griffinmarsh: a history | Glowfic Constellation

properly_traditional

That...

...happened.

She picks up the flowers she'd been collecting, returns to her room, and very methodically shreds the flowers into tiny, tiny pieces.

There is a polite meow from outside her door, just loud enough to be heard.

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Emmalina perks up slightly. There are cats here? She drops the remaining flowers on top of the pile of shreds and opens the door.

There is a small grey tuxedo tabby standing there. She meows again and lifts a paw to step into the room, but waits for an invitation before actually doing so.

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"Well, hello. Aren't you pretty?" Emmalina hasn't been around many cats, but there were a couple mousers in the castle kitchens; she has a vague understanding of the rules of feline politeness. She scoots back a little, kneels on the carpet and offers a hand for the cat to sniff.

The cat accepts this invitation as sufficient, comes in, inspects Emmalina's hand, and bumps her head against it in the traditional 'you may pet me' manner.

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Emmalina adjusts herself more comfortably on her knees and supplies head scratches, as requested. "You're so soft," she murmurs.

The cat purrs agreeably.

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"Awwww." Emmalina smiles down sadly at the cat. "At least you like me."

Further agreeable purring. Soft cat snuggles.

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Emmalina sighs and cuddles the cat, careful not to interrupt the petting. "You'll keep me company till Jann comes back, right?" she hums to the cat. If he came back, anyway- which was a train of thought she decides not to follow. "You're soft and pretty and cuddly, aren't you, we should be friends."

Purr purr. Snuggle snuggle. Soft soft.

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Pet pet. "Is official cat petter a job?" Emmalina wonders aloud, not at all seriously. "Maybe I can do that. I don't have anything else to do, but. This is nice."

The cat snuggles contentedly for a bit longer, and then gets up and pats Emmalina's knee with her paw and leaves, meowing a gracious farewell on her way out. At least it's probably a gracious farewell. It's hard to tell, from a cat.

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Well. It was nice while it lasted, at least. Emmalina waves goodbye to the cat, inspects her mostly-shredded flowers woefully, and starts plaiting the unharmed ones into a chain. It reminds her of her daisies from the trip, and the thought causes her throat to tighten. Never mind plaiting. Back to shredding.

first-and-final

A few minutes later, the cat returns and meows at the door again, this time from somewhat higher up.

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Emmalina is not paying attention to the height of the meow, and is delighted by the idea of cat snuggles as an alternative to- whatever it was she was doing. Nothing, really. She opens the door, blinks once in surprise at the definitely-not-a-cat man that accompanied the cat, and curtsies politely.

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The human nods politely in return, perhaps declining to bow lest it dislodge the cat on his shoulder. He's not dressed especially ostentatiously, but does seem clearly noble.

"Hello," he says. "I'm Milo; this is Cath. She said you seemed in need of company."

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Emmalina stares at Cath, surprised and a bit embarrassed. She thought that was a myth. People joked about cats being smart, of course, but it wasn't like she'd ever met a witch to ask. Griffinmarsh widely considered the thought to be something of an urban legend. Well. She's seen stranger things, recently. If dragons can be easy going and not-princess-eating, cats can talk. (Didn't the stories say only to witches? Well, clearly the stories were lacking anyway.)

"Nice to meet you, Milo, Cath," she responds, with a smaller curtsy for Cath (who is a person!). "I'm Princess Emmalina of Griffinmarsh." She considers him and his offer. "I would love some company. If it isn't an interruption?" She smiles slightly. "I understand there's something of a reunion in progress." And a pretty girl in a garden- her smile slips a bit, but she shoves the thought down.

first-and-final

"No trouble at all," he says. "Jann's parents are off catching up. I'm not in the middle of anything. So I hear you were recently rescued from a dragon in the Mountains of Mourning. If you don't mind my asking, did you hear anything about Roxim while you were there? He answers letters very spottily when he's between princesses, so I haven't heard from him in a while."

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"I'm sorry, I didn't get to meet him," Emma apologizes. "Morath is quite a bit younger, I think. But when people mentioned him they sounded fond of him? He seems to be everyone's favorite cranky grandfather figure."

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"Sounds about right. Well, thank you anyway. I haven't heard much about Morath; was he all right, as dragons go?"

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She smiles fondly. "He was always nice to me. Honest, maybe too much sometimes, but nice. And to the knights, too. He seemed to think it was all a big game; he never hurt them, not truly." Then her brain catches up with her. "But how do you know R- oh! Milo! You're Jann's cousin?"

first-and-final

"Yes. Did he mention my dragon-related misadventures to you, by any chance?"

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