Tapestry Drabbles
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Predator
The lavender curve of hip and spine bunched. They were back again, dancing across the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Everywhere. Infiltrating. Invading. Her territory.
The thought they were safe from challenge. That they stood unopposed because none had the strength. None had the courage.
None but Catseye.
The beguiling little globes of yellow and orange twirled across the carpet. The largest one, the Leader, danced tantalizingly close to pouncing range. Across the floor, pause, then on and up the wall. Perfect, almost perfect--
THERE!THERETHERETHERETHERE!!!!!!
In a whiplash blur of tail and sinew and fury Catseye flung herself, full-tilt, at the unsuspecting ball of light.
The thud was satisfactorily solid. Alison serenely lifted her arm out of the sunlight and smirked.
"Best thing about this bracelet."
Three Drabbles
~*~
Round, serious blue eyes peered up at the older man from beneath the edge of the umbrella. Twin streams of water framed a face alive with curiosity, the silence unbroken by nothing but the drum of rain. At last, the boy made his solemn inquiry.
"If Mr. Haroun was not wearing pants, would his legs rust?"
Catseye, dandelion fluff.
~*~
She'd had the area staked out for weeks now, patient as a farmer awaiting the harvest of a particularly fine crop. She'd watched the yellow petals wither and shrink, and closely monitored the twist of green left behind as it swelled. Some few had already opened, but they only served as an appetizer, a warm-up before the main event. Bursting one or two of the seedheads was fun, but what she really looked forward to was plowing through an entire patch of them to create her own personal blizzard. And unlike the ones Ororo made, her snowflakes wouldn't melt away when swatted by paws.
But then, just before the patch was truly ripe, Catseye returned to the scene and found the unthinkable. The once interestingly overgrown grass had been trimmed to an offensively even length -- a crime which had resulted in the brutal decapitation of her carefully cultivated harvest. Something had beaten her to her prey, and now nothing remained of her grand schemes but a patch of viciously terminated stalks and the smell of freshly cut grass.
And that was how Catseye decided the lawnmower had to die.
~*~
It wasn't so much that Forge liked seeing a lazy stretch turn into spill, as such. What he really enjoyed was the immediate aftermath, where she tried to pretend falling off the windowsill in her sleep had been intentional.
It was sheer luck that it had happened within view of one of the surveillance cameras he'd been using to test-run possible alterations to the school's security system. Now he could not only treasure the memory, he could forward it to his friends.
