milliways_bar | (no subject)

Yrael told Faith once that Free Magic creatures were regarded as monsters in the Old Kingdom.

And it is a monster which pulls itself from the lake to stand upon the shore, the boiling water settling to steam in its wake, with the grass at its feet curling and bursting into short-lived flame. The Bright Shiner stands as an eight-foot tall pillar of liquid flame, blindingly white, like a miniature star. In shape it is vaguely humanoid, an emaciated torso upon a base of whirling force, with bone-sharp, bone-thin arms and a shapeless head of burning white flame with a face of most basic anatomy.

With it comes the smell of the Free Magic, overwhelming and nauseating, acrid and biting like ozone after a lightning strike, catching in the back of one's throat and stinging one's eyes. Nothing living has a smell like that.

It looks down at her, and tilts its head. Sparks fall as it opens its mouth. "I thought you knew I hated water," it says with a voice like a crackle of thunder.

Faith stares up at the creature in front of her, the horrifying, monstrous, and godawful smelly thing standing on the grass inches away from her.

It's been a while since she was this close to something that could kill her that easily. And it would be easy, she knows that now. A flick of his wrist, a twitch of his nose...he could kill her as simply as breathing.

She knows that now.

But she's not afraid.

Because it's still Yrael. Her friend. Yrael, who she's teased and tickled and tormented more times than she can count. Yrael, who lets her call him 'ickle kittums boy.' Yrael, who has held her while she cried, and offered her comfort when she needed it desperately.

".....I tried to catch you," she says, and gets to her feet. "Change back, willya, kittums? You kinda reek."

The light shrinks. Brightens for a moment (if that is even possible), enough to hurt the eyes, and and then fades as if it had never been.

And there is a cat sitting there, looking put upon as he makes sure all his fur is dry.

"Oh, the sacrifices I make, for the sake of your sense of smell," he says, dramatically.

"Thank you," Faith says, and reaches over to scratch him behind the ears.

"Feeling better?"

Satisfied that all the water burned off, he yawns widely. "A bit. Kinda... I am fine."

A bit sleepy, though. Catnip has that effect, when it begins to wear off. He blinks dazedly up at her.

"You are all right?"

"Fine. I didn't fall in with you."

Faith scritches him some more.

"That was a smart move." He purrs, closing his green eyes.

(In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?)

"I am glad you did not fall in. It would have been bad."

"Yeah, I figured that with the water boiling and all."

"You are smart in your reasonings as well as your movements."

That scritching is wonderful.

Faith now has a lapkitt~~ums~~y.

"I am well accustomed to getting out of the way of danger."

Scritch scritch bellyrub pet pet pet.

"Practice makes perfect, I suppose." He yawns, shifting luxuriously and enjoying the scritching. Bright Shiners, it must be said, do not happywiggle from bellyrubs.

No really.

Ignore him.

So very comfortable.

Yrael is the poster cat for Form Defining Function.

And if he isn't, he should be.

He will revolutionize the architechtural world. Form Follows Function, yeah right.

The kitty is not snoring. That is just... er... he's um... Look, ELVIS!

Faith's just gonna keep scritching him for a while.

'Cause. Kitty.