Note- An apology to fans of a character who is killed. There will be more death ahead, though I have no intention of turning this into some cheap slaughter fic. My policy to avoiding madeups means that it always has to be a canon character who dies.
I don't own CATS.
Learn German: Zufrieren freeze up
Schmelzen melt.
I likes German.
----
4 (alonzo)
I think about the darkness of the city, and compare it to this.
In here, everything is padded and warm- you might say stifling. I would. The only sound is a gentle whirr from the kitchen, with an occasional click as the dishwasher does whatever it's doing to make those noises. The air doesn't flow; instead it slogs downwards to settle on me like a suffocating blanket, which always smells of the same thing. Sweaty socks, carpet cleaner, Windex, and leftovers are the cocktail of the human home. Sometimes a whiff of incense from Cassandra's prayer room blows my way, and I clap my paws over my nose so as not to wake her with a sneeze.
What light there is doesn't come from a car or streetlight, but from the gentle green luminescence of a Sony glow in the dark digital display clock. It bathes everything in the house that slight verdant tint, as though every table, chair, and fish is ill.
Beside me, Cassandra sighs in her sleep and turns over.
Staring at the ceiling grows boring, and I stretch upwards, letting my back make little cracking noises as it arches.
I still don't feel clean. I feel as though all the dirt from yesterday was not washed off, merely sunk under my skin, and now it rests there permanently. My eyes blur as through a layer of it is filming them over, but as the familiar pain rises in my throat, I realize that it is just tears that I haven't let come out, still clamoring to be shed.
Go away, I tell them silently, but they won't or don't hear me.
Admetus isn't sure what to do at first. His mouth flops open, and then snaps shut, as Bombalurina hits the Tugger squarely in the side, knocking him off his victim.
Like some sort of demon, he turns on her, eyes alight with madness, and she screams again, the second time in one night.
The tom makes up his mind in a flash, and he snaps away from staring at the fight to take Rumpelteazer by the shoulders. She is trying not to sob any more, but she doesn't know what else to do, and her breathing is ragged and rife with bursts of tears.
"Listen to me." He resists the urge to shake her, just to make sure she hears, but barely. "I want you to go get Alonzo, and tell him there's a fight going on, one cat's already badly hurt, and another one will be soon."
Eyes gaping wide, she nods assent, but says nothing.
Admetus lets go. "Who are you going to get, Rumpelteazer?" The question is punctuated by a shriek.
"'lonzo," she whispers, looking at the ground.
"What are you going to tell him?"
"'sa fight."
"Right. Run!"
For a minute, he watches the young queen dash away, then turns to the spectacle before him, and tries to think.
I crawl out of Cassandra's pillow heap, or house, or whatever they call it, and breathe deeply, but the air is just as thick out here, and I almost choke.
The tears have gone stale; the urge to shed them is less. Though it settles like a bad meal in the pit of my stomach, it no longer ravages my mind and throat. Instead, I feel confused, a bit scared, but peaceful, very peaceful. Maybe now, everything will start to go well once more.
The Sony clock flashes the number ten at me, and I feel as though I've slept too late. Ten already? How tired was I? And what of Cassandra, still asleep even now?
It'd be nice to think that the entire junkyard was at peace right now, asleep.
"'elp!" Her voice comes to her as she runs, bursting forth energetically from her throat. "There's a fight goin' on! 'elp!"
That isn't right, she is supposed to be fetching someone. Munkus- no, he is dead. Alonzo! She's supposed to be fetching Alonzo!
"Alonzo!" There, that's better. Where is everyone, anyway?
Sleepily, a head pokes out from under the car. "'Teazer? What in the Fell are you doing?"
"There's a fight goin' on!" Her still wide eyes turn on those of Tumblebrutus. "Where's Alonzo? The Tugger's killin' Mungojerrie!"
The male kitten's eyes widen enough to match Rumpelteazer's. "I don't know where he is! I think he usually sleeps at this time, but..." Where does Alonzo sleep? The question hangs unanswered between them.
"Hey, what's going on?" Another face lifts above the dashboard, but the kitten attached to this one has no need to widen his eyes- they are permanently like that. It is evident he has been crying, and unlike his brother, isn't trying to hide it.
"No time!" Desperation seepes into her voice. "C'mon, guys! Jus' tell me, please!"
"Try Cassandra's house," suggests Tumblebrutus, at the same time as the other kitten asks,
"Tell you what?"
But she is gone already, leaving the two to puzzle the events of the last few minutes out.
Linoleum is colder than ice on my feet. Around me, the walls of plaster and wood are harder and more confining than steel.
All the doors in the house are closed- I'm restless and there's no way for me to get out. I can't become loud, or Cassandra's humans will know that I'm here.
I feel like a prisoner, a loved prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless.
Biting my lip, I reassure myself it's just for a few more hours.
Another waft of sickening incense from her prayer room hits me, and I try not to throw up.
How far is Cassandra's house? She knows where the graceful priestess lives, of course, because in the last week not one but two precious ancient incense burners (and a two thousand year old urn) have gone missing.
Turn here, keep turning, go straight, go left, if it wasn't for adrenaline, she'd have collapsed two blocks ago.
Isn't one of those big, fancy houses? Yes, probably. And a burglar alarm. She hates burglar alarms, but that can be taken care of.
That's one thing; at least, she knows how to fix.
The clock says ten ten now, and I'm considering waking Cassandra up, to see if she'll let me out.
But I don't want to. When she was awake she looked stressed, scared, as if the slightest thing would make her run and hide. Asleep she looks peaceful and strong again.
Of course she's strong. I don't know why. Could be it's her faith, or perhaps she's just something far better than I deserve.
With little else to do, I sit down among the pillows, looking at her face for what feels like the first time since we met.
It says 'priestess' all over it. Maybe that's why she went ahead and found religion. Maybe that's her fascination with ancient Egypt, and Greece, and whatever other countries her gods and goddesses are from. Cats look at her, and think of her automatically as a prophet.
I remember her eyes, even when she sleeps. They are large and full of mist, as blue as felinely possible. Her face is smooth, with high, proud cheekbones, and a nose that is as prideful. I'm not sure of what to call it, because there's nothing really flattering except 'strong', or maybe 'Roman'.
Her lips aren't full, but neither are they thin, and her forehead is high. Considered in separate pieces I suppose she is not so beautiful, but somehow, putting all of that together makes a face to weaken any tom.
Right now, it's comforting just to look at, and feel safe, because she's strong, even when I'm weak.
Slowly, my thoughts sink into the air around me, which grows heavier and softer, until it presses against me, closing my eyes, my ears, my mind, into the bliss of sleep.
It's this one, she knows. A royal red three story, loose windows on the bottom floor, shaky tiles, so the roof is dangerous, and an automatic burglar alarm that turned on at ten oh clock.
Looking at the moon, she wonders idly if a cat would set off the alarm.
Probably. Knowing these rich people.
Well, she might as well get started. How long will it take to switch off the alarm?
Ten-fifteen minutes, if it was well hidden.
Damn! Isn't there some way to make this go faster?
Bombalurina's life is flashing in front of her eyes. Actually, the Tugger is flashing in front of her eyes, alternating with Admetus, who had decided he was sick of waiting and jumped in to help, and the pavement. But her life is flashing in front of her mind.
Is it possible she's going to die? That doesn't even bear thinking about.
No.
No.
No.
But the Tugger has some demonic strength, and she doesn't know where it's coming from, only that it's two on one now, and the one is winning. Even though several of the wounds he has taken should be crippling. He isn't even that muscular- the two of them should have been able to handle him easily.
But she is ripped open in a dozen places, and Admetus in nearly as many, and instead of Tugger, they are the ones tiring.
There. The orange queen leans back to admire her handiwork. The alarm looks untouched, she is particularly proud of that. The clock on it keeps ticking, the little red light blinks, and the display even says that it's still running.
Mungojerrie will be proud of her.
Tracing her paw happily over the plastic, she reads ten nineteen on the clock, and glances over her shoulder, instinctively, to tell... No one.
Right. She's working this mission alone. She knows that.
Vigorously, she shakes her head in an effort to clear it, and moves on into the lot.
Grass tickles her feet, but she is too serious to giggle tonight. Any other time, any other mood, she would be driving her brother crazy and almost giving their presence away, but this is too important.
If she finds him- doubt sidles into her mind, a black shadow on her hope- what can Alonzo do? That Bombalurina and Admetus both can't? Nothing. She can't think of anything, but she keeps going, sliding her paws around a window frame. This is no time for niceties such as a door, she thinks grimly.
With a jerk of her arm, she breaks the screen loose, and leans it against the bricks beside the window, then goes to work on the lock inside of the thing.
It's a lot easier if she just thinks of this as another assignment.
Then sweat doesn't bead on her palm as she tries to retain a grip on the little springs, and the image of the Tugger ripping out chunks of her brother's flesh doesn't keep drifting in front of her eyes, when what she should be seeing is the little catch on the outside of the glass.
It's hard.
Even harder, when the thing springs open and out, and she catapults herself inside, landing cautiously on all fours.
Her first instinct is to wait for him to follow her in, but he doesn't. Mentally, she pinches herself, then moves on down the hall, calling Cassandra's name softly.
"Cassandra? Cass? Where are you?"
No answer, save the constant tick of her family's clock, echoing forlornly down the corridors that Rumpelteazer stalks.
"Cassandra? Your priestessness?"
This was getting her nowhere- nowhere!
"Cassandra!" Finally, she just screams at the top of her lungs, no longer caring if she woke the human.
"Alonzo!"
"C'mon, Munky, the junkyard can secure itself tomorrow, just lemme sleep."
"Alonzo, be serious! Wake up!" Something's wrong here. The bed is too soft, the air is too warm, and the voice is definitely not Munkustrap, coming to wake me up. It's prouder, colder and far more female. In fact...
"Cassandra?"
"Thank Bastet you're finally awake!" Her paws clasp around mine, and in a minute their pulling me up through the air with surprising strength. She whirls me around to face the door, and shoves me towards it. "Rumpelteazer?" The orange queen materializes, her face looking as though she can see a train hurtling towards her. Ice closes in around my stomach. For a short time, it had seemed like everything would be alright.
"'lonzo, it's the Tugger, 'e's killin' my brother- I think 'e's gone mad!" This out, she bursts into tears, and Cassandra puts her arms around her, murmuring something, and it becomes evident just how young the thief cat really is, because 'sixteen' permeates her manner, her fear, her entire shaking body.
"Well?" Cassandra's eyes bore into mine, "Get out there." The look on my face must reflect the panic in my mind, because she softens, a little bit. "You don't have to handle it like Munkustrap would. Handle it the way you think it needs to be handled. Just go!"
My feet take off before my brain can move, and the last thing that I remember thinking is the word 'reassuring', in a highly sarcastic type voice, before there is only me running, and the night.
"Are you okay?"
Still indignant at having essentially been kicked out of the fight, Bombalurina leans over the body
(oh, god, did she just think the word 'body'?)
the form of Mungojerrie.
"Mungojerrie?" There is no response, though his eyes are open, staring at the sky. She doesn't even want to look at bloody holes torn all over his body, or the sears of blood that rip through his fur, but she does anyway. Blood is flowing over the pavement, gleaming blackly at the sky. It's flowing over her hands, making her grip more slippery than ever, warmly creeping around her legs as she kneels beside him, unable to imagine how someone can lose this much blood and still be breathing.
Is he still breathing? She checks carefully, watching his chest rise and fall with increasing difficulty.
Rise.
Fall.
Rise.
Fall.
Rise.
Fall.
Nothing.
What? That's wrong! That's wrong!
Blood soaked, her hand slides easily off of his face as she tried to slap him, and gently, his head falls to the side.
Like the head of a doll, it stays there.
"Quaxo!" I've been pounding on the hardwood until my paw literally began to bleed, and I'm still doing it, smearing the winy liquid all over his door. "Quaxo!" My voice is starting to go hoarse, and every time I slam my fist down, a fresh shock of pain jolts up from my wrist to my elbow. "Quax-" The yell breaks into a cough, racking my throat and chest. My mouth is full of sandpaper, lead weights where my lungs should be.
Ready to give up, I lower my hands and slump against the clean, white paneling of his house, and wonder if the job gets easier with time.
I doubt it.
"Hello?"
A burst of energy sees me to my feet. "Quaxo!"
"Alonzo? What do you-"
"No time! Do that thing you do!"
"What thing?"
"That thing! You know, where your fur goes all shiny, and-"
"Why do you want me to-"
"No time! Just do it!"
There must be something in my tone, because though he gapes at me like I've lost my mind, he disappears inside, only to climb out the window a moment later, sparkles dancing through his pelt merrily.
"Alonzo this had better be-"
I feel the twitch below my eye, "There's no time for that. How fast can you get us to the junkyard?"
He gives me the same weirded out look as a minute ago, and carelessly tosses one paw over his shoulder. There's a brief inwards rushing sensation, as though all of my organs are trying to compact into a single mass, then an unpoetic twanging. In one ineffable disorienting motion, the scenery ripples into itself and folds around in a circle, and at the last minute I can't help closing my eyes to prevent throwing up yet again-
and we're here, when I open them once more.
I never want to do that again.
"'Lonzo? Hey, Alonzo? Care to tell me-"
I rub the bridge of my nose, telling myself that I do indeed remember the location I was given. "No time," I repeat, my voice all but gone, "that way." I let my paw poke the air in the direction that feels right, and Quaxo starts to wander that way bemusedly.
"Run!" The word forces itself from me, and I don't have time to feel like a monster before I've taken off myself in that direction practically dragging the magical cat behind me.
Admetus tears at the Tugger, then stumbles back as he is forced off of the raging creature for the jillionth time. For the
(a similar number)
nth time, he launches himself off the asphalt and back towards his newfound enemy, wondering thoughts
(the energy, Bast, does it never run out, how does he keep fighting?)
to incoherent to understand.
Every muscle in his body aches with fatigue. Maybe it was rude to force Bomby out of this. Maybe it was kind of stupid. Right now, all he knows is that he's not going to last much longer, and one look at the Tugger's face tells him that if he loses, he is most definitely going to die.
"Zufrieren!"
I'm going to pretend to understand the word Quaxo or Mistoffelees or whatever he's calling himself now throws out. I'm going to pretend it made sense, because the air crackles blue, and the stars disappear for a minute, and then the scene is still.
Too still. Mungojerrie and Bombalurina are stone cold statues, one staring transfixed at the fighters, the other looking blankly, catatonically upwards at where the stars are fading back into view on the black velvet of the night.
On the equally black street, like a pair of demented dancers, the Tugger and Admetus are crashing into each other, a picture of motion captured. Not a hair moves, not a muscle twitches, the wind around them seems to have ceased. A chill shivers down my spine, and I turn away on pretext of looking at Mistoffelees. "Can you un... freeze everyone but the Tugger?"
Confidently, he crooks his finger and murmurs "Schmelzen."
Instantly, the scene is alive again. Wind whispers through Bomby's fur, and she glances wildly around, confused, as Admetus rebounds off the Tugger and crashes to the pavement in a mostly white heap, panting.
It seems to take him a minute to realize that the Tugger isn't going to leap on him, because he stiffens for a scant instant, then melts.
Again, I make eye contact with Mistoffelees, and chills creep up my back again. I have to resist the suddenly strong urge to hide from him, and manage to tell him to do what he can for Mungojerrie, hoping to pass off the fear in my voice as stress.
I'm not sure if it works, but I stride out to the street, and kneel beside Admetus. "You okay, man?" Somehow, I can't bring myself to sound more concerned.
"Nah... I'm... just... playing... dead..." At least he can still be sarcastic. Perfunctionally, I press my paw against his neck, but the steady rhythm tells me that his pulse is not going anywhere, and I cuff him decisively across the ears.
"Ow!" Halfheartedly, he tries to raise a paw in defense, but it flops bloodlessly to the ground. "What was that for, man?"
"For being bloody stupid." My voice is severe, but inside, I'm just glad my friend is alright, particularly when I turn to the frozen image of the Tugger, and see the expression on his face. It doesn't just chill me, it damn well terrifies me. There is no sanity left in his gaze, Bast, Rumpelteazer was right. He's crazed.
"Um, Alonzo?" I turn around at the voice of Mistoffelees, sounding like the almost-kitten Quaxo once more. "We've lost Mungojerrie."
