Ritz and Rubble. [Jerrie]

[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.

[Mungojerrie]

Mungojerrie noticed his sister, seeming to be contemplative. Not that that was strange; she often seemed to be that way when she was alone. Her mind was off somewhere else, somewhere that probably seemed mystical and whimsical for her, even if they weren't for anyone else. But they were not made for anyone else, they were made for her. No one else mattered in those thoughts.

His ears flicked a little as he sat up from where he sat, perched upon what was possible part of an old, rusted out car. It was always hard to tell what things were after a time; everything started to blend together in a mess of dirt and grime, and it didn't look like anything anymore. Just stuff. A mess. That's what they lived in. Not that he deserved greater, but his sister did; just by that look on her face... she needed something greater.

There was a slight pause before he slid from his perch, following her up to hers. He almost didn't do it; it would disturb her from whatever was going on in that pretty little head. But at the same time, maybe she just needed someone to give her some gravity in this world again... and if she didn't want him there she'd make it obvious and he'd leave, probably not of his own accord. Mungojerrie gave her a slight smile as he sat down next to her, not touching, but near. He gave the surroundings from this veiwpoint a quick look over as was habit, before letting out a soft sigh.

"Nice from up here." He said, looking up to the sky for a moment. It was somewhat dark, not hinting at rain; he didn't feel it on his whiskers. Just a little... ominant, almost. But the wind felt nice, he did like that. "Good veiw if you could call it that."

[stickyfingers]

She could feel him before she could smell him. She could smell him before she saw him. Though her eyes remained squarely upon the moon above, in its gratuitous –almost opulent splendor, she could see him approach. His pirate swagger, that insignia glean in his brilliant eyes. He had that distinct scent of adventure and impulse, it permeated their surroundings, left the air pregnant with mischief, left it magnetized. Though he was swift and soundless, his silence was lost on her. The flick of his tale perceptible, the twitch of his ears distinguished. She could even feel the shudder of his whiskers as the breeze blew through them. She could particularly smell the overwhelming cologne of his guilt.

Something in her tensed, and then forcibly relaxed. She had been thinking a lot about the dynamic of their relationship, whatever type of relationship it…was. The tension was growing, that was sure. Like a storm that had been brewing and collecting for country upon country, it seemed as if it had chosen the time to unleash its tempest. It made her fur stand on end, her tail flicking in mild agitation. She wasn’t prepared for this; she had been avoiding it, in fact.

Too much. It was too much. The need to explore –and not just territory. It was leaving friction burns across the smoothness of her body.

Her tail began to flick back and forth, a willow branch in the caress of a breeze. She pulled her coat closer around her, sizzling eyes still averted from his. She took a deep breath, exhaling.

“I can’ ‘elp it, Jer.” She looked at him for just the most fleeting of moments. “Somefin’ is diff’rent.”

He had to have felt it, right? If she did, he had to, as well.

[Mungojerrie]

A slight frown tugged on the corner of his lips, rubbing his arm through his sleeve. It took a minute for his brain to catch up with what she was saying, since it had nothing to do with what had just come out of his mouth. Caught him off guard, and almost didn't at the same time.

"I suppose." Mungojerrie responded, voice low, looking to her curiously. Unlike her, he kept his eyes firmly on his sibling, his ears pricked curiously to pick up any noise she made. What a curious time to bring it up, and yet it wasn't. She was here alone, probably for a reason. Should they talk? Or should he just leave, run away, like he so often did?

"I wish I could... make it stop." He said hesitantly, two claws clicking together softly, finally looking down at the rubble beneath them. He'd love for everything to go back to how it should be; relaxed, the laughter shared, fun. He'd do anything to enjoy that again. But lately it had been impossible. He knew very well why, but he wasn't proud to admit it. Instead right now, he sat in a somewhat awkward silence, tail twitching slightly in thought.

[stickyfingers]

Her eyes welled with bitter tears as she watched her brother in such awkwardness, such unease. And she loathed that she could inspire that guilt, that turmoil within him. To abandon him would destroy them both, to give in to him would be equally devastating. The path was diverging, and both roads were equally uninhabitable. But she couldn’t bear it, that look in his eyes. The eyes that had once always been full of joy, of glee. The corners of his lips always turned upwards, a crescent moon, spread apart to usher through reams of uninhibited, extraordinary laughter. She had only known her home to be Mungojerrie, so her new compulsion to travel was an ill-boding sign.

She couldn’t resist it, though. The inches apart made it feel like he was miles away. And even in that small distance between them, she felt a wave of separation anxiety crash upon her like tumultuous waves. She strolled over to him, curling up against him. The warmth of his body soothed her immediately, her eyes fluttering closed.

This was the way it was supposed to be. Them together, always.

“It’s too late ter stop anyfin’, Jerrie.” She sighed, nuzzling him. “I jus’ dun know wha’ we do from ‘ere.”

But she really, really hoped he did. He was her big brother, he had to have all the answers.

[Mungojerrie]

Mungojerrie gave a soft sigh at that, his arms wrapping around her tightly. It felt so much better having her this close. They weren't made to be apart; they were designed to have each other... and to think it could ever be anything less, or even more, than it was now, ached. He could never deal with her being far from him, frankly, as strong as she was, he didn't think she could deal with it either. And more... What could that do them? An already mucked up dynamic was had from this, but if they gave in, what would happen? Would they become closer, would it go back to normal, in a sense? Or would it just become awkward, a possible ill-kept secret like what he harbored inside of him now? Something she, as his other half, could sense inside of him.

It was hard to say. Both were risks he wasn't sure he wanted to take. Both seemed to lead to hell. But what was the price of not attempting any progress? Some sort of relief to this madness? He didn't know if he was ready for any of it.

"I wish I knew." He whispered, rubbing her back through her coat gently. He wanted to make it better; there was a time when he could. But now, nothing. Maybe his brain was too clouded. He wanted her to be as happy as she could be, but how? This was tearing him apart inside, moreso now than ever.

[stickyfingers]

She didn’t like being this young, and feeling so old. She didn’t like that when she slept at night, her bones weighed heavy with confusion. She was becoming jaded, bitter –more and more enveloped in that perpetual purgatory that the pair was going through. It hadn’t always been this way. At least, not quite as bad. When they were younger, there were much more smiles than there were frowns.

It seemed that growing up was throwing them down. Urges began to surface, impulses that took most of her inconsiderable will power to suppress. And that fury, that hurt boiled like a cauldron of arsenic. He hadn’t been there to protect her. He hadn’t been there to save her. That house cat had decimated her, and Jerrie had been nowhere in site.

She wanted to forgive him; she wanted to trust him like she had. But things were not the same. They would never be, and could never be the same. It had lead her to tears on several occasions, but she had always sequestered herself away from any prying eyes. Electra had once, almost, caught her. It had sent such a frenzy of humiliation through the ashamed Rumpleteazer that she had been particularly rigid about her new sense of privacy.

But the other Jellicles could smell it on them, she knew they had to. Such sensitive, observant felines –there was no way that the tumultuous unspoken melodramas between the thieving siblings were unnoticed. She had heard the rumors, the gossip –but she had dismissed it each time. Neglecting that every mention, every elusion, incited a burning desire that took considerable amounts of Plato’s nip to quell.

And with him here, stroking her back, she was strongly compelled to cry. To curl up, like when she was a kitten, and have him coddle and nurture her. But Teazer was a big girl, now –she was a queen. No longer could she get away with the impulsivities of petulance and youthfulness.

She had to face her demons, her monsters –she needed to combat all that loomed and lurked behind the junkyard of her desires.

“Then how…how do we find out?” I’m scared.

[Mungojerrie]

"If I knew that I'd have already told you." Mungojerrie said, his voice kept soft, gentle, comforting. It pained him, not for himself, but for her. Why did she have to deal with this? How was it fair? He knew what had happened to her, and the guilt ate at him often. He shouldn't have left her alone. How could he have? What had he been thinking? Questions he was ashamed to say he couldn't answer no matter how many times he thought it to himself, asked himself. He couldn't imagine how she was feeling; it was beyond his sensory. He just knew that that was a wall between them now, thin as it may be; it made some moments feel different. Lacking of smiles and laughter that they used to have an abundance. It hurt. Because it was different.

Then it got worse. There was something else. He'd always felt it lurking but something in her was bringing it out more than before, now. So the qustion: 'How do we find out?'. Find out what? He thought he knew, but he wasn't sure; he damn well wouldn't ask to make sure, either. The thought made him sick to the stomach. He felt lost at that moment in time, more lost than he usually was. And it stung, because he wanted to be there for his sister, for support, for advice, and it was one thing that he certainly wouldn't be able to lend.

"We'll... figure something out." He muttered softly, his fingers curled into her coat gently, staring off into space. That was such a cop out answer, that's what it felt like anyway. But there was nothing else to be said. His mind was blank. He couldn't fix this - and that killed him.