Wander Over Yonder [c]

"What is that horrible sound." A pair of eyes opened into narrow slits, drifting down from where he loafed comfortably on a dumpster to the scraggly old tom who'd just wandered into the shadowed alleyway. One who happened to be making a noise. A noise that hurt his ears and echoed through the passage into his bones.

Jaculus rose, curling his lip to reveal glinting teeth, and leapt neatly in front of the senile old fool, his pelt half-melding into the cool colours of the twilit space. "I'd rather not. You sound like a dying parrot."

He had a feeling this old tom was being contrary just for the sake of it. Eyes narrowing to slits, he stood his ground as the doddering scruff-pelt shuffled closer, claws pricking lightly out of his paws. Beautiful voices — they screeched and squawked at every ****ing moment, or spouted twoleg gibberish in your face. Which was proof this old tom had likely been deaf his entire life. Probably because of the parrots screeching in his ears all day.

"Get out of my face." His muzzle crinkled at the stink of "Scruff's" breath, the tom practically leaning on his nose. "The pleasure is all yours, now get out of my alleyway and back to your 'Jack' friend."

His tone lowered to a smooth, sinister honey, baring his sharp teeth clear enough that even a blind tom like this should be able to see them. "Or you'll regret it, because unlike your friend, I don't have the patience to listen to a bloody parrot all day."

Why, he wondered, didn't he just tear the old tom's throat out right here, right now? Slice his claws through that patchy skin and watch panic finally flutter in his eyes as he gurgled and gasped for breath, choking on red blood....

His paws flexed, the coppery tang already wetting his tongue, itching unbearably at his canines as the tom — who stank — brushed past him, deeper in. He barely refrained from snapping around and embedding his teeth into that pathetic spine, the blood hissing in his ears, tinting the cool greys of the alleyway in oozing red for the briefest of moments. It itched under his pelt, subtly clenching at every muscle fibre....

And disappeared in the faintest flicker within the depths of his constricted pupils as they relaxed. The softest of breaths slipped past his teeth, morphing into a quiet huff of a hissing chuckle. Turning, he fixed the old tom with a narrow gaze, the tip of his tail flicking disparagingly. "You, old scruffpelt — or whatever your name is — have the gems of a ****ing lion." He prowled over, regarding him. "I might know of a place. But first, you'll have to tell me what brought you here, to my little corner."

Yes, he could kill him. But there would be no challenge to it; no point. He'd only be giving in to what Larkspur had tried to make him — only giving in to the snarl in the back of his head and the loss of control that sang in his bones; in every scar beneath his pelt. And if there was anything left of him, it was and always had to be control. Settling down to mirror the old hack, so relaxed and carefree as he lounged there, he coiled his tail around his folded paws. "Oh, and the name's Jaculus."

Jack?Every muscle stiffened, whiskers practically vibrating as his lips drew back in a snarl. "My name is not—"

His eyelid nearly twitched like the agitated tip of his tail, a low grow rumbling near-inaudibly in the depths of his chest. This old tom was going to drive him mad. Does he have a death wish? He could certainly fulfil it. His teeth practically ground together, one paw gently pinning down the fluffy tip of his tail with a perfectly calm breath lightly dragged over his tongue, the pair of teeth in his ear an abruptly heavy weight.

He listened. And he didn't give a rat's tail. Of course this old mange-pelt wouldn't have anything worth telling. Of course all he had to blather about was some standard housecat love story about some equally scruffy ugly old molly with a bad leg. Who cares about some cloutless old— Expression perfectly neutral, he droned, "So sorry for your loss."
Standing, he stretched, ironing out the stiff kinks that had built up just from listening to scruffypelt talk. "So nice talking to you, but I don't care. See you around, old tom."