YAY! Exams are over (finally!) so I can get back to killing the cats (she says with an evil grin). True to form, I feel like being mean to Misto again...
Disclaimer - Lessee... Do I look like Andrew Lloyd Webber, TS Elliot, George Lucas, or Shakespeare?
Anyone who can get the joke about the gaze gets a cookie (hint - it's at the start of the third paragraph. You should find it now...)
Oh, and beware of the bad Shakespeare...
How To Kill Magical Mr. Mistoffelees (again)
You return from your very long break (away fora month! Exactly what were you doing!) with a very strong urge to kill someone. You look around the yard while you choose your next victim, and notice that everyone is standing completely still and silent, staring at you with looks of complete and utter terror on their furry faces.
Feeling evil, you smile at a few and give them a wave. They promptly pass out with fright.
You gaze lands on the one cat that is looking everywhere but at you. Several of the other cats are feeling charitable and help him back up so you don't have to. They also hope that you won't kill them any time soon, but you already know that's never going to happen. You make your way over to the cat with an expression on you face that says, quite plainly: 'hello, Victim. Ready to die today?'
The small tuxedoed tom sparkles slightly out of fear, but after shooting a peeved look in Author's general direction he stops. As you approach, a more-than-slightly manic grin appears on you face, and the rest of the tribe give a collective sigh of relief as they (finally) realise that they aren't this chapter's Victim. They go about their usual business of sunning themselves on the boot of the old Ford (in Demeter's case), eating (in Bustopher's case), or getting up to things that won't be mentioned here because they aren't meant to be described where they can quite easily be read by kittens (in Bombalurina and Tugger's case).
"Let me guess," Mistoffelees sighs as you reach him. "You're going to kill me again, aren't you? And could it be because I've done something to annoy you?"
"I see Tugger was telling the truth when he said you were clever," you reply brightly, only too happy to be back where you belong – murdering the Jellicles for no apparent reason.
"You mean you didn't notice before? Heaviside, I need to try harder in future…"
"Please don't; you're trying enough as it is."
"Oh, very funny," Mistoffelees says sarcastically. "So how're you going to kill me this time? It can't be worse than the first chapter."
"And what would you know about what happened in the first chapter? You were asleep for most of it."
"Some of it. I woke up after you so rudely nailed me to the tyre. Tell me, did your mother ever teach you any manners at all? It really isn't polite to wake someone up, especially by crucifying them on a flying tyre."
With Mistoffelees now quiet, you begin planning how you'll kill him.
Five days later and you're still trying to think up an idea.
Another week later and Mistoffelees interrupts your train of thought.
"Will I still get to say my death-line?" he asks. "'Cause I'm not dying without it."
"Fine, whatever," you say, irritated that he made you forget where abouts in your plan to murder him you were. Just as you're starting to remember…
"How're you going to kill me? You never answered me before."
"Well, right this second I'm seriously considering throwing you off a junk pile."
"Why don't you, then? If it's all the same to you, I'd rather get this over and done with because standing here for twelve days straight with no food or water really isn't making me feel my best."
With an evil smile so evil that it could evilly scare Macavity's evilest evil smile, you evilly lead Mistoffelees up to the top of the evil junk pile where your true evilness will be evilly revealed.
You start to think that maybe Author might have a bit of a thing for evil, but you really can't be sure…
Once you get to the top, you turn to Mistoffelees.
"Go on, then," you say. "If you really have to say that death-line, now's the time to do it."
"Okay," he replies. "Just give me a minute."
"What, you need to prepare for a death-line?"
"Saying a death-line is a deep spiritual experience, and not to be scoffed at."
You catch his eye and both of you burst out laughing.
"What a load of boll- err… bullocks…" you say, eyeing the storm clouds that suddenly appear above you warily in case Author decides to smote you down with lightning for the fun of it. "Well, let's get this over and done with, then. Misto, if you will…"
"Ahem," he says. "Reader! I am your father!"
"You what?" you ask. Mistoffelees sighs.
"I said: Reader! I am your father!"
"How come?" you ask. "I'm Author requests that you enter your own age here as she doesn't want a bunch of angry murderers after her fur for giving you an age that might give you reason to go after her fur years old, and you're all of, what, three weeks?"
"Three years, actually. There's a difference."
"Could've fooled me," you mutter.
"Okay, fine, I'll change it."
"Heaviside help me…"
"Ahem. Reader! I am your brother!" Mistoffelees yells, before 'accidentally' losing his footing (pawing?) on the junk and falling off the pile.
"Oh deary me," you say sarcastically. "Mine own brother hath died and left-eth me all alone-eth in this cruel world. However shall I survive-eth without him whilst I am continually surrounded-eth by furry busybodies with not a thing-eth better to do than watch-eth me cruelly murder-eth some poor feline who just happened to piss-eth me off…eth."
"Are you quite done now?" Mistoffelees asks as he peers over the top of the junk at you. He's hovering in midair while he waits for you to stop talking so that he can die. "Y'know, Author isn't going to be best pleased with you for that…"
"How come-eth she lets thy talk normally, whist I am stuck practising her bad Shakespearean?"
"Ah dunno," Mistoffelees shrugs. "But can we do that death-line again; I don't think we really caught the atmosphere of the scene last time…"
"Dost thou have to do that every single time-eth?"
"Well, yeah. Us actors have to be properly prepared for big, dramatic death scenes."
"Since when didst thou become an actor?"
"Aren't you forgetting an "eth" there, somewhere?"
"That's better. And to answer your question, since people started putting me in all these stories. I mean, some of them seem to think that I'm in love with Tugger and on the verge of committing suicide because he doesn't love me back, or something along those lines. Now, if that doesn't take some preparation, I don't know what does."
"Thou dost have a very good-eth point there…" you admit. You decide to take pity on him. "Dost thou want to try-eth the death-line again?"
"Yup," he nods, levitating himself back up onto the junk. "Ahem. Reader! I am your brother!"
He falls again, and all you manage is a weak "Whoops…"
"Come on," he sighs, again back on top of the junk.
"I think the moment might be lost…"
"Speaking of lost, where's the bad Shakespeare gone?"
"Spoke too soon…" Mistoffelees mutters. "Ah well. Once more, with feeling! Reader! I am your brother!"
"That's the spirit!" Mistoffelees calls over you as he falls. Again.
"Okay, you can stop now."
"Heaviside, don't you have to breathe!"
"Haven't you seen the movies? I can't hit the ground till you stop yelling! Shut up!"
"This is gonna take a while," he sighs, twisting around so that he's comfortable and pulling the latest issue of 'Magicians Weekly' out of Heaviside knows where.
-Three hours later-
Mistoffelees starts to get tired of all the falling and pulls a megaphone out from the same place he had 'Magicians Weekly' hidden.
"STOP YELLING ALREADY!" his voice blasts across the junkyard. "I THINK EVERYONE WITHIN A HUNDRED MILES HAS HEARD BY NOW, SO SHUT UP!"
You look over the edge of the pile and see that the distance from the top of the pile to the ground has increased so much that you can barely see the free-falling tux.
And since you've finally stopped the public display of your incredible lung control, the ground comes up to meet Mistoffelees and introduce him to his maker. It also returns to its original distance from the junk pile, and you glance over the edge at the ground.
You never knew that such a small cat could have that much inside of him…
"Okay, Munkustrap's defiantly gonna notice that when he gets resurrected," you say to yourself, suddenly without the bad Shakespeare.
As you try to work out a way to clean Mistoffelees up (housework never has been your strong point), movement catches your eye. The mice that Jennyanydots trains come wandering into view, all of them carrying the mini-mops that were hidden in the junkyard after that incident. They clean him up in no time, leaving the junk as dirty as it was before.
You toss an old bit of cheese down to them and climb down the other side, curious as to who is available to kill next.
I will still be updating this, but not as often as before because I don't think they're as good when they're written quickly (she says at the end of a chapter that took 1 & 1/2 hours...) so basically you're going to have to wait until I feel like writing more of this for an update. It's not for lack of ideas (trust me, I'm very inventive when it come to killing stuff...), it's'cause I've got about five stories on the go right now that I'm trying to get finished completely before I put them up here, plus a story for Englsh that I'm completely re-writing.
That, and they're all kinda depressing and they have a slight tendancy to sap the humour right out of you...