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blueheronteanookTitle: Kitty Caper
Rating: General
Major Warnings: None.
Genre: Gen, comedy, fluff.
Summary: Written for the End of Pale Bonanza, in response to a prompt from viceVersailles: "Kittycough reports to her handler, Blankshanks, about her attempts to infiltrate the growing Goblin Market in Kennet Below."
“Were you followed?”
The amount of phlegm in Kittycough's grunt was answer enough. Blankshanks was loathe to admit that the feline goblin was good for anything, let alone communication, but there was a surprising amount of nuance to be had in Kittycough's expectorations.
He raised an eyebrow in a very un-catlike way, trying not to seem too terribly eager to hear what his contact had to say. "So? What did you find?"
Kittycough leveled a glare at him that would give even Mrs. Schaff pause. Or perhaps that was just how her face was shaped. "Lots," she retched.
Blankshanks's tail lashed once, irritably. "...And would you care to elaborate?"
Kittycough began to speak, but all that came out was a strangled squeak. She held up one misbegotten paw as she coughed and choked with increasing volume and vehemence, until Blankshanks started to wonder if she was faking it to get out of debriefing. Unfortunately, his suspicions were proven wrong by the fist-sized ball of gack that flew from Kittycough's mouth. With a yowl, Blankshanks leapt from the ledge where he'd been sunning himself, narrowly dodging the projectile. It flew out of the—mercifully open—window.
He glared at Kittycough, hackles raised, knowing full well that the little creature had probably done that just to metaphorically yank his tail, but the brewing tirade was interrupted by Kittycough saying in a much clearer voice, "Goblins. Stalls. Shit for sale."
She looked at Blankshanks with a potent cocktail of apathy, surliness, contempt, and—was that pity?!
Blankshanks sputtered, impotently caught between fury and confusion. "I- yes, but- what is being sold there? What kind of- of... 'shit'... is for sale? Who are the vendors, how is the market being run? Can you not just tell me what you know?!"
Kittycough rolled her eyes. "Go yourself. Pussy." She sat down and began loudly grooming herself, one furless leg going up in the air.
Blankshanks averted his eyes and did his best to ignore the... noises. "Fine, then. Maybe I will."
As he settled back into his sunbathing spot and tried to appear aloof and uncaring, Blankshanks knew that he would not, in fact, be going to the goblin market if he could help it. It wasn't worth the trouble. Or the hairballs.
Rating: General
Major Warnings: None.
Genre: Gen, comedy, fluff.
Summary: Written for the End of Pale Bonanza, in response to a prompt from viceVersailles: "Kittycough reports to her handler, Blankshanks, about her attempts to infiltrate the growing Goblin Market in Kennet Below."
“Were you followed?”
The amount of phlegm in Kittycough's grunt was answer enough. Blankshanks was loathe to admit that the feline goblin was good for anything, let alone communication, but there was a surprising amount of nuance to be had in Kittycough's expectorations.
He raised an eyebrow in a very un-catlike way, trying not to seem too terribly eager to hear what his contact had to say. "So? What did you find?"
Kittycough leveled a glare at him that would give even Mrs. Schaff pause. Or perhaps that was just how her face was shaped. "Lots," she retched.
Blankshanks's tail lashed once, irritably. "...And would you care to elaborate?"
Kittycough began to speak, but all that came out was a strangled squeak. She held up one misbegotten paw as she coughed and choked with increasing volume and vehemence, until Blankshanks started to wonder if she was faking it to get out of debriefing. Unfortunately, his suspicions were proven wrong by the fist-sized ball of gack that flew from Kittycough's mouth. With a yowl, Blankshanks leapt from the ledge where he'd been sunning himself, narrowly dodging the projectile. It flew out of the—mercifully open—window.
He glared at Kittycough, hackles raised, knowing full well that the little creature had probably done that just to metaphorically yank his tail, but the brewing tirade was interrupted by Kittycough saying in a much clearer voice, "Goblins. Stalls. Shit for sale."
She looked at Blankshanks with a potent cocktail of apathy, surliness, contempt, and—was that pity?!
Blankshanks sputtered, impotently caught between fury and confusion. "I- yes, but- what is being sold there? What kind of- of... 'shit'... is for sale? Who are the vendors, how is the market being run? Can you not just tell me what you know?!"
Kittycough rolled her eyes. "Go yourself. Pussy." She sat down and began loudly grooming herself, one furless leg going up in the air.
Blankshanks averted his eyes and did his best to ignore the... noises. "Fine, then. Maybe I will."
As he settled back into his sunbathing spot and tried to appear aloof and uncaring, Blankshanks knew that he would not, in fact, be going to the goblin market if he could help it. It wasn't worth the trouble. Or the hairballs.
no subject
Date: 2023-10-23 04:33 am (UTC)