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Today is Friday the thirteenth, a traditionally unlucky day. Well, traditionally unlucky for humans, at least. Cats are largely indifferent on the subject. But still, tradition is tradition.

Thus, we find one particular cat, sleek and proud and black as night, strolling through Milliways like he owns the place. And maybe he does, who knows? At any rate, he's crossing a lot of paths on his way through the room. Maybe he's crossing yours.

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X pauses before stepping either into or over him.

Neither of those is polite.

And, because this is Milliways --

"Hello."

"Hello," the cat replies in a voice like the voice in the back of your head.

X frowns a little.

Due to her upbringing, she does not have much internal narration. But what she is familiar with is a certain subset of human mutations.

Which is why this happens next.

"You are a telepath?"

It does not seem impossible. Not even close.

"No," he says dryly. "I am a cat."

"I think there are people who can be both."

A pause.

"I am a mutant."

If they are giving their species identification.

"Oh? And what are you a mutant of?"

X frowns again, very slightly.

"I am a clone, too. Of another mutant."

Even if clone is a completely scientifically-inaccurate description of X.

"His parents were human."

If that helps.

"You are a clone," he repeats. "Of a man."

"Only his X chromosome was viable."

X's response is matter-of-fact.

Someone else might be rolling their eyes.

Edited 2014-06-13 18:46 (UTC)

"I should think," the cat remarks, "that a single chromosome is not enough to make a human being."

"We have healing factors."

X's shrug is one-shouldered and quick.

"That is what made it possible."

Or so Marvel skience assumes.

"If you say so." The cat yawns and stretches.

X just watches him for a moment or two.

"You nap? Here."

"I do."

Who, after all, could stop him?

"People do not bother you?"

She hopes not, anyway.

"They do not always recognize that humans are not the only type of people."

"I have never been particularly bothered by people," is the reply.

"That is good."

It almost sounds like a question.

"Clearly, you are a scintillating conversationalist."

"I am not good at talking."

Just to re-state the obvious.

"It is why I practice."

He may cross the path of the forge cats that lounge by the fireplace. They smell of fire, hay, the outside, and juicy demon bunnies.

One of them is black, and she turns her head to look at him with calm curiosity.

Edited 2014-06-13 17:34 (UTC)

The older cat looks back, impassive. He's here. They're here. What of it?

The young black cat washes her paw.

We don't know you, she declares.

"That," the older cat replies, "is your misfortune."

We could meet you, the young black suggests. Do you like hunting demon bunnies, or mice in the stables?

"I am quite fond of hunting mice," says the older cat. "Less so the rabbits. They taste of petrol."

Not if they're fresh and unburned, the young black cat says. But the stables are more fun to search through.

"Oh, and you fancy yourself a hunter, do you, little one?"

Catching and eating prey is fun! she says, proudly.

"That was not the question I asked."

I do not fancy myself one, I am! the little black cat declares.

One of those people he keeps crossing paths with is a short (by human standards), blond woman who keeps swearing as she does her own pacing. Funny enough, for all that she seems distracted, she's yet to get close to stepping on the black cat.

This is quite appreciated. But the cat loves a challenge, so the woman is going to have a furry body winding around her ankles as she walks.

Andrea continues for another round and then stops to glare at the cat.

"Really?"

"Really what?" the cat replies.

"Oh, don't that just figure," Andrea says with a roll of her eyes. "Sorry, cat. Didn't mean to assume."

"And yet," says the cat, "you did."

"That I did," Andrea admits, grabbing a seat on the floor since looking up like that can't be too comfortable. "But I also apologized. I know better than to assume if it is cat shaped that it will act like how I am familiar with cats being...well, that it can't talk. At least here. Well back home too, now that I think about it."

"Sorry, I ramble. I'm Andrea Nash. Got anything you'd like me to call you?"

"No," he says simply. "Calling a cat is not a particularly productive use of one's time."

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