//------------------------------// // 12. The Magical Mr. Mephistopheles // Story: Catherine the Great // by Scarheart //------------------------------// Edited by DJ_Neon_Lights, Kudzuhaiku, and TuxOKC. Saturday evening... The process of fixing the floor was quite simple. Cabbage just needed to taste the various layers of the floor to get an idea of what he needed in his spit. The glands in his neck and cheeks would do the rest, creating an all natural formula to allow for his saliva to take on the properties of the intended objects they were supposed to mimic.         He began his work the night before just after supper. Macaroni and cheese (with hotdogs!) had been served and the humans discovered changelings could indeed eat solid foods, if only a little. Angela was terrified of the idea of going to the toilet. It was always a messy affair. Cabbage did not care. Cabbage would sit on the toilet and sing the ‘salad shooter’ song in a happy voice. That was an old commercial. How did Cabbage know about a commercial older than he was?         ‘Twas just another layer of mystery in Cabbage. Cabbage was, well, Cabbage, much as Pinkie Pie was Pinkie Pie. Catherine had said so as she had spent the remainder of the evening bringing out her My Little Pony stuffed toys. She proudly displayed them to her changeling friends. Angela had nothing personally against ponies; they were a renewable resource for love. Ponies were also prone to panics, stampedes, fainting, making poor choices, and a litany of other things that made them annoying. Still, Catherine loved her plushies. She liked changelings, but when questioned about Mother, she said with distaste, “She’s mean!” Frank and Beatrice were wary, though far less anxious than when their home was filled to the brim with singing and dancing changelings. It seemed as though they even relaxed a little. Angela was able to answer some questions, relishing the role her brother Speaker had been chosen to fill. Changelings had a pecking order and when an opportunity rose for one to throw a wrench into it, great joy was taken with the task. When there was nothing else to do in the hive (besides the endless list of menial labor), changelings engaged each other in challenging each other in trading places on the social ladder. It was all in good fun and the game was never dull. Winning over the human parents was going to be tricky. The first positive step would come in restoring the floor. Cabbage was pointed at the kitchen, led into it, and told by his sister to fix the hole. Well, he did sport the spit changelings were all known for, but unlike most of his brothers and sisters, he also had a secret weapon. Cabbage, you see, was hatched from a specialized clutch of eggs. He had been an experiment, of sorts. Chrysalis had wanted specialists for construction, with possible leads into new ways to wage war. Cabbage and Angela were the results. Mother was disappointed. In the end, she relegated them and their fellow clutchmates to hive maintenance. So, Cabbage examined the floor. Beatrice and Frank sat at the breakfast bar. Catherine stood at the door, peeking in and seeing the large hole right in front of the stove. The hole itself was large enough for a little girl to fall through. The basement could be seen below. There was the glimpse of a gray and white cat. The mystery of Mr. Mephistopheles deepened as the cat disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. There was a flash of eyes reflecting in the light from the kitchen from a pale furry face. The echo of his passing was a low yowl that promised sweet, sweet revenge. Cats were vengeful creatures. Everyone knew that. Except changelings. “Kitty!” Cabbage had exclaimed, distracted by cuteness. He could be distracted from his job by the most simple of happenings. “Cabbage,” Angela said with slow deliberateness, “please, focus on the floor. Fix the hole, Cabbage.” Her brother examined the hole, blinking even as he sniffed around its edges. Cabbage then came to a brilliant deduction. The changeling sang, “There’s a hole in the floor, dear sister, dear sister. There’s a hole in the floor, dear sister, a hole.” Angela smiled with sisterly patience. Not the nun-wielding-a-ruler kind, but the familial one. “Then fix it, dear brother, dear brother. Just fix it, dear brother, dear brother, the hole.” “With what shall I fix it, dear sister, dear sister? With what shall I fix it, dear sister, with what?” “Use your spit, dear brother, dear brother. Use your spit, dear brother, your spit.” So, Cabbage spat around the edge of the hole. He eyeballed each pile of goop. Each one required his scrutiny. They had a green appearance, like lime jello. His ears swiveled back to a male voice whispering in defeat, “Honey, they’re singing again.” “I have spat, dear sister, dear sister. I have spat, dear sister, I spat.” “Then spread the goo, dear brother, dear brother. Then spread the goo, dear brother, dear brother, spread it.” Using his legs, Cabbage began to spread the goo. More of the stuff seeped from the holes in his legs as he spread it around the edges. Every few seconds, he would reach down with his snoot and snort and sniff at his goo. Cabbage squinted his eyes as he would judge his own goo with ruthless efficiency. If it was not up to his standards, he licked at it and drooled on the pile. Once he had a foundation around the hole he was satisfied with, he stood back and admired his work. “The goo is spread, dear sister, dear sister. The goo is spread, dear sister, it’s spread.”         “Use your spinnerets, dear brother, dear brother. Use your spinnerets, dear brother, spin now!”         “Spinnerets?” Beatrice queried, not at all liking the sound of that. Alarm bells went off in both parents’ heads and they looked at each other with identical expressions of anticipated horror. Spinnerets translated to ‘spider’. Beatrice hated spiders.         Cabbage did not pay attention to them. He was focused on his work and needed little prompting beyond Angela’s suggestion. His tail flicked, then rose. It was perhaps fortunate he faced the humans when he sat down and began to wiggle his rump in the goo. Confidence was his armor as he began to drag his rear in a side-to-side motion while pushing himself backwards and towards the hole. He peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing. Then, he rose his rump from the goop and something silky and almost translucent shot to the other side of the hole.  It stuck and spread over the edge of the hole on the other side. Cabbage set his rump back down and began to work his way across the taut webbing.         At least Frank and Beatrice hoped it was webbing.         Angela could feel the disgust. That would have to be remedied. “Mother bred some of us with spiders,” she explained as she turned her head to look at the humans. The changeling wore a small smile, almost apologetic. “She wanted a strain of changelings that were very good at building, so she did some experiments. At first she wanted changelings who could build barricades and be a sort of civil engineering corps for the army, but we weren’t aggressive enough. Most spiders are actually quite passive and are happy to sit in their web. It sort of carried over when we were made.”         Beatrice, glad to have the distraction addressed Angela. “Do you have spinnerets?”         “I do! I hate using them. It’s kinda messy,” admitted the changeling with a bashful cough. “Not to mention downright embarrassing.”         As if to accentuate her point, Cabbage turned around, stuck his back legs in the air while still on his rump, and dragged himself across the hole using his front legs to move. As he moved across the thread, his forehooves grasped it, pulling him along. His smile was without shame, nor did it seem he was aware it was something he should be ashamed of. There was a slight side-to-side motion as he went across the thread. More thread was flung from his bottom to the side with each flick of his rump. A flash of finger-like appendages flashed from beneath his tail, flicking the strands out with no wasted motions. When he was across, Cabbage rose to all four hooves and turned around to examine his work. His glare of scrutiny would have melted a drill sergeant’s resolve.         Frank guffawed, snorting through his nose as he could not believe what he was seeing.  He pounded the table, his sides heaving as he wheezed the words out. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen!” He squeezed his eyes shut and began to bellow with laughter, slumping forward, his shoulders heaving with mirth. “Oh, God, make it stop!”         Beatrice hit him in the shoulder. “Frank! That is not appropriate!” The corners of her mouth, however, told a different story. The woman tried very hard not to look at the butt-dragging changeling. Despite her angry face, her feelings betrayed her. Angela cocked her head, blinking at the woman. “That’s why I refuse to do that sort of work. I mean, look at him!” She flicked her tail and huffed in indignation. Catherine was laughing so hard she was holding her sides. She was pointing a finger at Cabbage. “It’s so funny!” Cabbage grinned and hummed, happy in his work, the food he had eaten processed to make the building materials he needed. The changeling was very much in his element. “We’re going to bed, “ Beatrice announced as she tugged on her husband. “Somebody is being a terrible influence on his daughter.” “I am not!” Frank obeyed his wife, wiping tears from his eyes. He could not look at Cabbage and not giggle like an idiot. “Catherine! Bed! Now!” “But Mommy!” “Leave him to his” —she shuddered— “work, honey. Cabbage is going to be very busy for a while.” Angela smiled up at the woman. “Oh, but this won’t take long at all to do! Most of the time will be spent inspecting his work as it settles.” “Not helping,” Beatrice said to the female archly. “We’re going to bed. You two keep doing… whatever it is you two are doing.” “I’m supervising,” Angela beamed. “Kitty down the hole!” Cabbage sang. He was dragging his butt again. “Almost done! See? No more kitty!” The cat could be heard hissing from the basement. And so, Beatrice, being the matron of the house, herded her family from the kitchen, through the living room, and down the hall. Angela’s ears followed them, twitching when she heard the door close at the end of the hall. It was not a big house, only three bedrooms. How forty-seven changelings had managed to cram themselves into the domicile was beyond comprehension. It had been a literal sea of changelings. The floor had become obscured. The ceiling, too, in some places. The changeling felt even worse now. She glanced at her brother, who was singing the doom song, before turning her attention towards the living room ceiling. There were little pits and holes there, along with the hardened silica dotting the walls. Excited changelings left behind silica based goop. Sighing at the prospect of doing the very job she had hated back at the hive, Angela knew her brother would not be able to leave the hole until he was happy with the results. Whimpering to herself, the changeling buzzed her wings and licked her lips. “Cabbage?” “Yah?” “I’m going to clean up the living room. Are you going to be okay?” “Doom potato!” “I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need me.” “Can we pet the kitty later?” “I don’t think the cat likes us, Cabbage.” “Aww.” The Very Next Morning… The floor was fixed. Cabbage had worked all night with Angela supervised his work. This meant she sat there and watched him as he happily fixed the hole in the floor. She had to tell him several times to not whistle while he worked because humans were asleep. Catherine was taken by her parents into their room and they had barred the door with a heavy object, possibly a dresser.         Angela had checked. Trust was a long way from being established, it seemed.         So, she waited while her brother checked his work constantly, tapping his hoof here and there on the floor. Her own work had been completed hours ago. Cabbage prowled around the spot where the hole had been, staring and sniffing, seeking out anything that might be out of place. The changeling was meticulous in his work. If it wasn’t done right, he would undo his work and start all over again.         The family emerged from the bedroom shortly after sunrise. Catherine had to be restrained. She was excited. Then again, she had been excited since the moment Speaker poked his head out from under her bed. Perhaps she was always excited? She was absolutely swimming in magical energy. No wonder the changelings were attracted to her. Angela felt like her world was right and good whenever she was around the little girl. Choosing her to be the queen was like coming to the end of a long, dark tunnel and finding the light was not only wondrous to see, but to feel and even touch. It was a sense of belonging and of being a part of. Angela has missed that even under the rule of her selfish mother.         While Cabbage toiled in the kitchen, he would occasionally blurt out, “Barking spider!” Angela had to tell him to keep his excitement to a dull roar. Just to be sure, she placed a muting spell over the house to contain her brother’s joyous outbursts. Cabbage loved his job. Angela thought he loved it a bit too much.         She had not been idle all night. She worked herself, hating what was going on at her other end and even whimpering at the indignity. But, it was in private. Noling saw her work, but she was still self concious of her appearance. Angela sang, “Nobody knows the trouble I see. Nobody knows but Jesus.”         Huh… Angela was a bass. Who knew?         Unknown to Angela, Mr. Mephistopheles had made it up the stairs from the basement and sat at the corner of the hallway leading into the living room. The cat had watched the female changeling work all night and had not been noticed. His golden eyes pierced through the din of the poorly lit living room. The only light came from the kitchen. Only a third of the living room was lit. The rest was gloomy darkness. Angela had no compunctions working in the darkness. It reminded her of her time in the hive. The cat had been with the family since before Catherine was born. He was a large cat, sporting a mix of Bombay and Maine Coon in his blood. Being a loving cat, he was protective of Catherine as his first months of adulthood was an introduction to a little baby girl. She grew up having Mr. Mephistopheles sleeping with her. He was resentful from the invaders chasing him from the embrace of his human. Who else was going to provide him with the right amount of cuddling for comfort? He could feel his young mistress warm cuddle body behind him and allowed her to pick him up. Mr. Mephistopheles loved tolerated her and tolerated permitted peace for her parents. They did, after all, provide him with food and a clean litter box. The big tom was lord over his domain and right now; there were invaders in his kingdom. Oh, they had thinned out, as the tall human with the loud voice had done his job and chased them away. But two had remained. The tall human would pay for his ineptness later. For now, Mr. Mephistopheles was content to watch these two dark things. As the humans revelled in the reborn cleanliness of their home and the perfection of the repairs done, the cat contented himself by purring in Catherine’s arms. Happiness permeated the room and it affected him (against his will, of course). His golden eyes were fixed on the changeling female, the only one of the two changelings who seemed to understand what peril she was in. His stare was piercing, neutral, and promised only one word as the changeling caught his eye. Oh, there was joy and wonder throughout the house as it had been restored to a condition far better than it had been before. But, there was just one thought in the cat’s mind. When Angela noticed the cat for the first time, her blood ran cold. It was his eyes. His eyes! The word he projected was a simple one, but one with power. Just one thought, a single, solitary word... Soon.