DStubbs

After reading through it, I came to the conclusion that this man does not like words, and has spent his life in bitterness that he has had to use them to make a living. Seriously; some of that advice is utterly sound, but the whole article reads like a lament of the English language and the mental (and wonderful) words it holds. Eh. In fairness, I am a repeat offender of a number of things that he's touched on the article. Maybe it's just picked my pride

The blackboard where Sebastian and Archibald now stood in front of was less of a blackboard, par se, and more of a black-wall; it was fully seven-foot in height and ran across two-thirds of the longest wall in the basement, a massive thing that was framed on either side by two hefty slabs of pitted, age-stained mahogany, and which was at this present point in time covered in a vast array of random numerals, jumbled letters from at least six different alphabets and a handful of symbols that had seemingly managed to creep onto the board without either of the two scientists initially noticing. After a lengthy discussion neither of them knew what the foggiest they were supposed to mean or why they were even there at all. The equations and mathematical ponderings at the top of the board (which had required the assistance of a rickety old step-ladder to reach) were inscribed in a neat, flowing hand, but as plausible ideas were explored, rebuked and made redundant by newer lines of thought, the math made it's way down to the ground in increasingly smaller, more frenetic bursts from what was obviously an increasingly agitated hand; Indeed, at head-height many of the equations were left half-finished as the discussion became more and more heated, the characters being less written, and more scratched into the well-worn surface. At the very bottom there was evidence to suggest that the hand had Officially Totally Lost It: a hugely over-stated sum was finished with a line of question marks that traced a crazy path towards the far right-hand end of the blackboard. The dot of the very last one of these was not made from any civilized writing, but from the hole made by the tip of a very worn-out piece of chalk being pressed into the board far, far too hard. Situated some way back from this was Archibald, who was standing very still. Mere inches away from the last question mark and in front of him was Sebastian. Who was trembling slightly. In his hands he was manically grinding down the remains of the writing chalk into a fine powder, and as he shook it covered him in a fine layer of ghostly white from the waist down. “Well, blast it, Archibald! Why are we even going through with this if you're not going to tell me how that infernal monstrosity was supposed to function?!" Sebastian threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, making a cloud of powder burst outwards from around him and cover the rest of him completely in white, and he glared at the blackboard, his brow furrowed so harshly that Archibald could barely make out his feline eyes. The light emanating from the gas-lamps that hung from the wall either side of them had caught them fully just once, and they smouldered a crimson hue. Without realising, he had taken a step backwards, and his voice was stuttering somewhat, the words too cautious to leave the safety of his throat without an extra, nervy push. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Seb. And if I did tell you, you certainly wouldn't like it. Not in the slightest. Before, I wouldn't have minded so much, but you've got claws now, for goodness' sake! And these threads of mine are delicate, you know! And so am I, for that matter.” Sebastian pivoted slowly, about-face, and cocked his head slightly to one side as he held his old friend fast in a gaze of barely-concealed contempt. His voice was now even, but low, and the syllables were clipped and wound tight with menace; the civility in his mannerisms doing little to mask his developing feral, beastly nature. “I can appreciate that you are worried about my reaction to whatever traumas you have had to inflict upon Common Science in order to fuel your mad fantasies-or “theories”, as you like to term them-but quite frankly the sudden change in my disposition to yourself and any loss of fabric, blood and-or DIGNITY that may happen as a result of such changes are the LEAST of your worries right now, Archibald Fritters! Your pods have transformed us into tea-abhorring cats, for heavens' sake! Our very genetic make-up has been pulled apart like it were a ball of yarn tossed to an overly-excitable kitten, and Newton knows what else might happen if we can't get to the bottom of this! I don't care if those machines were fuelled by mice tutored in the Dark Arts that you had to supplicate with cheese gathered from the MOON, Archibald! I need to know everything. Now. Because...” Archie pushed his hands into his cheeks and gasped. “But Sebastian! That breaks Rule Number One! You know I-” Claws slid gently out from under Sebastian's fingertips and reached for the blackboard. “....I am getting....” “-can't. I can't! It's the very basis of our working rela-” They made contact with its hard, flinty surface, and dug into it with a small, ominous 'crick'. “....highly, deeply..." “-tionship! You will positively go monkey-” And the hand glided down, and the claws gouged out a piercing shriek of a sound as they bit deep and raked the surface of the blackboard. Archie's mewling was instantly, utterly obliterated. “....FRUSTRATED” “-nuts. Eep.” After an eternity, Sebastian's claws ran out of board to defecate and the screeching abruptly stopped, leaving both of them in stunned silence. Seb shook his head a little and blinked, as though he was awaking from an unintended nap, and he dropped his jaw slightly when he saw the look of total horror in Archie's face. His hands were still pushing hard into his cheeks, as if to keep a scream or two from escaping his throat, which had run dry and become prickly. Seb reached out to touch his shoulder as the shock subsided and the guilt came crashing in, and he saw the slight flinch away in Archie's reaction, and he knew in his gut that he had never felt sadder and more ashamed of himself than this. “Sweet Spinoza, what has become of me? Archie...I'm...I'm....” Archie shook his head and stepped forward, relaxing a little as he smiled wearily, realisation of the gravity of there situation having finally sunk in. . “No, no, it's not your fault, old friend. Not your fault. You acted out of character, and all things considered, we should not be so surprised. We are different creatures now entirely, what ho? It's going to make us funny in the brain-cupboard, without a doubt. All is forgiven, good fellow.” Seb looked down at his shoes and ran his hand through his hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck as he gave out a heavy sigh and hunched forward. He wasn't frustrated. He was exhausted. “Thank you. Now, listen; about that whole thing about my demanding to know absolutely everything...that was a thesis too far, as they say, and I want you to completely disregard it for the sake of our friends-” Archie grasped Seb with both hands at the elbows and nudged them upwards slightly before releasing his grip. Seb straightened up and looked at him in acknowledgement, still slightly sheepish. Archie smiled back sympathetically as he spoke. “Sit down and pour the pair of us some tea au natural whilst I gather myself, would you?” Sebastian raised a querying eyebrow, curiosity now bubbling away inside him. “What? Hmm?” Archibald, as if waiting for that very cue, took a single swift step backwards away from him and threw out his arms in a gloriously dramatic gesture towards the air above them that only he could do, and he bellowed like the truest of Thespians announcing the pivotal scene of the final act of the greatest play. Ever. “So that I, Archibald Fritters, Daring Discoverer of the Inexplicable, can regale unto you the darkest secrets of my greatest inventions-that-have-yet-to-succeed-fully-as-intended-but-thankfully-didn't-set-anything-on-fire...” He breathed back in at this point. “...the REFLECTO-FLIPPING FLUX CAPACITOR!!!” Sebastian was agog. Archie, suitably impressed with the sound of his own invention for the second time that week, leaned forward a little, paused, and then murmured; “And then, perhaps, just perhaps, we can get ourselves off of this rum poop-deck.”

Corwin was still fumbling with the post-it note on his jacket arm whilst trying to roll-up the submission piece and place it back into its holder when the shadows from the wall to his left un-froze themselves and shuddered into life. Gauzy, hazy shapes peeled away from the bruised and tattered wallpaper and drifted into the open air, all angles and flatness, a mirage with purpose and direction. Smoky tendrils grew from each floating block and wrapped around one another, inter-locking and pulling themselves taught, and within a matter of moments many pieces had become one, a gangly human-like thing bound together with sinews of shadow and little else. It had been staring at him the whole time; the hairs on the back of Corwins neck rose straight and high, bolts of continuous electricity seemed to be racing up and down his spine and he was struggling hard to deny the urge tohiss at the thing. Presently, it dipped its hand into a pocket that Corwin could not see and out of it's insubstantial mass pulled out a fully-formed and very real roll of vellum. It looked ancient, as if it would crumble into ash were anything but shadows should try to grasp it. It regarded Corwin with a look he failed to read before handing the paper to him. His hands full, he was saved any awkwardness by the timely intervention of his tail, which cordially wrapped its tip around the note and deftly popped it into his jacket pocket. Surprisingly, it did not crumble into thin air on contact, and Corwin could feel its weight in his pocket, assuring his sceptical mind that it was indeed real. Its task completed, the shadow solemnly sank into the floor and glided, noiselessly, towards the open door of the office. It slid into the gap between it and the floor below it, but failed to re-appear on the other side. Corwin stood still, staring blankly at where it should have been for a good minute before realising that his mouth was wide open and was in danger of sinning in public with unwanted drool. His tail slid up underneath his arm and helpfully pushed his mouth closed. He gulped once, loudly, and then read the note. "...oh. How very...kind of you." He had no idea who he was talking to any more. He did not think it really mattered, anyway. Not here, at least. He decided he needed fresh air and a clearer perspective before he could move forward with the day; settle down before settling in, he thought. He walked quickly away from the office and through the myriad corridors that lead to it, always moving upwards, ascending stairs with ever-brisker steps and occasionally sniffing the air, trying to catch the scent he was after. After a short while, he got a whiff of it, faint but unmistakable; fresh air. Up, to the left, thirty paces or so. He turned in that direction, and picked up his pace further still. When he saw the open window in a disused office at the end of a long, narrow corridor, he suddenly broke into a sprint. He let his mind go and allowed instinct to take over, the urge and need to get out and be free driving all thoughts and motion towards the achievement of that one goal, and he was on all fours pounding the floorboards beneath him with fluid, savage movements before he'd even entered the room. The space between him and the window was obliterated within a matter of seconds and he leapt clear of the room, vaulting off the windowsill and into the wide open world beyond. Sunlight cascaded into his vision, waves of it pounding into his eyes ceaselessly, so bright after all that time in dark, shaded rooms, and it blotted out his vision completely before his eyes could re-adjust. He entered a void of perception: weightless, sightless, the air around him whistling tonelessly in his ears. At last, finally, he was free. Ecstatic joy overwhelmed him, his world went pure white with the void, and then he was lost to the dark soon thereafter. He woke up on the roof, on his back, the clear blue sky above him. His jacket was half-off, one armless sleeve flapping lazily in the breeze, and the post-it note given to him by Tzimfemme was now stuck to the side of his head, one corner of it scratching his nose. He pressed the palm of his hand against it and pulled it away, reading it. Oh God, he thought. my lab! It'll be here by now. I wonder... Standing up, he looked for the tower mentioned in the note and spotted it just to the south of the main keep. With no labyrinthine corridors to navigate, it was a straight dash as the crow flew across the roof of the keep and then a little leap of maybe twenty feet or so to the nearest tower window, and then it'd be a simple matter of blowing the whistle and waiting to see if his suitcase had heard it. And if not, he could at least visit Tzimfemme and make temporary arrangements whilst he waited for his own gear to arrive. And I could check her out, too. he mused. And then caught himself immediately. her lab, of course. Lab. And her set-up. What *do* naked scientists research, anyway? Invisible lab-coats? He pondered it as he made his way across the roof towards the tower. Only one way to find out, obviously. OOC; sorry, that one meandered a bit. More interaction next, feel free to disturb me mid-run!

Fighting the fight-or flight instinct was hard, but Corwin was given just enough time to subdue his feral instincts and think like a man for this one. Loosen up, he thought. They're here to help. Talk to them! And then the whole thing with the turtle happened, and Corwin lost his bearings completely. Disregarding the bulk of the hastily-spoken welcome from the thing-in-a-costume, which came out as a splurge of cobbled-together (if well-meaning and sincere) platitudes strung together with a thin thread of rank profiteering, Corwin got straight down to what was really bothering him at that present moment in time. "...excuse me sir, but were you just violently assaulted by a floating turtle?" The thing-in-a-suit shifted his feet on the spot and glanced nervously back at the other, shorter entity that was still standing in the doorway blocking his exit, and Corwin's gaze followed his, noting then how her diminutive figure was still capable of filling the open spaces between the tested oaken frames with a considerable presence. A quick calculation in his head regarding how likely he could vault over her and into the open corridor beyond was immediately checked by a more feline instinct; No. The thing-in-a-suit turned further towards the doorway and tried his best to look at ease with the whole situation, at which point Corwin noticed the extent of his injuries. He gasped quietly, and began fumbling for something from the inside of his waistcoat. "Weeeell, it's NOTHING really, you should have seen what it did the LA-" said the thing-in-a-suit, gesturing mock-jovial to his companion behind him before he was cut off as Corwin's hand firmly, but carefully, took hold of his chin and held his head so that he could step in a pace and get a keener look at the wound. "Hush, man! You've sustained a...considerable amount of trauma from that hockey-boy bat, and you're going to need first aid at the very least! Now hold still." "Nnnar noo eh nnnnocktrr?" said the thing-in-a-suit, as best he could through clenched teeth. "No," said Corwin as his other hand returned from his waistcoat with a gold pocket-watch, which he then held horizontally a few inches away from the ugly gash that he was now staring intently at. "...I'm a physicist. Sanare!" And with that, the pocket watch sprung wide open, and with a hurried clicking and snapping of now-observable gears and levers began to go about its intended business. Multi-jointed appenditures whirred forward,three of them in total, each one with a device attached to it's end, each distinct and different from one another; a piece of cotten wool, a spray canister and finally a cotton bud. They honed in on the wound, and with surprising dexterity and sense of purpose began to clean and disinfect the area as well and as thoroughly as any practised nurse. Once finished, they each turned to point up at Corwin, and waited. One of them cocked it's cotton-bud head a touch, almost inquisitively. Corwin nodded calmly in response. "Yes, very good, well done. Carry on now." The arms arced back in on themselves and dipped there heads into the inner-workings of the watch, and began to enthusiastically search for something. After a few moments rummaging, they re-appeared; two of them held a roll of thin, steely cord between them, the other a delicate looking needle, threaded through at it's end with said string. The thing-in-a-suit caught sight of it on the edge of his vision and trembled a little as the needle made its way cautiously towards him. "Don't worry, stay still, it'll be all over in a moment and then you'll be right as rain. Archie here is very good at this sort of stuff, aren't you, Archie?" As a manner of reply, it deftly stitched the wound with a blur precise movements, the needle making cool, quiet "swiff-swiff-swiff" sounds as it whent about it's work. Once finished, the needle-arm turned back towards Corwin and nodded twice before assisting the other two with packing the rest of the implements away. The arms folded back into the watch and Corwin swiftly snapped the device shut before placing it back into his waist-coat pocket. Giving his handy-work a customary glance he gently released his grip on the thing-in-a-suit's chin before he glanced back up at the woman in the doorway, and then quickly back down at the slightly skittish fellow in front of him. "There. All fixed. Sorry about that, I tend to dive straight in when I see some thing's not right, and I completely forgot to introduce myself! Unforgivable. I apologise. My name is Corwin and yes, I am scientist, not a doctor. I leave the physician-work to my friend Archibald, he's much better at it than I am. And you must be...umm...Oh! Snypiuer! I'm sorry if I pronounced it incorrectly, these aren't...my neck of the woods." He smiled nervously. Wasn't that the truth! He looked past Snypiuer to the figure beyond. "And you must be, then, Tzimfemme. A true pleasure to meet you. I hope I have sufficiently answered your query; The jury is still out as to whether I have nine lives or not, but I can say with scientific certainty that I cannot communicate with my mind alone." He looked down, a little crest-fallen at this. "A pity, really." He looked back up and fixed Tzimfemme with a steady, even stare. "Now, what's this about me paying what to whom again? Be patient with me, mind; I'm good with science. But bad with money. OOC Ohmy dear lord that was longer than originally intended. HAVE FUN

Authors note: This thing has been going round and round in my head for a good while now, and although this and one other instalment are the only parts of the story that I've managed to pin down and *write*, there *is* a longer story lurking beyond it. I tried blogging it in an effort to spur me on into further creative spasms, but it didn't work out so well, so it's here instead, waiting for you to digest. There's another part already written, it's episodic and anecdotal in nature, and I hope, above all else, that you enjoy it. Critical feed-back=awesome, although bear in mind that is fast becoming my "baby" and my 'net ego bruises like a peach, haha Seriously, though; give me what you've got and I'll take it and make it. So....here you go. Just a little thing, to start... --------------- “Archie, my good fellow, I do believe the experiment has gone astray.” “Stray, you say?” squealed Archibald, oblivious to the fact that his companion was a mere five feet away from him in the cramped confines of their laboratory basement. “I should think we are a pair of strays now, judging from the look of us!” He pointed indignantly at his ears. “See these? Utterly preposterous!” Sebastian nodded grimly in agreement while he slinked, cautiously, out of his iron pod: Archie’s ears had become somewhat elongated at the tip and lined with a fine coat of fur that was a suave shade of ginger. It matched the tweed jacket that he was wearing, and in truth, rather became him. But it was the eyes that transfixed Sebastian; Almond-shaped and slit with black, filled not with one pale colour but with a spectrum of hues that seemed to shift in the light, from jade to amber to copper and then back again as Archibald cavorted about the room in a state of undignified panic. Set into a face that had often been described as poorly misjudged in its conception by his kinder contemporaries in the scientific community and called down-right miss-shapen by his crueller ones, those eyes looked completely out-of-place, a freakish accident. And indeed, thought Sebastian, they were. He slid up onto his desk and considered his own features in the small mirror he often kept by his study notes. They were of a similarly altered nature, his ears and eyes transformed to those of a cats, and his hair, once a dour shade of brown, was now a matt-black streaked with sharp lines of white. But the real shock was the penetrating stare that he had seemed to have acquired; it was the glare of a hardened, cunning predator, and for the life of him he couldn’t replace it with any of his more agreeable expressions. He tried an amiable grin. The thing in the mirror sneered back at him. “I think, my friend,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and controlled “that it’s time for some tea.” Archie had been leaning into the other pod for a few moments, tired of his pacing, rubbing a few strands of cat’s hair intensely between his fingers and looking down into the machine’s chamber, seemingly at nothing in particular, but at the mention of tea he lurched about-face and smiled weakly at his partner. “Yes. That would be wonderful. No sugar today though, please.” “No sugar?” “Yes. And make it a weak tea, good fellow. All those…leaves are probably bad for the…capillaries. Yes. In fact…” Sebastian’s tone was half-incredulous, half indignant. “Weak tea!? Does such a monstrosity even exist in fair England’s shires!?” “…just leave the tea leaves out of it.” Sebastian’s mouth had formed a gaping hole in his face through which one could very easily have fit a small teapot into. His voiced had somehow managed to climb a full octave as he spoke: Indeed, he positively mewled with discontent. “So….you wish for just milk, then, Archibald? Is that what we have been reduced to now? A pair of…of…uncultured tabby moggs!?” His companion frowned disapprovingly. “No, Sebastian. I wish for tea au natural. Perfectly normal and English, I assure you, but since you find such a thing so offensive to your sensibilities, I shall go make it myself.” And with that, Archie strutted to the stairs, head held high at an angle that would have looked utterly peculiar to anyone else but the pair of them. He stopped on the third step and turned back to face Seb, a look of sheepishness creeping into his features. “Seb, umm…where do we keep the saucers in this establishment of yours?” Sebastian looked away in disgust and said nothing, pretending to be intrigued by some string on his desk. When he heard the door click shut, he slumped his head into his hands, and his hands into his knees, a keen sense of despair pushing him further and further into his desk. They were freaks. They were failures. They were cats. Not even tea could save them now. He remained quite still for a short while, curled into an upright ball upon his desk, until his eyes caught a glint of light in the near distance, and out of new-born instinct he looked up and peered at it for a moment. It was Archie’s paperweight, a fat block of bronze-plated wood with his name inscribed at it’s top, and his title-“Daring Discoverer of the Inexplicable”-just below it, reflecting the sunlight that darted every once in a while through the air vent above his desk. Considering this, he picked up his own paperweight, which was of a similar fashion, and stared at it thoughtfully. “Sebastian Barton-Weigh”, it read, and underneath it the more modest title of “Physicist”. He looked at his reflection in the polished metal, his copper eyes almost disappearing completely within its warming hue, and just for a moment he looked normal once again. The atoms of a thing may change, he remembered, but the essence of that thing was immutable. That was one of the first things they’d taught him at the academy, and he’d held it to be amongst the highest of truths for all this time, even now. Especially now. He had been a man for quite some time of his life, and now he was a cat instead, but he had been a physicist long before either of them, and knowing that comforted him a little, because that was the most important, truest part of him anyway. He looked at his paperweight more intently now, and smiled. It was nice. And awfully shiny. He realised how much he liked shiny things all of a sudden, for totally inexplicable reasons. He glanced back over to Archie’s paperweight and wondered if it was worth asking him about it. It was his area of expertise, after all. He chuckled at it quietly to himself, a low purr of re-discovered contentment.

Sometimes, Corwin hated having a heightened sense of smell. The office, if such a term could be a accurately applied to such a room as he was standing in right now, throbbed with the hot, furtive aromas of a hundred different things that had gone bad in a hundred different ways, and navigating his way to the Officers desk from the doorway had been like picking his way through a minefield of rotten eggs and farting lizards. And that was to say nothing of the actual mess that littered the floor, the walls, the door, the...sweet Spinoza, he thought...the ceiling!? How on earth did jam get up there? He tried to focus on the desk and nothing else; if he couldn't see it, it couldn't kill him. Or make him up-chuck in a most un-English manner, at least. Eventually, he got close enough to the desk to feel safe and with a single graceful leap alighted atop of the desk, landing haunched, tense. He glanced this way and that, back at the door, and then to the desk again. Nothing. He relaxed. "Chaos Theory." he muttered quietly to himself as he dipped his hand into his pocket to pull out a small, thin copper tube. It was adorned with a single decorative piece of yarn tied around it's centre, but otherwise looked entirely practical and ordinary in its design. One more survey of the room as he held it. "So disorganised it comes...all the way back around to some semblance of functionality. Hmmm. Not my cup of tea, but still..." Taking the cylinder in both hands he ran a finger down from the top towards the other end until it snagged on something that was not immediately apparent, and began to roll the tip of his claw in a counter-clockwise motion, as though he were winding up a toy. With a faint "pop" the top end of it flicked open and gently ejected its contents into Corwin's waiting palm. The parchment did not unroll itself immediately, and was crumpled at the edges. With practised care and feline caution, Cowrin placed the copper carrier back into it's pocket and smoothed open his submission piece. He checked it to proof, even though he'd read it a hundred times or more already; just to be sure. At the top of the page, in bold italic, was the title: "Is it Shiny? Does it Jangle?" He smiled. He was rather proud of it. It was largely autobiographical, and it had pretty much written itself, as would it's further instalments. "Well I jolly well hope so," he sighed under his breath. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of good tea around here." A troubling thought. Shaking it off, he regarded the parchment once more before setting it down in the space on the desk that his tail had now finished clearing of clutter, it's dexterous tip re-organising the mess of paper, quills, inks and pots into a more workable solution without him really asking it to. Another bonus of being turned into a Man-'o-cat, which is what Corwin surmised he was now. His task done, and with a nary an upset caused or attention unduly garnered towards himself. Exactly how he wanted it, he thought. Exit stage left, incognito, crumpets and tea for one. He was getting the hang of this, for certain! He confidently hopped off the desk, turned, and began making his way towards the door, smiling. And that is when he realised that he had been watched all along. By not one, but two other people. Something just above his stomach made a fist and punched upwards, and his chest suddenly exploded in a ball of fiery terror. He became very, very still. He tried not to notice them immediately and pretended to study the room further, as if he didn't know what he was looking for, which was a big fat monkey lie because right now he wanted nothing more than to find an alternate exit and a rocket with which to fly through it with, and right now he was coming up with negative results on both. He was trapped. OOC; thanks for the heads up. Consider this my RP-flavoured submission piece. I'll get back to "carrying it on" once I've had coffee and got re-inspired. Cheers peeps!