Open Fresh Fish, Rumbling Purr, Soft Feathers

[Alouette D’aureville]

If one were to ask Lou if she were a cat or a dog person, she'd have said both. If they were to ask instead if she were a cat or a bird person, Alouette would have chosen a bird. Yet, if asked whether she liked fish or cats better, then little Lou would have quickly said 'cat.' It was a strange paradox when she saw that two of the strays belonging to Astenvale Monastery had feathers instead of fur.

She had told Ketyl of it on a night spent in a stable, after facing hay and wood darkened by her and Ketyl's shadow, while he got dressed quickly. It was just as he was pulling on his socks, nearly about to lace up his shoes. He hardly looked at her anymore. Lou had been staring down at her knees, hanging over the hayloft, her clothes back on, shoes and socks beside her. She hadn't felt like hurrying up and going back to Ulrika, who was most likely still awake. Her best friend had begun to give her pitying looks after each meeting with Ketyl, which seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Lou wasn't sure why she was losing his attention, and was offering more to him than she ever thought she would. He no longer walked her back to the dormitory, the last time being months ago.

'Hey, look.' She had braved the chance to tap his bicep to garner his attention, pointing down at the white cat below, who was stalking between the row of horses. A black cat followed after it, larger and steadier. 'There's that cat I told you about, the white one with really long ears. The black one is just like it, look!'

Normally, Ketyl grunted in response one one-word answers, but this time he paused in his actions, looking over and towards where Lou was pointing.

'Yeah,' he had said, 'that's Duchess and Thomas. You never saw flying cats before?' He gave Lou a look that made her turn away and feel hot with embarrassment. She fiddled with her fingers and said nothing. 'Guess they didn't have them where you're from. Later,' Ketyl climbed down the ladder, leaving the lantern for her. She looked at the window, watching him light his way with a pale-blue light that reminded her of faeries and the blue she saw at the end of dreams. When she looked back at where the cats had been, they were gone.

---

Weeks later, Lou did everything she could to get close to the strays. She found them to be the sort of cats that were friendly enough when wanting food, but cautious to the point that, without the aid of food, they'd regard everyone warily. Lou had always thought herself to be an animal whisperer of sorts, a kind soul that attracted everyone, but the cats were too feral.

"Or maybe abused." Ulrika offered. "They're exotic pets for some nobles, and yeah, while no one wants to say it, kitty mills do exist for flying cats. Did you know they can't fly, but they can glide? Their primary prey is birds, Lou...." Ulrika trailed off, giving Lou a look. Lou continued to peel the skin off her piece of trout. "Cornish hen might be more to their liking than trout."

Lou shrugged off the advice, like all the times before when Ulrika had told her to play hard to get to win Ketyl's affections.

"I'm just trying to feed them consistently. If they see that I am friendly, then maybe they won't run from me."

"Riiiiiight, so you just have ulterior motives to pet them." Lou paused in her peeling. "Cats can sense that, you know. And flying cats are more skittish than regular feral cats. You gonna finish your smashed peas?" Lou was more than happy to give Ulrika her peas if it meant not having to listen to her for a moment more. Ulrika's advice tended to be true, more than a young squire would want to admit.

After supper, Lou made her way to the back of the kitchens, where the cats tended to collect scraps. They never harmed the ducks or chickens around the Monastery (at least to Lou's knowledge) and seemed to prefer scavenging instead.

"Pspspspsp," Lou made the sound that she heard everyone else make to lure in cats, holding the slimy part of the trout skin out towards the discard bins which she were sure the cats were lurking about. "I have fish," Lou whispered, as if they knew the language traded between humanity. Her finger nails scratched along the cooked scales, hard and flaky from the flame. A pair of gold eyes stared at her from the shadows, and Lou smiled.

"Hi Duchess," her voice remained low and soft. "This is for you and Thomas, uhm.... Pspspspspsp."

 

[Hector]

"Alouette?" Hector asked as he rounded the corner. He stretched out his neck, and tilted his head some to get a peek at what might be under the waste bins. "Did you lose something down there?" he asked, voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

 

[Gruki]

'What did who lose down where?' Rounding the corner, Gruki hurried up to Hector and Alouette, the basket of kitchen waste she carried temporarily forgotten as she peered over their heads. 'Awful dark under there,' she said, squinting and squatting to get a better look. 'Say, are those eyes?'

 

[Alouette D’aureville]

If Lou's legs weren't as strong as they were, the small fright she got not once but twice might have set her crashing on her behind. Luckily, she only squeaked while her knees shook between flight or fight. The trout skin was slimy and warm on her fingers, and the small squire looked towards Gruki and how she balanced her basket and her weight so effortlessly.

In the shadows, one could see two pairs of eyes; one gold, the other emerald. Both wide, both cautious.

"I'm trying to feed Thomas and Duchess," Lou said, her stomach growling from lack of supper. It was often worth it to go to bed a little hungry, knowing that Thomas and Duchess had full bellies. After all,"I think Duchess is pregnant. So, she might be eating for two... or three... or four... maybe more." She held out the trout skin a little further, but then opened her other fist, revealing flaked white fish meat that looked a little dry, and held it up for the two to inspect. "Do they not like trout? Are cats really that finicky even if they're hungry?"

@Hector @Gruki

 

[Hector]

"Huh," Hector cocked his brow and thumbed his chin. "Well, when a critter is nesting," he started, and squat down to get a better look at Thomas and Duchess. The light strain from his day's trainings, ached in a familiar way that saw him shift his feet to find a little more ease and comfort. Lowered a hand and scratched at the ground some.

"They'll oft be weary of others," he looked back up at Lou, saw the sticky mess on her hands and found his brow scrunch and his head recoil. He shook it away and found her eyes. Smiled easy. "Have you tried leaving it for them? Maybe adding a touch of water to help the oils come out so they can smell it better?"

 

[Gruki]

'You could always try leaving it?' Shuffling out of the way, the big squire stood, her back cricking as she repositioned the basket on her hip. Ouchie! 'I've seen them eat fish before. Thomas and Duchess, that is. Perhaps they believe you to be a predator luring them in? Or maybe they view you as part of the fish yourself?' Gruki could believe it. As for Lou, well, she was mostly skin and bones.

Bad eating, her father, Tloki, would've called her. Not that he practised cannibalism in his spare time.

Though, there was that one winter. Frowning, the she-orc shrugged, made to mosey on over to the composters, a bit further on from the discard bins. 'I'll be right back!' She promised, swaggering off into the dark.

 

[Alouette D’aureville]

A sheepish twitch of Lou's lips soon turned to a childish pout. That's how it had started initially, leaving the fish for them in places they frequented. There was a sort of innocent glee to scamper off to a hiding place and wait for the cats to find her meager offerings. That was the chivalrous thing to do, forgoing her dinner to feed the cats instead and expecting nothing back from them. Ulrika's words echoed between Lou's pink ears.

Looking up from the mess of trout in her hands, she watched Gruki walk off, red hair igniting under the last rays of the sun. Lou figured she was off to get rid of the contents inside the basket. Green eyes wandered back to Hector.

"I guess I should just leave it, but...." She trailed off, unsure if she should say what she wanted to next. But Hector had a kind smile, and though a Knight now, sometimes she still saw him as one of the older squires. "I was hoping to build enough trust to pet one of them," Lou mumbled, shuffling her weight back and forth on each foot. "They look so soft." Her eyes went back to her sticky, fishy hands. "Not that I'd pet them with my hands like this."

@Hector @Gruki

 

[Hector]

A bit of warmth fell from Hector's lips, as he turned away a moment. Pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and offered it up to her. "No, certainly not," he said with a hint of laugh. Pressed the forest green bit of cloth into one of her hands with a careful touch. "but they are slow to trust," his hands slipped away and he turned his eyes unto the flying cats. Wiped the tips of his fingers off in the soil beneath him. "And have long memories," he recalled the first time he had met Thomas and Duchess.

Not as a pair, but individuals.

Thomas was chasing squirrels through the trees, and Hector may have helped a branch break with a bit of shroud-work. "Thomas took a long time to warm up to me," he half confessed. "And is still a bit skittish around me," he looked back to Lou. Friendly curl of the lip there. "But he'll offer a boop every now and again," he nod. "Took weeks of sneaking him treats though," he laughed, and pushed up to stand straight. "They remember the kindnesses, even if it don't much look like it," he assured her.

 

[Gruki]

'That's something we Ki's have in common.' Strolling back towards her friends, the last rays of a dying sun at her back, Gruki alighted alongside Lou, a smile wide upon her face. The basket of waste hung empty by her side. Woven from wicker, it was less fancy than Hector's shroud-weaving, but it served its purpose all the same. 'Kindness begets kindness, and snacks beget snacks. Most of the time, anyhow.'

Squatting down, she set the basket aside.

Tentatively, she stuck a hand out towards the two creatures- Tressyms, she had heard them called, though their wingspan and size suggested otherwise. 'I have yet to hear them speak Common, but a good chatter has always worked for me, in the past.' Mimicking Hector's earlier attempts at cat-talk, Gruki's eyes widened in surprise as Duchess took a few hesitant steps closer, body held low to ground. Curious, yet cautious, as all fur-friends were.

Pausing, Duchess tasted the air in front of her nose, the fish Lou had brought but a paw's reach away. Even watching, Gruki did not see her strike, so swift was she. 'Well, I'll be...' Sighing, Gruki threw her arm over Lou's shoulders. 'Looks like your offering has been accepted, friend,' she smiled, in the hopes she might soften the blow to Lou's hopes.

Shame we didn't get to pet her, though, mused the she-orc, rising to her feet. Scritching at the scar tissue marring the right side of her face, Gruki straightened, fingers clicking as a fresh idea leapt to mind.

'Say, don't suppose you have any more treats on you, Hec- Syr? Hector Syr?'

 

[Alouette D’aureville]

Shredded trout flesh was thrown towards the animals so greasy hands could take hold of the verdant green cloth. Lou had a grateful smile, eyes glittering at Hector’s kindness to lend her something so beautiful just for her to sully it. Absently, she considered how the cloth got such a deep hue, going through the flora and deciding that insects or minerals would have been better.

“Thanks,” she held the cloth awkwardly in her hand, having balled it up and unsure if she should give it back. “I can go wash it,” Lou offered. She felt better when Gruki returned, saying something similar that her mother used to say.

She only got a little jealous that Duchess came much closer to Gruki than she ever did to Lou. Sure, it was understandable. Lou felt the same way about Gruki: someone that made sense to be a Knight, someone strong and capable. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but if she were walking alone at night in a place she had never been before, she’d rather be walking next to Gruki than Syr Hector.

“Do you have treats?” Lou echoed after the she-orc. The excitement was back in her voice, effervescent and bright. Their shadows grew long, soon the sun would sink beneath the violet horizon.

 

[Hector]

Hector's brow scrunched, his smile lopsided as he plucked a corner of the cloth from Lou's hands, as if he'd snatched a feather. "No, that's alright," he laughed, and slipped the cloth through balled fingers. A little snap of the fabrics came with a flick of the rist, and his eyes looked down to the piece of work whilst Gruki spoke on about the pair of strays.

One corner to the other, a tuck of tip thee betwixt the folds, with the weight of the mess accounted for. Firm press of pinched fingers and thumb saw the cloth zip to crease. Turned to rectangle, then square, finally a triangle which he secreted away, back to his pocket.

"More treats?" he asked, eyes up to Gruki, then Alouette. He pat about his pockets, frowned. "No, can't say I do," he managed a sad little smile as he scratched the back of his head. Looked over at Gruki, who seemed nervous for whatever reason. "I'll go get some though, if you two are keen on feeding them," his smile warmed, and he pushed himself up, and moved off to fetch some goodies.

 

[Gruki]

Gruki watched Hector go, her brow furrowed. 'As if he doesn't want to feed them, also,' she huffed, lips curling upwards, like they always did in the presence of kin. 'We'll find a way to win them over, Lou.' Gruki promised, attention half-torn and drifting betwixt the brunette and the bins. 'Be it through their hearts or their stomachs, we will.'

Feline eyes blinked. A good sign, one of trust and acceptance. Gruki smiled, one fang cutting loose with glee.

She still knew better than to stick her hand under. No cat, be they winged or ground-borne, appreciated having their meal interrupted. Especially the veritable feast Lou had provided, courtesy of the kitchens at their backs. Her gaze wandered back to the smaller squire. A smile.

'So,' she said, hands tucked in pockets, 'how's, um, whatsisface?' A name sprang to mind, vague and uncertain, despite lives lived in close proximity. Kerry? Kettle? It was something with a K. Of that much, she was sure.