[Open] Catgroove.

[regalduchess]

The cat; small, lithe, and scared; runs through the aviary chased out by chirping birds, their beady eyes vindictive.

Once upon a time, there was a cheerfully tinkling bell on her collar. Now, it lies on the aviary floor as a trophy to the birds. The entire castle she runs through has a strange feeling to it, like everything is dead. Or asleep, or in mourning.

She finally comes to the throne room. Even cobweb-encrusted as they are, the silk seats are soft and comforting. The musty warmth reminds her of Bonfamille and her pink boas, her soft skin, the perfume she always wears-- always used to wear.

With a soft sigh, Duchess curls into a circle with her tail hanging off the edge of the throne, and tries to sleep.

Comments

[antitemporal]

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."

[dustless]

"...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.

[regalduchess]

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?"

[antitemporal]

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.

[dustless]

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."

[regalduchess]

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..."

[antitemporal]

"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."

[dustless]

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."

[regalduchess]

"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..."

[antitemporal]

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'?"

[regalduchess]

"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."

[antitemporal]

She may have said it before, but it needs repeating, because they're both so much older than him that the full truth of the matter somehow seems even more impossible than before.

"...oh." The small skeleton nods in comprehension. That actually puts matters into terms he can understand, for entirely the worng reasons. "can you have a lot of owners, then? i think i had a lot of owners, back home."

His life for a while was something of a team effort, even if Gaster provided the start.

"...i don't think i was a pet, though."

[dustless]

Frisk listens, pursing their lips. Even with Duchess, talking of owners sounds...suspect, even if cats do normally have that kind of thing. It seems wrong since she's not like the usual animals, just like it'd be weird to have someone claim they owned, say, Doggo. Even if he liked leashes.

Sans-Serif wasn't a pet, either. Except the people at the lab probably saw him as something even less. A thing. But they don't know how to say that, or really want to try. So they just amble along beside him, feeling protective.

[regalduchess]

"Oh." She rubs up against Serif, trying to communicate some sense of support. "You two don't need owners. You need parents. And I couldn't speak human when I was with Bonfamille, either."

She feels just as protective over Serif, and a good deal of it towards Frisk as well; even if their trajectory towards the door is worrying to her. She doesn't want to leave the throne room just yet.

"You two stay safe, alright? I'm going to explore in here for a little longer."

[antitemporal]

This time, Sans-Serif finds himself drawn up short with surprise rather than a lack of balance. "w-what?" He stares down at the cat in some concern. "but...we were going to find food for you. and less dust!" After a moment's hesitation, he kneels down to pat the cat gently on the head. "you don't have to be scared. a lot of people here are nice! and we can run away from the one that isn't." Just like he promised Frisk.

[dustless]

Frisk pauses at the doorway, glancing between the two.

"...Maybe we can bring her food, instead? Most everybody's nice, but it's still...a lot, being new and far from home all of a sudden."

[regalduchess]

"I wouldn't mind that." She looks down on them, tail twitching, and sniffs the air. "Would you, please?"

[antitemporal]

"okay." Sans-Serif looks a little depressed to have to leave Duchess behind, so he reaches down to pet her just a little more for a minute. "um, we'll be back as soon as we can." He straightens up again and motions to Frisk to follow. "c'mon."

It's not until they're out the door and in the hallway that he thinks to ask: "so, um...what do cats eat, anyway?"

Do cats eat vegetables?

[dustless]

Frisk smiles at him sympathetically, following close.

"...I don't think the castle would have...cat kibble..." they say, mostly to themselves. It's probably not even called cat kibble. "I know cats're supposed to catch mice and birds and stuff, but...don't think she's the kind to eat that. Doesn't look like a hunter. Any meat? And milk to drink?"

[antitemporal]

Without really thinking about it, mostly since Frisk is close enough to do so, Sans-Serif reaches out to try and hold their hand as they walk. He doesn't look all that encouraged as Frisk explains what cats eat, especially since he finds himself agreeing with their assessment that Duchess doesn't look like a hunter at all. Even he can see that much. She's clearly used to having people feed her.

He can relate.

But not all is quite so hopeless. His eyelights glow a bit brighter with a sudden rush of enthusiasm.

"oh! i know where the milk is! i drink it all the time." Sans doesn't have access to everything he'd need in order to make the two experiments less fragile, but he's been making do where he can.

[dustless]

They willingly wrap their fingers around his. They're not exactly used to holding hands outside of Toriel's, but it's still nice.

"Good! I don't know what meat might be around, but there's probably something in the kitchens. Or...maybe she can have some smaller pieces of cake?" They just know cats don't really eat their greens.

[antitemporal]

"or we could find some spiders. spiders are meat, right?" And spiders eat other spiders. So it's probably okay if cats do, too. Otherwise, most monsters are vegetarian, so this is naturally far outside his area of expertise.

Sans-Serif passes by a door that even he knows didn't lead down to the kitchens yesterday. Yet he gets the familiar itch in the back of his skull that tells him it leads to the kitchens today. He stops, tugs on Frisk's arm to make sure they've noticed, and then stands on tiptoes to open the door.

Sure enough, on the other side are a set of stairs leading down.

[dustless]

"Think so? Or we could try...catching a bird..." Frisk isn't sure if they like that idea. Since they'd need to kill it. Though it might reset, too, they don't know if they'd want Sans-Serif to see that kind of thing even if they were completely sure.

They walk down the stairs beside him, absently squeezing his hand. "Pretty good at finding things."

[antitemporal]

"i don't...i don't wanna catch a bird. not even the colorful chickens." He likes the birds. They're one of his favorite things about being outside. Not all of them are nice. But all of them are pretty. He doesn't want to hurt one, he doesn't want to hurt anything, but he also doesn't like the idea of catching one. Birds have wings, and so birds should be able to use them. Even so, he finds himself adding a mumbled: "sorry" as though in penance for this hesitation.

He squeezes their hand in turn, making his way carefully down, trying not to think too much about how he wound up in the lead of this little expedition in the first place. "not really. i mean, um, the castle has a plan for how it moves around. i can just hear what the plan is. so can the other me. we all kind of...ignore time the same way, i think."

[dustless]

"'S okay. I don't really either. Maybe I can show you Gretel later, they're a bird I'm friends with." Though he might be disappointed in how relatively boring that particular bird's plumage is.

"Didn't know that. That's cool. Although--" they give him a sidelong glance. "I'm not...hurting you, by being close, right? 'Cause of my...time stuff?"