RotG Prompt:
Word count: 2,229
Categories: Humor, family
Pairing: NA
Rated T for slight bit of gore.
It was a long day.
It was a long, tiresome day.
It was along, tiresome, and goddammit he needed some rest.
He reaches one of the main portals he stationed in the world that led to his lair. The shadow sucks him in and he relishes the shadows until he lands gracefully in his home. It's dark, damp, and musty — just as he likes it.
Pitch strolls through, feeling the slightest bit elated from his usually moody attitude, Nightmares had gone well tonight, he only bumped into Sanderson once, and that was not a usual thing — he usually bumped into the Sand Man at least thrice in every continent.
Nothing could shake him out of his mood, not the Guardians, not Jack Frost, not MiM, not restless Nightmares, not—
His face meets the floor with no warnings.
He pushes himself up the least bit and is the tiniest bit thankful his nose wasn't bleeding. But he did scowl, looking a few meters behind him to see a cat.
It was a cat.
A cat.
An. Effing. Cat.
It was sleek, with a black coat, and two, large eyes that watched him owlishly.
Pitch manages to stand up, he takes low strides towards it, wholly expecting the feline to arch its back and send its hair up like static from fright. But it doesn't move, not even flinch, when he's a foot away from it and kneeling down. The cat only blinks slowly and cocked its head to the side, as though it was regarding a bizarre creature.
He grabs it by the scruff and stands at his full height; how did the little vermin even get in? Pitch regards it with scrutiny, narrowing his eyes on it. The cat stares back with eyes so wide he could swear he sees the wrinkles at the side of its eyes from keeping the open too much. The only way to get to his lair was through the portals stationed in the world talked about earlier, which were well-camouflaged holes at least a ten-yard-drop to the floor. If the cat came from there, then by all means it should be dead, a splatter on the ground.
But at the moment it hangs from his hand with a most curious expression.
It couldn't have come from shadow-portation, only he and a gifted few can, and a mortal cat was not one of them . . . at least he hoped so.
Oh well. Might as well show the damn thing the door.
He makes a show of cleaning his hands and striding away from the hole in Venice to his storage room, the Nightmares were in need of a treat for their efforts, and as absurd as it sounds, it was apples.
"Meow."
"Damnit!"
Pitch spins around and finds two, large eyes regarding him from one turn of the long hallway. He's shocked, how on earth did the furball end up here?
Perhaps it simply clung to his robe and followed him back. Such is the price of his lack of concentration.
He sighs but complies grabbing it by the scruff again and going to another portal, in Japan, and carefully leaves it in a person's garden. Well, the Japanese could use some luck anyways*.
Each Nightmare whinnies in joy as she receives her apple, Pitch swears they act like a bunch of sugar-high children but only chuckles and tosses one of the red fruit to one of his minions. Some come back sniffing at his robes, Pitch only laughs and gently pushes them away, "No, I don't have any more, darlings." And leaves the Nightmare Stables.
He's found in his library, half-dosing off in a rather soft armchair with a book about torture methods when—
"Meow."
The book drops from his hands and his eyes land on the cat, standing on the mantle of the roaring fireplace, with two, large eyes. The fire reflects in its wide orbs.
"What . . . the hell." He whispers and gets up, not bothering of the book that tumbles out of his lap. He makes his way to the mantle and grabs the cat by the scruff yet again, "I just left you in Japan! What on earth—"
"Meow."
"Shut up!" Pitch is starting to feel his quick temper boil.
The cat is deposited in Egypt, he hopes the damn thing is mummified, then remembers people don't really do that in Egypt anymore and thinks if it would've been a crueler joke if he left it in one of the mummified tombs of ancient Egyptian cats.
A nap sounds like a nice thing and Pitch goes to his bedroom.
"Meow."
He closes his eyes and seethes.
"I am going to mentally count to ten, and if you are not out of here when I look, I'll have a new fur rug."
He snaps his eyes open and is relieved — not a cat hair to be seen.
A little while later, he's in the wide, black bed he once found in a dead person's house, reading a chapter in the torture book, one that explains the most effective methods of hiding evidence of torture. Pitch looks up from the book and sets it on the bed before smoothly looking under his bed and scowls.
"Are you mocking me?" he asks.
The cat looks at him slowly before going back to scratching at the carpeted floor.
With a deadpanned expression, Pitch snaps his fingers and a shadow engulfs the feline, sending it to the Sahara.
In the morning, he goes to the 'kitchen', a room he just keeps bottles of various phobias and a table. Maybe a few wine bottles, but he never really drank any, surprisingly.
A tall glass is filled with purple liquid that smells of Hemaphobia* and he leans casually on the table with his back to it, lazily swirling the liquid. He remembers the black cat from yesterday, though its so faint he thinks it was just a strange dream from one of the newer Nightmares.
"Meow."
Pitch just glances over his shoulder and then returns to pondering over his drink before taking a double-take. His fingers clench the glass and he hears it starting to crack.
The cat stares at the glass inquisitively, eyes are still wide.
The glass explodes, sending purple liquid splaying in the kitchen and glass flying around to scatter on the ground. Pitch is mildly aware of the stinging in his wet hand, but ignores it in favor of snarling and gathering a bout of black sand, ready to engulf the cat in it.
The cat sees the black sand and then Pitch's maddened expression before jumping off the table and sashaying out of the room.
Pitch looks outside and doesn't see a trace of a feline.
Perhaps he can put those wine bottles to use now.
A shower would do wonderfully.
He goes to one of the many ponds in his layer, the result of water accumulation, and removes his robe, left in the tight . . . pants that might as well have been painted on. He prepares to get in —
"Meow?"
The cat peers at the mater, seeing its reflection distort thanks to the waves. It bats at it, a drop of water lands on its nose and it whimpers, taking a few steps away from it. Pitch's scowl contorts to a smirk. He slowly makes his way to the cat and before it realizes, he scoops it up in his hand. In a most unceremonious fashion, Pitch drops the feline into the water.
He is satisfied when he hears a screech and sees the cat's back arch, fur going up like static. Pitch scoops up his robe and replaces it before walking away.
"Meow?"
He looks up and sees the cat looking at him from inside one of the cages.
How the hell did it manage to get in there?
By now, Pitch has determined something was wrong with the cat. Because, honestly, what type of cat just pops up in random places?!
It must be a magic cat, yes, a magic cat MiM sent to him in hopes of revealing the goodness inside Pitch Black . . .
Heh. Suuure.
Or, it could be a certain effing Guardian of Fun, but Pitch didn't feel any cold in his lair.
Well, in any case, he's gotten far too comfortable with its presence . . .
Pitch lowers the book from his peripheral vision revealing a most deadpanned look. He finds himself with a faceful of cat, he remedies that by plucking it from his chest by the scruff and flinging it somewhere.
. . . Well, mostly.
It's his guest, Pitch mentally repeats, a GUEST. He's not adopting the damn thing. Yeah, that gets rid of the nagging voice at the back of his head.
I mean, he treats it as he should treat any guest.
Like throwing it.
Calling it 'dinner'.
Giving it the stinkeye when it gets on his bed.
Flinging it.
Calling it 'vermin'.
Damn, he's got to stick to one name, it's getting a tad confusing calling it all those names.
He feels a sudden rush of air at the back of his calves and looks to see the cat happily scratching at his robe, leaving it a little more than ribbons.
Pitch spins around and delivers a kick to it, "Cut it out, damn robe shredder!"
No, he's not caring for it, don't give him that look.
He's just leaving little pots of water where he knows the feline will be. The ponds could use a little siphoning in his opinion.
He's only bringing dead animals like rats or birds. Pitch wanted to study sparrow anatomy to make Sand replica.
He's only using some of his remaining samples of Sandy's sand as its litter. No point in sand going to waste.
NO. NO, he's not caring for it. Such a presumption could ruin his prestige. It was just a guest.
He liked his Nightmares, he really did.
But they weren't the same as real animals.
Their grain coats were not like soft fur, for one thing, and it was very hard to card his fingers in their manes without getting black sand residue under his nails.
The cat, on the other hand, was quite soft. Its fur was very pleasing to run his fingers in, especially when he craved touch. It was contenting to feel warmth under his fingers.
Or it could be the cat 'letting go' all over his clothes.
Pitch was not caring for the stupid thing, he just noticed the many knots in the cat's sleek fur. It was a shame that such a soft animal be in the possession of knots.
But he didn't scourge the pet shops for a whole day (not his fault he didn't know a cage cleaner from a brush) and freak out the customers, he didn't bump into Jack Frost and Tooth —both staring at the cat-brush in confusion— and make up an excuse that he 'needed it as a main component for his latest invention'. He didn't do all that because he cared, oh heavens no, he just needed a good past time.
Like brushing a cat.
...oh yeah, he also snagged a collar with bells. Very loud bells.
He did notice how the cat liked brushing and weaving itself between his thin legs. He had to say it was adorable.
Pitch let himself smile at its antics, perhaps it could use a name. Something other than 'furball', or 'vermin', or 'robe shredder', or 'stupid cat, quit shedding on my bed!'...or 'dinner'. Yeah...
He scoops it up and stares at it in the eye for several seconds, then mutters, "Ghost." and drops the feline on the ground before attending to whatever business he had.
" . . . oh yes, next time I shall taste vengeance! Haha! Those infernal Guardians will never know what hit them! I shall bring with me a most dangerous weapon, so dangerous, so terrifying, it shall bring them to their knees. Every living creature shall bow to me once more—"
Pitch looks at the cat, who's batting at his fingers, and rolls his eyes before bringing out the feather teaser, "Oh fine."
The Nightmares very rarely got on Pitch's nerves, but when they did, it was the call for BAMF Pitch.
It only took one of them to start chasing the little thing for Pitch to leap out of nowhere and swipe his shadows claws at it like a feral animal.
Now the Nightmares took on the tradition of 'rock-paper-scissors' for the one to have Pitch ride them.
There was blood all over the ground, Pitch had no idea what made such a mess and scowled — it was probably Ghost and its hunting.
Pitch looked at the gore nonchalantly, trying to dissuade if it was a rat or bird, when he noticed one of the bells that hung on Ghost's collar. A rising feeling filled his chest, though he dismissed it 'The stupid cat probably dropped it.'
But then he soon found paws, fur remnants, and . . . a black head.
Two, wide eyes stared at him, as dull as a moonless night.
Pitch sighed and walked away, it wasn't his fault curiosity killed the cat.
*Japanese believe black cats are good luck.
*Fear of Blood
I am so gonna draw this and post it on my Tumblr, so stay tuned!