In which there are cats
Sep. 4th, 2012 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katzenstreuAuthor: Katzenstreu Gesicht
Date Written: September 4th, 2012
Fandom: Crossover, Once Upon a Time/One Man Cleanup Crew
Rating: G
Author's Notes: I never really liked Wonderland, personally. When it comes to fucked up dream worlds, I'd take Oz any day. Dorothy had more happenin' shoes.
The cat might've been a tabby, or it might've been called by the curious name of tortoise-shell. For a moment, Jefferson even thought it was that shade of black not unlike a raven's, which shimmered all the colors of the world when the light caught just the right spot. It might've not been a cat at all, for its face was greatly reminiscent of a bulldog, but there was that telltale slit in the eye which threw this out the window.
There was also the fact that it grinned. Not a secret smirk likes other cats were prone to, nor the openly happy panting of a dog, but a too wide, too human grin.
It didn't disturb him as much as it ought to have, but perhaps his head hadn't been stitched back on right, or perhaps there was something in the air and food and tea. In the deepest place at the back of his mind, he recalled a similar story, of someone else tricked into staying in a hellish prison. But if he remember correctly, which was not likely as all else that occupied his mind was the time (time spent here, time until he would leave, time until his daughter might forget him, time until tea, time until he could kill Regina for all of this), that person at least got to go home for half a year.
Sometimes the cat would come to tea, and try to find which teapot the dormouse was sleeping in.
Sometimes Jefferson thought the cat looked quite human, but the thought always passed him by quickly.
Date Written: September 4th, 2012
Fandom: Crossover, Once Upon a Time/One Man Cleanup Crew
Rating: G
Author's Notes: I never really liked Wonderland, personally. When it comes to fucked up dream worlds, I'd take Oz any day. Dorothy had more happenin' shoes.
The cat might've been a tabby, or it might've been called by the curious name of tortoise-shell. For a moment, Jefferson even thought it was that shade of black not unlike a raven's, which shimmered all the colors of the world when the light caught just the right spot. It might've not been a cat at all, for its face was greatly reminiscent of a bulldog, but there was that telltale slit in the eye which threw this out the window.
There was also the fact that it grinned. Not a secret smirk likes other cats were prone to, nor the openly happy panting of a dog, but a too wide, too human grin.
It didn't disturb him as much as it ought to have, but perhaps his head hadn't been stitched back on right, or perhaps there was something in the air and food and tea. In the deepest place at the back of his mind, he recalled a similar story, of someone else tricked into staying in a hellish prison. But if he remember correctly, which was not likely as all else that occupied his mind was the time (time spent here, time until he would leave, time until his daughter might forget him, time until tea, time until he could kill Regina for all of this), that person at least got to go home for half a year.
Sometimes the cat would come to tea, and try to find which teapot the dormouse was sleeping in.
Sometimes Jefferson thought the cat looked quite human, but the thought always passed him by quickly.