I'd like to call this… the double-drabble. I couldn't fit 100 words, hahah, so it's 200 words. I feel like the Parasol Protectorate fandom needs a little bit of fanfiction.

The Parasol Protectorate series is copyrighted to Gail Carriger – all praise, money, cookies, and tea should go to her. I just frolic around the edges. (I fully understand that she cannot read this while still writing her books – and honestly, I'd be embarrassed if she did! I just hope others will join me in adoring Gail's work in this medium... because the universe is awesome.)


Boots entered the sitting room, tea trolley in tow. Lord Akeldama surveyed the delectables languidly from his precise perch on a lovely mauve settee. Tea, check. Crumpets, check. Pink Slurp, check. Small dishes? Check. He was entirely too partial to that Pink Slurp… but la, nevermind.

Lord Akeldama glanced between the tray and the occupant of the pink tasseled pouf directly across.

"My darling figgy pudding, won't you take one teensy nibble of the pâté de foie gras?"

Silence. Narrowed eyes.

Oh, but Lord Akeldama's companion was so tetchy at times! Those dirty werewolves were known to have a temper, but she had no right. No right! Lord Akeldama fussed with his already-immaculate cravat lace.

"No? But my dear, dear, dear peach puff! Not even one bite? How about, mm, ah yes! Boots brought cream puffs of the highest quality – one of those, perhaps?"

Lord Akeldama wheedled with his put-out, picky eater. "But you will waste away! I can see your flesh melting off your adorable bones!"

Still, more silence. A single twitch, a blink, a disdainful sniff.

"Madam Pudgemuffin, you simply vex me! Whatever shall I do with you?"

The cat simply fluffed herself, and blinked once more.