Title: Much Ado About Fluffy
Summary: Annabelle is trying her hands at being a hairdresser – with unexpected results.
Characters: Ratchet, Blaster (mentioned), Steeljaw (mentioned); Soundwave (mentioned); William Lennox, Sarah Lennox, Annabelle Lennox
Universe: life-action movies, Botosphere fanon
Point in Time: 2011
Genre: Family, Friendship, Humor
Rating: G, K
Warnings: cuteness alert ;p
Notes: This one-shot was inspired by Eowyn77's cat Fluffy. For pictures (of the cat, not Eowyn ;) ), please check out the Botosphere's yahoo group. Thank you so much for letting me write this, Eowyn!
It was a beautiful morning in late August. Sarah Lennox sat at the kitchen table, a magazine in front of her. After having cleaned away the breakfast dishes and starting laundry, she treated herself with a break before the household demanded her attention again. She was currently engrossed in a report about some cultural events when there suddenly came a squeal out of the living room. Sarah perked up immediately, looking worriedly in the direction of the squeal's origin.
A few seconds later, little feet came running into the kitchen. "Mommy!" her five-year-old daughter shouted, frantically waving something. "Look!" The little girl came to a stop in front of her, holding out her favorite doll.
Sarah stared at it in confusion. Was something wrong with the doll? What was she supposed to do?
Her daughter answered her question before she could pose it. "Doesn't she look nice? I cut the hair myself." The girl's tone was interlaced with pride, and she beamed up at her.
Sarah looked back at the doll, taking it when Annabelle held it out demonstratively. Only then she registered the different haircut. As far as she remembered, the doll had long hair, but it was now worn short. The edges where the hair had been cut were rough and partly split, telling Sarah that the cut hadn't been done by someone who knew how to handle scissors properly.
She looked back at her still proudly beaming daughter. "You cut Sally's hair?" she asked, not sure whether she should compliment or scold Annabelle. And where had she found scissors?
The girl excitedly nodded her head. "She looks nice, doesn't she?"
"Well…" Sarah began hesitantly. Annabelle's face fell a little so she quickly said, "She now has something… special."
The beam was immediately back in place. "I want to do that often."
"Cut dolls' hair?"
Annabelle giggled. "Not on dolls. Every day. For forever."
"Like a hairdresser?"
"Yeah, like them."
"Um… wow. Nice." Sarah was at a loss what to say, trying to imagine Annabelle working in a hairdresser's shop.
However, Annabelle wasn't listening anymore. Throughout their little dialogue, she had climbed onto a chair and was currently looking at the magazine – or rather, some of the pictures. "Mommy, why does this dog look so funny?" she asked, pointing to a picture of a poodle wearing a frilly pink dress and correspondingly colored bows on ears and tail.
"Um…" Sarah flew over the article. "It participated in a beauty contest," she eventually said. "The owner dressed her dog up for it to look pretty."
Annabelle frowned. "What's a 'beauty contest'?"
"Owners of dogs and cats – and sometimes other animals too – take their pets to such a contest to find out which of the pets is the prettiest," Sarah tried to explain. "They dress them up like the poodle in the photo."
The frown remained in place, though Annabelle didn't look like she didn't understand what Sarah was telling her. She rather seemed pensive. True enough, her little girl's blue eyes slowly moved up to her. "Can anyone go there?"
"I think so."
A special light Sarah couldn't pin down appeared in Annabelle's eyes. "Could Fluffy go too?" she asked excitedly.
Wondering where her daughter's questions would lead, she hesitantly replied, "Probably…"
Annabelle's expression lit up like the lights on last year's Christmas tree. She quickly climbed off the chair again and ran back into the living room without another word. Sarah looked after her with raised eyebrows, stunned speechless. She opened her mouth to holler at Annabelle where she was going, but in the end remained silent. Kids, she thought with wry amusement, shaking her head before returning to her reading.
An hour later, there was another squeal coming from the living room, followed by a hiss and furious "Meow!" Seconds afterward, the family cat Fluffy rushed into the kitchen and quickly vanished through the cat flap in the door leading onto the backyard's porch. It rattled frantically. Nonetheless, it had been enough time for Sarah to get a good look at the feline. It had lost the majority of its fur; instead of being long-haired like usual, Fluffy now sported a body with very short, badly cut hair. The exceptions were some knee-high fuzzy 'boots', a tuft on its tail and what appeared to be a mane. Sarah sat shocked, staring at the cat flap. Was it just her or did her cat now look like a miniature lion?
Another moment later, little feet followed Fluffy's wake and Annabelle came running into the kitchen. "Mommy!" she shouted, interrupting Sarah's train of thought. "Did you see Fluffy? I haven't finished yet."
Sarah was about to ask what else she wanted to do to the poor cat when she noticed the scissors Annabelle played with rather carelessly. "Oh my God! Annabelle, give me the scissors," she demanded and jumped off her chair.
The girl waved them around and asked, "Why?" but nonetheless handed them over.
Taking the scissors, Sarah relaxed now that her daughter was out of harm's way. "Scissors aren't toys, Annabelle," she said, trying to give her voice a stern ring while remaining gentle with the five-year old. "You mustn't play around with them."
Annabelle took the rebuke in stride. However, her expression turned sad. "Don't you like how Fluffy now looks?" she asked, the tone suggesting she was close to tears.
Sarah sighed and sat back down on her chair. Instead of answering her daughter's question though, she posed one of her own. "Why did you give her a new style anyway?" Because that was bugging Sarah the most right now – after the worry her girl might get hurt from playing around with scissors.
The sad expression lifted a little. "Daddy always complains about all those cat hair on his uniform," Annabelle explained in all her childlike seriousness. "He said one of his friends at work is aggerlic."
"Allergic," Sarah corrected absent-mindedly while her thoughts immediately wandered off to James Quinn. Will didn't work that close with him but apparently still close enough that Fluffy's hair was a bother to the mechanic. Then Sarah realized her daughter's intentions and smiled proudly down at Annabelle; she was only five years old but already thought of the well-being of others.
There was one thing that didn't quite add up though. "And how exactly did you talk Fluffy into holding still for you?" she therefore asked, giving the girl's arms and hands a thorough look over. To her astonishment, they were unharmed.
Annabelle sat through her mother's inspection patiently. Her lips formed a grin, however. "She was sleeping on the couch. But she woke up just when I was about to style her bangs."
Sarah stared at Annabelle for a good solid moment, trying to imagine Fluffy with bangs, before laughter started bubbling up. Fighting it back, she acted a stern expression. "A cat is not a toy, darling. You cannot play with it like you play with your dolls. What's done is done, but that's it with styling the kitty. No more experimenting on Fluffy, understood?"
"But, Mommy," Annabelle whined in protest, "she's not pretty enough yet for the beauty contest."
Sarah held up a hand, silencing her daughter. "We're not taking Fluffy to a beauty contest, Annabelle," she said, her tone resolute. Then she ran a hand up her face and through her hair, muttering, "Instead of a cat we now have a little lion in our house…" She sighed, then said to her daughter, "I doubt Fluffy appreciates her new style, so let her be from now on."
The girl sighed dramatically. "O-kay," she allowed slowly, sullenly.
Nodding satisfied, Sarah shooed her out of the kitchen. "Now go play with your dolls, honey."
…
One week later…
Sarah was outside, doing some gardening on her roses, when she heard a car pull up in the driveway. She glanced up, squinting against the sun. When the vehicle came closer, she recognized it as Ratchet's hummer. And sure enough, as soon as it stopped, the doctor's holoform got out. To her surprise, Will climbed out of the passenger seat.
She quickly walked up to them and asked, "What's up?"
Ron Hatchett pointed toward her husband. "Will got sick so I brought him home. He has caught the flu and should rest."
Will rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like an epidemic. It was just one sneeze, Ratchet."
The doctor hefted his striking blue eyes on the soldier. "It's the flu," he replied in his typical no-nonsense manner. "And that means you need rest. You are overworked anyway." His dismissive tone forbade any more arguing on the topic.
Sarah had to watch herself to not start giggling madly. Leave it to an extraterrestrial being to show her husband his limits.
Will sighed and theatrically scuffled toward the house, looking like someone on their way to their executioner. Ron Hatchett followed him, probably making sure he really reached his bed. Sarah's giggling turned to laughter and threatened to bubble out. After a moment, she couldn't hold it back anymore and finally succumbed to it. That earned her a curious but smirking glance from Ron Hatchett before he vanished inside the house.
Once she had calmed down again, she went back to treating her roses. After a couple of minutes, Ron Hatchett joined her; he was alone. "Will is in bed as he should be," he reported.
Sarah snorted. "Acknowledged," she said and grinned at the doctor who rolled his eyes.
"Why do you humans always have to be so slagging stubborn?" he grumbled. "Especially Will. It makes treating you so much harder than it would otherwise be."
She shrugged. "That's how it is, Ratchet. Just accept it and go on. You won't change us."
He sighed but otherwise remained silent. Instead he watched her work. "Do you need a hand?" he asked after a moment.
She smiled up at him and handed over a shovel. "The weed is slowly taking over so I'm trying to get rid of it. It grows faster than I can take it out though." He nodded, showing he understood, before crouching down and attacking the devious weed.
They had worked in company for a while when Fluffy decided to join them. She tiptoed around them for a moment, eyeing Ron Hatchett suspiciously, before finally rubbing her side against Sarah's legs. She meowed to gather her attention and Sarah instantly looked down. "Are you hungry, kitty? Shall we get you something?" The response was another, this time longish meow. Sarah stroked over Fluffy's slowly regrowing fur, then stood and walked toward the house.
After having filled the feline's nap, she turned around and nearly collided with Ron Hatchett. "Sorry," he mumbled before she could say something, his eyes distractedly hefted on the cat.
Sarah's eyes flitted from her pet to the doctor and back several times before she asked, "What's wrong?"
He nodded toward the feline. "She looks rather… odd. I remember her having longer fur."
She laughed lowly. "Annabelle has recently decided to become a hair stylist and she used Fluffy for practice."
Ron Hatchett's eyes widened. "She cut the cat's fur?" he asked, sounding incredulous.
"Uh-huh. I was as surprised as you, to put it mildly."
The doctor continued staring at the cat until it – probably able to feel his stare – turned toward them, stared back and hissed at him. He blinked in surprise and looked at Sarah in bewilderment while the feline, obviously satisfied the staring had stopped, continued its meal. Sarah giggled in amusement at seeing Ron Hatchett's expression. She took his arm and gently pulled him back outside because he was obviously frozen on the spot after Fluffy's protest.
They went back to weeding when the doctor blurted out, "How could Spitlet have known about Steeljaw?" He turned toward Sarah who looked up in confusion. "She's not suspecting anything. Or is she?" He sounded slightly panicky.
Sarah frowned. "What do you mean? What's Annabelle suspecting? That you're not human?" He nodded and her frown deepened even more. "From styling Fluffy into a mini-lion?" It made no sense to her, at all.
His shock finally fell away and he started laughing heartily. "Oh Primus, that's priceless," he gasped and even had to wipe away a tear. Making himself comfortable on the ground, he patted on it, asking Sarah to sit down as well. Once she faced him, sitting cross-legged, he explained, "You know about Soundwave, and that he has several symbiotes, right?" When she nodded, he continued, "One of our communications specialists designated Blaster has some too. One of them is called Steeljaw. His appearance is similar to a lion's." He briefly glanced over his shoulder. Upon turning his gaze back on Sarah, his eyes had grown distant. His holoform flickered for a heartbeat before steadying itself again. When he refocused on her, he pulled out a photo from his trousers' pocket. "That's him," he said in explanation. "When I saw Fluffy's new style, I for a moment thought Steeljaw had arrived on Earth. It's funny Spitlet subconsciously created a spitting image of the little bot." He chuckled.
Sarah joined in. "I can see where you're coming from." She paused, pensive. "Maybe we should rename the cat and call her Steeljaw from now on," she added, joking.
Ron Hatchett snorted. "I doubt she'd like that. She seems to be quite a headstrong femme."
At that Sarah burst out laughing. "In case you haven't read about it yet, Ratchet: all cats are strongly willed. They're independent creatures and will never obey others like dogs listen to humans."
"Ah. In that case, Steeljaw will get along with them splendidly. Maybe he should take the alt-mode of a feline when he arrives." He turned wistful, a little sad even.
Sarah's heart went out for them. They had lost so much. Hopefully not Blaster and Steeljaw too, she thought. Trying to lift Ron Hatchett's mood again, she curiously asked, "I take it he's a little headstrong too?"
He snorted. "Idiosyncratic really. Even Blaster has sometimes trouble getting him to obey." Sarah grinned and he looked at her. "You should talk Spitlet out of styling pets before Blaster arrives. Steeljaw will fight back if he doesn't want his appearance changed."
Sarah broke out in laughter.
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