I'll Meet You In the Horizon. [Open]

[stickyfingers]

She crept slowly, as agile as reeds bowing down to the breath of the wind. The streets were littered with the filth and grime that she had become rather attached to. The grit, the grotesque stains of bodily fluids and fermenting food left a putrid, rancid cologne throughout the night. She savored it, for it was as close to a reminder of home that she could ever truly cherish. Cracked cobblestones, fractured bricks. Shards of glass sparkling on the asphalt like the burning stars above. She caught her reflection in the broken amber bottle, her similarly hued eyes seeming to spin with a mischief not entirely benevolent.

Sometimes, Rumpleteazer wanted to cause a riot. Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly angst-ridden, she liked to fuck things up. She was a brat, all things considered. She wanted things her way, and she pounded her fists and stomped her feet until she had them delivered to her. And right now, she wanted excitement. She wanted to feel the tweed of her jacket grind against the tin of disposed of wash basins. She craved the friction of her corduroy pants against gravel.

Teazer wanted to play. And there seemed to be no one around her that was willing to engage in some roughhousing and wrestling. She needed stimulation, she needed excitement. Enough of this frivolous petty crime, this pathetic pick-pocketing. She could feel the winds calling to her, whispering the promises and ecstasies of travel. New worlds to explore, new houses in which to burglarize. Oh, the possibilities were endless. How long had it been since she had strutted the dirt paths of the Emerald Isle? Lost herself in the flurry of Gaelic accents and indulgent evenings? Or perhaps France could use her aid, once more. She could lighten their heavy pockets, show them the wonders of a modest lifestyle –how luxury simply burdens the psyche.

And there was always America. The New World, a land that she had heard stories about form Kitrina. It seemed marvelous. Debauched, depraved and full of corruption. Teazer could dig herself a nice little niche in the underbelly of a big city, staking her claim and marking her territory. Disappear from the Junkyard, slip into the night –board a boat and never look back.

The winds, they called for her.

With a grace, and pristine silence, she scaled a monumental tower of broken cars and refrigerators. She was careful to keep her nails from scratching against the metal, until she finally reached the very top of this mountain of shit. Pulling her coat closer around her, she sprawled across a discombobulated mattress, scouring the horizon.

Those winds, those tempestuous, taunting winds…

They were calling for her.

[Mistoffelees]

"Didn't expect to see you here," the darker voice of Mr. Mistoffelees commented as he looked down, somehow finding an even higher perch with the awning of a store. He slid toward the edge on his stomach, arms dangling over, the faintest of white on his face and ears the only thing to contrast against his coat, a pristine tailcoat. He'd never be under dressed, never when this persona came out save for a few incidents where he flipped on the spot. Sometimes he just knew.

The heavy wind lifted the base of the fabric, bringing him up in the air, arms and legs spreading in a jump before tucking and landing near the queen, blue and gold eyes out over that same horizon.

"It's pretty," he commented off-handedly.

[stickyfingers]

The voice came out of nowhere, and for a very rare chance, Teazer was surprised. Hardly ever caught unaware, it seemed that only the sly, nearly invisible mannerisms and movements of Mistoffelees could startle the adept queen. A wry smirk spread across her constantly twisted and turning lips.

"I didn' know tha' som'n else knew 'bout me special place." Those lips then slipped into a frown, clearly trying to fight off a bout of sulking. The cockney accent was so strong that it seemed to repulse some of the more refined, propriety-driven toms and queens. This did not dishearten or discourage Teazer. Their pockets were just as in need of lightening as any others. And their humans' households simply begging to be rifled, looted, pillaged and plundered.

Rumpleteazer and Mungojerrie, the Jellice Pirates.

Hazel eyes gazing upwardly, she contemplated the depths of the sky, mind not daring to wander towards the ethereal considerations of the Heaviside layer.

She would never be chosen, so why even bother engaging in smoke dreams?

Her eyes flitted to Mistoffelees, incendiary with curiosity.

"Well, who 'ere ye hidin' from?" She smirked, a small chain of snickering laughter muffled beneath the collar of her jacket. "Som'n discover yer tricks, mate?"

[Mistoffelees]

"Who says I need to be hiding? I just said I didn't expect to see you here." The same sort of answer he often gave: vague. Though maybe it was for the simple fact that he didn't know. He could have been with his human family, curled up by the fire, prowling on the roof, causing mischief, but no. He chose to be out.

He shook his head, nose wrinkling a touch. No, he knew exactly why he was out, and the reasons. It was to think. To practice. To maybe see a glimpse of him.

Pathetic that the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees would stoop to something so low, so despicable. At least he was able to speak in received pronunciation rather than that cockney accent his at the moment companion was stuck with.

"No one will ever discover my tricks, I can guarantee you that." Still, his eyes stayed on that far horizon rather than look toward her. "Question really should be who are you hiding from? Your brother?"

[stickyfingers]

Rumpleteazer had to suppress a mocking laugh at the bravado of her company. Despite her lack of an education, her general absence of class, her abrasive voice and grating laugh…she was extremely perceptive and intuitive. She had to be. And she knew that there was something up with the magical tom beside her, he had an air of pondering that surrounded him like his naturally ethereal glow. But she’d let it alone. Because she knew what it was like to feel accosted, to be cornered. To have some implore and interrogate you about what was wrong, what was right, what secrets were you hiding?

She knew what it was like to feel penetrating eyes, pouring deep within to render you speechless in a nonconsensual confession.

Misto was mostly posturing and conjuring tricks in the merciless eyes of Teazer. Parlor games that astounded those were less exposed, lees world-weary. She had travelled with circuses, she had followed magicians. The most convincing act, trick, that Misto could perform –was the act of hiding from himself. In that respect, he was, indeed, quite magical.

She was caught by his comment, eyes quickly darkening. Perceptive, she’d give him that. But like hell she’d confess to it.

“Why would I be ‘iding from Jerrie?” She shrugged casually. “He knows where ter find me if ‘ees lookin’.”

[Mistoffelees]

If Rumpleteazer could have backed herself into any corner, that one would be it, and Mr. Mistoffelees wasn't one to necessarily let things go. No. Not when he was hurting. Sure, there was that shy and sweet part, but also with it a demon. A darkness.

Maybe that was why he was so attracted to... no.

"So then he's not looking for you, but you wish he was."

A simple deduction, a corner. A tiny shrug of his shoulders, a little shy thing. Though that time he did brave turning his head, allowing a slight glimpse of his face with those strange eyes, ones marked for heaven and hell, a true alumnus.

He'd seen more than he should have seen. He knew there was more out there. And he would someday be chosen to go to the Heaviside Layer. It was something he knew in his soul, that he was the right representative, but since he knew what it was and that feeling grew he kept being passed over. It was strange... almost as if Old Deuteronomy just picked off the oldest and feeblest ones. That made no sense. Why not go for the worthy ones? Why not him?

There must have been another reason, something divine. That was the thought that thrilled him, a spark in his eyes lighting up, a glimmer through his tailcoat, the curling lips of a smirk.

[stickyfingers]

“My wishes ain’t none of yer business.” She hurumphed and turned so she was facing him less, tail flicking in obvious agitation. She did not care to exert the energy to conceal, to act, for him. He wasn’t worth it right now –she had to muster all of her performances in the company of her brother, hiding away though spent nearly every moment in each others presence.

“If yer ‘ere to start shite, I suggest ye run off, Misto.” She curled up away from him, clearly suspended between a tantrum and a sulking fit. “I’m already hurtin’ fer a fight.”

It was true. She needed the action –even more than that, the distraction. Although she didn’t care to hurt the tom whom she actually possessed affection for, he was grating on her very exposed, very sensitive nerves. And she would do anything to lose herself in a flurry of fire and brimstone.

[Mistoffelees]

"It was simple deduction. Nothing else." That glimmer still remained, lips not releasing that tug of a smirk though he looked away from her, strangely seemingly more amused now. "I have no desire to fight anyone, truly. Especially not you." A small laugh. "Even if I did, I wouldn't come unscathed. If you didn't tear me to shreds, Mungojerrie certainly would."

Paws moved behind him, resting on the flat of the mattress, head lifting to the sky. "It makes me feel nostalgic, though I have no reason as to why. Everything I could want and need, I have."

BULLSHIT.

But no. If he kept thinking that, then someday it might become true. Otherwise...

Who was he kidding? Himself, undoubtedly.

[stickyfingers]

Teazer scoffed. Out of all the Jellicle’s, she had always suspected there were longings unexpressed with the spry Mistoffelees. There was a vulnerability he tried to conceal, but that insecurity was there –that suspicion obvious to an eye that was trained in deciphering peoples innerworkings. Him mentioning Mungojerrie sent a shock of annoyance through her.

The pair were inseparable, even when in the throes of dispute. This was her moment of solitude. What made it infinitely worse, is that she was hating the time alone. Any even though Misto was there, any time without Jerrie…well, it was time spent alone.

After twenty years, the idea of loneliness, of abandonment…it terrified her. A paralyzing fear that ricocheted through her body like bullets that had so often been fired at her lean, unctuous frame.

Her heart shaped face turned to Misto, pausing in faux contemplation of his words. “Ye’re not very convincing, ye know.” She smiled slightly, taunting. “What do any’ve us have?” She snorted, leaning back and appraising the landscape of abandoned objects and ideals before them. “We’re parasites, Misto. We’re leeches.”

She turned to him now, the graveness in her voice completely uncharacteristic. “We’re scavengers, survivin’ off of rust and tin.”

[Mistoffelees]

"I have magic. I have power. I have finesse, grace. I have an education. I'm well-liked enough, at least. Prodigy thing. No, I really don't think there's anything else I could want. I'm content."

Oh, no you're not.

Shut up.

A little more arch in his back was offered before he smoothed the front of his coat. Far too dreary for his liking, this conversation, though maybe that was because he liked it a little more than he'd care to admit, or was dreary himself. No. Never.

And so, it'd be another of his tricks: laughter and a more grand smile. That paw that smoothed his coat lifted, a glimmering of sparkle and light shining before the first shooting star trailed across the sky. He watched it travel with a smile before it faded into oblivion, and then his face dropped. It was only for a moment, but in that moment, the grandiose persona was gone, it was just Mistoffelees, just Quaxo, just himself: a loner.

[stickyfingers]

“You ‘ave parlor tricks and explodin’ snaps, Misto.” She growled, slightly. He was burying himself under the grandeur of things that didn’t really matter in the end. She had seen it before. “Don’t be like Bella. Relyin’ on yer pretty shiny fings and graces. Those fings cheapen, they break, wif age.”

But her eyes softened, tracing the shooting star, and then looking back to him. She slinked over, feeling guilty for the harshness of her words. He was young, he was clearly tortured. What made them so different? Both portraying an act, seeming all sequins and caviar while they brooded and mulled inside.

She sat beside him, and rested a paw on his shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry, Missy.” A teasing name she used in reference to how flaming she knew him to be. “Jus’ be realistic wif yerself, aye?” She sighed, and gave him a playful push. “Don’t do what I did an’ get yerself tangled in phantoms and dreams.”

[Mistoffelees]

He'd expect the snide comments, and had kept a look of bravado on his face, but didn't expect the touch, it so sudden that he jerked, eyes widening. No bravado anymore.

The smile softened, more apologetically so. "I am being realistic. There really shouldn't be anything else that I'd want." That was true--there shouldn't, but there still was. And not doing what she did? Phantoms and dreams?

"Ghosts of the past become barbarians of the future..."

A waning thought. His head shook. "I'd rather not think of the unpleasantries. Then there's no hope for... anything."

[stickyfingers]

Rumpleteazer laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was empathetic. “Owh. Jus’ cos ye shouln’ want it don’ mean ye don’ wan it.” She shook her head, smiling more sincerely, now. If there was anything that Teazer new about, it was the wanting something you can’t, or shouldn’t have. That was nearly her area of expertise –aside from tight rope walking and acrobats.

“Hope’s a clever vixen, Missy.” She rested her head upon his shoulder, not caring whether or not he was opposed to the affection. “Don’ chase after it empty ‘anded, aye?” She nuzzled him, purring slightly.

“Ye’re too pretty to dirty that coat of yers chasing after impossibilities.” She then tilted her head slightly, reconsidering. “But, then again…ye keep followin’ yer dreams.”

Perfectly aware that she had just proffered him something of a riddle, she continued to nuzzle and purr.

[Mistoffelees]

If he were fully Quaxo he would have jumped at the chance to nuzzle back but, as it was, he was hesitant, then carefully moved an arm around her back, paw resting just above her hip, head tilted so as to let some of it rest on her shoulder, contemplation.

Too pretty to get ruined chasing after impossibilities, but to keep following his dreams. A strange riddle at that. One he could apply to almost any situation, though he doubted she knew about his affection for him. At least who it was. No one would know if he could help it.

So what was she telling him?

His tail swished in time with her purrs. He'd need to distinguish the show from what was there, go after what he wanted but be realistic. Keep striving to be chosen for the Heaviside Layer... while giving up on him...

Mistoffelees didn't want to give up on him, though. Nor did Quaxo.

That thought alone startled him, enough to jerk his shoulder a little. He couldn't be seriously holding out, could he? Just waiting? No. No, he'd make sure he wouldn't. He'd find prey. New prey.

A glance was given to Rumpleteazer and he paused. Nope. Still a girl.