Gift Post #12 (I)
[Mod note: I hope no one involved minds that I'm identifying this a pinch-hit, but I just don't want there to be any confusion. As you all are aware, we had a participant vanish at the last minute and needed someone to step in and help out -- and miraculously enough, TWO people went ahead and sent me a piece for the abandoned participant amazingly quickly! So lucky you, 
kuroshiro_neko! You get TWO gifts! <333 The pieces will be posted seperately because they are by different authors.]
Title: The Kitten, The Hat, and the Pumpkin Patch
Recipient:kuroshiro_neko
Rating: G
Character: Blair
Summary: When Blair was a kitten, she learned how to play with magic.
Notes: The prompt was "Blair as a kid," so I guess this is my headcanon version of what a young Blair's life might have been like.
She doesn't remember much about her beginning, because there was hardly anything from that time worth remembering. Mostly sleeping, sniffing, and licking. She followed the interesting scents and the interesting tastes wherever they led her. She was small, and swift, which meant that it was easier for her to slip into and out of all of the secret, dangerous, or forbidden dark places hidden throughout Death's city. Eventually she became aware of the magic, something that was about as interesting to her at first as a discarded string to toy with or a stuffed toy to bat at with her paws. So she played with the magic the way that any cat would, half-heartedly and not too seriously, always willing to toss it aside the moment that something more interesting would come along to grab her attention - a new scent, a bright light to chase, the enticing purr of an alley-cat on the prowl.
But the magic was always there. It was everywhere in this city - bright, shiny, enticing, and rich with scents the likes of which Blair had never experienced before. She had a name now. Blair. It was written on a tag that hung from her collar and caught the light gleaming as she prowled through the house. Yes, there was a house now. Before there had been streets, but now there was a house. Before there had been fish stolen from angry street vendors and delicious piles of garbage to dig through, but now there was the sound of a can opener and dainty little white bowls filled with succulent morsels of meat laid out right in front of her. During the day Blair lazed about on cushions and carpet, watching the little human girls who petted and fed her with her sharp, piercing gaze. During the night Blair hid in the dark corners of the house and played with the magic, learning how to give herself smooth skin, and long slender fingers, and that strange upright balance that the little girls had. Blair learned how to weave the magic around her cold, naked, hairless skin to match the strange garments that the little girls wore. She learned all the enchantments to make herself beautiful and to give herself a voice so that she could say all the names of all of the things, just like the little girls could.
The first time that Blair spoke to the girls, it was merely because she had been feeling hungry at the time (as hunger tends to so often motivate all of the decisions of cats), so she rubbed herself against the ankles of the tallest of the girls and asked, "Do you have any fish for Blair?"
The girls weren't even surprised to hear their cat talking. Such a thing was not so unusual in Death's city.
From there it wasn't long until Blair was playing games with the girls, sharing with their jump ropes and their sidewalk chalk, shopping with them, eating with them, and getting into giggling pillow fights with them - all while taking on the form of a irresistibly cute human girl herself. Blair enchanted the dolls that the little girls kept in their room so that they could have tea parties together. Blair magicked the little girls' hairbrushes to float and their nightgowns to dance with them. Blair made the dishes scrub themselves and the floors sweep themselves so that the little girls would have more time to play with her, and kept the lights glowing softly in the little girls' bedroom all night long so that they could sleep unafraid of the creeping shadows.
This went on for a long time. Blair wasn't sure exactly how long. Cats were never very good at keeping track of time.
But eventually Blair could no longer ignore the changes that were happening. The little human girls were still little human girls, dancing with nightgowns and afraid of the shadows, but cats grow faster than humans do, and Blair was a kitten growing into a cat. Blair's human form was no longer a squat little button-nosed child but rather a creature that grew taller and curvier every day. Blair tried to change her human form back into one that was the right size to fit with the little girls, but the magic simply would not work that way. Either way, Blair was growing too old for sidewalk chalk or tea parties anymore. At night Blair would slip out a window and prowl along the roof of her house, sometimes in her furry form and sometimes in her two-legged form, listening to the distant calls of the alley-cats, dreaming of human men and their smooth skin beneath her rough tongue and the enticing scents of their bodies, dreaming of pursuing more dangerous magic, dreaming of flight and fire.
One night Blair crept back through the window and into the house, only to find the two little girls awake and waiting for her, watching her with their strange human eyes.
"If you're going to go," the littlest one said, "You should take this with you." She held out her offering: the unimaginative black conical hat that she had pulled off her favorite doll of a witch.
Blair held still as the little girl solemnly placed the doll's hat upon Blair's furry head. "Now you're a real witch," the little girl said.
Blair admired herself in a mirror. "It suits Blair, doesn't it?"
"It does," the older girl said. "But you should go now. Mom might have let us keep a magic cat, but she definitely won't let us keep a witch for a pet."
So Blair licked both of their faces one last time, then slipped out the window again.
She never once looked back.
That night Blair followed the scent of magic all the way to the pumpkin patch where the magic scents were so strong that Blair immediately knew that she had found her new home.
Eventually Blair would make her own house, with her own enchanted brushes and dancing nightgowns, and her own softly glowing lights that kept the shadows away at night, and her own witch's hat, far more powerful - and fashionable - than the doll's hat that the little human girl had given her. Eventually Blair would forget the names of the little girls too, as she grew older and the magic grew stronger, as she learned more about fire and flight and all the magic that made her so very dangerous to the humans, and as humans began to look more and more like delicious food and amusing toys than like friends or companions. Occasionally Blair felt the faintest pangs of guilt about forgetting the names of the ones who had named her. But the guilt was fleeting and quickly forgotten.
Still, there were nights - only very rarely, of course, but every now and then - when Blair would sleep so soundly that her dreaming mind would conjure up fond memories of human hands stroking her fur, of the sound of a can opener, of the sweet sensation of falling asleep curled on top of a warm human lap.
Maybe someday she might toy with the idea of being somebody's cat again. At least on a part-time basis.
But not for a long time yet.
kuroshiro_neko! You get TWO gifts! <333 The pieces will be posted seperately because they are by different authors.] Title: The Kitten, The Hat, and the Pumpkin Patch
Recipient:
kuroshiro_nekoRating: G
Character: Blair
Summary: When Blair was a kitten, she learned how to play with magic.
Notes: The prompt was "Blair as a kid," so I guess this is my headcanon version of what a young Blair's life might have been like.
She doesn't remember much about her beginning, because there was hardly anything from that time worth remembering. Mostly sleeping, sniffing, and licking. She followed the interesting scents and the interesting tastes wherever they led her. She was small, and swift, which meant that it was easier for her to slip into and out of all of the secret, dangerous, or forbidden dark places hidden throughout Death's city. Eventually she became aware of the magic, something that was about as interesting to her at first as a discarded string to toy with or a stuffed toy to bat at with her paws. So she played with the magic the way that any cat would, half-heartedly and not too seriously, always willing to toss it aside the moment that something more interesting would come along to grab her attention - a new scent, a bright light to chase, the enticing purr of an alley-cat on the prowl.
But the magic was always there. It was everywhere in this city - bright, shiny, enticing, and rich with scents the likes of which Blair had never experienced before. She had a name now. Blair. It was written on a tag that hung from her collar and caught the light gleaming as she prowled through the house. Yes, there was a house now. Before there had been streets, but now there was a house. Before there had been fish stolen from angry street vendors and delicious piles of garbage to dig through, but now there was the sound of a can opener and dainty little white bowls filled with succulent morsels of meat laid out right in front of her. During the day Blair lazed about on cushions and carpet, watching the little human girls who petted and fed her with her sharp, piercing gaze. During the night Blair hid in the dark corners of the house and played with the magic, learning how to give herself smooth skin, and long slender fingers, and that strange upright balance that the little girls had. Blair learned how to weave the magic around her cold, naked, hairless skin to match the strange garments that the little girls wore. She learned all the enchantments to make herself beautiful and to give herself a voice so that she could say all the names of all of the things, just like the little girls could.
The first time that Blair spoke to the girls, it was merely because she had been feeling hungry at the time (as hunger tends to so often motivate all of the decisions of cats), so she rubbed herself against the ankles of the tallest of the girls and asked, "Do you have any fish for Blair?"
The girls weren't even surprised to hear their cat talking. Such a thing was not so unusual in Death's city.
From there it wasn't long until Blair was playing games with the girls, sharing with their jump ropes and their sidewalk chalk, shopping with them, eating with them, and getting into giggling pillow fights with them - all while taking on the form of a irresistibly cute human girl herself. Blair enchanted the dolls that the little girls kept in their room so that they could have tea parties together. Blair magicked the little girls' hairbrushes to float and their nightgowns to dance with them. Blair made the dishes scrub themselves and the floors sweep themselves so that the little girls would have more time to play with her, and kept the lights glowing softly in the little girls' bedroom all night long so that they could sleep unafraid of the creeping shadows.
This went on for a long time. Blair wasn't sure exactly how long. Cats were never very good at keeping track of time.
But eventually Blair could no longer ignore the changes that were happening. The little human girls were still little human girls, dancing with nightgowns and afraid of the shadows, but cats grow faster than humans do, and Blair was a kitten growing into a cat. Blair's human form was no longer a squat little button-nosed child but rather a creature that grew taller and curvier every day. Blair tried to change her human form back into one that was the right size to fit with the little girls, but the magic simply would not work that way. Either way, Blair was growing too old for sidewalk chalk or tea parties anymore. At night Blair would slip out a window and prowl along the roof of her house, sometimes in her furry form and sometimes in her two-legged form, listening to the distant calls of the alley-cats, dreaming of human men and their smooth skin beneath her rough tongue and the enticing scents of their bodies, dreaming of pursuing more dangerous magic, dreaming of flight and fire.
One night Blair crept back through the window and into the house, only to find the two little girls awake and waiting for her, watching her with their strange human eyes.
"If you're going to go," the littlest one said, "You should take this with you." She held out her offering: the unimaginative black conical hat that she had pulled off her favorite doll of a witch.
Blair held still as the little girl solemnly placed the doll's hat upon Blair's furry head. "Now you're a real witch," the little girl said.
Blair admired herself in a mirror. "It suits Blair, doesn't it?"
"It does," the older girl said. "But you should go now. Mom might have let us keep a magic cat, but she definitely won't let us keep a witch for a pet."
So Blair licked both of their faces one last time, then slipped out the window again.
She never once looked back.
That night Blair followed the scent of magic all the way to the pumpkin patch where the magic scents were so strong that Blair immediately knew that she had found her new home.
Eventually Blair would make her own house, with her own enchanted brushes and dancing nightgowns, and her own softly glowing lights that kept the shadows away at night, and her own witch's hat, far more powerful - and fashionable - than the doll's hat that the little human girl had given her. Eventually Blair would forget the names of the little girls too, as she grew older and the magic grew stronger, as she learned more about fire and flight and all the magic that made her so very dangerous to the humans, and as humans began to look more and more like delicious food and amusing toys than like friends or companions. Occasionally Blair felt the faintest pangs of guilt about forgetting the names of the ones who had named her. But the guilt was fleeting and quickly forgotten.
Still, there were nights - only very rarely, of course, but every now and then - when Blair would sleep so soundly that her dreaming mind would conjure up fond memories of human hands stroking her fur, of the sound of a can opener, of the sweet sensation of falling asleep curled on top of a warm human lap.
Maybe someday she might toy with the idea of being somebody's cat again. At least on a part-time basis.
But not for a long time yet.