Darius and Dirt Pudding

INT - Windgrace Manor; day (Dorian’s Room)

Dorian walked into his room with a bowl in hand, full of pudding he'd requested. Rice pudding, he was working on something. A compulsion he'd been fighting since Dinah's psychic storm. As soon as the door to his room closed behind him he produced a palmful of dirt from the yard near the newly dug tunnels and sprinkled it in, stirring it into the contents of his bowl. Even though he'd hated every attempt so far the compulsion was still there. He ate a spoonful of the newest concoction and then another and a third, before chewing became less pleasant and as had happened before he spat out a pebble onto the floor. It was no good. There was so much dirt left in his mouth even once rice and pudding and sultanas were gone. He immediately went for the brandy in his pocket flask to wash his mouth clean. He was so busy with this activity that he'd be entirely self involved for much of the duration of it.

Stray: There was a rather large white cat lounging on Dorian's sword display. A bit large for a housecat, a bit too small to be something more feral, the creature loafed on the wooden top with his tail draped over the front, appearing to be admiring the kimono Dorian had hanging by the window. Curious ears flicked and turned as the male Windgrace twin entered but the stray watched quietly instead of announcing his presence, at least until Dorian spat a pebble onto the floor. THAT was met with a low "mrrroww?" of curiosity, perhaps concern, and the curl of his tail into a curve like a question mark as he regarded the man whose room he'd decided to squat in.

Dorian: "Bloody HELL!" came the excited utterance when the kitty made himself known. Dorian had not noticed him until he made a sound. "Where did YOU come from?" His flask got reassembled and repocketed while he held the bowl of shame pudding behind his back, hiding it from the cat, or anyone as he was pretty sure he shouldn't be eating dirt. Adjusting his tone, since it wasn't the cat's fault he was being so weird, "Sorry for taking a tone with you kitty. You are a big kitty, are you not?" The male half of the twin set took a few steps toward his visitor.

The swords, he'd been assured by the trader, had belonged to a famous samurai of the Sengoku. The kimono was just the favorite he'd ever seen, given its bunnies wrought on silk.

Stray: The cat twitched its ears, the two triangular bits of fluff flattening as Dorian yelled. He crouched down lower, making himself smaller - or at least flatter on the wooden top. The stray was skittish about loud noises, it seemed. He stared at Dorian warily as he approached but did not hiss, simply flicking his tail back and forth and observing the man. Once Dorian was close enough that he could smell the pudding the stray raised up, stretching his head and looking around as if to try and steal a peek at what Dorian was hiding. Another more curious, "mowww?" issued from the cat and he stood up, stretched, and sat staring at the blonde man expectantly.

Dorian reached out his free hand, his large left which bore three purloined rings as trophies toward the cat and entreated, "You are rather a large fellow, as long as you keep away from Sir Bounce and Lady Bunnivere we can be friends, I think. Not that I reckon you could catch them, they are swift. Though I am sure you are rather a marvelous ratter." Dorian was no stranger to talking to animals, even right out loud, he talked to his rabbits often. He did look toward his open veranda door and reasoned that was how the cat got in, thus he posited, "I thought /I/ was the only one who came in through yonder door."

The pudding remained in its bowl, stirred with a generous helping of dirt behind his back. He was pretty sure he didn't want any more of it. Well maybe one spoonful. No. Yuck. He licked his teeth because his mouth yet felt gritty.

Stray: Those names made the cat tilt his head. He didn't seem confused; on the contrary there was comprehension and recognition in those dark eyes of his as Dorian spoke of his rabbit friends. The feline knew of them, no doubt. He looked to the door and nodded at it as if indicating something beyond before nodding again at Dorian's assertion of his rodent-hunting skills. "Rrrhh," he rumbled in his throat before hopping down from the display, his butt end and tail making the swords rattle as he bumped them on the way down. The stray twined about Dorian's ankles, rubbing up against his shoes. "Mowwww?" he asked, standing up on his hind legs to stretch for that bowl of pudding. HE certainly didn't know there was dirt in it. He figured Dorian's teeth-licking was out of delight.

Dorian thought it seemed like the cat understood him, and he asked, "Hunter, is that you? It doesn't sound like you." He'd go to shift his weight to the balls of his feet then swivel the bowl side of his body away from the cat again. To its benefit, the pudding was good and made of wholesome stuff before Dorian got to it so surely it smelled like rich ingredients. "I ruined this one, look." Dorian spooned himself another mouthful, moved it around his mouth then scowled before putting the bowl on the radiator, stepping gingerly over the kitty to do so. But he did show the cat his face and how much even he didn't like it, not that he thought it would work. Out came the flask again when his hands were free of ruined pudding. and he'd crouch to be more at the feline's eye level. Dorian probably smelled faintly of horse since he'd only just bathed after riding, and less faintly of pine and vetiver like his soap and cologne. His hair was a bit damp yet, and his face clean shaven from its light shadow of stubbling

Dorian:  that had taken him days to accrue. He'd been made immortal before he'd gotten the boon of being able to grow a full rich beard like Stan could.

Stray: THAT name got a different response, a flattening of ears and a little "MRRRH" that sounded entirely discontent. The cat knew Hunter, too... and perhaps had not had the best experience meeting the squiddle. To Hunter's credit, the black bun was simply trying to protect his brethren - but the stray did not comprehend such things. He was a terrifyingly WRONG rabbit with too many eyes and big big teeth as far as the cat was concerned. There was a hopeful look at the radiator when Dorian set the bowl down but he was dissuaded easily enough by the look on the blonde's face as he ate it. Curious tail flicks and sideways ears contemplated the situation before the stray gave up on a pudding treat and went to investigate Dorian. It was hard to communicate his own hunger beyond the plaintive meows and head butts at Dorian's hands, horse and soap smell or no. That close though, Dori could likely see the twine of dark brown twig-looking things that formed a collar around the cat's neck. It was comfortably sized and came around to form two gaunt-looking hands shaping their fingers into a heart at his throat.

Dorian emitted chirrups of laughter when it seemed like he was in fact having a conversation with this cat, but he was sure the guy knew the strange cousin from his answer. He'd assure the cat, while trying to pet the head between the ears and behind the whiskers with scritches, "Hunter is a good... one. I bet you like to hunt too, don't you?" He wasn't quite sure what precisely to call his eldritch cousin, but one sufficed. "Oh, now what is this?" Dorian had touched but then leaned to examine the kitty's neckwear without pulling at it. "Are you someone's? It doesn't say here does it?"

Stray: The stray readily accepted scritches behind his ears. He loved the headpats as well, curling up and nudging into the contact. It was upon that contact that Dorian felt the connection in his mind, clumsy and searching, not meant to be intrusive but by nature a but of an intrusion considering the feline creature did not know how to knock or ask for permission. //Hunter... too scary. Too many eyes, too many teeth. Not a rabbit. Something... else. Something wrong,// came the thought. He recoiled when Dorian went to touch the twined arms, both paws batting at his hand with only a hint of claw. Dissuading, not defensive. //Gift from Mumsie,// answered the kitty. //I am her best friend. She is mine. Mumsie is gone though. Mostly gone.//

Dorian: "Oh," Dorian blurted aloud when he realized that he was being spoken to by the cat who... he was pretty sure now was really no ordinary cat. He'd answer aloud, just because of habit. He normally only spoke to Dinah's mind, "Hunter is strange, but not wrong. He is from some place else, that is all. Now then, I am sorry about your mum. Are you hungry? Do you have a name? My name is Dorian." There was always an element of Wonderland to Callisto which could come raining down anytime. Or rolling in like an unsettling fog from some barrow part of Oz. Or trotting through the window like he paid rent, (not that Dorian did, per se, but still).

Stray: The cat was more or less in Dorian's lap as he spoke to him, contentment from the attention washing away the little bit of melancholy that slipped into his mind at the mention of 'Mumsie'. //All of this is strange. City is strange. Dangerous fog. Everything scary... but Dinah was nice. Gave fish, meat, // he explained. There was a little spike of excitement at the notion and quite suddenly the fur on the cat was poofing up, fluffier and fluffier as if it were growing - before it exploded, a dandelion in the wind, and Dorian was left with a quite nude young man in his lap instead. The stray had the same ears, the same white hair, the same cords entwined around his neck, the same 'voice' that had spoken in his mind. "Do you have fish? Meat? Not-ruined pudding?" he asked Dorian, peering eagerly up at him from beneath the long fringe of white bangs.

Dorian didn't mind having a kitty in his lap, and was contentedly petting the guy, trying to think of what to ask for from the kitchen for him, at least until, in fashion he'd never seen, the guy was expanding. Like Hunter? no, Dorian's silver eyes expanded to saucers and he stared as the cat became a cat-man and he'd sputter, "Bl-bl-blimey! What? You happen to be rather naked, if you had not noticed, and I just bet your name isn't Mr. Fluffypants, because you have NO PANTS!" Dorian had gone rather still with one hand on a now man-shaped haunch and the other around behind upon the stray's back so they were in an approximation of what could look like an intimate embrace. If it wasn't for the elder twin's face turning into a slack-jawed mask of surprise.

Stray: The stray saw no problem with this. He was well accustomed to being held like this in his cat form and, considering his man-form was relatively new, he was still relatively uneducated as to what was appropriate for one and not the other. He blinked at Dorian and wrinkled up his nose, bapping at the side of his face gently with a human-shaped hand. "Cats don't wear pants. I have fur... usually. I don't own pants. Why would I? And cloth gets cold. Last time, the blanket, when it got wet... it got cold, damn. It's better like this." He nodded sagely and curled himself up against Dorian's chest. "Is Blimey the name you're picking? It's not a D-name. That's okay with me. Don't know your rules. Just so long as I can have some fish. And pudding. Maybe chicken? Do you have chicken? Turkey... ham..." He yawned and rubbed his face against Dorian's shirt.

Dorian balked but didn't let go, the cat seemed so content. The sacred rule about not moving sleeping cats didn't count when the guy could talk and had very human limbs. "What!? But wait, blimey... alright... If i am going to take you to get food in the kitchen you will need pants. You can borrow mine--keep them what with the tail and all. We have some chicken, and I think I will call you Darius, after the Persian king. You certainly walked in here like you owned the place. Wait, do you know my brother and sister already?"

Still too shocked, Dorian did not move from helping hold up the white furred stray. He had no protocols for this past the one where he, like his kindred, loved to collect them.

Stray: The cat did not seem terribly keen on moving either. He huffed at the notion of pants, tilted his head at the names. "Blimey Darius," he said with a shrug and a little purr. Dorian found his chin being butted gently with the head of white hair. "That is funny. But if it is royal, I don't mind that. Mumsie said I was a little prince, sometimes... so I will take that." He snickered a bit at the notion of owning the place, tucking his head in under Dorian's chin as the man held him. "Dinah gave me food... and blanket. Days ago. Said I could stay around, so I stayed. The town... the town and the fog are too much now. Too scary. I know no one in town, just Dinah and Dinah's little fluttering friend. Not met the brother yet - the other brother." A low purr sounded from his throat as he nestled in, his tail coiling around himself to thankfully lay in such a way that it obscured some things down below.

Dorian: Dorian had noticed the parts the tail obscured, hence insisting on a male name. They two were QUITE close just now, enough that Dorian's prodigious body heat might be noticed through trousers and shirt. THis was closer than he ever got to anyone apart from Dinah or sometimes cuddling with bunnies when they were calm and fed enough. Dorian did not want to be rude, but he explained, "I am glad she said you can stay, I agree. So long as you leave my rabbits in peace, and don't scare the help walking around like a cat man with no pants. Gods know we're strange enough already to them to have a neko-man walking around would help matters none. We had a roast chicken last night, and a large part of the breast is left if you want some of that. The dark meat is mine." He was half-laughing as he called dibs on what of the chicken he planned to share and not.

"So Darius, if you take my bed, I can go bunk with my sister, what do you say?" No one would accuse the middlest Windgrace of being a wonderful schemer, because

Dorian:  the bulk of his plotting had to do with Dinah and was rarely for anyone else's benefit.

Stray: Darius, as he had been named, peered over at the bed that Dorian spoke of. There was another nose wrinkle and he wriggled himself against the warmth of Dorian's chest. "Big bed. Is it warm, like you? Or will it be cold if you are gone?" The cat huffed and curled up into a little ball in his lap. "Told Dinah I would not chase the rabbits. Will hunt elsewhere. But she said there was plenty of food in the house. No need to hunt." His ears perked up along with his tail when Dorian mentioned roast chicken and the stray feline -- POOFED, rather suddenly at the doorway to Dorian's room instead of in his lap, still pantsless and with everything all a-dangle as he patted the wood of the thankfully-closed door. "Roast chicken? I love chicken. Can we get some now?" he asked, ever eager and impatient as any cat might be. Who knew when the last time he ate was? In man form, he was rather lean.

Dorian stood once he was uncatted, brushing one hand through the curly mop of blond, and he padded to his wardrobe, produced a pair of pajama pants white and silken which he'd hand over, explaining "Let us get you some chicken, but first, pants. Hoshi and Keiko do not expect to see your wedding tackle in the kitchen, that is a rule. See, we wear clothes." If Darius was going to be around and raiding the kitchen it was the least Dorian could do for the staff. It did not seem right to ask him to transform shapes.

"I did not ruin the pudding downstairs, just this one, there is some of that too. Do you like sweets? Dinah and I love sweets. It is a wonder we both still have all of our teeth, really."

Stray: Dorian got such a look. Were his eyes more visible they'd most certainly be squinting but he did reach out and take the pants, holding them in front of himself. Mostly because he didn't really know how to put them ON. "What are Hoshi and Keiko?" he asked, turning around and around. "Is this fine? It is in front of things," he offered, holding the clothing to himself and going to the door. "I like sweets. Milky things, buttery things. Mumsie used to make a glazed buns," he reminisced, licking his lips. "But meat is good too. Would meat taste good sweat? Dorian, do you cook?" His tail was flicking about excitedly.

Dorian explained, "No, laddie, you need to put your legs inside them, one at a time, like I have, see?" He pointed to his own black clad shanks then to the pants Darius held. "I can help you but turn them and then step into them. Now, then, Hoshi is the young lady who has the position of being Dinah's lady's maid. She helps Dinah with her hair and dressing and things. Well mostly she is learning English and playing with the do-- OH! We have dogs you know? Strawberry has a pup. They might be jealous but they're good hounds. And Keiko she cooks for us on odd days with Lance our butler is not handling it. I am not sure which of them roasted the chicken but the inside has a stuffing with organ meat and it is rather nice. Liver and giblets. Mmmm." Dorian had talked his appetite into joining the forefront of his brain. He went to get his awful bowl and try another spoonful of dirt rice pudding, surely it wasn't as bad as he remembered.

Only it was. It was gritty and terrible and earthy in all the wrong ways. Unpleasant to teeth and tongue. Out came the flask again and down went the by now half-eaten bowl of pudding.

Stray: Darius blinked at him. "Laddie? Blimey, Darius, Laddie. There are three new names now," he said with an obvious smile. The cat loved to collect names. He flapped the pants open and looked inside each leg then looked at Dorian. He had - not the best balance when on two feet and tipped over backwards when attempting to lift a foot to stick it in, ending up on his back with an OOMPH! and a bit of a whine. "OW. Things are more painful without fur and fluff," he complained and kicked at the pants, letting them flop back onto the floor. "Why do I need pants! They have wedding tackle, don't they? They have seen them before!" he protested. Half turning his upper half, he pawed helplessly in the direction of the door and groaned. "I am so hungry. Starving. Chicken... I want roast chicken."

Dorian would move to help him back to his feet and offer a shoulder this time for leaning on to try to aid in getting the other leg on. THe desire for chicken was so strong in this one that Dorian was sure they'd get through this pants debacle sooner or later. With patience, and a little chuff of laughter.

"Why? I don't know why, Darius, its just because we... we figured it was better at some point. To protect our bodies, to hide them, I suppose-- That is just how it is, if you want to be decent. You do not want to be rude, do you? And think of how it'll protect you from a cold chair. Those are made of silk, its the best feeling thing apart from, well..." A tinge of pink was on his cheeks as he ran out of words that were proper to say.

Stray: The cat did what most did when offered a hand at first. He patted at it, kicked at it, grabbed it and gnawed (mostly gently) at it - but eventually he grabbed it and went along with the motion as Dorian pulled him to his feet. He huffed out through his nose, ears flattening sideways. "Decent? Protection? I guess... they do feel soft. But when they get WET they will feel damp and sticky and heavy, like the blanket," he said, clumsily sticking both feet into one pantleg and threading his tail through the other before he noticed the pink on Dorian's cheeks. "Like what? This feels nice! You were right! It feels good to wear. Is something else better? More comfortable? Warmer?"

Dorian had expected to get his hand worried like that from the smaller feliform of Darius so when it happened in the anthropoform he was surprised and fell into further laughter, but he was able to recover from it to compromise, "You only have to wear them when you're not walking on four feet and covered in fur. Use your fur when you have to get wet, I am sure that is probably easier. For now. As for things that feel good, well there are a great number of them to wear, but silk is the smoothest and softest. Worms make it, you know? I was thinking about how much I like cashmere, but that is just fur when it comes to it, so you know what that is like better than I do..." He moved to pick up the bad bowl of pudding to bring down stairs uncharacteristically in order to rinse it out himself so not one would have any questions that his pockets full of earth already did not raise.

Stray: Darius teetered from one side to the other, his tail swishing within the one pant leg of Dorian's pajamas. "Fine. But this is uncomfortable. Hard to move," he said with much reluctance. Since both of his legs were stuffed in the one leg and his tail in the other, he essentially had to shuffle around like he was wearing a pencil skirt, the fabric stretching a bit around his hips and legs. Shuffling was certainly not a cat-familiar method of movement so as Dorian headed outside and down the stairs, the stray ended up falling again, tumbling halfway down the first flight before POOF! he teleported to the bottom, then into the kitchen to the sharp cry of alarm of one of the passing maids. "Dorian!" piped up the cat. "Take off your pants! They are not good for cats!"

Dorian underestimated how hard the concept of pants was to someone who found the process counterintuitive. Afterall his own memories of learning to dress were distant, distant past. Even when pants emerged and changed through the years they were pretty much the same as they'd been: one leg at a time. Dorian never expected a cat of all creatures to lack a graceful descent. He sort of thought the cat would beat him downstairs. Thankfully neither woman mentioned was in the kitchen any longer and the dogs were also gone, stragglers likely fled outside after the cat materialized calling out. The middlest Windgrace came running back to find the error of Darius' way of inhabiting the pants. And he doubled over in laughter, though it, "Oh no, no ahahahahahahaha no no, one leg per leg and just.... improvise ahahahah with the tail. Darius you have earned your chicken, I will cut you a choice set of slices."