#Cheryl CATS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theimpossiblescheme · 1 year

Text

Recapture the Castle

(This one came from another of @the-cat-at-the-theatre-door‘s lovely prompts and @sillybub’s wonderful headcanons--time to shower some love on Bustopher Jones and his family! Everyone’s been so kind to my previous fics, and I hope everyone likes this one just as much!)

It was always to Bustopher Jones’s great regret that he didn’t get to visit the Junkyard as much as he’d like. A gentleman had so many obligations, you see, and old Harold wasn’t getting any younger, and neither was he, so it was harder to justify taking such long trips back and forth when it was easier to just lounge in front of the fire at the Siamese or the Glutton… but he did miss them. All of them. He missed Munkustrap’s stories, Old Deuteronomy’s reassuring presence, Jellylorum’s voice singing to the kittens (whenever she could get them to sit still, of course). His dear Jenny still gave him all the news he could ask for whenever she popped into one of his clubs, but it wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t enough to hear about his stepchildren growing up and making their way in the world—he wanted to see it.

And of course, he was going to see his daughter come of age at the next Jellicle Ball, even if it killed him.

He could still remember the days when Noilly Prat had no desire to venture outside their home. She liked it perfectly well—liked being waited on hand and foot by their humans, napping on silk cushions in strategically angled beams of sunlight, eating cutlets of the finest fish and chicken. Without anyone else to teach her, she learned to sweep across a ballroom from her father and to truly soar from visiting ballerinas from the Royal Opera House. A drop of wine in her cream before bed ensured that she would grow up strong, even if her paws stayed soft and her beautiful lilac coat spotless. She lived like a princess… but of course, every princess in every fairy tale wants to see the world someday. And the first time she visited the Junkyard with her father, it was as though the palace gates had been flung open, and just how strange and chaotic the world could be came rushing at her all at once.

At first, she’d been afraid, clinging to Bustopher’s knee all evening as he sat and chatted with Jenny and Skimble. Her eyes kept darting all over the place, tracking the kittens as they scrambled across the high rubbish piles, and she kept nuzzling her face against his coat at any loud noises. Bustopher kept one gentle paw over Noilly Prat’s head, but not so firmly as to keep her trapped there. Eventually she relaxed, and her fear turned to curiosity and a sort of wonder. She’d look up at Skimble and ask what the kittens were playing, and then Skimble would have to explain the rules of the game since she’d never heard of it before. If the game sounded particularly dirty, she’d wrinkle her nose, but she wouldn’t say anything. But when Gareth started a game of knights, brandishing an imaginary sword over his head as he charged at Pouncival the dragon, that caught her attention. This time, her ears pricked up at every noise, following the epic tale as it played out across the Junkyard, and Bustopher and Jenny smiled at each other over her head. Even if she never got up to play, it was good to see her starting to emerge from her shell a bit.

As the story went on, the Ferocious Dragon Pouncival grew more and more terrible, roaring at the top of his little voice and lashing his tail as hard as he dared. Bustopher couldn’t help but laugh as the lad snapped his jaws at the Lovely Princesses Autumn and Cheryl, and they screeched and clambered down the pile as fast as their legs could carry them. At ground level, having witnessed their plight, Victoria ran to their side and flourished her paws through the air like a grand sorceress, declaring her protection. But it wouldn’t be enough—the Ferocious Dragon was gaining on them, and the Sorceress’s magic wouldn’t be enough. And it was then that Noilly Prat couldn’t stand it any longer and yelled out, “Run! You must run!”

Cheryl, Autumn, and Pouncival stared at the newcomer in shock—they hadn’t noticed her sitting there before. Before she could shrink away, however, Victoria jumped in to include her. “Where should we run?” she signed. “Do you know someplace safe from the dragon?”

Noilly Prat’s eyes cast wildly around the Junkyard, looking for a place. Bustopher tapped her on the shoulder and pointed a claw behind the car boot. “Why don’t you try the Healers’ den?” he suggested. “There’s no one in there at the moment—as long as you don’t knock anything over, of course.”

“In there!” Noilly Prat called at once, pointing in the same direction. “You can cast a spell on the door to keep him out!” And without another moment’s hesitation, she led the charge, Victoria and the other kittens following close behind.

The rest of the evening proceeded in a merry chase as the knights became bored of chivalry and decided to take up piracy instead. Noilly Prat didn’t really know the rules to play pirates, and she thought the practice of stealing things that didn’t belong to you and getting into barfights in taverns was horrid, but Autumn was quick to reassure her. Nobody actually got hurt in any of these fights, she said. None of them drank anything stronger than tea, and all the gold and treasures they stole went to the orphanages and the poorhouses. Hearing this, Noilly Prat was much comforted, and she soon decided that the life of a pirate queen who sailed on a ship with perfumed sails suited her very much. Every so often Bustopher had to call out for her not to run so fast or for Pouncival to mind his sword before he took someone’s eye out, but mostly he just sat and watched his daughter play. It was peculiar, really… he’d never thought himself particularly suited to fatherhood at first. With such a busy schedule as his, he thought he’d never have the time. But watching Noilly Prat frolic and laugh with kittens her own age for the first time… he could have sat there all night and never noticed a second’s passing.

At the end of the night, Noilly Prat’s whiskers drooped with exhaustion, and she insisted on cleaning every bit of mud from her fur before even setting a paw in old Harold’s house. But the last thing she asked before falling asleep that night was, “If it’s all right, Papa… could we go back there again someday?”

Bustopher smiled and gave her a gentle chuck under the chin. “You don’t even have to ask, my girl.” He couldn’t refuse her anything if he tried.

From then on, every time he noticed her looking wistfully out the window as he prepared for a night out at his clubs, he took a wire of sorts (usually courtesy of Jenny’s students) to the Junkyard asking for someone to pick her up. Sometimes it was Jenny herself—an excuse to come and see her mate off for the night—and sometimes it was Asparagus or Jellylorum or even Munkustrap if patrols were slow. Bustopher gave them all the same instructions: make sure she doesn’t get too tired, make sure nothing happens to her collar, and have her back before nightfall. The deal struck, they gave Noilly Prat a royal escort back to the Junkyard, and she played the night away. Hearing her tell it, Autumn and Victoria were her very best friends since Autumn had a wonderful imagination and told the best stories (even if she made them too scary sometimes and had to quickly backtrack to turn them into something less scary), and Victoria was so kind and gentle and had her own beautiful new home that Noilly Prat longed to visit someday. Pouncival was all right, if a little too rowdy, but Gareth was a perfect gentleman—“rather like you, Papa,” she would add, to Bustopher’s delight. As for Cheryl… well, it took her a couple of tries to adequately describe Cheryl. Even then, her face would grew pinker by every word. She did finally manage to say that Cheryl was tremendously fun and a sublime dancer.

It was plain to see that her new friends were a great positive influence on her, too. Bustopher could see her growing a little braver every day; her fear of the dark gradually evaporated, and she even began to talk about coming with him to one of his clubs sometime. Mere months ago, that would have been well outside her comfort zone. Whenever old Harold put on a record and Bustopher asked her to dance, she threw in steps that she had learned from Cheryl and Victoria, challenging him to go a few beats faster as the music sped up. She even tried to teach him some steps from the Jellicle Ball he’d never quite nailed down—“everyone learns them!” she insisted. Even besides that, she smiled and laughed more than ever, and it warmed the cockles of his heart to hear.

As for Bustopher himself, it continued to be an enlightening experience. The younger ones had always trailed after him, but while he’d always indulged them and was never cold or dismissive… he was old. Set in his ways. He preferred the company of those similar. Hearing about all of Noilly Prat’s new friends and watching their adventures from afar, he gained a new insight into the other kittens in his family. He learned their favorite characters and styles of play the way he might learn a club regular’s favorite dish. He cheered at victories and called out magic spells and daring escape routes when the little adventurers ran out of ideas. He laughed and applauded at Cheryl’s often ridiculous, but always clever poetry in honor of their exploits. He offered bracing words of encouragement if Gareth or Autumn or the Fearless Warrior Princess Electra lost a game and didn’t think they could play anymore. And Heaviside help him, he was enjoying himself more than he ever thought possible. It was enough to make him feel young again, and wasn’t that a thought?

He never felt his age more than the day Tumblebrutus came to fetch Noilly Prat for the evening. He had come of age at the previous Jellicle Ball, and he would teach her the steps for her debut dance. Where had the time gone, Bustopher wondered… but if he started lapsing into seems like only yesterdays and used to fit right in my paws, he’d never get through tonight, much less the more important night. So he swallowed his nostalgia and went to watch his daughter rehearse. She took to every step like a tiger to the forest, a self-assured grace and elegance emanating from her as she practiced, no longer a hint of stumbling or struggle. Between dances, when Tumble gave her some constructive criticism and she listened with her paws clasped behind her back, Bustopher could still see glimpses of his curious little kitten, but it was astonishing how grown-up she looked when she danced. She always had his shape, round-faced and plump, but she’d grown two heads taller in a single summer, and her fur gleamed the color of an orchid in full bloom. Gone were the days of balancing over his spats in time to Noel Coward… if only her mother, Heaviside rest her soul, could see her now.

Across the Junkyard, Cheryl was also rehearsing her own dance as her dance coach Autumn and brother George watched. The one and only time Noilly Prat stumbled, she’d been staring over at Cheryl. She quickly recovered, of course, but her cheeks remained pink for the rest of the evening. Bustopher couldn’t help but smile to himself—some things never changed after all.

“I wish I could ask her to dance with me,” Noilly Prat confessed to him after saying goodnight to Tumble. “I think that if… if I were to be mates with somebody, it would be her. I suppose that’s silly, though,” she added quickly, brushing a paw over her nose to save face and smooth away some imaginary smudge.

“Not a bit.” If anything, it sounded rather like his own thought process before asking Jenny all those years ago. “But if you’re ever to know, my girl, the only way is to ask yourself.” Luck was smiling upon them as Cheryl was still rehearsing, and Bustopher gently nudged Noilly Prat in her direction, clasping her shoulder a moment for good luck. She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and made her way over.

He never knew exactly what happened between them for the next couple of hours, letting them have their privacy as he and Socrates chatted by the gate. When night finally fell and the time to head back home approached, however, he saw the two queens sitting on the tire together, Cheryl’s head on Noilly Prat’s shoulder, tails so tightly intertwined it was like they were trying to fuse together into one. And it was impossible not to smile watching them… she didn’t need to ask after all, it seemed. It was hard to refuse Noilly Prat anything. Bustopher could certainly relate.

#I'm ridiculously attached to this headcanon--you're a genius Robin. <3 #And yes that is Autumn from the current UK tour and Thalia Burt's Cheryl from the recent Asia tour. :D #cats the musical #oldiesweek #bustopher jones #noilly prat #cheryl #fanfic

10 notes · View notes