Sharon and Kyle: Admission of Guilt

[xp_catseye]

After the drama of being confronted with her crimes, Sharon reluctantly goes to apologize to Kyle. They have a talk, feral-to-feral.



Someone was at the door of Kyle's suite. Anyone without his sense of smell wouldn't have appreciated how unusual what that visitor did next truly was -- that is, knock.

Opening the door without having to make a mad dash for his own cat was less and less common - Shamu was a sedentary sort of fellow these days - but Kyle scooped up the cat nonetheless, settling the little black and white cat on his arm before opening the door. Shamu's little ears perked up, but he remained curled up in the crook of Kyle's elbow, just a few lashes of his tail to indicate that he would escape, had he the interest - and if the food was not on this side of the door. "It was unlocked, you've got a pass. But I appreciate the consideration for Arthur's doggo."

Sharon slunk into the suite. The girl had an unusually subdued look to her: her usually animated tail hung low, and she avoided eye contact. Her ears swiveled forward when she saw the cat in Kyle's arms, and her nose quivered as she sought to catch his scent, but she appeared to remember the purpose of her visit in time to stop herself from her usual introductions. Instead she sat in the middle of the floor and dipped her head.

"Have come to apologize," she said, with the reluctance of one that did not do so often.

If Kyle could have twitched an ear, he would have. "For the rooster?" He couldn't think of anything else, but he had been -busy- with meetings trying to offload half of the little jobs he'd just assigned himself over the last few years. "Please say it's the rooster, and that I'm not going to get another maintenance email." He'd kept some of that - but only arranging contractors or day workers from District X to do work on the grounds.

Sharon stared at the floor for a long time. Whatever she was about to say, she clearly didn't like it.

"Killed rooster because I did not like the screaming," she said slowly. "Liam is also cat, thought he would like it. But did not. Said it was wrong. Should have gotten him ice cream instead." She looked at her hands and muttered, "Misread situation. Stupid."

Almost automatically, Kyle responded. "We don't call each other stupid, or ourselves, when we're learning." He took a moment to resettle Shamu, who was starting to knead Kyle's forearm. "Sorry, teacher mode, but look, this whole place is a new situation. How many times in your life have you lived with like forty other people, and some of them were like you? Pretty sure never, right? Liam's gotten a chance to, like, be bipedal and not live off rats, he's - hold on." He set Shamu down on the ground, because the little cat was starting to use his claws - and Shamu immediately strolled over to Sharon, headbutting one of her legs. "Rather not be a pincushion. I'll heal, but it hurts. I was a little pissed off, but you're not stupid, just didn't know all the social rules."

Sharon dipped her head to allow the older cat to sniff her cheek, then arch his back as he passed beneath her chin. She gave him a gentle nudge with her nose before reluctantly turning her attention back to Kyle.

"Some I know. But do not want to try acting human." Sharon's claws began to worry at the carpet, but not in the way a cat would knead in contentment -- this was a human fidget of anxiety. She crouched to bury her face against Shamu's side, preferring the familiarity of his presence to Kyle's scrutiny. "If I am trying, I can get it wrong."

That was it. After all that time on the street it was exciting to be petted and fussed over and cooked for. It was exciting to do cat things with another cat. No one judged a cat for being over-exuberant or socially inappropriate. But if she wasn't a cat, then there was only the truth: that she was nothing more than an ignorant girl who'd never learned how to be around people.

"You don't need to act like every other human." Kyle said - and then paused. "Or even agree that you're human, as long as you're not a dick about it. Cats don't have thumbs though, so maybe you're a secret third thing. You're Sharon S Pumpkins, you're your own thing." Another pause. "I know you are super online, please don't make me explain that, I'm on a whole refusing to explain myself thing, but I'll make an exception if I have to, and not admit it to anyone else. Besides, being wrong is how we learn. Even cats aren't born knowing how to walk, you fall over and stumble, right?"

"Familiar with David S. Pumpkins, thank you. Am not a peasant." For a few moments longer Sharon hunched there, her head still pressed against Shamu. The smaller cat turned and began to lick her on the ear. Slowly, Sharon raised herself to her haunches and gathered Shamu into her arms.

"Frustrated I am not landing on my feet, maybe," Sharon confessed. She hugged the older cat gently, stroking his back with one hand, then released him. Finally she looked Kyle in the eye again. "Am asked always if I can speak to cats, but is not like that. It is only that cats make sense. People are not like that, but for everyone else it is so easy."

Shamu circled around Sharon's legs a few times, and then flopped over onto his back, rolling almost bonelessly to show his stomach. Kyle stepped around him and into the kitchenette, to hop up and sit on one of the counters. "It is, and it is isn't, it's a lot of practice. There's a couple of us who - mostly powers, but sometimes just who we are like, as people, who struggle." He paused in thought. "Might all actually be powers, but different ways. Ask half the mansion, and they'll tell you they don't know how I got through college and that I'm dummy woke. Terry took me to go see that Barbie movie and I mean, Arthur's got big natural Kenergy, but I try to mimic it. Keeps people from remembering that the venison in the freezer is almost all my doing. Maya's got a powers thing, she's angry a lot because she's got shit going on, but she's also on edge because of her powers. I dunno if you've met Doug, but he's got a - give him a minute, he'll start mimicking how you talk and he can't stop himself. Not to like - nobody else here is a cat, but you're also not alone.."

He huffed. "Being a person all the time is hard. Sometimes you just wanna go chase rabbits and eat raw venison on a tortilla."

Sharon's forehead wrinkled in a way that evoked a very human frown. "You act a different way," she said slowly, "to make yourself seem less than what you are? But I hunt always, and people here are not afraid."

"You look like you should." Kyle said. "I look like my job should be beach. I come in with deer blood up to my wrists, people remember what else I can do. A cat who talks, that's fun. A man who can run down a couple point buck, that's scary." He shifted, and suddenly all four sets of claws were out, inches long and sharp, and the lazy posture of the blond sitting on a kitchen countertop became the hunch of a predator - two hundred plus pounds of muscle that could, and had run down fully grown animals -and then it was gone, as quickly as he had let it out, the claws slid back in a little, looking like oddly painted nails, and his bare feet lazily patter-patted against the cabinet. "Also you're purple. That makes people think you're, I dunno, less scary, because you're less real or something. I don't know the psychology."

The shift in body language, always clear to her in a way words and expressions were not, hit some primal switch in Sharon's brain that said: threat. It said: run, and if you cannot run, then hide, because the male is twice your size, and if he catches you there is nothing you can do to protect yourself. The fur on her tail raised.

But then it was gone again, and that, too, was its own form of communication. Threat display was a basic part of an animal's vocabulary, just as Shamu showing his stomach was a sign of trust and submission. While humans found it alarming it didn't always mean aggression. It could escalate to such, but many times it was simply a way to display strength or establish boundaries. It was language she understood. Her tail smoothed, and relaxed.

"Bukimi no tani genshou," Sharon suggested, flicking her tail as if nothing had happened. "From robotics. Masahiro Mori's uncanny valley. Because you are close to human but not quite, differences that exist are more noticeable. Both atavistic features and behaviors. Add to this large physical frame -- naturally imposing, even for human. So for you social camouflage is beneficial, maybe. But I am on other side of valley. Am just an anthropomorphic animal. I am fun," she added loftily, although the words sounded slightly forced.

Kyle nodded at the phrase, and then gave a little laugh at Sharon's pronouncement of 'fun'. "There's stuff you can get away with that I can't. Liam'll be the same way, another thing different from you or me. I mean shit, Warren gets away with preening all the time, because he's Harvey Birdman." He watched for a few seconds as Shamu started chewing on his own back toes, and then the little cat got himself up and padded towards another room. "None of us can get away with pooping in a sandbox."

That got a dismissive flick of the ear. "Sufficient if no other option presents itself, but pointless if toilets are to be had. Less cleaning." Sharon's eyes followed the black and white cat as he wandered off. Something seemed to be on her mind.

"Suppose shape sets expectation," she said.

If previously, Kyle's body language had briefly been that of a megafauna predator, now it was fox who has just learned how the fence gate works. He cocked his head, and pulled one long leg up to rest his elbow on his knee. "No kidding. Shamu gets away with a lot because he's just a little guy. If he was a lot bigger..." He shrugged, as though dismissing the idle thought, and hopped down off the counter. "Though, if he could turn into a bigger cat, I'd probably make him get toilet trained. You're right, the cat box is a lot of effort."

Sharon's expression didn't change, but suddenly her body acquired the same stillness as a crouching predator unsure whether it had just been noticed. For just a moment there might have been a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes -- but only a moment. An instant later the cat broke eye-contact with a brisk, careless shake of her head, and stood.

"Will apologize to Alani now, maybe," Sharon said. Her tail gave an uncertain twitch. "It was only a little murder, but seemed very upset."

"When something has a name, people get upset when it's hurt, even if it's a really loud bird." Kyle said. "Also just to warn you, Alani and I have a whole text chain about names for the next one. Tu-Cock. Wyatt Chirp. Egg Sheeran. Brooster Banner."

"You will get another? But they--" Sharon saw the look on Kyle's face and changed tack. "--contribute to stable social hierarchy within flock, and I shall respect this in future." Dropping her head, she let out a noise that could only be described as a sigh.

"If you tell anyone of this conversation," she said, "I shall deny."

"Of course." He grinned. "But like, just the same. We're looking at breeds that are quiet. Dwayne like, was a screamer, no lie, so Tupac, or Brooster, or whoever we get, we'll make sure it's a type that doesn't get so loud." Kyle turned, and opened his freezer, and pulled out a pair of popsicles. Both were wrapped in wax paper, slightly misshapen in the way that meant they were homemade. "Truce offering." He held one out, and grinned. "Same flavor as the fake ice cream that used to be in the downstairs kitchen. I have no idea who got into that, but in case you ever need to be sure it's safe, it's just fruit and honey and ice."

The cache Sooraya had raided. Once again Sharon detected the knowing tone in Kyle's voice, but in this case saw no reason to tell anything but the truth.

"Was not me who took it," she said with precise honesty, and accepted the popsicle.

You could get away with so much by being exact.