[TF] Age of Expansion - Birthday Presents
Title: Age of Expansion - Birthday Presents
Fandom: Transformers (that crack bunny I've been babbling about)
Characters: Ravage, Crown Princess Elizabeth IV
Completely PG. 3,390 words of random fluffy human!kitten fic.
Like many girls her age, Elizabeth Charlotte Anne desperately wanted a pony for her sixth birthday. She asked for it, politely, at every opportune moment. She wished for it, privately, with all the fervor of her small heart; prayed for it, quietly, after saying all of her proper bedtime prayers, and admitted to Bannock, her much beloved stuffed bear which slept securely with her at night, that the only thing better than a pony would be a unicorn pony and she really had been very very good for the last year. She rather thought she might deserve a unicorn pony. A nice regular cream colored pony with a pretty mane and soft brown eyes would be just as good, though. She almost even convinced herself.
What she received instead, on the day of her birthday party, was a cat.
She might have been more upset by this if the cat in question hadn't been a meter and a half tall and twice again as long of the most gloriously complex and lifelike animatronic that Elizabeth had ever seen. It wasn't a pony - it wasn't even remotely like one - but it almost made up for it. Almost.
At the very least it was the envy of every other child at her party, which made it bearable. Even if it was distinctly not a pony.
In the grand tradition of birthday parties there was cake and sweet punch and candies, games, and presents (though nothing quite as grand as her cat who sat placidly beside her seat at the picnic table, metallic tail tip occasionally twitching and the long tendrils that served it in place of ears swaying gently) and best of all a promise from her father that she might have riding lessons which still wasn't a pony but came with the promise of an actual pony for her next birthday if she did well. All in all it was more or less a success and it was a very tired little girl who trudged back inside at the beginning of the evening at the behest of her nurse, her new cat toy pacing along behind her.
It was, perhaps, just a little bit creepy - the cat stood taller on all fours than Elizabeth herself, made of shiny black metal joints and gears and a million small pieces, trimmed in edges of gold here and there, and with two glittering red crystal eyes. For all that it was surprisingly silent, its metal paws making almost no sound on the floor tiles, and nothing but the softest of hums coming from its interior systems. Elizabeth, who had indulged in more cake and sweets than she ought and was feeling increasingly surly about it all in the letdown aftermath of her party - for the party, once over, left nothing to look forward to except another evening just like any other - stopped in the middle of the hall and watched the cat stop accordingly, settling back on its haunches, tail curled neatly around its paws. Feeling more than a little stomach sore and cranky, she huffed, scuffing one foot against the floor in a small, irritated stomp. "I don't know what good you're supposed to be," she announced to it sourly. "You're not even cuddly."
Her nurse, a willowy woman who had looked after Elizabeth ever since she was a babe, clucked her tongue predictably. "That's not very nice, Lizzy," she scolded gently. "I'm sure your father went to a lot of trouble to commission your present..."
The cat made a rumbling sound, making the nurse jump, and then - to the utter astonishment of both of them - opened its mouth and spoke. "He did not, and I am not meant to be 'cuddly'." It had a surprisingly pleasant male tenor voice - more surprising than that it could talk at all - which rather reminded Elizabeth of her older cousin's school tutor.
"Oh!" said Elizabeth's nurse, in a startled hiccup of sound.
Elizabeth, not about to admit that the voice had given her a bad start, planted both fists on her hips and drew herself up to her not terribly preposing full height. "If you're not my Daddy's present then who're you from?"
The cat regarded her calmly, head cocked so that it could peer down at her from one eye. "I am not a present."
The cat, Elizabeth decided, was not a pony, and was possibly the worst birthday present ever, even worse than her grand-aunt's penchant for gaudy velvet and lace dresses that were always two sizes too big for Elizabeth. "It's my birthday and Daddy gave you to me, so you're my birthday present! Don't lie, it's rude."
"I am not lying," the cat replied. "I am not a present." It lowered its head, letting it look Elizabeth in the eye, though it's own eye was bigger than her entire fist. "I have been assigned as Her Highness' guard."
"Oh!" said Elizabeth's nurse again, the sound less startled and more that of a pleased discovery. She was looking at the cat more closely, frowning a little. "Monitored, or AI?"
The cat turned to her smoothly, eyes glittering. "You would designate me an AI," it told her. "I have been charged with the Princess' safety."
Elizabeth's nurse huffed softly. "Is that so? Voice activated, I assume."
The cat inclined its head, one ear tendril curling back across its shoulder. "As you wish."
That seemed to mollify the nurse somewhat. "What are we supposed to call you, then?"
"He's my present," Elizabeth interrupted petulantly. "Don't I get to name him?"
The Very-Worst-Birthday-Present-Ever-Cat ignored her. "My designation is Ravage."
"That's a nasty name," Elizabeth announced, stomping her foot, "and you're a nasty, horrible present. I was going to give you a nice name." In actuality, she hadn't considered what to name the cat at all, but it was staring at her out of its red eyes and her birthday was collapsing into a horrible mess right along with the queasy feeling in her stomach and the too-tired ache in her head. "But I don't want you any more so you don't get one!"
"Lizzy!" her nurse exclaimed angrily and at that point Elizabeth had had quite enough of her birthday going entirely wrong; bursting into tears, she turned and ran.
There were any number of places, inside and out, where a small girl could manage to hide if she could duck past her nurse and all of the other adults. Elizabeth ended up tucked under a desk in the library, which was one of her favorite places because it was quiet, the carpeting was thick and plush, and she could usually be guaranteed of a good few hours of quiet time without anyone the wiser.
She had more or less cried herself out - it was a brief stint, in any case - and settled in to sulk with a stuffy nose and throbbing head, feeling particularly sorry for herself, when the sound of the door opening made her duck down and hug herself even deeper into the recess underneath the desk. The only light was the fast fading reds of dusk that fell through the tall windows, leaving her nook in shadow, and Elizabeth tucked her knees to her chest and tried to breath as quietly as possible until whoever it was would get whatever it was they were looking for and leave.
There wasn't any sound - the carpeting was good at muffling noise - and after several very long minutes of no noise at all, not even from papers or the thump of books on the shelves, Elizabeth was almost ready to risk peeking over the lip of the desk to see if her ears had played tricks on her and the intruder had left. Before she could, though, something jostled the desk she was crouched under, making her bite down on her fingers to muffle a startled yelp. When she looked again there were feet visible beneath the lower edge of the desk, not half a yard from her hiding place.
Four feet. Four black, metallic, feline feet, and as she watched the hind feet folded in on themselves, dropping the huge cat into the same neat sitting position it had occupied all afternoon, the thick black cord of the tail looping easily around the black paws.
They sat in silence for awhile, little girl and giant cat, until Elizabeth finally sniffled loud enough to break the quiet. "Are you gonna take me back to Nurse now?"
"No," the cat replied calmly.
Elizabeth frowned at the feet that were visible from where she was sitting. "But aren't you my guard?"
"Yes."
"Then isn't that your job?"
"No," the cat repeated. There was a strange sound, air expelled from vents along the cat's body, but to Elizabeth it seemed very like a sigh. "My job is to keep you safe. Whether I do that here, or in the presence of your caretaker, doesn't matter."
Elizabeth twisted around, getting to her knees, but hesitated from crawling out from underneath the desk. "So... you're not gonna take me back?"
"No."
The cat, when she emerged from her hiding place, was sitting exactly as it had during her party, like some gigantic metal sculpture of the cat figures she had seen in the museum. Elizabeth kept the desk between herself and it, leaning on her elbows on the surface so that she could kick her feet idly in the air behind her. "Are you mad?"
The cat tilted its head, studying her. "No," it said again. "I knew where you were. Your vital signs were not outside of the norm for emotional distress in an organic of your age." It lowered its head across the desk, closer to her, ear tendrils and tail tip both twitching. The quiet in the library was broken by the deeper rumble of an engine grinding to life and Elizabeth, after flinching, thought it might be a mechanical cat's equivalent of a growl. "I would be angry if you disobeyed or needlessly ran during a period of danger, but there is no current threat in this vicinity."
It used a lot of big words, Elizabeth decided, and she wasn't sure what all of them meant, but the gist of the message was clear enough - the cat wasn't angry and wasn't going to give her away and wasn't there to drag her off to anywhere. It made her revise her opinion of the animatronic and privately she admitted that maybe, just maybe, it was a tiny bit better than horrible.
The cat subsided, sitting back, and they stayed that way for a few minutes more. The cat seemed perfectly content to sit there silently just as long as it took, the only motion the occasional twitch of its tendrils or tail. Elizabeth finally pushed herself off of the desk, circling closer to the cat, her hands clasped behind her. "Are you sure you're not my present? You've got my mark on you."
The cat lifted its head up and back so that it could look down its own neck at the red, gold and white coat of arms painted in neat detail, no larger than Elizabeth's spread hand, on the point of its shoulder joint. Its ruby eyes shuttered once, a flicker of motion in four parts as separate shielding layers slid briefly in and down before whisking away again. "I am in your Highness' service."
Elizabeth huffed, walking slowly around the cat. It didn't turn its heat to follow her, but the tendrils that lay along its back twitched and swayed in time to her steps. There was another symbol on the cat's opposite shoulder, all sharp edged purple and spiky, and Elizabeth reached up to press her fingers to it. The metal under her fingers was warmer than she expected. "Then what's this one?"
The cat drew itself up a little taller, eyes bright in the dimming light. "The crest of the Elite Guard."
It sounded important. Elizabeth dropped her hand, pouting. "I still say you're my birthday present."
The engine growl sounded again, rumbling all through the cat's large body. "I am not a present."
"You could be," Elizabeth pointed out. "It's my birthday. You could be my birthday cat." It was, she thought, perfectly logical and persuasive. "We could play games, and you'll keep me safe from monsters at night. I'll introduce you to Bannock. He keeps me safe too," she added loyally, "but you're bigger." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "His real name's Hugo Bernard Alphonso Windemere Ursus the Fifth, but we call him Bannock for short." She tapped a finger against her lips, thinking, then broke into a beaming grin. "You can be Prince Puss, like the bedtime story."
The growl, that time, was strong enough that Elizabeth could feel it in her bones. "My name," the cat told her firmly, "is Ravage."
"You're no fun," Elizabeth accused. "I like Prince Puss better." She considered, frowning. "'Cept you don't have boots, so you can't be a puss in boots. Puss in feet? Prince Pussnfoot!"
The engine, or whatever it was in the big cat's chest, gave one more sharp growl. The cat turned its head away, chin tilted up, and went back to mimicking a statue, one that was pointedly ignoring the little girl down by its paws.
"Oh, fine," Elizabeth sighed after a bit, when nothing else she did made the cat respond. "We'd better get back." She glared at the cat. "You can't sulk, you know. Mamma says computers can't get uppity."
The cat unfolded itself easily, tail thrashing sharply in a fluid motion that barely missed the surface of the desk. "I am much more than just a 'computer'."
Elizabeth didn't have an answer for that and turned to go, the cat falling into place behind her. She had to struggle to push open the heavy library door until the cat's sleek black head interposed itself, easily shoving the door open to let them through.
In the hallway the cat's head came back once more, hovering closer over her. "You require recharge."
Elizabeth, who was sliding rapidly back into sulking again herself, sniffed angrily and rubbed at her stuffed up nose. "What?"
"Rest," the cat clarified, and then, in one liquid move, slipped easily in front of her, lowering its head and shoulders close to the ground. "Climb on."
Surprised, Elizabeth could only stare, open mouthed. "...Wha...? But..."
The cat tilted its head towards her, one eye glittering. "You require recharge," it told her calmly. "Your caretaker was upset when you fled. It will doubtless still be upset when you return and will require reassurance and a reassertion of its authority. Unless," it added, almost offhandedly, "you are visibly fatigued. It is a caretaker - if its charge requires care then, logically, that will supersede all other concerns."
The cat used entirely too many large words, it really did sound like her cousin's tutor, but Elizabeth pieced the words together and came up with something that sounded promising. "So... if I'm tired, then Nurse won't yell?"
The cat's mouth dropped open, baring silver and black teeth as it made a sound unlike any of its other noises, something that clicked in electronic tones in a purely mechanical way. "Intelligent sparkling," the cat said, approving. "That is correct." It nudged her carefully with its muzzle. "You are," it suggested dryly, "much too fatigued to walk. Climb on."
And there it was again, the impossible thing that Elizabeth had thought she heard the first time. Eyes wide, she let the cat push her closer, watched it drop its shoulder - the one with the Princess Royal's crest on it - down, leg folded beneath itself, paw turned out rather exactly like a convenient step.
Up close, the cat looked much much larger than she thought it had been.
Elizabeth raised her hands and the metal of the cat's shoulder was warm to the touch, warm and smooth except for where it wasn't, countless millions of little plates fitting together in perfect jigsaw harmony that she couldn't see or feel except for where they moved, shifting, to create grooves for her fingers and places to hold when she reached. It was awkward and fumbling, nothing at all like watching her father swing easily into a saddle, but she stepped up onto the cat's paw and scrambled and clawed her way up its side until she could throw her leg over its neck and flop herself, all ungainly limbs and precarious balance, over its shoulders.
It didn't feel safe in the slightest, too big and much too tall, and then it was even further from the ground as the cat unfolded itself, rising to its feet. Realistically Elizabeth knew it wasn't any worse - was shorter, really - than sitting on her father's shoulders, but it seemed much further and the cat's gliding steps were fluid underneath her and nothing at all like her father bouncing her about on his back.
"Relax," the cat said, his voice rumbling between her knees. "I am your guard. I won't let you fall."
Warm metal beneath her seat, pressed to her knees and ankles, and underneath her hands, and then it was true; something shifted, the cat's metal skin sliding seamlessly, and she was as secure as if she was sitting safely in a chair. The world swayed, slowly at first, then faster and faster still, faster than Elizabeth could have run as the cat trotted through the hallways and on impulse Elizabeth leaned forward, hands clutching at the metallic neck. "Run?" she pleaded, and felt the back behind her bunch up, the cat coil like a spring, and then, for one glorious, amazing moment, they did, the world skimming by in a blur as the cat leapt down the hall.
It was only for a moment, just a few heartbeats, and then they were already at Elizabeth's rooms and her nurse was there as the cat came to rest lightly a the door to her suite, just as calmly as though it had never run a step in its life. Elizabeth's heart was in her throat, giddy with it, but the cat's voice came to her through the metal plating beneath her cheek where she lay pressed to its neck. "Recharge," the cat whispered, and Elizabeth quickly closed her eyes and listened to her nurse's exclamation at finding her charge draped over the neck of a giant metal cat.
"She is fatigued," the cat told her nurse, crouching down once more to allow the woman easier access. "I found her in recharge in the blue study on the second level."
Elizabeth's nurse tutted softly. "Too much excitement for one day," she agreed. Elizabeth let herself go as limp as she could as the woman lifted her down, pretending to rouse a bit, and let her nurse herd her to bed, party dress traded for pajamas and tucked neatly under covers.
It was several minutes after her nurse had left, turning the lights off on the way, when the door opened to let a black shadow with dim glowing red eyes slink in. Elizabeth followed the eyes, watching as they took up position beside her bed. "I didn't really have dinner," she whispered into the darkness.
The cat made another sound of huffed air from its fans. "Your caretaker agrees that you are already overcharged from the organic foodstuffs you had earlier."
Elizabeth considered that. "I did eat a lot of cake," she agreed, "and there were sandwiches. Are you going to keep me safe all night?"
"Yes," came the reply.
Elizabeth curled onto her side beneath the covers, facing the dim slits of red glow that she could just make out in the darkness, and hugged Bannock to her chest. It was quiet, and she was tired, but after a few moments she pushed her eyes open again. "Ravage?"
The cat rumbled, a different rumble than before, something softer and rhythmic that made her think of purring, and made a short, sharp chirp sound.
Elizabeth smiled. "I didn't mean it," she told the vaguely cat shaped darkness. "Earlier. I didn't mean it. You're the best birthday cat ever."
Ravage made another sound, quiet clicks and chirps, but even after he fell silent the softly rhythmic rumbling remained, lulling Elizabeth to sleep.
Fandom: Transformers (that crack bunny I've been babbling about)
Characters: Ravage, Crown Princess Elizabeth IV
Completely PG. 3,390 words of random fluffy human!kitten fic.
Like many girls her age, Elizabeth Charlotte Anne desperately wanted a pony for her sixth birthday. She asked for it, politely, at every opportune moment. She wished for it, privately, with all the fervor of her small heart; prayed for it, quietly, after saying all of her proper bedtime prayers, and admitted to Bannock, her much beloved stuffed bear which slept securely with her at night, that the only thing better than a pony would be a unicorn pony and she really had been very very good for the last year. She rather thought she might deserve a unicorn pony. A nice regular cream colored pony with a pretty mane and soft brown eyes would be just as good, though. She almost even convinced herself.
What she received instead, on the day of her birthday party, was a cat.
She might have been more upset by this if the cat in question hadn't been a meter and a half tall and twice again as long of the most gloriously complex and lifelike animatronic that Elizabeth had ever seen. It wasn't a pony - it wasn't even remotely like one - but it almost made up for it. Almost.
At the very least it was the envy of every other child at her party, which made it bearable. Even if it was distinctly not a pony.
In the grand tradition of birthday parties there was cake and sweet punch and candies, games, and presents (though nothing quite as grand as her cat who sat placidly beside her seat at the picnic table, metallic tail tip occasionally twitching and the long tendrils that served it in place of ears swaying gently) and best of all a promise from her father that she might have riding lessons which still wasn't a pony but came with the promise of an actual pony for her next birthday if she did well. All in all it was more or less a success and it was a very tired little girl who trudged back inside at the beginning of the evening at the behest of her nurse, her new cat toy pacing along behind her.
It was, perhaps, just a little bit creepy - the cat stood taller on all fours than Elizabeth herself, made of shiny black metal joints and gears and a million small pieces, trimmed in edges of gold here and there, and with two glittering red crystal eyes. For all that it was surprisingly silent, its metal paws making almost no sound on the floor tiles, and nothing but the softest of hums coming from its interior systems. Elizabeth, who had indulged in more cake and sweets than she ought and was feeling increasingly surly about it all in the letdown aftermath of her party - for the party, once over, left nothing to look forward to except another evening just like any other - stopped in the middle of the hall and watched the cat stop accordingly, settling back on its haunches, tail curled neatly around its paws. Feeling more than a little stomach sore and cranky, she huffed, scuffing one foot against the floor in a small, irritated stomp. "I don't know what good you're supposed to be," she announced to it sourly. "You're not even cuddly."
Her nurse, a willowy woman who had looked after Elizabeth ever since she was a babe, clucked her tongue predictably. "That's not very nice, Lizzy," she scolded gently. "I'm sure your father went to a lot of trouble to commission your present..."
The cat made a rumbling sound, making the nurse jump, and then - to the utter astonishment of both of them - opened its mouth and spoke. "He did not, and I am not meant to be 'cuddly'." It had a surprisingly pleasant male tenor voice - more surprising than that it could talk at all - which rather reminded Elizabeth of her older cousin's school tutor.
"Oh!" said Elizabeth's nurse, in a startled hiccup of sound.
Elizabeth, not about to admit that the voice had given her a bad start, planted both fists on her hips and drew herself up to her not terribly preposing full height. "If you're not my Daddy's present then who're you from?"
The cat regarded her calmly, head cocked so that it could peer down at her from one eye. "I am not a present."
The cat, Elizabeth decided, was not a pony, and was possibly the worst birthday present ever, even worse than her grand-aunt's penchant for gaudy velvet and lace dresses that were always two sizes too big for Elizabeth. "It's my birthday and Daddy gave you to me, so you're my birthday present! Don't lie, it's rude."
"I am not lying," the cat replied. "I am not a present." It lowered its head, letting it look Elizabeth in the eye, though it's own eye was bigger than her entire fist. "I have been assigned as Her Highness' guard."
"Oh!" said Elizabeth's nurse again, the sound less startled and more that of a pleased discovery. She was looking at the cat more closely, frowning a little. "Monitored, or AI?"
The cat turned to her smoothly, eyes glittering. "You would designate me an AI," it told her. "I have been charged with the Princess' safety."
Elizabeth's nurse huffed softly. "Is that so? Voice activated, I assume."
The cat inclined its head, one ear tendril curling back across its shoulder. "As you wish."
That seemed to mollify the nurse somewhat. "What are we supposed to call you, then?"
"He's my present," Elizabeth interrupted petulantly. "Don't I get to name him?"
The Very-Worst-Birthday-Present-Ever-Cat ignored her. "My designation is Ravage."
"That's a nasty name," Elizabeth announced, stomping her foot, "and you're a nasty, horrible present. I was going to give you a nice name." In actuality, she hadn't considered what to name the cat at all, but it was staring at her out of its red eyes and her birthday was collapsing into a horrible mess right along with the queasy feeling in her stomach and the too-tired ache in her head. "But I don't want you any more so you don't get one!"
"Lizzy!" her nurse exclaimed angrily and at that point Elizabeth had had quite enough of her birthday going entirely wrong; bursting into tears, she turned and ran.
There were any number of places, inside and out, where a small girl could manage to hide if she could duck past her nurse and all of the other adults. Elizabeth ended up tucked under a desk in the library, which was one of her favorite places because it was quiet, the carpeting was thick and plush, and she could usually be guaranteed of a good few hours of quiet time without anyone the wiser.
She had more or less cried herself out - it was a brief stint, in any case - and settled in to sulk with a stuffy nose and throbbing head, feeling particularly sorry for herself, when the sound of the door opening made her duck down and hug herself even deeper into the recess underneath the desk. The only light was the fast fading reds of dusk that fell through the tall windows, leaving her nook in shadow, and Elizabeth tucked her knees to her chest and tried to breath as quietly as possible until whoever it was would get whatever it was they were looking for and leave.
There wasn't any sound - the carpeting was good at muffling noise - and after several very long minutes of no noise at all, not even from papers or the thump of books on the shelves, Elizabeth was almost ready to risk peeking over the lip of the desk to see if her ears had played tricks on her and the intruder had left. Before she could, though, something jostled the desk she was crouched under, making her bite down on her fingers to muffle a startled yelp. When she looked again there were feet visible beneath the lower edge of the desk, not half a yard from her hiding place.
Four feet. Four black, metallic, feline feet, and as she watched the hind feet folded in on themselves, dropping the huge cat into the same neat sitting position it had occupied all afternoon, the thick black cord of the tail looping easily around the black paws.
They sat in silence for awhile, little girl and giant cat, until Elizabeth finally sniffled loud enough to break the quiet. "Are you gonna take me back to Nurse now?"
"No," the cat replied calmly.
Elizabeth frowned at the feet that were visible from where she was sitting. "But aren't you my guard?"
"Yes."
"Then isn't that your job?"
"No," the cat repeated. There was a strange sound, air expelled from vents along the cat's body, but to Elizabeth it seemed very like a sigh. "My job is to keep you safe. Whether I do that here, or in the presence of your caretaker, doesn't matter."
Elizabeth twisted around, getting to her knees, but hesitated from crawling out from underneath the desk. "So... you're not gonna take me back?"
"No."
The cat, when she emerged from her hiding place, was sitting exactly as it had during her party, like some gigantic metal sculpture of the cat figures she had seen in the museum. Elizabeth kept the desk between herself and it, leaning on her elbows on the surface so that she could kick her feet idly in the air behind her. "Are you mad?"
The cat tilted its head, studying her. "No," it said again. "I knew where you were. Your vital signs were not outside of the norm for emotional distress in an organic of your age." It lowered its head across the desk, closer to her, ear tendrils and tail tip both twitching. The quiet in the library was broken by the deeper rumble of an engine grinding to life and Elizabeth, after flinching, thought it might be a mechanical cat's equivalent of a growl. "I would be angry if you disobeyed or needlessly ran during a period of danger, but there is no current threat in this vicinity."
It used a lot of big words, Elizabeth decided, and she wasn't sure what all of them meant, but the gist of the message was clear enough - the cat wasn't angry and wasn't going to give her away and wasn't there to drag her off to anywhere. It made her revise her opinion of the animatronic and privately she admitted that maybe, just maybe, it was a tiny bit better than horrible.
The cat subsided, sitting back, and they stayed that way for a few minutes more. The cat seemed perfectly content to sit there silently just as long as it took, the only motion the occasional twitch of its tendrils or tail. Elizabeth finally pushed herself off of the desk, circling closer to the cat, her hands clasped behind her. "Are you sure you're not my present? You've got my mark on you."
The cat lifted its head up and back so that it could look down its own neck at the red, gold and white coat of arms painted in neat detail, no larger than Elizabeth's spread hand, on the point of its shoulder joint. Its ruby eyes shuttered once, a flicker of motion in four parts as separate shielding layers slid briefly in and down before whisking away again. "I am in your Highness' service."
Elizabeth huffed, walking slowly around the cat. It didn't turn its heat to follow her, but the tendrils that lay along its back twitched and swayed in time to her steps. There was another symbol on the cat's opposite shoulder, all sharp edged purple and spiky, and Elizabeth reached up to press her fingers to it. The metal under her fingers was warmer than she expected. "Then what's this one?"
The cat drew itself up a little taller, eyes bright in the dimming light. "The crest of the Elite Guard."
It sounded important. Elizabeth dropped her hand, pouting. "I still say you're my birthday present."
The engine growl sounded again, rumbling all through the cat's large body. "I am not a present."
"You could be," Elizabeth pointed out. "It's my birthday. You could be my birthday cat." It was, she thought, perfectly logical and persuasive. "We could play games, and you'll keep me safe from monsters at night. I'll introduce you to Bannock. He keeps me safe too," she added loyally, "but you're bigger." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "His real name's Hugo Bernard Alphonso Windemere Ursus the Fifth, but we call him Bannock for short." She tapped a finger against her lips, thinking, then broke into a beaming grin. "You can be Prince Puss, like the bedtime story."
The growl, that time, was strong enough that Elizabeth could feel it in her bones. "My name," the cat told her firmly, "is Ravage."
"You're no fun," Elizabeth accused. "I like Prince Puss better." She considered, frowning. "'Cept you don't have boots, so you can't be a puss in boots. Puss in feet? Prince Pussnfoot!"
The engine, or whatever it was in the big cat's chest, gave one more sharp growl. The cat turned its head away, chin tilted up, and went back to mimicking a statue, one that was pointedly ignoring the little girl down by its paws.
"Oh, fine," Elizabeth sighed after a bit, when nothing else she did made the cat respond. "We'd better get back." She glared at the cat. "You can't sulk, you know. Mamma says computers can't get uppity."
The cat unfolded itself easily, tail thrashing sharply in a fluid motion that barely missed the surface of the desk. "I am much more than just a 'computer'."
Elizabeth didn't have an answer for that and turned to go, the cat falling into place behind her. She had to struggle to push open the heavy library door until the cat's sleek black head interposed itself, easily shoving the door open to let them through.
In the hallway the cat's head came back once more, hovering closer over her. "You require recharge."
Elizabeth, who was sliding rapidly back into sulking again herself, sniffed angrily and rubbed at her stuffed up nose. "What?"
"Rest," the cat clarified, and then, in one liquid move, slipped easily in front of her, lowering its head and shoulders close to the ground. "Climb on."
Surprised, Elizabeth could only stare, open mouthed. "...Wha...? But..."
The cat tilted its head towards her, one eye glittering. "You require recharge," it told her calmly. "Your caretaker was upset when you fled. It will doubtless still be upset when you return and will require reassurance and a reassertion of its authority. Unless," it added, almost offhandedly, "you are visibly fatigued. It is a caretaker - if its charge requires care then, logically, that will supersede all other concerns."
The cat used entirely too many large words, it really did sound like her cousin's tutor, but Elizabeth pieced the words together and came up with something that sounded promising. "So... if I'm tired, then Nurse won't yell?"
The cat's mouth dropped open, baring silver and black teeth as it made a sound unlike any of its other noises, something that clicked in electronic tones in a purely mechanical way. "Intelligent sparkling," the cat said, approving. "That is correct." It nudged her carefully with its muzzle. "You are," it suggested dryly, "much too fatigued to walk. Climb on."
And there it was again, the impossible thing that Elizabeth had thought she heard the first time. Eyes wide, she let the cat push her closer, watched it drop its shoulder - the one with the Princess Royal's crest on it - down, leg folded beneath itself, paw turned out rather exactly like a convenient step.
Up close, the cat looked much much larger than she thought it had been.
Elizabeth raised her hands and the metal of the cat's shoulder was warm to the touch, warm and smooth except for where it wasn't, countless millions of little plates fitting together in perfect jigsaw harmony that she couldn't see or feel except for where they moved, shifting, to create grooves for her fingers and places to hold when she reached. It was awkward and fumbling, nothing at all like watching her father swing easily into a saddle, but she stepped up onto the cat's paw and scrambled and clawed her way up its side until she could throw her leg over its neck and flop herself, all ungainly limbs and precarious balance, over its shoulders.
It didn't feel safe in the slightest, too big and much too tall, and then it was even further from the ground as the cat unfolded itself, rising to its feet. Realistically Elizabeth knew it wasn't any worse - was shorter, really - than sitting on her father's shoulders, but it seemed much further and the cat's gliding steps were fluid underneath her and nothing at all like her father bouncing her about on his back.
"Relax," the cat said, his voice rumbling between her knees. "I am your guard. I won't let you fall."
Warm metal beneath her seat, pressed to her knees and ankles, and underneath her hands, and then it was true; something shifted, the cat's metal skin sliding seamlessly, and she was as secure as if she was sitting safely in a chair. The world swayed, slowly at first, then faster and faster still, faster than Elizabeth could have run as the cat trotted through the hallways and on impulse Elizabeth leaned forward, hands clutching at the metallic neck. "Run?" she pleaded, and felt the back behind her bunch up, the cat coil like a spring, and then, for one glorious, amazing moment, they did, the world skimming by in a blur as the cat leapt down the hall.
It was only for a moment, just a few heartbeats, and then they were already at Elizabeth's rooms and her nurse was there as the cat came to rest lightly a the door to her suite, just as calmly as though it had never run a step in its life. Elizabeth's heart was in her throat, giddy with it, but the cat's voice came to her through the metal plating beneath her cheek where she lay pressed to its neck. "Recharge," the cat whispered, and Elizabeth quickly closed her eyes and listened to her nurse's exclamation at finding her charge draped over the neck of a giant metal cat.
"She is fatigued," the cat told her nurse, crouching down once more to allow the woman easier access. "I found her in recharge in the blue study on the second level."
Elizabeth's nurse tutted softly. "Too much excitement for one day," she agreed. Elizabeth let herself go as limp as she could as the woman lifted her down, pretending to rouse a bit, and let her nurse herd her to bed, party dress traded for pajamas and tucked neatly under covers.
It was several minutes after her nurse had left, turning the lights off on the way, when the door opened to let a black shadow with dim glowing red eyes slink in. Elizabeth followed the eyes, watching as they took up position beside her bed. "I didn't really have dinner," she whispered into the darkness.
The cat made another sound of huffed air from its fans. "Your caretaker agrees that you are already overcharged from the organic foodstuffs you had earlier."
Elizabeth considered that. "I did eat a lot of cake," she agreed, "and there were sandwiches. Are you going to keep me safe all night?"
"Yes," came the reply.
Elizabeth curled onto her side beneath the covers, facing the dim slits of red glow that she could just make out in the darkness, and hugged Bannock to her chest. It was quiet, and she was tired, but after a few moments she pushed her eyes open again. "Ravage?"
The cat rumbled, a different rumble than before, something softer and rhythmic that made her think of purring, and made a short, sharp chirp sound.
Elizabeth smiled. "I didn't mean it," she told the vaguely cat shaped darkness. "Earlier. I didn't mean it. You're the best birthday cat ever."
Ravage made another sound, quiet clicks and chirps, but even after he fell silent the softly rhythmic rumbling remained, lulling Elizabeth to sleep.