Post by victoriousscarf on Nov 11, 2010 18:47:30 GMT -8
Mistoffelees came in through the back entrance, hoping to avoid not only the servants of the house, but his uncle as well. He had not only missed dinner by several hours, but he was soaking wet as well. Damnit damnit damnit, that had been a terrible idea, he thought to himself, shaking his headfur out a little as he finally reached a dry place. What had possibly made him think stopping by a Jazz club of all things was a good idea? He had only stayed for a little bit, and it had been far too long apparently.
Jones glanced up from his desk when he heard the soft sounds of someone walking down the hallway. “Mistoffelees, get in here,” he growled, figuring only one cat would be in the hallway outside his office this time of night. There were reasons he had stuck his nephew in a room near his office after all.
Misto froze and cringed. He backtracked, and opened the office door slowly. “Yes, uncle?” he asked, forcing his voice to neutrality. Honestly, he wished he could have at least changed before this encounter. Dripping on Jones’ carpet was hardly going to endear him to the black and white tom.
“Where were you?” Jones asked, voice clipped as he returned to the papers in front of him.
Misto rocked back on the balls of his paws, trying to think of any excuse that might possibly fly. “I was held up,” he said. “There was some commotion and the buses were not running.” Which was true: the buses had not been running.
“And that made you hours late?”
Biting his lip rather than growling, Misto nodded. “Yes sir.”
Jones looked up at that, giving him a dark look. “You’re as much of an alley-cat as your father was,” he said, looking back down. “Always lying and getting involved in things you shouldn’t be.”
Unable to help it, Misto gaped at his uncle. The fur along his spine went up, and his tail poofed out. “Excuse me?” he said, voice high and tight with anger.
“I tried so hard,” Jones lamented. “To make sure you grew up in defiance of your blood, and it seems to all have been for nothing. Such a disappointment…” he muttered, turning over a page.
Misto remained frozen in the doorway, all his fur standing on end.
Jones glanced up, frowning. “Was there something else?” he asked.
“You sonofabitch,” Misto said finally, still frozen in place, anger starting to thaw his shock.
“What?” Jones asked, voice nearly a growl as his eyes snapped to his nephew.
“You arrogant, fat, son of a bitch,” Misto repeated, hatred lacing his voice. “How dare you say anything about my father?”
“I actually knew him,” Jones said. “Unlike you.”
Misto leaned back, his tailfur standing even more on end. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.
Jones narrowed his eyes at the small tom. He sighed dramatically. “I tried so hard with you,” he said, sounding even almost wistful. “It’s too bad the last twenty years were worthless. I hate it when something I work on for so long comes to nothing.”
Misto’s ears flickered and returned to laying flat against his skull. “Go to hell,” he forced out past a dry throat.
Jones rose at that. “How dare you. I should have let you grow up as a street brat—you would have been in exactly the same position anyway.”
That actually caused a hiss to escape from Mistoffelees’ throat. “Then maybe you should have,” he snarled.
Jones slammed his paw down on the desk, making Misto jump at the sound. “You ungrateful, filthy, alley-cat!” Jones yelled.
“You fat over the hill, overweight, womanizing bastard!” Misto yelled back at him.
Jones threw a paperweight toward Misto’s head, growling when the small tom ducked out of the way. “Get the hell out of my house,” he thundered.
Misto gaped when he saw his uncle throw the paperweight, but he did not need to be told to get out twice. His coat was still on, so he just slammed the office door and nearly tripped over in his haste to get back outside. Once he hit the street, he paused to look around. Where the hell was he supposed to go?
[THREAD END]
Jones glanced up from his desk when he heard the soft sounds of someone walking down the hallway. “Mistoffelees, get in here,” he growled, figuring only one cat would be in the hallway outside his office this time of night. There were reasons he had stuck his nephew in a room near his office after all.
Misto froze and cringed. He backtracked, and opened the office door slowly. “Yes, uncle?” he asked, forcing his voice to neutrality. Honestly, he wished he could have at least changed before this encounter. Dripping on Jones’ carpet was hardly going to endear him to the black and white tom.
“Where were you?” Jones asked, voice clipped as he returned to the papers in front of him.
Misto rocked back on the balls of his paws, trying to think of any excuse that might possibly fly. “I was held up,” he said. “There was some commotion and the buses were not running.” Which was true: the buses had not been running.
“And that made you hours late?”
Biting his lip rather than growling, Misto nodded. “Yes sir.”
Jones looked up at that, giving him a dark look. “You’re as much of an alley-cat as your father was,” he said, looking back down. “Always lying and getting involved in things you shouldn’t be.”
Unable to help it, Misto gaped at his uncle. The fur along his spine went up, and his tail poofed out. “Excuse me?” he said, voice high and tight with anger.
“I tried so hard,” Jones lamented. “To make sure you grew up in defiance of your blood, and it seems to all have been for nothing. Such a disappointment…” he muttered, turning over a page.
Misto remained frozen in the doorway, all his fur standing on end.
Jones glanced up, frowning. “Was there something else?” he asked.
“You sonofabitch,” Misto said finally, still frozen in place, anger starting to thaw his shock.
“What?” Jones asked, voice nearly a growl as his eyes snapped to his nephew.
“You arrogant, fat, son of a bitch,” Misto repeated, hatred lacing his voice. “How dare you say anything about my father?”
“I actually knew him,” Jones said. “Unlike you.”
Misto leaned back, his tailfur standing even more on end. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.
Jones narrowed his eyes at the small tom. He sighed dramatically. “I tried so hard with you,” he said, sounding even almost wistful. “It’s too bad the last twenty years were worthless. I hate it when something I work on for so long comes to nothing.”
Misto’s ears flickered and returned to laying flat against his skull. “Go to hell,” he forced out past a dry throat.
Jones rose at that. “How dare you. I should have let you grow up as a street brat—you would have been in exactly the same position anyway.”
That actually caused a hiss to escape from Mistoffelees’ throat. “Then maybe you should have,” he snarled.
Jones slammed his paw down on the desk, making Misto jump at the sound. “You ungrateful, filthy, alley-cat!” Jones yelled.
“You fat over the hill, overweight, womanizing bastard!” Misto yelled back at him.
Jones threw a paperweight toward Misto’s head, growling when the small tom ducked out of the way. “Get the hell out of my house,” he thundered.
Misto gaped when he saw his uncle throw the paperweight, but he did not need to be told to get out twice. His coat was still on, so he just slammed the office door and nearly tripped over in his haste to get back outside. Once he hit the street, he paused to look around. Where the hell was he supposed to go?
[THREAD END]