Chapter Text
A great many cats were aligned on the windowsills, standing and sitting in no particular pattern, some relaxed and leaning, others tense and alert. Their eyes were jointly fixated on the torrential downpour just on the other side of the broad glass panes, dusty and frosted in the corners from entropic neglect. Thunder and lightning intermittently punctuated the sounds of pitter-patter , a grandiose percussion. When the dim room was illuminated in infrequent pure-white flashes, the felinoid formations looked like ghostly statues.
Munkustrap was not a part of the ensemble of Jellicles rapt by the weather; rather, he sat in a far corner, his back leaning against the wooden siding of a short stage. He relished in the symphonic amalgamation of scents that always lingered in the forsaken theater. This particular room was popular because of the large windows and the open layout — the seats had been gutted, leaving the oaken floorboards unobstructed.. But cats lurked in every cranny of the derelict edifice, many of whom were not Jellicles of the Junkyard.
This theater, one of a surfeit of buildings abandoned in the wake of the human war, was part of a matrix of favorite haunts for the Jellicles. In particular, it was a place of refuge for days like this—when the shelters and dens of the Junkyard just weren’t equipped to withstand such climatic overwhelm. The Protector sighed at the thought; when it was over, there would be a big mess waiting for them at what constituted their primary territory. Waterlogged textiles, lights strewn about, makeshift walls toppled, nooks flooded.
The storm had come on suddenly, making it difficult for the cats to traverse the metropolis so as to seek refuge with their humans in time. To say nothing of whichever cats, like Alonzo, who had no house to go to.
The maudlin foresight sent Munkustrap’s line of vision in Jennyanydots’s direction. She was almost certainly going to fret over the state of the Junkyard more than anybody. But, as it was late afternoon, the Gumbie Cat didn’t appear to be perturbed by this impending scenario yet. She was sitting, like he was, on the floor. Her and Jellyorum were lazily cross-stitching, shoulder-to-shoulder, murmuring a dialogue back and forth that was too distant for Munkustrap to make out.
His eyes roved elsewhere, examining the gestalt. He recognized every cat in this particular room. Most of the kittens were amidst the chorus line perched along the panes, more easily enamored by inclement weather than anyone. Victoria was the only exception, lying on the floor several feet below. She wasn’t sleeping, but her eyes were kept closed. Every few minutes she’d stretch beyond the realm of utility’s sake, as if she were practicing balletic contortions…and she’d hold that position for a prolonged moment, and then curl up again.
Then there were Asparagus and George, laying side-by-side away from the wall, both asleep. Plato was lazing about in another random spot, on his back, somnolently examining his claws. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer were snoozing away elsewhere, entangled. Cassandra was stretched out longways, her svelte frame snakelike, with her own talons intermittently retracting as she casually scarred the floor with scratch after scratch. Munkustrap searched for his errant brother, only then realizing that The Rum Tum Tugger was nowhere in sight. That undoubtedly meant that he was off in some other part of the building, gallivanting with every stranger whose admirations he could cultivate.
That led Munksutrap to think of another Jellicle, whose absence was notable. Although in this case, just because he wasn’t seen or heard, didn’t mean he wasn’t around. The silver tabby’s eyes lifted up to the rafters, a geometric labyrinth of beams and perpetually deactivated house lights. At first, he didn’t see anything remarkable. But, after his green eyes persisted for an extended moment, something seemed to shift just barely in his periphery. An amorphous shape, black and shadowed, fast and soundless. His gaze quickly darted to where it had come from, but there were only more beams and more darkness.
But then it happened again, out of the corner of his other eye. Munkustrap hurriedly looked over in that direction too — and again, there was nothing. Feeling challenged, he rose to his feet and squinted, canvassing the entirety of the ceiling. Another flicker of shadow, and then another, and every time he tried to zone in on it, it flitted away just in time. Munkustrap thought he heard a chuckle, or something adjacent to it — light, and reverberating, and phantomish, almost inaudible, but assuredly mischievous. The other cats had either been too distracted or too asleep to notice, except for Cassandra and Victoria, both of whom had cracked open their eyes and were now looking vaguely ceilingward. This corroborated for the tabby, at least, that he wasn’t imagining things.
Another ring of distant, ghostly laughter. A game, then. The shadow form had ceased to present itself enticingly to Munkustrap, who was now in on the lark. Admittedly vexed, his eyes happened to fall and land where Cassandra had been laying, and he could see that her eyes were now fixed statically on something directly above the Jellicle leader.
Munkustrap had anticipated what he would find when he followed her line of sight, and yet still he startled. In the furthest reaches of the rafters, where the black fixtures faded indistinguishably into shadow, there was a pair of reflective — or glowing yellow eyes — floating ominously above his head. They were pupilless and wide and staring fixedly at their quarry, and even the stolid Protector found himself unsettled by the haunting sight of them.
Unfortunately, his response was poorly concealed, at least to the apparition. There was another, more tangible peal of coquettish laughter, and then the eyes darted away along with the barely-seeable silhouette of a small, inexplicably swift felinoid shape. The silver tabby exhaled and shook his head fondly. Mistoffelees was accounted for, then.
Just then, a blinding flash of lightning was succeeded instantaneously by a deafening crack of thunder. The bolt had been audibly close, close enough to shake the foundations of the old brick-and-mortar building. A handful of hackles were raised, ears flattened, and at least half the spectators jumped down from the sill to skitter away into the further reaches of the auditorium.
Munkustrap’s next thought was aborted by a sudden disturbance, a feeling that affected him viscerally before he intelligently knew what was wrong. It was a twitch of his ear, a flick of his whiskers, a sudden tensing of his muscles. His arms spread and wrenched back, his chest out, his feet spread wide apart. He had turned himself toward the windows, and, surely enough, every cat was identically alarmed. Those who had been sitting were now standing. The cats that had been on the floor were now alert and looking in that general direction. Tails flicked disconsolately.
“Munkustrap,” a deep, commanding voice called — Alonzo. “Come look at this.”
But the Jellicle Leader was leaping gracefully onto the sill hardly before his right-hand cat was done beckoning him.
Looking down at the London street below, the cobblestones awash with murky rushing water, the tabby could see through the curtain of rain just enough to distinguish the anomaly that had everyone rapt. There was a pile-up of nondescript debris — what, to Munkustrap, looked like a mixture of branches and inorganic scraps, things like metallic pipes, broken wood planks, indistinguishable trash, industrial bones of human-made structures. The rushing floodwaters circles around it in an increasingly foreceful current, rushing towards a gaping sinkhole that had been at the end of the block before the storm had begun. The humans had partitioned it meagerly to discourage motorists, but work to repair it seemed to lag — perhaps because so many of them, who’d work on such a project, have seemingly vacated the area as of late.
It was all held in place by a small tree, wrenched from its roots at the base from where it had been planted on the sidewalk. It was bared of its leaves due to the season, and its trunk had been rendered hollowed, ablaze with an orange, flickering fire. Munkustrap grimaced at the sight of it; it must have gotten struck by the lightning.
It was an ugly display; but it wasn’t the fire, nor dam of debris that had everybody excited; it was the small furry shape encased between two particularly encumbering pieces of junk, struggling wildly to attain freedom. Through the veil of torrential rain, it was clear that the entrapped creature was a cat, although it wasn’t a cat that Munkustrap recognized. The flames insistently crawled about, licking fitfully at various items in the pile, persisting against the downpour. And they were getting closer to the poor creature.
Another flash and clap of thunder, this one also stiflingly loud, but more distant. Traffic began to pile up. Car horns contributed to the din.
“Everlasting,” Jennyanydots had been the first one to breach the stricken silence. “Somebody needs to help that poor cat!”
“Alonzo,” Munkustrap said immediately, already on it. He jumped down from the windowsill and the other followed suit. The Jellicle leader looked about the room, making rapidfire calculations. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly. “Cassandra. The rest of you stay here.”
The two who were beckoned soundlessly obeyed, running to join their leader.
That was, except for Tumblebrutus. The adolescent stalked forward in wide strides and reached, his stance looking an awful lot like one that Munkustrap himself was known to display. There were no words to accompany it, but the meaning was obvious.
Munkustrap’s face was severe, but he drew his lips into a line and nodded. “Come — but you will wait at the door. I’ll call to you to retrieve more help if it’s needed.”
Tumblebrutus was visibly dissatisfied, but he knew better than to stall by arguing. Before he could have, in any case, Munkustrap turned and lifted his chin upward, keen green eyes roving across the industrious surface.
“Mistoffelees,” he called. For a moment, there was seemingly no acknowledgement. The silver tabby lowered his line of vision and looked about the room.
He had turned to look over his shoulder, only to be surprised by the illusionist in question appearing right behind him, seemingly out of nowhere . It was nothing unusual for him, and yet somehow he successfully startled many a Jellicle — even the steadfast Munkustrap — all the time with his tricks.
He still had that impish smile on his face; the only one seemingly not comporting himself to the dour circumstances. But his eccentric demeanor was nothing that the Jellicle Leader had the luxury of time to dwell on.
Instead he gave a single nod, and Mistoffelees reciprocated the gesture with a knowing wink.
With that, the silver tabby, in several long and graceful strides, hurried out with his helpers in tow.
Getting over to the ensnared animal had been the easy part. Thankfully, Tumblebrutus hadn’t complicated anything by disobeying Munkustrap’s parameters and remained near the theater door, where it was perpetually propped open a crack with an-looking ancient brick. The overhang kept that area somewhat dry, but as soon as the silver tabby and his fellow Jellicles stepped out from under it, they were smacked by a steady, harsh downpour of freezing water.
Bounding over to the felled tree was a bit difficult with the rushing floodwaters wanting to knock the four of them over; but the Jellicle gift of grace and strength spared them from any such vicissitudes. Mistoffelees, far and away the smallest of the quartet, had the most difficulty—but Alonzo grabbed onto his arm and tugged him along for good measure.
The cats could feel the heat of fire creeping outward from the dam when they drew near, the noncommittal flames still closing in on the ensnared cat. Close now to get a good look at him, Munkustrap could see the stranger in thorough detail; a male, probably around Alonzo’s age, sporting a splotchy orange tabby coat and a collar to show that he was domesticated. That last detail put Munk at ease a little bit; domesticated cats were less likely to violently resist the approach of others, especially in a situation where Jellicle social mores had to be foregone.
This cat, however…didn’t seem to be too happy to see them. He drew back, his neck retracting into his shoulders, and hissed wide-eyed, at the sudden appearance of four felines he’d never seen before. If he hadn’t been drenched, surely his hackles would be up as well.
“We’re here to help you,” Munkustrap assured. Other than that, communication was minimal as he and his cohorts quickly set about the task of freeing the stranger, maneuvering with commendable grace through the surging rainfall. There was no need to wait for permission; there wasn’t much the unknown cat could do to object anyway.
Mistoffelees, now free of Alonzo’s iron grasp, moved about the perimeter of the pileup and got himself atop the felled tree, standing daringly close to the fire. Nonplussed, he had taken a giant breath, held it for a few seconds, and then leaned forward and blew out the entire inferno in one quick woosh , as one would do to extinguish a mere candle flame. Just like that—the most imminent hazard was gone.
It was Alonzo, Cassandra, and Munkustrap who were teaming up to lift and move the obstructions that had the orange tabby pinned down at the waist. The latter would sometimes protest the procedure with a yowl when an errant shift in the pile caused more pressure to come down on his comparatively small body.
Mistoffelees took a moment; both to recover from the spell, and to contemplate what course of action he could take to be the most useful. The moon still wasn’t out — and even if it were, it’d only be a half-moon — so he knew he had to take care to economize his powers. Too many times he had learned the hard way not to overestimate his reserves especially without the Jellicle Moon aglow to augment his magic.
It didn’t take him terribly long to reach a conclusion about how to proceed. Standing off to the side, outside of the stranger’s peripheral, he put out one paw palm-up and looked almost as if he were pantomiming lifting something heavy; but, in reality, any who knew of him would understand that this seemingly ineffectual motion was lightening the load of trash, slowly allowing the pile to defy gravity and come apart. Levitation was relatively easy, basic—and once he halved the weights of several clusters of objects, it became far easier for his friends to cast them aside. The over all unburdening of pressure assuredly relieved the orange tabby, although he seemed more puzzled by it than appreciative.
Mistoffelees would have loved to simply disappear everything in one swift motion…but that’d be both alarmingly conspicuous; and more importantly, he was sure he didn’t have the wherewithal or the required amount of power to make an attempt. Conjuration and Vanishment were among the more difficult stylings of magic in his experience. Vanishment was easier, but he’d be lucky if he could smartly control where everything went. And he’d have to know what everything in the pile was , which he couldn’t possibly.
Levitation worked for now; despite being pelted still by freezing-cold rain, the other three were making quick work of the items as they steadily began to float. As soon as he seemed to be able, the encumbered cat dashed out from beneath the remnants of the pile, allowing Mistoffelees to dispell the magic --- along with a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. Whatever items were still affected went crashing back down to the flooded cobblestone, some of it disappearing down the block and into the sinkhole. The Conjuring Cat bent over, propping himself up on his knees, feeling as if he had actually lifted countless kilos of raw materials with his muscles instead of his powers.
In the meantime, Munkustrap took a cautious step towards the tabby, who had backed away and was staring at each Jellicle in turn with flattened ears. The silver Jellicle wanted to appear congenial, but he stayed visibly tense, protective instincts undisguised. The other three stood behind and watched.
“Are you all right?” Munkustrap asked, breaking the tense silence.
He hazarded one half-step forward; but that had been a mistake. The orange tabby, soaked to the bone and looking pathetic, unleashed a hiss and took off running — or, tried to run, although it was more like trudging through the steadily deepening water rapids — in the opposite direction of the flood current, weaving between the cars that were stopped up ahead.
“What an amiable fellow,” Alonzo deadpanned, coming up beside Munk.
Cassandra took a few bounds forward. She locked eyes with Tumblebrutus in the distance, waiting patiently by the theater door like a sentinel. There was no need for prompting; the three other Jellicles followed her lead, although this time it was Munkustrap in the rear, reaching back to take Mistoffelees’s arm as Alonzo had done earlier. If the Conjuring Cat took exception to this, he didn’t bother making an indication.
The relief the quartet felt at completing their task with minimal difficulty was short-lived. None of them made it more than halfway across the street before a disastrous interruption.
In the annals of Munkustrap’s memories, he would never be able to make sense of it. He’d recall key events in increments. A blinding-white light that made the lowly London Street appear awash in pearl-colored paint and pitch-black shadows. The sound of a crack so cacophonous that it left a ringing in his ears. Another set of strange, obliterative noises, the sounds of splintering wood, of crackling and fizzling, of some cat—or, perhaps multiple cats—shouting. At some point, he had let go of Mistoffelees; or, Mistoffelees wrenched himself free. Munkustrap looked up in time to witness the strange phenomenon of a medley of thick, black wires surging at him, huge writhing snakes in the air alight with blueish-white sparks, attached to a towering wooden beam tipping from its base like a gigantic lever.
None of the Jellicles could have known what to anticipate — none of them could have even made sense of all that was happening. But the subsequent turn of events was still perhaps the most unforeseeable.
Munkustrap had lunged away just in time to avoid being crushed by the wooden pole. He looked back over in time to see a bevy of electricity — a spidery, blinding, surging abundance of light and white sound—all converging into one isolated spot on the cobblestone. The pure-white spindles crawled off the wires and shot towards some kind of central hub as if magnetized to it. This went on for a protracted moment; probably only a few seconds, but it felt longer. The light was so bright that Munkustrap could hardly look at it…and the sound, so inundating that he could hear nothing else above it, not even his own thoughts.
The electricity dissipated, the felled power lines drained, and the immediate area was plunged into nearly perfect darkness. In that one spot into which all of the volts of power had funneled…stood Mistoffelees.
None of his three companions knew what to make of the image. The diminutive tuxedo stood still, shoulders hunched, posture rigid, his sleek fur covered richly in pulsating sparkles. Little snakes of electrical spurts materialized here and there, then vanished across the dark fibers of hair, every strand like a conduit. His eyes were evacuated of pigment, white and glowing, wide and unseeing.
Munkustrap had a mere fleeting moment to make these observations. There was an increasingly noisome din of panicked human voices and car horns, hapless in the dark. Such unadaptable creatures.
Tumblebrutus started running towards them, his eyes as wide as saucers, but Cassandra was quick to halt him. In that same moment, Mistoffelees seemed to take a long breath in, his chest expanding, chin tilted up, as if gasping greedily for oxygen. Seemingly in response, the electrical pulses dancing across his frame became quicker, more intense. Then, his large white eyes shut—and down to the cobblestone he went, like a puppet whose strings were cut.
Munkustrap wasn’t sure who reacted first; he heard Alonzo shout the Conjuring Cat’s name, and both of the older toms were racing towards where he had collapsed. Almost his entire form submerged in the murky rain water, including his head . The current was interrupted where he lay, but it was surely a mere moment before the strength of it would sweep him down the block—
En route, another succession of events occurred that the silver tabby would never understand well enough to commit exactly to memory. This time it was worse than when the utility pole had been struck and felled. As he drew closer to Mistoffelees, struggling against the water that had risen to his knees, the otherwise dark street became awash in the yellow light of gas powered headlamps. There had been a flash of black and white, a powerful voice hollering in his direction, and the sensation of an unprotesting dead weight in his possession. There was a car horn, a squealing of tires, and multiple ear-shattering bangs. There were more flashes of light — lightning and headlamps became indistinguishable.
Munkustrap had vaulted to the side, encumbered by the weight of an inert Mistoffelees, and lost his footing when the water suddenly surged. He couldn’t have known how long it was that he felt overcome by brown, murky rainwater, tumbling in the direction of the rapid current, with only brief flashes of the sky and buildings along the roadway when he managed to breach the surface in a desperate crusade for air. The rain was coming down so hard that it felt almost as if the atmosphere was as thick and suffocating as the floodwaters.
At some point, he had lost his hold on Mistoffelees. Something unfamiliar, something akin to panic, germinated in the center of the Protector’s chest, accelerating his heart and clouding his brain. He looked around senselessly, but the floodwaters’ powerful current all but eradicated control of his own person, sending him tumbling gracelessly through the murk, unable to decipher anything.
Three quarters down the block, he snagged, for just a moment, on some severed car part that got caught near the curb. He clung to it for dear life, sputtering and coughing up the rancid fluid he had inhaled. He looked around frantically and could barely make out, through the curtain of downpour, a black smudge somewhere in his periphery, flitting by in a tauntingly familiar fashion.
“Mistoffelees!” he called out, trying to turn toward where thought he had seen the shadowed form—but in so doing, his claws lost their precarious grip on the smooth metal car part. Another surge of water sent him tumbling head-over-tail through a haze of freezing brown cataracts.
It stopped only when the Jellicle Protector felt the bizarre sensation of freefall. He saw the sky and the lips of a few rooftops rapidly shrinking above him, framed by some jagged and dark ellipsis, and that was the last thing he saw before something hard and merciless raced up to meet him.