milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

"Eleven for the eleven went up to heaven.
Ten for the ten commandments.
Nine for the nine bright shiners.
Eight for the April rainers.
Seven for the seven stars in the sky..."

Reciting to the pace of throw and catch, Jack is in the bar. The small glass ball he's playing with holding all of his attention, for the moment.

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*A very white cat with startlingly green eyes, the Eighth of the Nine Bright Shiners, watches and listens.*

"Six for the six..."

The ball is caught.

And the cat is examined back.

*He inclines his head slightly.*

Good evening.

That is an interesting song.

"An old song."

The ball is slipped into his pocket.

"Odd, too."

Indeed. From what world and what time does it come? *The white cat pads forward, curious.*

"Earth."

Jack doesn't move.

"At least, that is where I learned it. An odd combination of the biblical and pagan."

Really? Who are the eleven who went up to heaven? What are the nine Bright Shiners?

*Forgive him his curiosity; it's the shape's fault. He pads forward, intent.*

"The eleven are the disciples of Christ without their Judas."

He still doesn't back up.

"And the nine are a reference, well, there is some disagreement. Possible the nine orders of angels, possible the pagan triads of triads- phases of the moon. Then, possibly else."

*The Bright Shiner wraps around his leg, purring.*

Quite interesting. I had never heard of bright shiners from any world but my own.

He looks down at it, with no small amount of amusement.

"Worlds bleed into eachother in strange ways. I am in the most of them."

*The bone on the outside of human ankles is a lovely place to rub an itchy chin.*

You are not in the one I come from.

"Is there frost?"

He watches the cat, amused.

Yes, but not frost with thought and voice. It is not a person.

"No. But it is I."

He reaches down, carefully, slowly, moving to scratch at his ears.

"Even if it has not taken shape."

The frost of that world does not have awareness as you do, nor sentience of any sort.

*He purrs, pressing his starkly white head up against Jack's fingers.*

"No."

He speaks slowly, and clearly, as though, maybe to a very small child.

"But it is I."

Why do you not take this shape on that world? *He coils about Jack's ankle, warm.*

"I hardly bother."

Jack's ankle, by contrast, is very cool.

"It is seldom worth it."

It is a pity. You scritch well.

*The cat stays quite warm, really.*

"Thank you. I do my best."

He likes this cat much better than Scampi. For one thing, it has not sneezed on him.

*Ignore the shedding, then.*

What do you do... Frost, other than what your name suggests, play catch with a ball, and scritch well?

"Well, as you say, what the name suggests."

The shredding is observed with some trepadition.

"And dancing and speaking with Mercutio, arguing with Thea, poker with Belial. I eat raisins and apples, and sing when the mood takes me."

*The cat smiles at the mention of Mercutio and Thea, other friends of his.*

Will you sing something for me? I... collect music, you see.

"The rest of the song?"

His fingers stray to his pocket.

He's never seen a cat smile.

*Now it's grinning. Its teeth are as white as it's fur.*

Please.