dizzy_land | Application for Macavity

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Application for Macavity

Macavity groans and rubs his head as he looks around. Must be a another stunt by Mistoffelees. If the kit kept on like this, he’d have to be disposed of…
Well, that was a new one. An over-sized cartoon rat was, if nothing else, an original illusion. Perhaps the Twins had chosen to try to screw up his head again, and this was only an elaborate mind-trap.

Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"

Ah, well, might as well play along. He is the best psychic that he knows of, and could easily break out of this game any time he wants to, but he feels like humouring people today. Before tearing out a few throats, of course. He finally deigns to answer the rodent. “Macavity, of course.”

"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.

He blinks. Defintely a mind-trap. That thing is probably meant to be his inner kitten or something, and he knows he doesn’t have one anymore – it had been a long and bloody mental battle before Runda had finally given up the ghost.
His ears flick back. “My quest? To destroy my elder brother and his followers and have Demeter by my side once and for all.”

"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You
know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?"

“Hmm.” The Jellicle strokes his chin and pretends to think on it, tail swishing from side-to-side. “For my elder brother and his followers to be dead, for Demeter to willingly come to me, although actually that would be my first wish because it would destroy Munkustrap to see it, and I suppose world domination would agreeable, but with none of the stupid conscequences and catches.”

"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"

“I wouldn’t say anything – I’d just kill him.”

Mickey looks rather nonplused at the next, but reads, "When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?"

“Barter?” A small smile creeps onto the Napoleon of Crime’s face. “Why, in the deepest basement, would I barter? Stealing is far easier, and so much more entertaining.”

The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"

“Oh, Dark, every time.” For life as well as chocolate, he thinks to himself.

"Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans," says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "Explain."

“The coolest? That would be a phrase I had hoped to never hear from the lips of a single being, save for perhaps my youngest brother.” Again, the cat-human’s black furred ears stroke back momentarily, then he regains control. “But very well. Pirates – I’ve had one or two in my employ over time, and although they are, mostly uncouth braggarts, with little interests in life beside the three F’s, they have a tendency to be very useful, and ninjas, for the self-same reason, although they have a habit of earning my respect better than Growltiger and his ilk, for they are respectful in their turn and are far more efficient.”

"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"

“I’m carrying nothing. But my claws are and teeth are sharp enough, should the opportunity arise that I may use them.” He purrs, a small savage grin darting across his features.

((OOC: This guy's the big bad from CATS, for anyone who hadn't the foggiest - That's the musical by AL Webber and the poetry collection - old possum's book of pratical cats - by TS eliot))

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"A goddess?" An eyebrow raises. "I can't say I've met any of your kind before. Then that probably mean that the Demeter you know is the one for mine is named, and would make you of the greek pantheon, wouldn't it?"

"And no, I'm not a cat...not exactly, at least." Macavity's lip quirks slightly, revealing sharp white fangs, in what might be a smile, but his tail lashes irritably. "Technically, I'm of a species that's been called Jellicles, but I severely doubt I would count to many of my kind as one of them."

Vaguely, he wonders why on earth he's saying all this, but if this is indeed a mind-trap and the girl is merely a contruct - embodiment of the mortal soul indeed, although he thinks that his is rather worse for wear and certaining would not look like that - then at least he's not saying anything useful to anyone who'd want to know.

"It would, on both counts," she says, "though I'm rather a minor part of the pantheon. I was born a mortal, you see."

A corner of her mouth turns up. "Have you really employed pirates and ninjas?"

The Napoleon of Crime nods. "Indeed, at one time or another. As I said, they do have their uses."

At least until they get too cocky and have to be put down, he adds silently.

"I expect so. Most people do have their uses, if you're thinking of them as things to be used."

His ears flatten against his skull for a minute.

"My dear kitten," he says, in something that could be described as a strained purr, "Everyone has their uses - it merely takes the correct sort of person to bring it out of them. And everyone, including you and myself, can be taken as things to be used."

"Exactly," Psyche replies. And then grins. "'Kitten?'"

"Merely a turn of phrase," he replies cooly, slightly suprised that she agreed so readily to his point of view. Usually, in his experience, folk that looked like her where rather more idiotically idealistic.

They don't come much more idiotically idealistic than Psyche, in fact, but she's been around for millennia now and she's had ample experience with people who see each other as useful objects. The exactly meant exactly my point about that kind of outlook.

She's sure, however, that Macavity must have other qualities, valuable talents or insights. Everyone does. Everyone is unique. Accordingly, she continues with merry eyes, "A turn of phrase indicative of what, would you say?"

"Indicative of the fact that you at least look younger than me, and were I human I would have said 'child' instead." He considers her suspiciously. Anyone acting that cheerful has to be up to something.

"Oh, I see." Still cheerful. Appearances can be deceiving, she does not say. Instead: "I've been called worse, I suppose. Much worse. I quite like kittens, really."

"Now," hands on her hips, still smiling, "there seems to be a bit of a problem for all of us, as we're not exactly sure where we are, how we got here, or how we can return. I don't suppose you can shed any light on any of those questions?"

"Hmmm." He idly scratches himself behind one ear, "At first, I thought that this was merely an eleborate psychic trap set by one of my...opponents, but now I have no idea, honestly. We appear to be in a theme park of some description, but again that matter is made uncertain by that awful greyness beyong those gates."

He forces himself to look at it as he speaks, and decides that attempting to simply walk out would most definitely be a fool's errand.

"A 'psychic trap'?" Psyche asks.

"But yes, that...that is really rather worrying, isn't it? And though it's a relief to still see the sun in the sky, we don't seem to be able to get out by going up, either. I suppose our best course is just to search for clues. At least there's no shortage of food or shelter."

Macavity's lips part in what might be a smile. "How do you know it's the sun, as in Sol? For that matter, what makes you think that it's actually any kind of star at all?"

He shrugs. "I suppose I must agree with you on that matter, although I find it doubtful that there would be people who would know any more than us, except for the cat and the rat, and they don't seem the type to give straight answers without...persuasion." as he speaks, he sheaths and unsheathes his claws to demonstrate.

"I doubt it'll be as simple as that, either," says Psyche in response to the demonstration. "It's an obvious sort of course, and who or whatever's drawn us here seems to have gone to some trouble."

She looks up at the Sun, unflinching. "I don't know that it's the Sun I know. I suppose I could try to call Apollo down, but then what if he got trapped here with the rest of us?"

"Hmm, I'm afraid I would have to agree with you on that one. I doubt those creatures are even substanial enough to bleed when they are cut." Macavity nods thoughtfully. "And I suppose since you are here there is every chance that that really is Apollo up there and calling him down would cause some terrible calamity." he doesn't say this soberly - on the contrary he looks intrigued.

"I must admit that I've been always been somewhat of an atheist, myself - there's little room for any kind of deity."

"A calamity?" Not unless you're young and exceptionally good-looking mortal, in which case being anywhere near Apollo is a calamity in itself...however, "I suppose he could make himself quite unpleasant...and would, too, if he was lured down somewhere he couldn't then leave. I couldn't blame him for that, really. And I don't know what it would tell us that we don't already know." Still she looked a little wistfully up at the sky.

"Do you mean you don't believe that gods exist, or that they might exist but you don't intend to worship them, or that it's never been a subject that interested you much but you didn't want to be wishy-washy by saying 'agnostic'?"

He blinks.

"I rather think the first description illustrated my point of view to begin with," he says, tail twitching, "As I've rather always thought of much of the mythologic stories to be precisely that - mere stories. Primitive entertainment, nothing more. But now that you are here I suppose that my belief system must fall to the second one."

"I could be lying, of course," Psyche points out. "Or mad. After all, you haven't seen me wreaking miracles, and even the appearance of miracles could probably be explained away. My wings could be a trick of the light, or some sort of clever construct."

She loves teasing atheists.

"You could be," he concedes, nodding, "But you're not. Scent and appearance fourth sight is something that constucts cannot produce. You look faintly lavender-purple, with a silver border which I suspect may be your wings, and you smell a little like strawberries and grass, and something else which as of yet I am unable identify. Your wings are not a trick of the light because if they where they would be much duller, I think. And as to miracles...I've seen, and occasionally done stranger things."

"Have you really." Psyche looks at him thoughtfully. "That's a lovely-sounding description. I wonder just what it is that you can't identify." There are any number of things it might be, of course: the scent, lingering on her hands, of the poppies and pomegranetes she'd been bringing Persephone; the asphodel she'd used to cross over (or at least try) to the Underworld, the scent of the roses which were her husband's favorite offering. Or the delicious odor of nektar and ambrosia which she herself had never quite been able to describe...but it would be filtered through Macavity's own senses, wouldn't it, so who knew what he was really picking up from her.

"At any rate. As it looks as though we're all here for at least a little while, do you have any preference whereabouts you'd like to stay?"

"Frankly, my dear, as long as it's not garish I don't give a damn." He's always wanted to say something like that. "And as long as it has a high place where I can sit comfortably and, since this appears to be the kind of theme park that does not have a hotel within it's grounds, curtains or some type of rug that I can easy make a sleeping place out of."

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