Massive multipup sick-day post

[ostro_goth]

They're all there:

• Teja, in the forge, sharpening a sahs;
• Ragnar, by the stables, feeding the goats;
• Father Harman, on the steps of Javert's little church, taking out wilted flowers;
• Hannibal Lecter, in the herb garden by the kitchen's back door, picking basil;
• Galen Erso, by the door of the greenhouse, sorting through a mess of crystals and wires;
• Lady Margolotta, in the darkest corner of the bar, knitting baby shoes.

Comments

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal keeps picking herbs; he deposits them in a small basket, keeping each herb to itself.

The scents waft through the warm late summer air as the stalks are broken -- basil, rosemary, lemon thyme, vervain, mint, laksa leaf, Chinese chives, catnip...

[mogget_cat]

They are lovely smells, mingling in the summer-thick warmth.

The not'cat streeeeeeeeetches luxuriously, yawning wide to show needle-sharp white teeth. A pink nose twitches as a particular scent reaches him, and one green eye opens.

Verrrry tempting.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal rubs the herb between his palms, and inhales the smell.

[mogget_cat]

It is a strong smell, a cloying smell, pungent in the late summer heat.

Without seeming to cross the intervening space, there is now a not'cat lounging with it's chin resting across Hannibal's right foot, purring.

Subtlety is something that happens to other people.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal bends to touch the white fur with his fingers to which the scent of the herb still clings.

[mogget_cat]

The thing shaped like a cat - and the being that has been shaped by being shaped like a cat - twists over into its back and leans its head against the hand. Long, soft whiskers brush by Hannibal's knuckles, and a rough, pink tongue scrapes across his fingers, accompanied by steady purring.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal trails his fingers around the creature's jaw, happy to elicit more reactions informed by the feline shape.

[mogget_cat]

The not'cat presses its chin down against those fingers, purring hard with its green eyes half-shut and blissfully unfocused.

[cook_the_rude]

"Would you like this with sushi?" Hannibal muses.

[mogget_cat]

Two paddy paws have gently caught the hand offering the looooovely scritches, so that those fingers can scratch the best spots. It is also possible that the not'cat is using the scritching hand as balance so he doesn't slide off the face of the world.

But at Hannibal's musing suggestion, the two mostly-closed green eyes open wide, their pupils large and as dark as the pit of night.

"Ooooooohhhrrrr," mwrrs the not'cat, drifting happily, "Haaaannibal, you have the best ideas!"

[cook_the_rude]

"Something to appeal to both cat and man in the Bright Shiner," Hannibal smiles, his fingers still wandering the white fur.

[mogget_cat]

"The best food," he mwrrs, twisting to try (and mostly fail) to follow the wandering fingers without toppling over, "feeds the whooooooooole being."

"...Whole being. Entity. Idea. Perspective. Whole beeeeeeing. Hol'been. Whole bean. Like coffee."

[cook_the_rude]

"You," Hannibal says, "are what they call stoned. A stoned cat who is, at the same time, a whole entity of many more dimensions and powers."

[mogget_cat]

"Yup," agrees the Mogget, nodding vigorously.

"S'fun. Thhhe... dist... distortle of the senses, sensesensation. Prooooprioception. Whups." In a great feat of skill, the Mogget manages to trip without actually needing to move, to flop into a boneless heap of vibrating fur upon Hannibal's feet.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal picks up the pile of purr and cradles it in his arms, scritching ears and chin.

"Distortle," he says, seriously. "I like that neologism and definitely have to use it."

[mogget_cat]

The white cat gives a little chirrup as he is picked up, but Yrael is quite happy to snuggle. His green eyes close and he tucks his head under Hannibal's chin, an armful of purr.

"Youuuuu are welcome to it, m'frien'. It's a good one. Acc'rate. Preciii- ooh, right there."

That is, apparently, the spot.

[cook_the_rude]

"Here?" Hannibal asks, doing it again.

[mogget_cat]

"Ye-" The purring overtakes the word, loudening like the revving of a well-tuned motor, vibrating in Hannibal's arms. It has been observed before that cats often seem to be some sort of non-newtonian fluid rather than truly solid. This is especially true in the not-cat's case, and even more especially true now.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal has to work hard to contain the not!cat as it flows and spreads in his arms. His skilful fingers keep scratching that spot, though.

[mogget_cat]

Yrael is a happy pool of purr in Hannibal's arms.

There may be a bowl of adequate size to contain him, somewhere in the kitchen.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal won't need a bowl; he seems quite glad to do this by hand.

[mogget_cat]

Hannibal always does like a challenge.

Yrael won't be going anywhere for a while.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal sits on the garden bench, sprawling like a villain, and gives the not!cat all the attention he deserves.

[mogget_cat]

Yrael eventually semi-sorta re-solidifies, coming back to himself. There may have been a catnap in there somewhere. He contentedly licks the last of the catnip scent from Hannibal's fingers with a rough, pink tongue.

[cook_the_rude]

"Hello, my friend," Hannibal says. "Ready for sushi now?"

[mogget_cat]

"I believe so," Yrael replies, lightly headbutting the fingers once more, for good measure. "You are making this an afternoon of delights, my friend."

[cook_the_rude]

"That is what I enjoy most," Hannibal says. "Delighting my friends."

[mogget_cat]

"You make an art of it," purrs the not'cat.

But also sushi.

The cat twists a bit in Hannibal's arms to get it's paws underneath it again, and lets itself drop down lightly onto the garden path.

[cook_the_rude]

Hannibal stands, and then plucks just a few sprigs of catnip. "I wonder what fish goes best with this," he muses. "Light and white and fresh, I think?"

[mogget_cat]

The not'cat winds lightly about his ankle. "That sounds perfect. Nothing so strongly flavored."

Catnip is a strong flavor by itself.

[cook_the_rude]

"Then let us!"