revivalproject | [closed] Counting Cats

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[closed] Counting Cats

WHO: Jon, Salem & ALL THE MOTHCATS
WHERE: Library
WHAT: The only comanpy Jon has during the Blizzard is of the feline sort...
WHEN: During the blizzard
WARNINGS: Cats doing cat things. Paranoia & tpical Jon warnings.

He feels blind. He feels lost. He can barely think. And if it weren't for the Countess and her flock, Jon would have wandered out into the freezing snow on more than one occassion. But the mothcats are vigilant. They haven't ventured outside during the actual storm itself, but they have kept their watchful eyes on their two-legged companion. They have very effectively blocked his way to the door and used their numbers and charm to direct the confusd Archivist to a safe, comparably warm nook of the library where they very much piled themselves upon him. No leaving.

But that doesn't make him feel any safer. Tony has been working on the building, hasn't he? Or had he just said that he would? And Tony isn't around to ask. Where is Tony? Out in the storm? Does he need help now that Jon can't see? The one thing Jon does see is the Countess' feline face. Her eyes trained on him and feathery feelers twitching while her ears track any noise within the building.

"It's- Not safe." Jon tries to tell the animal, but she doesn't respond. Not in any audible way at least. But she winks at him. Jon wiggles a hand out from under the mothcats but his fingers only get pawed at from vatiour directions. "We need to- I must-- Hey. Stop it!"

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"Unhand him, you fiends!"

This was the last place Salem wanted to be. The boots that Lark had made him were soaked, though, and there had been a small door, inviting him toward the smell of burning wood that turned out to be an awful bait and switch, the fire barely embers and the smell inside distinctly familiar. This was the place Omega had brought him, he realized, only when he was leaning up against the fire grate already mournfully, and that smell was those awful, weird cats. Was it more noble to die gloriously in battle, or frozen out in that wasteland? Sometimes Salem cared about nobility. When someone else was watching.

Unfortunately, someone else did seem to be here, making his ears flick back at the sound of a voice, then twist as he tried to pinpoint the source in this echoing depression of a building. Carefully, he went padding toward it, to find out just how many dangers he was avoiding by picking the freezing death, only to discover the weird cats at their dastardly work. If they were already eating somebody alive, then maybe they wouldn't be too hungry for the tiny morsel Salem would make. Maybe that gave him an advantage.

A black streak came bursting out of a shelf to fall heavily with the pricks of nails onto Jon's chest, shouting then making an awful, shrill growl to send the mothcats scattering.

The mothcats scattering away isn't the only thing that happens. There's a strangled noise of surprise from Jon as wellas the air is pressed forcefully from his lungs and he rears up, his hands grasping to take a hold of whatever is attacking him. What his hands close around is soft, relatively warm but also still very much damp and the upset fluttering around him from the mothcats that haven't simply jumped on a nearby shelf or the wall to watch with spread wings and feathered tails swishing agitatedly.

"Wha-?!" Jon manages to gasp out first before he finally looks at what exactly it is he has captured. "...a- cat?"

And then there's the Countess leaping on his shoulder to set her eyes on the intruder as well, returning the growl.

This daring-rescue-attempt-for-his-own-benefit was backfiring very quickly on Salem. Most of the animals did what they were supposed to, but the man was not being terribly cooperative or thanking Salem profusely with ham or hot chocolate. Instead, Salem was stuck staring back into the eyes of a growling wild animal, and while his hair was still all on end with his puffed up tail lashing as much as it could in this unfortunate capture, it was simply in his nature to start to sob, "I didn't mean it, don't eat me! I'm too beautiful to die!"

While the Countess doesn’t cease her low growling, Jon doesn’t appear too bothered and instead picks Salem up properly to get a better look at the suddenly very miserable sounding feline.

„You talk…“ Jon observes, looking thoughtful. He feels like he should recognize this cat, but it’s hard to think with the storm going. He sets Salem back down onto his lap, but doesn’t quite let go of him. „Why did you jump on me?“ As Jon says those words, the Countess shifts down from his shoulder and forces herself into his lap as well, getting way too close to Salem to keep staring at him.

Being nakedly observed while already distressed was a humiliating enough experience that Salem forgot that he was crying, and gave a perfunctory wiggle of discomfort for being lifted, feet kicking at the air with uselessly spread toes. "Meow," he grumbled in return for the astute observation, regretting letting that secret slip now, too. This guy was supposed to be dying, not trusting his own mind. At least being in a lap wasn't quite as awful, as long as Salem was alone. This was a short-lived not-awful. Where he had seemed prepared to accept this arrangement, now he tried to force his way back out of the hold on him, and more importantly away from the weird cat. "I thought you needed help, but we can both forget about anything we've seen here, I promise I won't tell anyone about your weird coping mechanism."

Maybe it's Salem's tone that the Countess doesn't like, but the moment he has uttered his suggestion, the Countess hits him with a quick strike of her paw. An action that has the other mothcats tense and ready to leap as well.

Jon can only watch, mind foggy and a little overwhelmed by the developments. He does, however, put a steadying hand on the backs of both felines as if to try preventing an actual fight. "Come on. Behave." And this was said in general. But then he looks back at Salem, sorting out his words. "The mothcats- They are not dangerous. What's dangerous is..." He looks up and around again, remembering that this place isn't as safe as it pretends to be.

Whatever Jon had to say was not information that Salem was taking on, especially because the mothcats were clearly dangerous and this man clearly was out of his mind, just not in a way that was beneficial to Salem in the least. As soon as he was hit, he was ready to bolt, only to fall over pathetically under the weight of one hand and be reduced to moaning, "I've been attacked! Struck! I am going to die! Mama!"

Jon's hand remains on Salem and the Countess remains on his lap, tail swishing back and forth as she keeps her eyes on the strange, wingless cat that doesn't fight back at all.

"W-We must- Get out." Jon announces and urges the mothcat on his shoulder while picking up Salem in his arms to get up properly. It's that motion that pulls the mothcats attention away from Salem and she flies up from Jon's shoulder to land in front of him with her wings spread. More mothcats join soon to get betwen the Archivist and the building's exit, prompting the man to hold the black cat in his arms tighter. "But- It's not safe!"

Without much recourse as he was hoisted, and with somewhat better odds against the mothcats while being carried so far, Salem settled for pathetic, quiet sobbing to try to earn enough pity out of this situation. He wasn't going to argue against getting out in general, anyway, though his nails dug in to Jon's arm anxiously as the mothcat stared them both down, clinging back in return. "You've got to get away from them," Salem agreed. "They're the only dangerous thing I see around here. Trust your instincts. Mine have caught me many birds."

Hearing the voice in his arm has Jon look down, confused for a moment or two as he blinks at Salem. "...they aren't birds..." He mutters with a pat to the soft body clinging to him. "And... They aren't evil. I... They just..." He hesitates and looks over to the mothcats who are cautiously watching his every move. "They don't understand." They don't understand how dangerous it is to stay.

"They are pretty bad at being birds," Salem agreed, despite the feathers. He had never been this worried that a bird would smack him to death. Evil, too, was a little more harsh than he would attribute to the animals; he would consider fetal, brutish, or perhaps hungry. And a pat wasn't so bad, no matter the circumstances. Overall, they were in agreement, including, "I have to be honest with you, my good man, I also don't understand what is happening right now. Maybe it's a cat thing."

"But- You are a cat." Jon points out, implying that Salem should know all these things. And he does, in fact, look from Salem over to the mothcats and back. "You- Could just talk to them. R-right?" He doesn't wait for an answer but takes a step forward to put Salem on the ground right in front of the Countess who's feelers twitch in irritation before she casts a surprisingly quizzical look back up at Jon. What exactly is she supposed to do with this?

This was where they were starting to disagree again, because Salem was no so much of a cat that he could just start talking to beasts. He had never learned the language. To make this very clear, he moaned, "Noooo!" as he was lowered into the danger zone, panic-stiff legs flailing like that would repel him from the ground. He sprung away the moment he was released, weaving himself back between Jon's feet and ready to keep weaving even if that meant tripping the man, because it was clearly safer here than out in the open. "I can talk to you!" he pointed out. "Those are very different skills. What am I even supposed to tell them?"

While Jon initially tried to step away, that goal has to be abandoned after a few steps taken with Salem squeezinh between his feet. He is left looking down in bewilderment, his focus shifting between the seemingly regular cat and the mothcats.

"You don't- You can't talk to them?"

To Jon in his current state that's a perfectly normal question. But even the Countess seems to pick up on it as she sits down to simply watch for a moment while some of the other mothcats busy themselves otherwhise.

"But... Aren't you... Aren't you all cats?"

At least the mothcat wasn't moving in her threatening way, and the man wasn't moving in his awkward way, letting Salem crouch down tensely behind his heel where he could keep an eye on the threat. "I can see how you could think that about me. In every way that matters, I am a cat right now. Except for the fact that I'm talking to you," he pointed out. This shouldn't have been so difficult to acknowledge. "Them, though, that's not what a cat looks like, they've got you hypnotized or something. They're...green! And have feathers! Are you not seeing this?"

"Well, yes, but..." Jon trails off for a moment to gesture a little awkwardly towards the mothcats, to which the Countess responds by tilting her head quizzically. "You have to admit they are- uh... Adorable? N-not that you are not, of course!" Jon is quick to add with a look down towards Salem. "Maybe... You could become friends?"

"I have to admit no such thing," Salem retorted, nose up in the air and not particularly interested in seeing the finer points of feelers or feathers. Those were the kind of features he looked for in prey to stalk in the grass, not friends. "And it's her you should be telling to play nice, she's the one that hit me! And she's trapping you here, look, look in her eyes, she's just biding her time to eat your liver. I once sat on a mouse for three hours. Mostly because I forgot I was doing it."

"What did the mouse do to you?" Is all Jon asks about, his mind having already discarded the rest of Salem's words to fixate on this particular issue. What has the mouse done?

This was maybe not the best time to be defending his hierarchy in the animal kingdom, but Salem would not stand for being blamed for...anything, and replied, "It was scampering!," as though this would earn anything being sat on and worse. "Am I just supposed to ignore that?"

Jon can only stare at that reply, his head trying to spot the offense. Meanwhile some of the mothcats have redirected their attention to swatting at their brethrens tails, grooming or outright pouncing at one another to instigate play.

"That's... What mice do, right?" Jon has to ask further. It seems like a thing mice would do.

They did look more catlike and less intimidating when they weren't trying to murder Salem. Maybe he could understand why their wiles had worked on this very stupid man, and had him convinced they were just nice cats.

"And what cats do is eat them. Or sit on them, if they're particularly lazy," Salem agreed. "That's probably why there's no mice here. Look, they're distracted! The door is just over here, I can show you if you pick me up again." It was safer up there.

"So you're a particularly lazy cat." Jo concludes from what Salem has just told him. He doesn't move to pick the black feline up, however. Instead his attention notably moves between Salem and the Countess still observing him very closely, occassionally blinking slowly at Jon.

"I didn't say I was hiding it," Salem replied, starting to sound more annoyed. Not by the accusation, which he could not deny, but for their apparent commitment to becoming prey that he had not agreed to.

"Screw this," he announced, and went darting along the shelves to try to get some distance between him and the mothcats so he could make his bold escape...back out into the snow. Maybe if he got far enough, fast enough, they'd forget he was here and he could tuck away into a corner until the storm was over.

"W-wait!" Jon exclaims and takes a step after the black cat only to stop right away when the Countess leaps up from the ground and into his arms to press her face right into his face imploringly.

A couple of the younger mothcats flutter after Salem, assuming the weird wingless cat wants to actually play with them.

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[closed] Counting Cats

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