Victor Frankenstein (
lifeskills) wrote2014-10-22 09:52 pm
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ic contact


This is the voice of doctor Victor Frankenstein. If you require me, I recommend other means of reaching me than these devices. You may leave a message at room 10-1. I will nevertheless try to keep apprised of communication by this method. |
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[ she simply stares at him. hadn't he missed her? katherine won't give her the time of day, so she's decided to come bother her third favourite person. (the second doesn't exist in this universe, sadly.) ]
[ for the reason why vasilka's here, it isn't for any ulterior motive of her owner. katherine's forgotten victor's existence as she has anyone she deems to be irrelevant to the grand scope of things. a mistake, in vasilka's opinion. for the way he doesn't grab at her, she likes him and misinterprets his actions for a welcome. ]
[ vasilka remains where she is, golden eyes staring at him. her tail stills for a long moment before it begins to sweep again. her paw twitches before she lifts it. instead of jumping into victor's arms for the hug she deserves, she leaps into the mess of clothes he's left in a pile. she surfs a little on one book in the process. ]
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[Baffled exasperation marks his response to the animal jumping all over his belongings (shedding cat hair every step of the way, he's sure of it). The momentum of the first book bumps a small paperback sitting on the edge of the chest of drawers, sending it toppling to the floor in a flutter of pages.
This is either a reason why not to leave your things stacked in piles everywhere, or a reason not to keep pets. He prefers to think it's the latter.
In the manner of a lion tamer attempting to corral a lion, Victor slowly moves closer, hoping against hope she'll stay in the nest she's making of his clothes. His plan stops at what he'll do once he actually catches her. Put her out in the hall? He's not sure what else he's supposed to do with a witch's familiar that's broken into his private room to lounge about.]
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[ as the cat who seemed to have a bit of a crush on victor, it's obvious which option she chooses. ]
[ that crush doesn't live in the past. ]
[ she remains still, almost suspiciously so. sitting on her throne of clothes, vasilka looks up at victor expectantly, as though she's waiting for his hands to produce a golden throne for her to perch upon. she eyes him and doesn't so much as twitch. where another cat may shrug him off and continue to pilfer his things, leaving fur everywhere, she waits. ]
[ if he so much as picks her up, his touch better be gentle. vasilka is very much like her owner — she demands and takes only the best from those who are blue-eyed and her prey. ]
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As a man, he's no longer concerned about offending a cat's sensibilities, and when he's close enough to reach out and touch the hairy beast, he gets a hand on either side of her and scoops her up without preamble. He doesn't intend to hurt the cat--that would be an unforgivably harsh response to an innocent animal, even here where animals are more or less just figments of their imagination given form.]
You're a troublemaker just like your predecessor. A pity you don't seem capable of speaking--you could explain to me how you got into a locked room ten floors up.
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[ if vasilka could speak, she'd inform him his aftershave doesn't smell all that horrible. ]
[ after a moment, she tilts her head to make a move — a slight nudge of her nose, perhaps even a bite of her teeth if she's feeling overly affectionate — for his wrist. perhaps she's trying to give victor an answer with a bite? ]
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The puffball's fur is so thick that it's like picking up a pillow; as he'd thought, long strands of black hair fall from her as she comes away. (Guess who's going to be re-laundering those clothes? If you guessed him, you'd be right.) Holding her gingerly in both hands in case his surprise guest is in the mood to claw, his intentions become clear when he reverses direction and heads toward the door. She's free to do what she wants so long as it's not here.
It's a scrape of teeth against his wrist bone, not a scratch, that has him frowning in speculation halfway to the front door. It's eerie how alike she is to her event self.
Could Katherine have...? No. What reason would Katherine have to ask the closets for a cat just like the one she'd had at Hogwarts? That seems a little too sentimental for Elena's spiteful ancestor.
He cracks the front door open and sets the cat down outside it.]
Off you go now.
[Shoo, shoo. Back to wherever you came from.]
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[ she does consider his bony ankle, but vasilka would prefer to claim for resting her paws against a shoulder. there's something about height that makes her feel so regal — besides, a part of her doesn't quite like being on the ground. a princess through and through, she wishes for a pillow to perch on and cat biscuits to be fed like grapes to her. ]
[ sitting outside, she remains there, gaze on him, opening and closing her mouth. he may remember this from the cat in hogwarts, watching him in the shadows with only two golden eyes visible in the dark. she had even perched herself right on his paper to stare at him. ]
[ then, unexpectedly, she darts back in to grab something small from his room. ]
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Hey--
[Why is this his life? Picking up strays is supposed to be Malcolm's job, not his.]
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[ she thieves a bowtie, and runs right back through his legs and into the hallway with it. ]
[ (and you bet she'll be back for more over the next few weeks. she needs to add to her victor shrine, after all.) ]
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Get out of there!
[... Fine, have it, he never liked that thing anyway. This cat is too damn spry, swerving around his legs before he can snatch her up. But he's triple checking his locks, you hear?]