caughtinanetwork | Time for some culture, everyone

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Time for some culture, everyone

[The camera flicks on, showing a young troll sitting down, a large book open on his crossed legs. There's a stack of books behind him, and the gentle lighting and general hush all around him indicate that he's in the library.]

I found this book of human poetry, and found a beautiful poem. I had no idea you humans had it in you. This is true highblood lyricism; if I didn't know better, I would think this Samuel Taylor Coleridge fellow was a blueblood.

[He clears his throat, then begins reading from the book.]

To a Young Ass, Its Mother Being Tethered Near It, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Poor little Foal of an oppresséd race!
I love the languid patience of thy face:
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled spirits hath dismay'd,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung?
Do thy prophetic fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
'Which patient Merit of the Unworthy takes'?
Or is thy sad heart thrill'd with filial pain
To see thy wretched mother's shorten'd chain?
And truly, very piteous is her lot--
Chain'd to a log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting green!

Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity--best taught by fellowship of Woe!
For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famish'd in a land of Luxury!
How askingly its footsteps hither bend?
It seems to say, 'And have I then one friend?'
Innocent foal! thou poor despis'd forlorn!
I hail thee Brother--spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of Peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion's vacant breast!

[He carefully closes the book, his face as close to beaming as he's willing to get in public.]

Magnificent.

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Yes, yes, maybe it was!

[She leans in, listening, her expression brightening up by degrees until she's giggling at each line and bouncing in her spot and is, in short, completely taken by this poem that Equius has found for her.]

Equius, Equius, that's purrfect, it's the bestest poem, I love it! It's just right! Adorable kitties all purrlaying and having fun together the way they should be!

[Okay, that is about the cutest reaction ever, and Equius feels his cardiovascular organ swell with pale feelings.]

I'm glad you like it. It seems this T.S. Eliot wrote quite a few poems about cats. Would you like to come meet me at the library? We can read them together.

[Nepeta almost doesn't catch that, seeing as she's doing a little twirly dance with her Pounce plushie around the room. She may be humming something about a Jellicle Ball.]

There are more?! I'm coming!!

Okay, just be quiet when you get here. The librarians won't like it if you come in pouncing.

[Her surroundings flash by as she runs to meet him, still clutching her SFC.]

What if it's a very quiet pounce?

Only the very quietest of pounces, and don't knock me or anything else over.

Edited 2012-02-21 18:14 (UTC)

[There's no reply, but soon, very soon after that there is a kitty troll sneaking up on him.]

[Equius carefully sets the book aside and leans back, waiting patiently for the inevitable pouncing.]

[She crouches, she wriggles, she aims – and there she goes! Leaping onto his back with a muffled giggle, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck as she buries her face in his hair.]

[And as always, Equius goes limp so she doesn't hurt herself, buckling forward under her pounce. Once she's settled, though, he sits back up, now with a catgirl troll on his back.]

Hi. Are you here for more poetry?

Nuh uh! I'm here fur my meowrail! Have you seen him anywhere??

[She laughs and snuggles on him, reaching to rub her face against his cheek, so glad to see him looking happy again.]

You said you had more kitty poems! Can we read them together? Purrleaaaase?

Oh, he's around here somewhere, I'm sure.

[Equius tilts his head into her nuzzles, then opens the book again.]

Here, I found you a good one. It's by someone called Mother Goose.

Two Little Kittens, by Mother Goose.

Two little kittens, one stormy night,
Begun to quarrel, and then to fight;
One had a mouse, the other had none,
And that's the way the quarrel begun.

"I'll have that mouse," said the biggest cat;
"You'll have that mouse? We'll see about that!"
"I will have that mouse," said the eldest son;
"You shan't have the mouse," said the little one.

I told you before 'twas a stormy night;
When these two little kittens began to fight;
The old woman seized her sweeping broom,
And swept the kittens right out of the room.

The ground was covered with frost and snow,
And the two little kittens had no where to go;
So they laid them down on the mat at the door,
While the old woman finished sweeping the floor.

Then they crept in, as quiet as mice,
All wet with snow, and cold as ice,
For they found it was better, that stormy night,
To lie down and sleep than to quarrel and fight.

[She climbs into his lap, safe in the circle of his arms with the book in front of her, cuddling up happily against him as she settles in to listen.

Each new line of the poem is greeted with squeaks and excited noises from her as he reads it out, giggling at the squabble over a mouse and then holding her breath in worry over the kitties outside in the cold. She claps her hands quietly at the end once she hears about how they curl up and sleep, turning her face up at him with the widest of smiles.]

You choose the bestest poems!! I love it. Will you read it to me again?

[Equius feels himself relaxing as she cuddles against him. He's missed this, he really has. And when she turns to look up at him, he bends down and very gently bumps his forehead against hers.]

I would be happy to.

[There's a decidedly un-quiet happy squeal as he bumps their foreheads together, and she's reaching up to rub her face to his, giggling and kissing his nose repeatedly.]

And then I can read one to you!

[Equius submits to the kissing and giggling stoically, although there's just the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.]

Very well.

[He reads the poem again, then carefully shifts the book over to Nepeta's lap.]

Here you are. Now it's your turn.

[She finally settles back down to listen to it again, but not before gently pressing the tip of one finger to the corner of his mouth, a please yet almost shy smile a louder reflection of his. She loves seeing him happy, and after everything they've been through she counts herself fortunate to still be able to experience those not-quite-there smiles of her moirail, all the more precious for their rarity.

And once more the poem receives as good a reception as the first time, with Nepeta even joining in here and there with a laugh, the top of her head brushing up beneath his chin.]

Yes yes yes, it's my turn! What kind of poem do you want? [She's already flipping through the pages, keeping an eye out for anything that might suit her moirail.]

[Equius would be lying if he said he hadn't missed this, having her on his lap, all warm and soft and friendly. His brief moirallegiance with Feferi had been so different, but both kinds had their advantages.]

You know, I'm going to let you choose. Find a good one.

[A few nods of her head signal her agreement with this plan - she can do this! and she's taking her time, both to try and choose just the right one and also because extra time spent snuggling with her moirail is always time well spent. But oh, there are so many of them that's she getting quite overwhelmed.]

[Equius can tell she's getting frustrated, so he gently turns the pages back to the section of poems written by Mother Goose.]

Why don't you look in here? She wrote one about kittens, I'm sure there has to be one about hoofbeasts in here too.

[She slides her hands on top of his once he's done carefully turning the pages for her, tilting her head far back to smile at him in thanks, careful not to poke him with her horns. Usually she's the one to calm him, but today she's finding his presence particularly soothing and comforting - really she'd be happy to just stay on his lap and watch him sort through the poems for himself, relaxed and content in a little bubble of just herself and her moirail.

But he found her such nice poems that she does want to find one for him in return before she settles down to just cuddling him, and she turns her gaze back to the book, sorting through the poems more slowly now. There had to be something. Nothing catches her eye at first, and the few poems that mention hoofbeasts don't seem right, or worse, talk about the poor hoofbeasts being mistreated. Equius wouldn't like that, so she flips the pages quickly so he doesn't have time to see them.

Then...hmm, it's short, but not too bad. She clears her throat dramatically and begins to read:]

Twenty white horses
Upon a red hill;
Now they tramp,
Now they champ,
Now they stand still.

[She giggles, pleased with the rhythm of it even if it's not a long poem at all.] Ooh, do you think it's about a herd of lusii??

[Humans don't have lusii, but Equius doesn't mention that. Instead, he smiles at her and nuzzles into her hair a little.]

Maybe. It sounds like Aurthor, doesn't it?

Uh huh! It does. I bet he'd have liked to hear it too.

[She hums when he nuzzles her, amazingly happy. Things finally feel just right again between them.]

You're the best moirail, Equius. [She feels so pale for him right now it almost hurts.]

[Equius sighs, perfectly content. It does finally feel like things are back to normal again, and he wonders how he could have ever thought they wouldn't be pale for each other anymore.]

Thank you, Nepeta, but I think you're wrong. I'm just the lucky guy who happened to get the best moirail in the world.

Heehee, no no, I'm afuraid not! We're both the luckiest to have the bestest moirails in the world, okay?

[That's a fair compromise, right? It had better be! Or she'll nuzzle him into agreeing.]

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stayb100ponyboy - 2012-02-29 00:06 (UTC) - Expand

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