Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl...
Title: Her Majesty
Characters/Pairings: Max
Rating: G Pure, demented fluff.
Disclaimer: I'm sure Max actually loves cats. I'm sure Holloywood made a point of putting it somewhere in the script of a deleted scene that is so. In other words: I do not own.
Warnings: Parenthetical references to repressed homosexuality and cross-dressing tendencies. I'm sure pacifism is in there too. Also, cat-diddling?
Author's Notes: I was struck by the inspiration to write this in the middle of the night. "Her Majesty" got stuck in my head and I was pondering having recently learned that female cats are called 'queens' (that feels like something I should have known). Anyway, this is seriously barely legal as far as slashiness goes. I call it repressed, some may call it "where is the slash?" It's all in interpretation, baby.
Summary: Max ponders a new roommate. Paranoia ensues. This is based pretty close to the exact words in "Her Majesty" (like that's hard).
-----
Her Majesty, she was to be called.
Because, as Prudence explained in so many words, that as female chickens are called hens and female dogs are called bitches, girl cats were called queens. That and she looked so regal, Her Majesty was to be the name. Everyone had lapped it up. Max had just glared.
Max vehemently held that he was not a cat person. He knew this, and made sure everyone else did.
He did admit, however, that it was painfully adorable when Jude addressed her; the accent was made for saying "Your Majesty" and the like. But that was as far as he went.
The cat, on the other hand, had other ideas. Being a contrary creature by nature, she followed Max around, curled in his lap when he ate (he attributed this to wanting his ham), purring (really, really wanted the ham). Following him around whenever Sadie wasn't doting on her, giving her horrific-smelling food and catnip, jingling her bangles as she swung robe ties and the edges of her flowing shirts for the fluff ball to play with (Max blamed this for the reason he found his steps hounded by the beast, as he was very fond of Sadie's shirts. What? They felt good). He could find hidden agendas in all activities the cat based around himself.
He was not paranoid.
Well, he thought to himself, alone in the apartment with Her Majesty, she does make a good lap-warmer. He glanced down at the vibrating machine sitting on him, blinking slowly, almost seductively. He dearly hoped she wasn't hitting on him.
He had to admit one thing, though, the cat did for which he could not find sinister plots behind. She was a really great listener. Actually, she was a really great listener to him. When others would speak to her without food or toys in hand, she would turn her back and take to furious cleaning. But when Max, left alone, would start talking, she would sit and watch him talk. It was creepy; but at the same time endearing.
Not that he was turning into a cat person or believed she didn't secretly want him dead (always under foot, trying to trip him up). But it was nice to have someone (other than Jude, who would inevitably bring topic of conversation back to Lucy) that would really listen to him. He would never admit it.
Staring at the cat staring up from his lap (at the sandwich, he was sure of it), Max thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad to pet her or something. The only problem would be if he was caught, then everyone would know, and it would be a disaster. Maybe if he was drunk. Lord knew he was an affectionate drunk. Excessively so (Jude could attest. Jude could attest many times over. Damn, he was really too affectionate when drunk). So maybe if he finished off that bottle of wine, he could then see about being nice to Her Majesty with his dignity still intact (he still had it after that one night with Jude and the vodka, right?).
Well, it was worth a try if nothing else.
Cross-posted to atu_fic because of lack of real slash.
Characters/Pairings: Max
Rating: G Pure, demented fluff.
Disclaimer: I'm sure Max actually loves cats. I'm sure Holloywood made a point of putting it somewhere in the script of a deleted scene that is so. In other words: I do not own.
Warnings: Parenthetical references to repressed homosexuality and cross-dressing tendencies. I'm sure pacifism is in there too. Also, cat-diddling?
Author's Notes: I was struck by the inspiration to write this in the middle of the night. "Her Majesty" got stuck in my head and I was pondering having recently learned that female cats are called 'queens' (that feels like something I should have known). Anyway, this is seriously barely legal as far as slashiness goes. I call it repressed, some may call it "where is the slash?" It's all in interpretation, baby.
Summary: Max ponders a new roommate. Paranoia ensues. This is based pretty close to the exact words in "Her Majesty" (like that's hard).
-----
Her Majesty, she was to be called.
Because, as Prudence explained in so many words, that as female chickens are called hens and female dogs are called bitches, girl cats were called queens. That and she looked so regal, Her Majesty was to be the name. Everyone had lapped it up. Max had just glared.
Max vehemently held that he was not a cat person. He knew this, and made sure everyone else did.
He did admit, however, that it was painfully adorable when Jude addressed her; the accent was made for saying "Your Majesty" and the like. But that was as far as he went.
The cat, on the other hand, had other ideas. Being a contrary creature by nature, she followed Max around, curled in his lap when he ate (he attributed this to wanting his ham), purring (really, really wanted the ham). Following him around whenever Sadie wasn't doting on her, giving her horrific-smelling food and catnip, jingling her bangles as she swung robe ties and the edges of her flowing shirts for the fluff ball to play with (Max blamed this for the reason he found his steps hounded by the beast, as he was very fond of Sadie's shirts. What? They felt good). He could find hidden agendas in all activities the cat based around himself.
He was not paranoid.
Well, he thought to himself, alone in the apartment with Her Majesty, she does make a good lap-warmer. He glanced down at the vibrating machine sitting on him, blinking slowly, almost seductively. He dearly hoped she wasn't hitting on him.
He had to admit one thing, though, the cat did for which he could not find sinister plots behind. She was a really great listener. Actually, she was a really great listener to him. When others would speak to her without food or toys in hand, she would turn her back and take to furious cleaning. But when Max, left alone, would start talking, she would sit and watch him talk. It was creepy; but at the same time endearing.
Not that he was turning into a cat person or believed she didn't secretly want him dead (always under foot, trying to trip him up). But it was nice to have someone (other than Jude, who would inevitably bring topic of conversation back to Lucy) that would really listen to him. He would never admit it.
Staring at the cat staring up from his lap (at the sandwich, he was sure of it), Max thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad to pet her or something. The only problem would be if he was caught, then everyone would know, and it would be a disaster. Maybe if he was drunk. Lord knew he was an affectionate drunk. Excessively so (Jude could attest. Jude could attest many times over. Damn, he was really too affectionate when drunk). So maybe if he finished off that bottle of wine, he could then see about being nice to Her Majesty with his dignity still intact (he still had it after that one night with Jude and the vodka, right?).
Well, it was worth a try if nothing else.
Cross-posted to atu_fic because of lack of real slash.