Clem. "Let me do the honors."
He moved the kitten - who immediately loosened her death grip – into the crook of his neck, and showed one and all how well he had learned the lesson of scratching itchy ears. He spoke to the kitten in a low, calming voice.
"Filthy little rat. You punctured my coat. Should break your neck." The kitten purred with contentment and Mr. Spike sat down in the booth – crowding closely to Miss Mafdet, who composed her features into that deadly scowl but made no other protest.
"The kitten has bonded with you."
Mr. Spike fought panic. These words were uncomfortably close to Miss Dawn's very words and he worried that this would be a deal breaker. He began to envision backup schemes. Possibilities and drawbacks hurried through his head. He could just kill Mafdet – he'd like that – and take the money. Clem wouldn't be happy but would surely back him up in a claim that Mafdet had never arrived in Sunnydale. They'd have to be careful about spending the money – wouldn't want it traced - but he should still be able to get the crossbow.
"A slayer would feel an affinity to vampires. I would have thought it would be hostile, but given your relation to the current slayer perhaps her attachment is not so unusual. Please put the candidate on the table so that I may examine her."
To say that Mr. Spike was of two minds at this moment would be generous. He was quite attached to the idea of killing Mafdet. He did not like Mafdet. But that plan had greater risks and so he took a deep breath, let go of his annoyance and allowed his relief to come to the fore. The original plan was viable. The original plan was good. The original plan wouldn't be nearly as much fun but he would stick to it like he should. He removed the kitten from his neck and placed her on the table. She had fallen asleep and protested vociferously.
Miss Mafdet's entire demeanor shifted. Where before her features became fierce they now somehow seemed softer, her head was tilted, her eyes dancing with amusement as she listened to the kitten yowl. Her profession was shown in sharp relief by the manner in which she handled the cat – no manner of weight shifting, no burr-like claws saved the kitten this time. These were trained hands that removed her from Mr. Spike's grasp and they anticipated weight shifts and were already in place to deflect tiny teeth or clasping claws. Miss Mafdet seemed to be testing her reflexes, her willingness to fight, almost letting her go, almost letting her return then at the last moment stopping her. At no time did Miss Mafdet's grasp become too hard or too heavy but at no time was the kitten able to go more than a few inches before she was brought back to her original place. After a while the kitten's yowls changed in pitch sliding the scale from anger to anxiety and she trembled and held still, her eyes pleading with Mr. Spike to rescue her.
"Here now! You're hurtin' her. That's no way to treat a Goddess."
Mr. Spike had restrained himself – withholding the blistering comments that had bubbled onto his tongue, swallowing his bile - but he could hold back no longer. This mangy cat-worshipper was mishandling his cat!
Miss Mafdet's mouth moved into what could only be a smile of amusement. "She feels no physical discomfort. She fights well and is unhappy with defeat. A warrior spirit. I accept your claimant as an initiate to Designate Mau. She must be cleansed of your vampire foulness and then she will be suitable for her ascension to Godhood."
"You're not going to kill her or anything are you?" Mr. Spike couldn't stop the words coming from his mouth. He had what he wanted. The kitten had been accepted. What did he care about the kitten's fate? It was just the yowls grating on his nerves making him question where he did not care.
"You're not going to kill her... are you?"
Miss Mafdet's mouth condescendingly smiled again. "Dead cats bear no kittens. Were you not a vampire we would seek to retain your services as her servant. Unfortunately, your taint would contaminate her holy presence. You will be the only wish she will be denied. She will forget you soon enough."
The melancholy that had bled through Mr. Spike before he found the kitten - the melancholy that had dissipated upon his discovery - now descended upon him like a leaden cloak – as though the kitten had removed it and now returned it as she moved on to another life.
Miss Mafdet placed lovely bundles of cash upon the table and as though he observed from a distance he saw Mr. Clem's claws twitch with anticipation. He waited for the feelings to come. Mafdet was stupid to put all that money out on view like that. Why wasn't he upset? Clem was eyeing that money with a little too much greed. Why wasn't he angry? He had achieved his goal. The crossbow was as good as got. Dawn would be happy. Why wasn't he happy? It was the yowling. That was it. The yowling grating on his nerves. He'd be fine as soon as the kitten was gone, as soon as he no longer heard the yowls.
Mr. Spike observed as Miss Mafdet reached under the table to pull forth a cage, sumptuously lined in silks and velvets. He observed as she placed the kitten into the velvet cage. He observed as she got up and moved away and went out the door.
After a few moments, Mr. Spike sniffed loudly, seemingly come back to his normal state of mind. Sneering slightly he looked over the room gauging the few patrons as though to determine if any were paying attention to business not their own. After a few moments he seemed satisfied and began to parcel out the money without counting.
"Want something better n' yak urine?" He asked Mr. Clem.
"Oh yeah. Yak's not my urine of choice."
"Right then. My treat."
Ignoring Mr. Clem's startled but gratified expression, Mr. Spike strode off to find b'Huh.
"What'll it be?" b'Huh wasn't happy having Mr. Spike in his bar but was quite content with the opportunity to take his money.
"J.D. - Bottle." Mr. Spike figured he had enough money to splurge and maybe after a few drinks he wouldn't hear that damn yowling anymore.
TBC...