See first post for disclaimer.
Shego sits on her bed, a bowl of grapes resting on her lap as she flips languidly through a scholarly journal about Eastern health practices, enjoying an article on the benefits of meditation. A behemoth black Cat rests peacefully at her feet; she scratches behind his ear with her foot. He purrs lightly as he naps, and lets out a yawn. The fan overhead moves slowly, relying on the forceful push of large wicker blades to compensate for the lack of velocity. Cool air is drawn in an open window and washes over the bed, the scent of nearby maple trees and cherry blossoms providing a fresh, energetic atmosphere.
The Cat's eyes blink open to shine bright gold and he stretches his left fore-paw, catching her calf in his claws and flexing powerfully. She tenses momentarily, but perceives no great threat and relaxes back into her reading, absentmindedly tossing a grape in his direction. He flinches as it hits him, then chases it toward his mouth with a paw, careful to give it a sniff before skewering it on a fang and chewing it with little interest. His head sinks onto her foot, his eyes easing closed. Individually the girl and the Cat seem to be in a conflict of energy, but together they are the picture of relaxation.
Shego lowers her journal, casting a worried glance at the rapidly fading light that streams through her window. She lifts the Cat's five-pound head off her foot and stretches, making a big show of the attempt to reinstate feeling and blood flow. He huffs and returns to his nap. She walks to the window and stands before it, eyes closed and hands up, palms facing toward her. She separates them slowly and the image on the glass is altered slightly. What was once an expanse of darkness accentuated by the odd mountaintop has now lit up with colored sparks, each of which indicate something different: red sparks represent conflict in the hills seen through the window; most of these are clustered and flickering violently, indicating hard times and battle not far off. Orange sparks, calmer and stronger, show lookout postings that crown the horizon. Blues indicate comrades waiting patiently for the chance to make a difference, while a single green dot, strong and bright, is moving quickly to connect the orange dots, extinguishing each in turn and leaving blues.
As she surveys the groups of blues, Shego becomes unsettled. Something about the layout makes her nervous, and she scans it hastily. Six increasingly agitated breaths reveal that there-in the corner-a small group of blues, separated from the force, wanders unsuspecting toward a wall of red. She returns to the bed, an errant hand scattering the lights like so much dust, and gathers a few things, addressing the Cat directly as she rushes about.
"Take care of her, will you?" Cloak, boots, utility belt. "I don't want her waking up alone." Gloves, staff, door. The Cat bolts from the bed through the door while it is open, then trots off up the hall. He sits a few doors down and watches the woman's swift retreat. As she flees down a spiral stair he turns to the door behind him, yawning. There's no reason for him to get worked up, he is not in any danger. He enjoys this fact, and wonders at the strange enthusiasm the women of the castle seem to have about launching themselves into harm's way. Surely it must be a human thing. No animal would voluntarily endanger himself for another. But then, he was no animal. Being an Animal allowed him just enough respect to form an opinion about such things, but just enough independence not to have to care so much.
Stretching up, he scratches the wood a bit then hooks the latch in a claw and drags it down, levering it open and pushing the heavy door with his head just enough to pass through before its weight swings it shut. He pauses as his eyes adjust to the significantly lowered light, but soon finds himself enchanted by the smell of strawberries. Unable to resist kneading the ground a few times he purrs to himself and inhales again to determine the source of the wonderful fragrance. The Cat approaches the bed at the far side of the room gingerly, arching his back to stretch his legs.
He leaps to his new nap-spot and turns a circle, establishing his turf, then sprawls out against the leg of the bed's other occupant, creating as much contact between them as possible. Though his head rests at the young woman's knee, his tail finds its way to her shoulder, tucking itself safely beneath her. Though unconscious, the woman curls to meet his warmth, so he purrs and starts to knead her calf.
As the last rays of the sun's natural light fade into the cooled but charged stillness of night the forest is hushed to the whisper of crickets and owls, with a stream babbling constantly behind the sounds. The two men in the tower sip fresh mugs of coffee, stretching their muscles to prepare for the trials of the graveyard shift. They sit silenced by the rush of the trees, swayed by the unseen force of a wind current. One inhales deeply and sighs, and they close their eyes to feel the breeze. It caresses their faces so lightly they could almost swear it was never there at all. In the next instant it has become still, silencing the trees and leaving an eerie overtone to the stillness. As they become uncomfortable with the silence they open their eyes, both realizing with a sudden immediacy that they are no longer alone. A woman stands on the railing of the tower, dressed as dark as the night. The wide brim of her dark hat covers her face, leaving the focus on the broomstick she clutches with her left hand. She lifts it to hop down to the floor of the stilted office, approaching the more visibly disturbed of the two guards. As she nears him she lifts her head, revealing hauntingly deep eyes that stare him down. His own eyes flick between her gaze and her unusual olive pallor. When he settles at last on her eyes, she grins.
"Boo."
He jumps from his chair, spilling coffee everywhere, but she has him by the collar and is lifting him off the ground. The other guard is stunned. Basic training never briefed them on this. He manages to slip unnoticed under his desk and cowers there, moving the chair to provide him some cover. From his new hole he watches the witch dangle his partner over the edge of the tower, bargaining with terror for information. Then another cloaked figure is blocking his view, her boots silent on the floor. From the darkness he can only hear the conversation between the two.
"Mother," the newcomer calls, clearly annoyed. The response is not instant, but it is entertained.
"I thought you'd never have the stomach for this?"
"I don't." Shame bleeds from the words, but a fumbled urgency makes her continue. "You need to stop. We need to go. This isn't helping."
"Well, I beg to differ," the older one starts. "I've learned a lot tonight. I've even almost discovered-"
"It doesn't matter!" Silence again, followed by a gentle whisper. "Brrr was attacked by poachers. He was too far from the group. I was barely able to get to him in time. He needs help. Your kind of help."
The response was icy. "That's why you were supposed to be watching over the Animals. To protect them while they protect you." A pause, then, "what were you doing instead?"
A heavy sigh pierces the silence. "I was thinking... About Kim." This doesn't seem to be enough.
"Why would you assume that you can afford to be contemplating that girl at a time like this? When did you suddenly develop this incapacity for responsibility? This isn't like you."
The words are met with pure frustration. "And how do you even know that, huh? You don't ask questions, you just give commands. I'm just another Animal to you! Something for you to try to salvage. A collector's item." This figure paces. "You don't really know me."
"Don't know you?" comes the indignant scoff. "Young lady, I'm your mother, I know you better than you know yourself! I know that you've always put family first, and have never backed down from defending us. You've always been headstrong, and have always had a warm heart, but before Them comes Us. Why does Her being here change that?" The pronoun is spat out like ipecac. Then lower, "Why did you even bring her here? I can't be held responsible for the safety of your love life."
Stunned by the grandiose statements, the young one stops, a bright emerald green light flaring for an instant. She can't seem to find words.
After a silence, a decision is made. "She goes back when she's healed. She's not keeping her memory." The elder's dark, serious tone halts all possible argument.
In the next instant time has resumed and only the original attacker and the man under the desk remain. He closes his eyes, mumbling prayer to the Wizard. When he opens them she is at his side, grinning maniacally.
"Hi." It is the last thing he ever hears.