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Tangle, Tussle, Tiger: Standoff part 1
🕑 Added 2018-04-25 10:35:42 +0000 UTC Part 1 of a story I'd previously worked on as a sequel to Opa's TTT: Fight -- sorry I don't have any art to go with it at the moment, I'll probably do some little drawings for it later.---
It was a quiet night, for Dewclaw. A thin crescent moon hung low over the streets, casting its sliver of shimmering light over the empty boulevards and deserted plazas. The night was soft, a thick hush stretched across the city, blanketing all within with a sense of peace.
In a fancy manor at the north end, Charthur was slipping into her sleep shirt and crawling into a plush bed, eager and exhausted. It had been a long and happy day, and this was to be the perfect ending to it. She burrowed her way through the covers until she found Jasmaby, who pulled the smaller tiger into his arms and nestled her head on his chest.
"What a lovely day," he murmured as she made herself comfortable on him.
"A perfect day, a perfect date," she murmured back. "With my perfect partner; my perfect mate."
She felt him grow warmer, and smiled to herself. When he was this tired and this happy, he couldn't control it. His warmth blossomed, as if of its own accord. Any night she could tease the reflex out of him was a good night in her book.
His hand found the back of her neck and began idly massaging at her nape. She sighed with pleasure as his warmth flowed through his fingertips, working its way into the muscles there and urging them to relax. "You're cute," he added, and she felt as if she could melt away.
"You're cuter," she responded, snuggling in as tightly as she could.
He gave her a kiss on top of her head, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of her hair. "No, you are." And then he lay back down flat, letting the quiet night settle down around them.
Charthur closed her eyes. For a while, she simply listened the sound of Jasmaby's heartbeat: slow, steady and strong. She let the occasional noise drifting in through the window — of a vendor moving some goods to prepare for tomorrow's rush; of someone who'd been a little hard at the drink being guided towards a soft surface; of a stray animal making itself known to the world around it — wash over her. Sleep's embrace closed around her.
Almost.
There was an itch at the back of her mind.
She ordered herself to ignore it. She knew nothing good could come of it. She could wait until the morning to see if it was still bothering her.
It will go away on its own, she told herself.
It didn't.
A second passed. Then another. And another after that. Each second seemed longer and more irritating than the previous.
She had been so close to a peaceful slumber, but the itch — the words to be said — had hauled back into the realm of the alert. Sleep seemed impossible, all at once. It was that feeling, where you can't convince yourself you even know how to fall asleep.
Jasmaby's breathing was shallow now. Perhaps he had nodded off already. It was worth taking the chance, she decided.
She breathed in, then out, and whispered as quietly as she could.
There was no response. She had gotten away with it! She grinned, finally ready to rest properly.
A minute passed.
She felt it. Jasmaby's ear twitched. His nose wrinkled. Charthur squinted her eyes more tightly shut. Here it came.
His eyes opened. She tried to pretend she was asleep, willing every muscle in her body to go limp. He was no use. He asked, "What was that?"
Charthur considered continuing to fake sleep. He'd see right through it, but maybe he'd be willing to drop the matter if she faked it with enough enthusiasm.
He prodded her. So much for that, then. She decided to go with a mumble. She'd make it clear through her voice that she was absolutely disinterested in any further discussion, too exhausted to even speak clearly. Breathing in through her nose, she breathed out, "No, you're cuter."
Jasmaby's response was a tiny, almost inaudible snort. That was it, then. There was no getting out of this one. Firmly, he responded: "You are cuter."
Charthur let out an exasperated sigh. She sat up, turning to face him. "You're the cuter one, alright? Now let's be done, let's say good night." She flopped back down, pulling the covers around herself indignantly.
Jasmaby's hand found the back of her neck again. He applied a light grip, comfortable but firm. He was trying to do his insistent thing, but it wouldn't work on her. "Darling," he said, an edge of warning in his voice, "I believe I made it explificly clear that you are cuter."
She sat again, shoving his hand away and shooting him a glare to cut through his nonsense. "You are cuter, story's over. Shut up and join me under the," she paused, frustrated. "...cover," she said, forcing the rhyme. She had been hoping to hide her annoyance, but the sloppy rhyme was a dead giveaway. It was the kind of slip that made her feel stupid, made all the worse that Jasmaby had pushed her into it.
Jasmaby pinched the bridge of his nose, as overly-dramatic as ever. "This is the most inconsequessential, pettry thing to argument about. It does not matter." He opened his eyes, fixing her with a gaze that made her shoulders tense and her heart beat faster. "So drop it."
"You drop it!" she spat back.
"You drop it!" Jasmaby was managing not to shout, but only barely.
"I cannot believe..." her tongue fumbled. Her head was getting cloudy. It was getting harder to hold onto what she actually thinking, having to rely on her intuition instead. "To spoil our peace, did you actually plan it?" She barked a single, "ha!" before going on, "We don't have to do this, so would you please can it?"
"You can it," Jasmaby sneered.
"You can it!!" Charthur realized she was doing a worse job than Jasmaby at keeping her voice down. Now the cloud in her head was hot, nearly boiling.
They leaned forward as one, the tension between them dragging them both inexorably towards each other.
"Every time, every single time..." Charthur growled.
"You just cannot let it go, you have to..." Jasmaby seized both fists in the air. "You have to cling persistenaciously to every trivling constitutent..."
"Once!" Charthur shouted, her heart pounding in her chest. "Just this once! Let me have it, you stubborn dunce!"
"How can I do that..." Jasmaby whispered, his voice like gravel.
"Don't," warned Charthur.
"How can I do that," Jasmaby persisted, "...when you are erroneous?"
"No!" she shrieked.
"Erroneous, fallacious," Jasmaby put on his most frustrating fake smile, the one that hurt Charthur's chest to look at. "...specious."
"Last chance to back off, dandelion." Charthur snarled.
"Never, snowcone," Jasmaby retaliated.
They leaned forward, Charthur's heart feeling like it might burst, and then the moment came where she could feel Jasmaby's heart joining hers, and the two thumping together, amplifying, the sound growing, deafening, filling everything, until—
There was a twang, and the tension built up between them shot outward, radiating in every direction into the night along intangible threads. For a brief moment, they could feel it ricochet off every member of the streak, in that impossible series of instants where they all felt joined as one.
The couple winced, realizing what they had done. For the moment, Charthur and Jasmaby stayed locked in their staredown. The intensity of the moment lingered, but was now tempered by what was about to happen.
It took about fifteen seconds.
And then their compacts started to ding, ding, ding with a flurry of incoming messages.
They held their stare a moment longer, then simultaneously lunged for their devices.
Charthur read from her screen. "For Vivian, it seems, we are too late. They just sent a message in which they state: 'Gotta bail on this one, little dude, I need my post-party shuteye.'"
"Eclaire is out as well," Jasmaby read wearily. "It seems they are planning to bestir themselves at 5 and will be going back to sleep now."
Charthur continued to scroll. "Tempo's out, just to note. 'Bad timing," is all they wrote."
"I have one from Adrian," Jasmaby read. "I can't underterpret half of these 'surfer' words but I surmuse they can't partakecipate." He rolled his eyes, leaning over to Charthur's side of the bed to make sure she would see him do it. "Honestly, I wishnt he could simply inscrite plainly."
"Neon's in! She's totally game!" Charthur declared. "A War without her would be quite lame."
"What a surprise that she's up," Jasmaby said, not even needing to add a sarcastic tone. "Ah, and speaking of insomnolency, Shizu will be joining us as well. Back on her nocturnal sleep schedule, it seems."
"Are we really with this going through?" Charthur flopped back onto the bed, sounding doubtful. "Would it be satisfying with so very few?"
"Perhaps some of the streak that don't normally..." Jasmaby started. "Ah, there's Toyle now. He can't make it, but he asked if I could see my way into taking a few selfies while I oblithilate my foes."
"Oo! Oo!" Charthur slapped at Jasmaby's arm, grinning wide. "Look, look!" She pointed to two messages, stacked one on top of the other. First one from Claude, reading, "Sorry, but no, I've got work!" And then below that, from Nim: "Get your sleep, you stupid jerk."
"Oh no, that is perfect," Jasmaby said. "You have to post that."
As Charthur pulled up her bweeter, she asked, "Again I ask, is four enough? Seems like that might make it tough..."
Jasmaby brought his fingers up to massage his temples. Eyes shut, he concentrated for a second. "It's fine. It works out quite neatly, in factually." He prodded her in the shoulder. "You be warmaster. Shizu can be our medic, in the unprobable event that we need one. Neon can do the postwar report as always."
"And you?" Charthur asked.
Jasmaby proudly planted his hand on his chest. "If anyone complaints about the late hour, I can smooth things over with the witches."
Charthur nodded. "I suppose being warmaster this once is fine," she declared, making sure Jasmaby acknowledged the emphasis. "I'll see if Tempo can take my class at nine." Charthur pointed at Jasmaby while hooking her thumb, one of their shared signs, meaning "how about you?"
"The call for my show isn't until the afternoon. I don't have anyone I can't blow off until then," Jasmaby assured her.
"Well..." Charthur and Jasmaby looked at each other for a moment, faces calm. They let the moment breathe. Then, satisfied, Charthur announced, "To solve our dispute, though it be just four, let us hereby declare,"
"...this means War!" they finished together.
There was the surge, the rush, that instant of clarity once more. They could feel the War flowing into them, traveling up through their legs, into their chests before pouring down into their limbs. There was the raw feeling, on the edge of being able to express their personal truth.
