AN: Due to a niggling plotbunny that refuses to be contained on fictionpress, this chapter subverts the established narrative by being about Sierra… as seen from Jack. Kinda. Well, not really. Er, not yet; THIS chapter is actually written from the perspective of somebody else. (Differing perspectives; it's an experiment.) So without further ado, ladies and possible gentlemen, may I please introduce… the Kitten of Doom. (And whilst we're on the subject… does anybody remember Spawn of Satan? ANYBODY?)
How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Kitten of Doom
From her hidden perch on the windowsill, she could see awkwardness infiltrate the ranks of the refined ladies and gentlemen tableau'd before her. Five gentlemen, she counted—well, five and a half, if you counted the boy—and five ladies. Two of the gentlemen were the governors of Kingston and Port Royal respectively, and of complete disinterest to her, though she did know enough to know that the two of them were vying for the governorship of Jamaica, the duties of which were currently divided between the pair.
The handsomest man in the room—the one whose luxurious hair was natural, unadorned by a restricting wig—he was Hale's nephew, and he looked incredibly like her Si-Si, but of course, he was of no interest to her either. Hale's skulking son, she ignored; despite Si-Si's beliefs, the watcher knew that Paul was a harmless bundle of fluff, just slightly perverted, that's all.
This left one and a half men left, and the watcher knew them to be Commodore James Norrington and Daniel the possible orphan respectively.
She also knew that Si-Si was under the impression that they were both somebody—or perhaps that should be somebodies? They did not look so much alike—called Steve.
Silly Si-Si, shouting like that: now the entire company was staring at her, and after a very awkward pause, Si-Si fell back onto the sofa in a fake but superbly well-executed faint. (The Daniel-Steve promptly backed away, bless him.) Christophe and the maid (Flavio was it?) moved as one towards her, surrounded her, examined her, took one arm each, and caused tea to be spilt, aunts to yelp, and misses to "Oh!" as they carried Si-Si through the door and up into her room.
After another long and lengthy silence, Governor Hale suddenly remembered that there were some, er, things of official and important business, and would Governor Swann and Commodore Norrington be so good as to consult him? Thus did the trio sweep out.
Lady Hale then rang for the maid, told the young woman to clear up the mess Si-Si's supine exit had caused, and grabbing her niece's arm, also swept out.
This left Miss Swann and bewildered little Daniel alone, but neither was of particular interest to the watcher, who was now wondering how best to enter the house without being noticed.
Unfortunately for the watcher, Miss Swann had already noticed her.
"Daniel?" the lady asked kindly of the boy. "It is Daniel, isn't it?"
"Yes, miss," Daniel bobbed as politely as he could.
"What do you think of cats, Daniel?"
"What do I think of cats, miss?"
"Yes. Do you like them?"
"Oh yes, miss; they're very good when you can't get your hands on chicken."
The smile faded slightly from Miss Swann's face; outside the watcher mewled, horrified, and began searching desperately for a way to jump down. Oh, if only she wasn't afraid of heights!
"There there," she heard Miss Swann say, and thrashed desperately as the lady lifted her off of the sill and carried her into the parlour.
"Mew! Mew mew mew!" (Eep! Don't eat me!)
She snapped her sharp little teeth as Miss Swann reached out to tickle her white chin, apparently unaffected by her manic clawing.
"Look Daniel, you've scared him."
"Mew!" Her, actually.)
"Poor little thing," Miss Swann continued, unheeding; she barely spoke French, so it would have been mighty foolish to expect her to understand Cat. "I wonder how he got up there in the first place?"
"Mew mew mew mew mew mew," the kitten told her; "mew-mew mew mew." (I fell out of the sky; Satan sent me.)
"Would you like to pet her, Daniel?" To claim that Miss Swann's tone of voice was patronising would have been wrong, just. In truth, Elizabeth Swann had had very limited experience with children, and now that she found herself stranded in her host's parlour with nought but a terrified-looking boy for company, she was determined to make the best of the circumstances.
"MEEW! Mew mew mew mew mew-mew! Mew-mew-mew, mew-mew-mew!" (NOO! Please don't let him touch me! He'll eat me, he'll eat me!)
"Er… if you want, miss."
Neither boy nor cat wanted it; neither boy nor cat wished it. But, somehow, boy and cat petted and was petted regardless, and they both shot subtle glares at Miss Swann for the entirety of the ordeal.
Many is the whirlwind romance that begins thus.
And so, after this rather awkward and very forced introduction, followed by a mostly one-sided conversation, Daniel and the kitten were sent on their merry way… only Daniel didn't know where to go. Yes, he had been kidnapped and, as far as he was concerned, was being held hostage in the governor's unhumble abode, but even so, it was much better than kipping out in other people's doorways. So after a moment of uncertain lingering in the hallway, he decided to trot up the not-quite winding staircase, squirming bundle of fur in hand, and attempt to locate Miss, whom he had decided was a very nice young lady when she wasn't calling him Steve in front of complete strangers.
"I-Is Miss alright now?" he stuttered, peering curiously around the doorway; in his arms, the kitten stopped squirming, and was now craning her little neck as best she could.
From her perch in the boy's arms, the kitten could see that Si-Si had arranged herself into a position reminiscent of mortification: splayed out across the bedspread, with a pillow clutched tightly over her head. Kneeling beside her was her maid, Flavio (or so she called herself), who was hiding her frustration behind a façade of concern. She raised her violet eyes, and smiled when she saw the kitten.
"Look, Sierra," the blonde said, jabbing her finger mercilessly into her mistress's upturned spine. "Daniel has a kitty-cat."
"Mew, mew mew mew mew-mew mew-mew mew mew-mew-mew-mew mew?" (Ah, why must you people insist on patronising us?)
"I don't care," came Sierra's spoilt, muffled huff.
"…It's a very small kitty-cat."
"So?" There was a hint of a sob in her voice now.
"Oh, you're no fun," the maid pouted, and promptly hopped off of the mattress with the intent of advancing towards them.
It was here that Daniel, panicking, threw the kitten across the room.
"MEEEEEEEEW!!!" (The translation of which is unfortunately unprintable.)
Chaos on a smaller scale erupted at this, and by the end of it all, Daniel could be found cowering in Si-Si's arms, Flavio could be found cowering under the bed, and the kitten could not be found as she was cowering in the furthest corner of the top of the bookshelf, which, in defiance of all physical law, she had landed on unharmed.
"Mew," she whimpered pathetically, and curled up into a ball. She remained positioned so until she heard the thump of the door closing, which served to signal to her that the two scary humans had gone away. Then and only then did she shuffle, as slowly and carefully as was kittenfully possible, to peer fearfully over the edge.
Oh, how she hated heights!
"Mew?" she tried, aiming the cry specifically at Si-Si, who was seated at her dressing-table with her face in her hands. "Mew-mew?" (Help? Help, please?)
It took a minute or two, but eventually Si-Si was forced to acknowledge her presence.
"And how did you get up there?" she queried, standing up and dragging a chair behind her. She tested the wooden structure once, twice, thrice, before lifting her skirts and stepping carefully onto the seat. The kitten stared suspiciously at the outstretched hands, a white paw reaching out to cautiously prod one of the upturned palms. When she was satisfied that the hands would not suddenly crumble, the kitten clambered gingerly down from her elevated perch and curled up in Si-Si's cupped hands.
"Poor thing," Sierra said, tipping the animal into one upturned palm and using the other to help herself back down.
"Mew," said the kitten, rubbing her black head affectionately against Si-Si's wrist. "Mew mew mew."
"Hmm," said Si-Si, crouching down and gently tipping the furry bundle onto the rug. The kitten yawned and stretched, her little claws peeking out of their white sheaths, testingly picking at loose threads. Then she dove under Si-Si's skirts and wrapped herself around Si-Si's ankle.
"Mew-mew! Mew-mew, mew-mew, mew mew mew-mew-mew mew?" (Si-Si! Si-Si Si-Si, do you recognise me?)
"I'm very fond of you too," laughed the woman, and beneath the petticoats, the kitten sighed in exasperation; it was fast becoming clear to her that the species barrier was going to be a bigger problem than His Infernal Majesty would have her believe.
"Mew-mew-mew, mew-mew-mew, mew mew mew mew mew mew-mew mew-mew," grumbled the kitten, uncurling herself from Sierra's ankle and trotting out from under the petticoats. She turned, turned again, turned one more time, reminded herself that only dogs were stupid enough to chase their own tails, and, vaguely disoriented, sat down, her blue eyes staring disapprobation. (Never mind, never mind, I'll go and look for Papa myself.)
"Mew mew mew mew mew-mew mew-mew-mew-mew mew mew, mew-mew," she began with a despairing shake of her head; "Mew mew mew mew-mew mew, mew mew mew-mew-mew mew mew-mew mew-mew-mew mew mew?" (I must say I'm very disappointed in you, Si-Si; you can speak fluent French, yet can't understand a single syllable of Cat?)
"Oh, you are absolutely adorable!" Sierra squealed, kneeling down and rubbing her furry head affectionately. The kitten rolled her eyes.
"Mew mew mew-mew-mew mew mew, mew mew mew mew," she went on patronisingly. "Mew mew mew mew mew mew mew mew mew 'mew'." (Cat's far easier than French, I'll have you know: the only word you have to learn is 'mew.')
And with a flick of her tail and a promise to return ("Mew mew-mew mew mew mew-mew."), the kitten of doom did make her exit.
-x!x-
AN: He he he… I is test-driving the Kitten of Doom. Apologies for not writing/updating, m'dears; I just haven't had much encouragement--er, incentive-- to write… (looks meaningfully at the readers) Oh come on people, I'm on 46 of your alerts! FORTY-SIX! ME! YOU! AM! ON! For Christ's sake…
(NB. This obviously does not apply to the two(?) very nice people who DO read/review regularly, and certainly is not aimed at the loyal reader who has been here since what is very probably the beginning of time, and for whom I feel compelled to finish. You know who you are, dearie.)