castle_perrault | [Open] Catgroove.

"Serif!" They thoughtlessly leave off the 'Sans'--'Serif' alone is shorter, and they'll ask if he minds later. For now, they just beam--though there's a definite edge of concern.

"Was it her?" Frisk points at Duchess over their shoulder, taking a few steps in his direction just in case. Catching people might be one of their things now. "This is Duchess! She's a kitty!" Enthusiasm's still quite strong in their quiet voice.

The kitty sits up tall and proud, looking down upon Serif-- though not in a condescending way. "Hello, Serif. Frisk told me about you. I am a cat, although I am not completely representative of my entire species. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

This must be one of the skeletons. She smiles, as well as possible, and tilts her head and ears.

It's easy enough to see Duchess, once she's pointed out. And Sans-Serif doesn't even so much as twitch with surprise, to hear her talk. Why shouldn't cats talk? He hasn't even entirely understood that most of the birds physically can't, rather than just being rude.

Sans-Serif looks to Duchess, and actually gasps aloud a little in realization. It's shortly followed by a broad grin, of the sort Sans usually wears when overhearing a particularly good pun. Frisk is telling people about him! Telling people about him so that they smile when they see him! They really are friends now!

That's a particularly happy sort of realization, enough to distract him for the moment from any strangeness over the nickname. He draws nearer to the thrones, still wobbling a little from exhaustion.

"it's nice to meet you, too, duchess." He's getting better at greeting people, though he still doesn't think to offer his, for lack of a better word, full name.

Once he's close enough to comfortably talk, Sans-Serif sits himself down on the steps leading up to the throne to rest.

"so you're a cat...and a kitty?" He looks somewhat puzzled for a moment, by this. Sans-Serif has seen pictures of cats before, had picture books read to him about cats before. He just hadn't made the connection that "kitty" was another word for one. Certainly not when the pictures he's seen of cats have never looked so...bright and soft and pretty.

After a moment, he brightens somewhat hopefully as an explanation presents itself. "is that like how i'm a monster and a skeleton?" In the way of some children, his train of thought passes right by another station and he adds: "i like your hair."

Frisk is pleased as punch. Never had to introduce old(er) friends to new friends before, and they're glad this seems to be going well enough from the start. They take a semi-step back, as to not block the monster and the cat from being able to look at each other fully.

...That's a good question, really. Or at least it's something they never thought about before. They don't think it's really the same, but... "Kitty might be the name for a younger cat--no, that's kitten. I think cat and kitty mean the same thing. Don't know why they're different." They glance to Duchess, since she'll likely have a better idea.

Edited 2016-03-06 15:02 (UTC)

"Yes. dears. Cat and kitty do mean the same thing. It's a bit like calling a child a kid." She pauses and smiles, covering her mouth with a paw. "Thank you, Serif. It takes a lot of care to get my fur this clean."

She looks more closely at Serif; he doesn't look exactly as she imagined, but he did look close enough, and not scary at all. "What are you two doing wandering the castle all alone? You're only children, after all."

And Sans-Serif looks more closely at Duchess, even leaning forward a little. "we're not alone! my brother is with me." He looks around as though expecting to see S-4 there. He's not, but that's okay. Sans-Serif can call him if he needs him. "and the other me. and tauriel." And a lot of other people who's names Frisk would probably be a lot better at remembering.

"and i'm not only a child. i can protect frisk. or frisk can tell me when to run away." He nods to Frisk in acknowledgement of this. Really, it seems like they've worked out a pretty good system between them, and he's a fan.

"so you're an adult kitty?" Having never seen either a cat or a kitten, he can't imagine that Duchess is going to stay as small as she is. "i'm six. how old are you?"

"Yeah. And Mettaton, and Grune...lots of people. And I'm good at taking care of myself. And my friends." They smile at Sans-Serif gently. He really doesn't need to protect them. "Even though the castle's big, we can find our way around."

Huh. Even though they've called him a 'baby' before, they've never quite thought about how old he actually is. Someone who looks so much like Sans only being six years old is pretty weird to consider.

"I am five years old. Of course, that may seem very young to you two, but cats age a little differently than humans do." And monsters, apparently. "I suppose you could say I am.. around thirty years old in your human years."

She hops off the throne and rubs up against Serif, starting to purr in the hopes he'll pet her. Maybe he'll be a tad more gentle than Frisk-- who tried, but was... a bit too rough for Duchess' tastes, like she was a dog. "And I do not doubt your ability to protect yourselves, no! What I worry about is-- who will you run to when you're scared? Who feeds you? Even human children stay with their mothers when they're young, after all."

Sans-Serif's jaw actually drops, and he stares at Duchess with wide eyesockets as she hops down off the throne. "wow...you're a lot older than me." He laughs a little, scratching at his skull, equal parts embarrassed and outright stunned. "i guess i should have mentioned that i meant 'months', not 'years'."

The sensation of her fur is incredibly ticklish, to the point that he has to fight not to break down in giggles. And the noise she's making might seem a little alarming on its own - he even looks to Frisk to make sure it isn't - but she doesn't seem like she's upset or in pain, so it's probably a good sound. He half-raises a hand, but hesitates. Sans-Serif is not unfamiliar with the idea of petting fluffy animals. He's just never had to do it, and he finds himself more than a little terrified of doing it wrong.

"...i don't have a mother." He remembers the book, and can't help but frown a little, troubled and sad at the memory. "not like everyone else does. but i have my brother. and i guess i kind of have a father, even if he isn't here. and that's all i need." The words are true, and saying them out loud does make him feel a bit better. And besides: "people here are really nice when i'm scared." Even people he hadn't even met before, like Ryoji.

"...i still get scared a lot."

Sorry, Sans-Serif, no reassuring answers from Frisk regarding the kitty, at least not right now. They're just staring as wide-eyed as they can go, because they must've heard him wrong.

"Months? You--are just a baby!" They duck their head down to look at him more closely, as if they'd see some baby-ish qualities they hadn't spotted before. "...no wonder you get scared a lot. It's okay. I don't really have a mother, either." Toriel's here somewhere, they think, but they haven't been officially adopted in their timeline, so they think they can be safe in saying that.

They glance towards Duchess. "Sans-Serif's right. Most people are nice. If we need to, we can go to anybody. And there's food in the ballroom that's always there, and in the gardens, so it's fine."

"You two don't have mothers?" Good luck getting her off that subject for a while, or at least until she meets Toriel and deems her worthy of watching over the two children. "I would gladly step in. No matter how kind the people here are, there is no proper substitute for a mother."

She pauses to nose Serif in the chest. "Six months? My children are about your age. Of course, they aren't here..." a slight sigh, and she backs off. "But, perhaps they will be one day, and you all can meet properly."

And good luck getting Sans-Serif to budge from his stance on this particular subject. He scowls a little at Duchess' insistence. "it's okay not to have a mother if you have a brother," the little skeleton insists, a stubborn sort of expression coming over his face. "my brother takes really good care of me. better than anybody does. even better than they made him for. so...so don't say that to him. you'll make him sad again." S-4 was so sad, at first, when the two of them realized that they didn't have a mother. But then Sans-Serif reminded him that the little bird in the story didn't have a brother, either, so they were still pretty lucky.

He's getting worked up again. Thinking about his brother isn't supposed to get him worked up, it's supposed to have the opposite effect. Sans-Serif folds his arms tightly across his chest, just to be safe, and ducks his head a little to hum to himself.

"...but that's nice of you to offer." He says the words at last like he's memorized them off a card, because sometimes that's the best way to be sure of what you're saying. "so, um, thanks."

That is concerning. After tensing very slightly, Frisk gently reaches over to run a hand down his spine.

"Yeah. S-4 is great. We've both got good family here, even without moms."

They're pretty good at getting a read on people, even if those people aren't what most might consider 'people'. So they can sort of get a feeling that the cat mother might be...projecting, now that she's alone. After a pause, they reach over to pat Duchess' back, too.

Yes, she certainly is projecting, but can these children really blame her? Why shouldn't she, as a mother, take her duty to her absent children and transpose it to these children with absent mothers?

She arches up into Frisk's pat, still purring. "If you ever do want me to take that role in your life, I would not mind."

Truth be told, being a mother has been a decent part of her life; and without someone to take care of, it feels like a hole has been opened up in her chest. She noses at Serif, too, doing her best to keep everyone involved and participating. Six months is young for humans, and monsters, so-- he might need the urging.

Six months is incredibly young even for monsters. He's just been made to think and operate on a much older level. Occasionally, that doesn't work out so well.

Between the two of them, Frisk and Duchess both make use of two of the more reliable ways to calm Sans-Serif down when it doesn't. He slumps a little where he sits, the tension bleeding out of his bones, his arms falling more loosely around his chest. Head nudging in particular is especially welcome and familiar, and he can't help smiling just a little as the cat noses at him.

He also comes back to awareness enough to see how Frisk pets Duchess. Very, very carefully, Sans-Serif raises a hand and runs it along Duchess' back. He doesn't have experience petting dogs, or petting anything. So he'll definitely be more gentle than Frisk.

"okay. thank you." Now he just sounds a little worn out. "i'm sure you're a really good mother. you talk like the other me said mothers are supposed to talk."

"...I will, if I need to. 'Gree with Sans-Serif." Frisk smiles quietly. Maybe they'll even let her--they haven't seen Toriel all that much lately, after all. If that's what Duchess seems to want...

Then again, Frisk gets into trouble a lot. They have a feeling they'll die again eventually, and they don't want to make her feel like she lost a child, even if they'd come back eventually. That'll take some thought.

Duchess smiled and arched into Serif's petting, purring just as loudly as possible without drowning their voices out. "You two are lovely, so lovely... I would hate for you to go lacking somewhere when I can fill in."

She noses Frisk's stomach, butts her head up against their thigh, and promptly hops back onto the throne. "I hope you don't mind, but... do either of you know where there is somewhere less dusty than here?"

There's that noise again. It definitely seems to be a good sound - Sans-Serif supposes that you need more ways to communicate when you don't actually have hands. He smiles in relief to realize that he's doing this right, and reaches over to keep up with the petting.

"less dusty?" He has to think about that one. "i don't know...this castle is pretty old. and pretty big. and there's a lot of dust." S-4 actually likes cleaning up, and somehow dust still seems to get everywhere.

"maybe the kitchens?" They at least seem to be becoming one of the more well traveled areas of the castle. And most of the food doesn't taste dusty.

Frisk straightens up, letting their hand drop. He seems to be doing better at it than they are.

"You know where it is?" they ask Sans-Serif. "I can never really find it. I think it moves for me more than anyone else." Which is a little annoying. They're getting increasingly sick of fruit and cakes.

Which reminds them to tell Duchess-- "There's the gardens, too. Lots of fresh air, and I think the birds that get into the trees there are...not...as excited as the ones in the tower."

Duchess has no doubts that the cuisine here will fall far short of Edgar's usual fare, but still-- will there be cat food? Anything she can safely eat? The only way to find out, most likely, will be to go there herself and find out.

"Thank you, Frisk and Serif. Now, while we're here, would you two mind telling me about yourselves? You know about me and how I got here, so..."

"yeah, i know where it is. i don't think it moves around for me very much." Nowhere in the castle really seems determined to evade him. "or for the other me. he said something about us being on the same 'wavelength'. so maybe if you're with me, we can find it."

He straightens up, dusts himself off, and half-moves as though to reach for Duchess' hand before he remembers himself. Ah.

What must it be like, to not be able to hold anyone's hand? Cats are so unfortunate.

Either way, he turns away and motions for the two of them to follow, though his steps falter a moment at Duchess' question. Sans-Serif has gained just enough social awareness to understand that most people find it uncomfortable and sad when he talks too much about himself. He doesn't want to make Duchess sad when she only just got here, when she already misses her family.

"well, uh...frisk and i come from the same place. except i'm from in the past. and i lived in the underground, but they fell down from the human world."

A nod. Makes sense, at least the 'wavelength' part. Frisk's lips twitch--maybe the castle's afraid of letting them cook because it knows what happened with Undyne, somehow. Probably not, but it's an entertaining thought.

Cats can't hold hands, but they can cuddle more easily. Frisk would say they thought it was a fair tradeoff if he'd spoken aloud.

"Yeah. I made friends with all of the monsters that live under the mountain, and helped them get out. They shouldn't have been trapped there in the first place, but the humans got scared a long time ago," they tell her. Even after the harm some monsters caused them, they still think it's weird; monsters are generally very good people.

They give a sideling glance at Sans-Serif. "...I'm nine years old. Or...maybe ten. I don't know how long I've been here now. My human family...are...gone," they say vaguely, "but I was going to live with some of the monsters back home."

"Well." She gives a short laugh, airy, but tired. "Humans often do get scared. Bonfamille-- she was my mistress, before here-- often got scared when I had my kittens. They would go and play in dangerous places, and once I heard her almost yell at her dear butler because they nearly got hurt-- she was scared, you see." Duchess shook her head.

"Humans may do things which seem cruel, but they do mean well, most of the time." She nosed Frisk's waist. "You don't seem to have a mean bone in your body."

Apologies, Serif. She nestles up against his leg. "You're both so young..."

Sans-Serif finds himself stumbling a little at the unexpected pressure. He still isn't always terribly steady on his feet. But he recovers himself before falling entirely, and sets off towards where he remembers the kitchens last being.

"but even frisk is older than you!" And Frisk is tiny like him. "and, and what's a 'mistress'?"

"Cats age differently than humans and monsters, little one." She may have said it before, but she doesn't mind repeating. "I'm around thirty in human years, I suppose."

She hums softly, thinking. "A mistress is like an owner. Bonfamille owned me and my children, technically, because we were her pets."

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