• PM To Join • We do not flee from fleas.

[Faith Augustin]

32nd Vhalar, 716
In Tristan's House

Enemy Status: docile and unaware

"I am well aware that I sound like a lunatic" she said, to no one in particular (which really didn't help!) "But I know, and I mean it completely. I have to organise this like a military operation and this household is facing a very genuine threat from a very real enemy. Which is where this plan comes in. Come on, Faith, you can do this" she said firmly, telling herself something which she really did not quite believe. But she looked down at the table and consulted the list that she had made. First, barracade the house, ensuring that no escape was possible. Contain the threat first, then prepare the attack plan. It was clear and she thought it would work as she consulted the list of what she needed in order to carry out the task. First and foremost, she knew, it relied on the subject not knowing what she was doing until the very last moment

She had, in fact, made a list of what she needed, the order she needed them and the step by step process she had planned and she had sketched out a couple of helpful diagrams, to remind herself of what the battle plan was. To her mind, there was no doubting it, she was entering battle. Faith had already moved her mattress out of her room, clearing the room of everything. Then she had washed the floors and walls with warm water to which she had added the tea tree she had bought from Mr Spekkles shop not long ago, when she had met her tutor, Padraig there. This was his idea, she reminded herself and when the beast hurt her, he would hold some of the responsibility she thought with a grin.

She moved first to close windows, focusing on each shutter, making sure that window was closed and latched. She took care and she made sure, genuine concern about Mistral's welfare and for her own safety and the safety of Master's house foremost in her mind. Once the windows were shut, she then closed all the doors other than the one to Master's bedroom, where Mistral was currently sleeping and the one to her room. Then, Faith went out and filled the bath with the water and the oil that Padraig had suggested. She was busy in there when there was a tap on the front door and Faith called out, terror in her voice "Hold on! Right there!" and she ran, hands still dripping wet, to the door. She opened the door, fully expecting it to be the boy down the street who had offered to help her with this, so, not really paying attention, looking back to inside the house, she reached out one dripping wet, sud-covered hand and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him in quickly before closing the door swiftly. Craning her neck to see, she pulled what she thought was the boy down the street called Tommy, her voice sounding both terrified and urgent "You're late! Nearly a whole break late!! Don't let it escape for the love of all the Immortals! Don't let it escape!!" Because this was their chance, she knew. Now, or never. She didn't even look at Tommy, she was so busy trying to make sure that the infernal beast was still asleep on Master's bed.

It was probably worth noting that the list which she had left on the table had written on it, in her small neat handwriting.

Plan for bathing the cat

[Padraig]

Faith had left a book at his home the last time they'd met for their lessons. Ordinarily, Padraig wouldn't have thought anything of it; still didn't; and would have waited till their next session to return it to her. Except that lately, the young man's conscience had been bothering him a little. It was notable in that his conscience rarely if ever bothered him at all. But not long after she'd visited the apothecary, he'd remembered their conversation about her master's cat, and a flea infestation.

Fleas and cats. A common enough occurrence and hardly worth remembering. Except that when he'd suggested she bathe the cat, the look of horror on her face, the outrage and protests, one would have thought he'd asked her to take on a legion of honey badgers single handed. It was just a cat. But he'd mentioned it to Mr. Spekkle anyway, and the man had sifted through his shelves and drawers till he'd turned up just the thing he'd been looking for. "Why would anyone want to bathe a cat, when there's a perfectly good, and much more effective alternative?" the man had said. Maybe, Padraig had thought. But he'd soon forgotten, thought no more of it until he'd discovered the book that Faith had left behind.

It was just a cat, but there was the unfamiliar twang of his conscience so he'd set out with the book, and a small leather packet that contained a small, greenish chunk of what looked to be rock, but was instead a fossilized piece of ancient, tough shelled algae that could be ground up and dusted into the cat's coat. The jagged edges left in the powder would cut through the outer armor of the fleas and cause them to die of dehydration. And the same could be said of the eggs left behind. Fleas gone. Good deed done. Problem solved.

When he arrived at the door, her master's door specifically, with the book under his arm and the packet in one hand, he knocked and then waited. Then he waited some more. Was she not there? He was about to turn away and leave when the door swung open, a soaking hand grabbed hold of his sleeve and he was pulled inside. "What....?" He was caught completely by surprise, he stumbled, and the foible caused him to drop the packet there on the doorstep. It bounced, tumbled, completely forgotten by its bearer in the process of being yanked inside, and rolled under a shrub...there to remain concealed by the shrubbery and fallen leaves. Out of sight, out of mind.

"I'm late? For what? What are you doing?" he protested as she pulled him into the house, and he got a better look at her. "Don't let what escape?" Surely, if there was something so vile and cantankerous in the home that she felt the need to tighten the hatches and bar the doors, wasn't it then more sensible to get out of the house, and leave the beast contained inside?

Meanwhile, she'd finally let go. Padraig backed away because surely his sometimes student had lost her mind, and when he turned to place the book on the table, he noticed the list that she'd placed there. Plan for bathing the cat? He frowned. All things considered, he'd have thought she was laying out a battle plan to deal with her own personal invasion of shadowbeasts. "All this for a cat?" he asked.

[Faith Augustin]

32nd Vhalar, 716
In Tristan's House

Enemy Status: awereness increasing

"Oh you're not Tommy!" she said, in some surprise, looking at Padraig with an expression of perplexed incredulity on her face. "Oh, I am sorry. You're all wet" she explained in an exhibition of futility. He was soggy and she looked very much like she was sorry but then he turned with that look on his face and he asked if she was planning on bathing the cat. With an earnest gaze, Faith nodded "It is not like other cats" she explained and she sighed. "I am sorry, Mister Padraig, I am, but you do not understand. It is... that is, it is .... and it..." she sighed and looked at him with an honest expression "It is a bad tempered and cantakerous cat. My Master loves it and I believe would choose it over me. It hates me and the feeling is entirely mutual and yet I have to make sure that it is without fleas. I am afraid of it and it knows that" The last she admitted with a sigh and slightest of shrugs. What was she to do, after all, other than admit the truth? It was all that she could do, ever, and she seemed more than moderately miserable about the whole affair.

"I asked the boy down the street, Tommy, to help me. He is stronger than I am and I thought that he could hold it down whilst I bathed it as you suggested" she explained and she gave a sweeping, futile gesture to the door "But I paid him in advance and he is over a break late. So I was just getting ready to bathe it myself. I understand how it seems, but if I hurt it, then I will be failing in my duty and it will do its very best to hurt me, I am sure" From the bedroom came a thumping of feet on the floor and a low, deep growl started. She looked at Padraig with a raised eyebrow which said 'I told you so' with as much clarity as if it had developed a voice and repeated the phrase a hundred times.

"I have to do this" she explained as the deep growling continued. The beast in question was not yet in sight to the two of them, but it made its presence known "I can not in good conscience ask you to help me. I think maybe you might want to take cover? Have a glass of wine, if you wish?" she motioned towards the kitchen "Would you like a glass?" she asked and then her eyes lit on to the book and she smiled "I am sorry, I have not thought to ask what brought you here. Thank you for the return of the book, my apologies for leaving it behind. How may I help you?" she wondered, trying to ignore the growling and beginning of hissing that was going on behind her.

It knew.

Famula help them both. It knew.

[Padraig]

"No, I'm not," Padraig uttered, and wrung out the cuff on his shirt. It might occur to him later, depending on how things went, that Tommy was a clever lad indeed. Cleverer than him, who'd inadvertently turned up at the most opportune, or the worst time possible. Again, depending.

"It's no matter though," he said, referring to the partial drenching she'd given him. Clearly Faith was distraught, and in spite of her explanation, he couldn't quite find the logic in it. Weren't all cats ill tempered and cantankerous? Padraig believed so, thus the reason he'd never yearned for a pet of his own. His grandfather had possessed an old cat when the young man was very much younger than he was now. Faithless creature, would have sold them both up the river for a plate of sardines floating in heavy cream.

But by now he'd realized the futility of arguing with her. It was enough to know that the thing was contrary, and that her master favored it enough to possibly be put out, was the creature to come to any harm. "You tell me where this Tommy is, and I'll make sure you get your money back," he said. "Have you thought of giving it something to sedate it? Some kind of herb to make the job easier?" he wondered belatedly. But it was then that he heard the thump, the growling, and he glanced that way, frowning curiously. Just a cat, he was sure. But a contrary one to be sure.

No gentleman however would cower behind the curtain or sip a glass of wine while she carried out a task she so clearly dreaded. And if her helper wasn't to show up? "Maybe we can strike a bargain," he offered. "You stop calling me mister Padraig, and just call me Padraig instead, and I'll lend a hand. You can help me, by finding me a pair of sturdy gloves." Because just a cat, or not just a cat, there'd be razor sharp teeth and claws and probably a great deal of struggle. "I'll even get the cat while you find them." The gloves, Padraig meant. So while she did that, he turned towards the growling and strolled that way, calling, "Come on out now. Here kitty, kitty. There's a nice fellow."

[Faith Augustin]

32nd Vhalar, 716
In Tristan's House

Enemy Status: Kill Mode: Active

"I am so sorry" she repeated, genuine contrition on her face as she apologised again. "I should have dried my hands before answering the door" earnest grey eyes were quite serious as she stated the obvious. But a whole range of emotions fluttered across her face as he offered to get her money back from Tommy; concern, apology and just a hint of pleased "I did not pay him with money. I am not permitted to own anything, so I am afraid that what I paid him with is long gone" It had been a particularly good pie, too, she considered, but never mind. But sedate Mistral? "I do not think that Master would like that, no. Although I had not thought of it, but I think that he would be concerned that I might inadvertently hurt it."

But a bargain? She tilted her head to the side, trying to keep her attention on him all the while very aware of the large, scarred and nasty looking beast which was growling and hissing at them "I am afraid I am not permitted to use just the names of free men or women, it is one of the rules I was given when I was bought" she explained, quite matter of fact in her description "It is why I call Ser Aeon Fred. It is not his name, and he did not wish me to call him Ser Aeon. Would you like me to call you Fred, too?" she wondered but her eyes twinkled with amusement at the suggestion. After all, it would be foolish to call him the same thing as Ser Aeon. But "Sturdy gloves? I... yes, one moment" and she moved towards the bedroom that the cat had come from. As she went past said gnarled and scarred beast, it hissed and took a casual swipe at her ankles. Her small skip over the paw was well timed and she avoided any damage.

The cat spat in her general direction. But as soon as Faith was out of the room, it underwent the kind of transformation usually reserved for fairytales and religious converts.

Sitting on the ground as Padraig called to it, the cat heard him call and let out a small, cute noise which was almost a 'meep' and it rolled onto it's back. The growling turned into a purr and it rolled around in the very epitome of cute cat. It let out small mewling sounds and it wriggled around getting closer and closer to him, even playfully rolling about and swatting at some dust. From the bedroom came the sounds of drawers opening and closing as Faith searchd for the gloves that Tristan used when sculpting. Getting up on to its legs, the cat came over and started to rub itself against Padraig's legs, weaving in and out and purring heavily, looking up at him with an apparently hungry hopeful expression in its vivid green eyes.

[Padraig]

"No?" Padraig had to keep reminding himself, more than once now, that she was a slave, subject to the whims of others and not her own. It wasn't about the trappings. If nothing else the collar was there for the whole world to see and hard to ignore. But somewhere along the line he'd stopped seeing it. But there was no sense in arguing. She wouldn't be moved. "Not Fred," he said. "It would only cause confusion. If you won't, can't call me Padraig, and we're going to keep running into each other like this, then Pad or Paddy will do." He'd rather not, and no one had ever addressed him in that way, which ought make it acceptable to her. And when faced with the alternative, it was more appealing than mister.

So, they were going to bathe a cat. The gloves would be useful, necessary he thought. According to popular legend, just a cat or no, there wasn't one alive no matter how agreeable, that cared for water and bathing. After just a glimpse of the thing, he judged it to be a tom that had seen its fair share of battles. Maybe used up a handful of its allotted lives too. And clearly by its reaction when Faith passed by, it didn't seem to care for her much.

But then, to Padraig's surprise it transformed into a much more agreeable creature. He wasn't particularly charmed. He didn't care much for cats regardless. But better to make friends in this case, than not. It purred, it mewled at him in a come hither way, it rolled at his feet and exposed its underbelly. The young man wondered, just then, was it only Faith that inspired the unwanted tendencies? Then again, and where dogs were considered to be honest and forthright...Cats? Not necessarily so. Padraig would not be fooled. But then again, he wouldn't rebuff the animal's affections completely by nudging the thing away. "Trying to put me off my game, are you?" he muttered to the cat in quiet tones then called out to Faith. "You find those gloves yet?"

[Faith Augustin]

32nd Vhalar, 716
In Tristan's House

Enemy Status: Target Acquired

"I will ask if that is permitted" she responded, earnestly. Her expression was apologetic as she said that but it was how it was and she could not do anything other than that. She could only hope that he understood, because she had to do it no matter whether he did or not. "And I will ask if an exception might be made, also" she hoped that was enough, but she could do no more than it. "I appreciate that it is strange for you, and I am sorry for that, but I will ask." she reassured him. She was hopeful that it was something that they could get over and she might actually just be able to get past this and it not be an issue any more.

She went looking for the gloves and the cat attempted to charm Padraig, an attempt which apparently did not work. "I can't find them!" she called from the bedroom, where she was rummaging through the dresser. "I'll keep looking!" she added. The cat, meanwhile seemed to have cottoned on to something to do with Padraig, and it moved, jumping up to the table next to him, where it looked at him with an unblinking expression in its green eyes. It seemed to be sizing him up, watching him with care and ensuring that it was further away from him than his reach would allow. By the time Padraig could reach it, Mistral would be gone. There was a definite gleam of intelligence in the eyes of that cat and in fairness, there was also a fair amount of malevolence.

"I have them! I have them!" Faith called and it was like, genuinely, like the cat understood her and it changed with those three words, suddenly spitting and hissing at Padraig as it ran across the table, knocking over the contents of the jug and sending water everywhere. It then ran across the room, knocking a small table over, the vase filled with flowers which had perched on it crashing onto the floor with a loud noise as the cat ended up standing next to the fireplace and hissing, lowering itself down to the floor and growling at the two of them, as Faith appeared holding a pair of thick gloves. "What did you do?" she asked, looking at the chaos as the crashing and tinkling noises stopped and the growling intensified.

The situation they found themselves in was that Faith was almost (almost) blocking the cat's only avenue of escape and Padraig was closer to it. She threw the gloves over to him and spoke in a most serious tone even as the ink on her battle plan seeped and ran with the water. The cat had done it on purpose, she was sure. "You grab it, I'll back you up. Just don't let it get underneath anything" she said, the statement a question, checking to make sure that he was happy to grab it ~ happy being a relative term, she knew. "Or I could try and throw a sheet over it or... Something?"

The cat was mostly ignoring Faith and had all of its attention on Padraig, it seemed as it's eyes locked with his and it hissed and growled from deep in the back of its throat.

[Padraig]

It would certainly make their tutoring sessions less awkward, was she to simply address him by his given name. But, Padraig realized, what was less awkward for him, might not be the case for her. Probably wasn't, in fact, so long as her master insisted otherwise, and it was what she was accustomed to. "No matter then," if her master couldn't agree, he called back to her while she searched for the gloves. It was hardly worth debating any further...Besides, there was the matter of the cat.

The creature wasn't stupid but then none of them were reported to be. But no matter its come hither posture and purrs, Padraig wasn't so easily drawn in. Not because he necessarily believed Faith when she'd told him the thing was a result of a failed necromantic experiment. But simply because it was a cat. Still, better to make friends if he could. He drummed the tips of his fingers on the table top. Not reaching, but attempting to entice in case the cat wanted to come closer. And just when he thought it might, Faith returned, the cat spat, hissed and launched itself past him; razor sharp claws narrowly missing his cheek, and chaos reigned. All he could do was get out of the way, and witness the sudden transformation playing out.

He was incredulous when she finally spoke up. "What did I do? I didn't do anything. It was that cat," he said bluntly. "We were doing just fine while you were out. I'd even say we were becoming good friends." Probably a stretch, considering the thing was growling and hissing at him now from the corner. And now he should grab it? "Why should I grab it. You grab it. That cat is certifiable," he argued. Still, they had it cornered, sort of. "A sheet," he agreed, if she had a spare one that she didn't mind being ruined. Then, he suggested, they could each hold an end, corral the cat with it, drop it over like a net, cinch it up like a sack and drop the whole thing in the tub.

[Faith Augustin]

32nd Vhalar, 716
In Tristan's House

Enemy Status: Alert! Alert! Exterminate!

"I thought it was your friend?!" she shot back when he said that she should grab it and it was certifiable. "Good friend, in fact. I'll get a sack that the potatoes come in" She was fairly sure that Tristan would be a sight happier with her ruining a sack from potatoes than his sheets. Although, in fairness, she considered, it was his cat. Also, a potatoe sack was a lot more sturdy that Tristan's sheets and maybe, therefore, more likely to hold the cat. Maybe. At this point in her life she was fairly sure that it could survive anything. It might be the most evil creature on Idalos, but it was impossible to harm, she knew. "Are you starting to believe me yet?" she wondered and turned back around to go and grab a sack.

That was the mistake, of course, turning her back on the thing.

It shot forward with a speed and agility endemic to the feline species, teeth out, claws out and it ran at her. It bounded forward two steps and then it leapt, flying through the air with the kind of grace and beauty which might take one's breath away in a different circumstance. However, in this one, all it did was give Padraig just enough time to actually see it extend it's claws to their maximum and, if his hearing was good he might be able to hear the 'schnickt' like sound which accompanied that, although it was a quiet noise but the cat itself was silent in that split-trill and then there was an almighty yowl and hiss from the cat and a yell of "OWWwwwwwww!" from Faith as it sank it's claws into her shoulders and held on. It was hanging on her back, all four legs holding on and it was trying to bite her ear off, it seemed. Thankfully (although she probably wasn't feeling particularly lucky about it) it wasn't managing to get more than a mouthful of her hair at any one time. Faith swatted ineffectively at it, not able to reach it behind her and she had to really resist the urge to run, but instead dropped to her knees so that Padraig had at least the chance to grab it. "Get it! Get hold of it and I'll go into the bathroom!!!" she called and then let out another yip of pain as it shifted its grip on her. Her thinking was that, if he had hold of it, they could get it into the bathroom and that would mean that they could get it into the bath. If needs be, she thought wildly, she'd get into the bath herself with it attached to her back if Padraig would hold it there. At this point it was more important that she didn't lose, that she managed to bath the damn thing that it was that she didn't get hurt.

It wasn't going to beat her. Not this slave. Not this trial.

However, things appeared to be going downhill rather quickly, all things told. But at least the cat was focused (very focused) on making sure that it ripped Faith's head off. Or, more precisely, skinned her back completely after eating half her face. Thankfully, at the moment, it was just (just!) small razor sharp claws and ineffective biting, but it wasn't going to remain so for long.

[Padraig]

"I'm only saying that it was fine until you came back," Padraig shot back and wasn't sure whether to glower at Faith for challenging his impression of the animal. Or scowl accusingly at the cat for being, well, a typical cat and making a liar out of him. "If it likes your master, I'm only suggesting it might have an affinity for men, and not women." There. That was more diplomatic, wasn't it?

No matter. A potato sack seemed more sensible than a sheet. More sturdy, less likely that the cat would tear through it in short order. "I believe that it is a foul tempered conniving beast, with no redeeming qualities to speak of," he added when she asked if he believed her now, and just before she turned to get the sack. All of which vindicated his longstanding aversion to cats in general.

And then it leaped on her when she turned away, when it could have easily taken the opportunity to get past him. It happened so fast that Padraig was powerless to stop it, and he could only stare in wonder as the cat sailed through the air. And was that the sound of a dozen or more tiny blades being unsheathed? "Look out," he uttered belatedly. Too late, since it had already found it's mark and latched on. Get it? Get hold of it?

Well the alternative was to stand idly by, so Padraig shook himself and decided to give it a try, and damn the consequences. He couldn't just try and pull it off. It was latched on to her with all four sets of claws. If he remembered correctly, he'd seen cats picked up by the scruff of the neck in an effort to still and control them. Perhaps that kind of hold had some sort of paralyzing effect and was worth a try. So coming up behind the cat, he grabbed hold of the scruff of its neck and closed his hand tight round the gathered up flesh. Then his other hand on it's back, firmly, just in case. "I've got it. To the bath," he said, and whether she walked that direction or crawled, he'd go along, holding on until he could close the bathroom door behind them.