(no subject)
Title: A Cat's Magic
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Edward Leat (and that of the ship's cat, Emily) belongs to latin_cat.
Original pen-date: 4 February 2011
Summary: Show the Colours AU; Terpsichore's cat, Miss Emily, changes places with Lieutenant Cartwright for a week. At sea, 1809.
Author's Note: Written for a Kink meme on DreamWidth. Prompt - A cat for a week. Miss Emily and a member of Terpsy's crew swap forms. Miss Emily becomes a human female. The crew member a male cat.
At Sergeant Quinn's insistence, Foley checked the first hiding hole Miss Emily had described, with the explanation that he wanted to see for himself what was going on. This was no more than Foley expected. He led the way to the spirit room, lanthorn in hand, hoping the missing cat-officer was indeed down there. If not... he dreaded to think of the reaction from the others should they need to be recruited to search the entire ship. If that happened - oh God, Foley thought suddenly. They'd have to tell the captain.
With that unhappy thought in mind, Foley crouched low and brought his lanthorn down to illuminate a likely-looking nook. Nothing but empty shadow. The sentry outside the spirit room was staring too fixedly into the gloom ahead of him, a result of Sergeant Quinn's presence, but Foley knew well enough that Vining was listening to every movement the other two were making.
"Anything?" Sergeant Quinn asked, after Foley had unsuccessfully examined another possible bolt-hole.
The steward shook his head. "If he's down here, he's hidin' somewheres we ain't likely to look." If Mister Cartwright wasn't here, he might be up forrard, as Miss Emily had also suggested. Or he could be anywhere else in the hold, where nobody was likely to find him. With a grimace, Foley turned away from the spirit room, his gaze moving around the deck. There had to be a space around here he hadn't yet looked in that would yield the result he wanted.
It occurred to him then that he might have a little more luck if he called out to the hidden cat-officer. Or maybe not. He felt foolish enough constantly crouching or kneeling to peer at dark crevices around the deck. There was no help from Sergeant Quinn, either. But there wasn't likely to be, was there? The older Marine no doubt considered this an increasing descent into madness.
"What's the space there?" Sergeant Quinn pointed at a spot Foley had stepped past without seeing. The steward turned at once to inspect it.
"Maybe," he mused, kneeling and holding the lanthorn close to the narrow space. Nothing. No. Wait. There was a faint glimmer of reflection from further back in the space. A cat's eyes, perhaps? "That you in there, sir?" Nothing for it now but to ask. It was an even chance that it was indeed Mister Cartwright tucked away in there.
"Here, Sarn't," Foley said as he passed the lanthorn up. "Hold this a minute?" An idea had come to him. He had shared bits of biscuit and meat with Miss Emily in the past, whenever their paths had crossed in the wardroom. That same thing might come in useful here. A second's fumbling into his trouser pocket produced a few old crumbs of biscuit. Not the most appetising offering ever, but to a hungry cat, it could just do the trick.
"C'mon, sir. Got some prime soft tack here for you." He carefully tossed a couple crumbs into the bolt-hole. This had better work. If he was tempting a rat instead of his officer... for a couple of minutes, there was no sign of movement from within the bolt-hole, then a shadow inched forward a little, closer to the uneven light of the lanthorn. Foley ducked lower so he could see better. There was a definite paleness to that shadow. It was no rat, then. Unless it was a rat with white fur.
Another couple biscuit crumbs were offered. "C'mon, sir. It's nobody here but me an' Sarn't Quinn. Inch on outta there careful-like, sir. I don't even wanna think what you got on yourself from crawlin' 'round down in there, neither."
The gentle coaxing seemed to be having a positive effect. Or maybe it was the scattering of crumbs. Foley didn't care. It was enough that the light-furred cat had drawn near enough for him to reach quickly in to grab it by the scruff. "Sorry 'bout that, sir," he said to the angrily-yowling cat as he dragged it out into the open. "Got no choice though. Can't have you runnin' off like all that, can we?"
"So that's him?"
Foley had settled the disgruntled cat against his shoulder and, after a moment's hesitation, began petting it reassuringly. "Aye. So Miss Emily says, anyhow. Best to get him back to his cabin. I'll have to see he gets secured in there somehow. One escape's enough, ain't it, sir?"
The cat answered that with an annoyed growl and looked miffed.
Rating: K+ (Suitable for ages 13 and above)
Disclaimers: The character Edward Leat (and that of the ship's cat, Emily) belongs to latin_cat.
Original pen-date: 4 February 2011
Summary: Show the Colours AU; Terpsichore's cat, Miss Emily, changes places with Lieutenant Cartwright for a week. At sea, 1809.
Author's Note: Written for a Kink meme on DreamWidth. Prompt - A cat for a week. Miss Emily and a member of Terpsy's crew swap forms. Miss Emily becomes a human female. The crew member a male cat.
At Sergeant Quinn's insistence, Foley checked the first hiding hole Miss Emily had described, with the explanation that he wanted to see for himself what was going on. This was no more than Foley expected. He led the way to the spirit room, lanthorn in hand, hoping the missing cat-officer was indeed down there. If not... he dreaded to think of the reaction from the others should they need to be recruited to search the entire ship. If that happened - oh God, Foley thought suddenly. They'd have to tell the captain.
With that unhappy thought in mind, Foley crouched low and brought his lanthorn down to illuminate a likely-looking nook. Nothing but empty shadow. The sentry outside the spirit room was staring too fixedly into the gloom ahead of him, a result of Sergeant Quinn's presence, but Foley knew well enough that Vining was listening to every movement the other two were making.
"Anything?" Sergeant Quinn asked, after Foley had unsuccessfully examined another possible bolt-hole.
The steward shook his head. "If he's down here, he's hidin' somewheres we ain't likely to look." If Mister Cartwright wasn't here, he might be up forrard, as Miss Emily had also suggested. Or he could be anywhere else in the hold, where nobody was likely to find him. With a grimace, Foley turned away from the spirit room, his gaze moving around the deck. There had to be a space around here he hadn't yet looked in that would yield the result he wanted.
It occurred to him then that he might have a little more luck if he called out to the hidden cat-officer. Or maybe not. He felt foolish enough constantly crouching or kneeling to peer at dark crevices around the deck. There was no help from Sergeant Quinn, either. But there wasn't likely to be, was there? The older Marine no doubt considered this an increasing descent into madness.
"What's the space there?" Sergeant Quinn pointed at a spot Foley had stepped past without seeing. The steward turned at once to inspect it.
"Maybe," he mused, kneeling and holding the lanthorn close to the narrow space. Nothing. No. Wait. There was a faint glimmer of reflection from further back in the space. A cat's eyes, perhaps? "That you in there, sir?" Nothing for it now but to ask. It was an even chance that it was indeed Mister Cartwright tucked away in there.
"Here, Sarn't," Foley said as he passed the lanthorn up. "Hold this a minute?" An idea had come to him. He had shared bits of biscuit and meat with Miss Emily in the past, whenever their paths had crossed in the wardroom. That same thing might come in useful here. A second's fumbling into his trouser pocket produced a few old crumbs of biscuit. Not the most appetising offering ever, but to a hungry cat, it could just do the trick.
"C'mon, sir. Got some prime soft tack here for you." He carefully tossed a couple crumbs into the bolt-hole. This had better work. If he was tempting a rat instead of his officer... for a couple of minutes, there was no sign of movement from within the bolt-hole, then a shadow inched forward a little, closer to the uneven light of the lanthorn. Foley ducked lower so he could see better. There was a definite paleness to that shadow. It was no rat, then. Unless it was a rat with white fur.
Another couple biscuit crumbs were offered. "C'mon, sir. It's nobody here but me an' Sarn't Quinn. Inch on outta there careful-like, sir. I don't even wanna think what you got on yourself from crawlin' 'round down in there, neither."
The gentle coaxing seemed to be having a positive effect. Or maybe it was the scattering of crumbs. Foley didn't care. It was enough that the light-furred cat had drawn near enough for him to reach quickly in to grab it by the scruff. "Sorry 'bout that, sir," he said to the angrily-yowling cat as he dragged it out into the open. "Got no choice though. Can't have you runnin' off like all that, can we?"
"So that's him?"
Foley had settled the disgruntled cat against his shoulder and, after a moment's hesitation, began petting it reassuringly. "Aye. So Miss Emily says, anyhow. Best to get him back to his cabin. I'll have to see he gets secured in there somehow. One escape's enough, ain't it, sir?"
The cat answered that with an annoyed growl and looked miffed.