Jameson Drabble
Jul. 22nd, 2005 09:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dethoratsTitle: Captain's Cat
Pairing: Vague Shanks and Ben, Jameson
Rating: G
Word Count: 578
Jameson was very much her own cat, very much Shanks' cat. She was the one who decided what she was going to do, what she was going to eat, when she would take a nap. And she was the one who decided when she wanted attention, be it a stroke or two, a treat, or a full-on lap cuddling session. Woe to any who didn't heed her demands. She had wicked claws and sharp teeth honed from days spent fending off any and all devil birds who dared approach her ship. Even the postal albatross had learned to just drop his mail and news off to the crow's nest, always making sure Jameson wasn't lurking there first.
The crew had adapted quickly to her presence. Just like Shanks, she was unpredictable, a little wild. But she loved a good party and certain kinds of attention. Some had even learned all her different types of purrs, from the warning ones to the ones that spoke of complete satisfaction. Still, even as Shanks' demands to be noticed occasionally grated, so did Jameson's moods. Ben seemed, like always, to bear the brunt of it.
She slept on his head - especially during rough weather, had a tendency to jump at his sash - claws digging uncomfortably into his thigh when she missed, and her yowling for food in the morning was only sometimes drowned out by Shanks' snoring. And what thanks did he get? Usually a bite on the hand when he tried to pet her or a flicking tail as she sauntered away from his attempts to play. No wonder he tended to refer to her as Shanks' demon or just 'damn cat.' Everyone knew he didn't really mean it though; the anger that should have lurked behind such unfriendly names was missing, tempered by humor and a resigned acknowledgement of reality. Plus, every once in a while, she was especially nice to him.
Shanks hadn't seen his cat or his first mate for several hours. That wasn't unusual. But it was getting late and at least one of the two should have found their way to his bed by now. Seeing as it was entirely empty and therefore lonely looking, he decided to go and hunt them. For once he didn't have to go far. They had a series of specially made chairs bolted securely to the deck and to the wall of his cabin. When the waves or wind were particularly strong, the chairs doubled as a kind of deck box and another place to secure lashings. Mostly, though, they were used to sit in when there was some spare time. Ben had even added a couple of hooks to the wall at just the right height for him to suspend a lantern. He read there sometimes at night, whenever he wanted to appreciate the stars or the breeze or didn't want to disturb the captain.
That was where Shanks found him, slumped back in the chair, book resting closed except for a finger marking his space and eyes closed. His free hand was moving slowly and steadily over the large mass of orange fur that was practically melting off of his lap. Jameson was purring so loud he could see her whiskers and tail vibrating from the sheer force. Next time they put into port, Shanks decided, he was making a love seat. Then he could pet his cat and have his own head stroked as well.
Pairing: Vague Shanks and Ben, Jameson
Rating: G
Word Count: 578
Jameson was very much her own cat, very much Shanks' cat. She was the one who decided what she was going to do, what she was going to eat, when she would take a nap. And she was the one who decided when she wanted attention, be it a stroke or two, a treat, or a full-on lap cuddling session. Woe to any who didn't heed her demands. She had wicked claws and sharp teeth honed from days spent fending off any and all devil birds who dared approach her ship. Even the postal albatross had learned to just drop his mail and news off to the crow's nest, always making sure Jameson wasn't lurking there first.
The crew had adapted quickly to her presence. Just like Shanks, she was unpredictable, a little wild. But she loved a good party and certain kinds of attention. Some had even learned all her different types of purrs, from the warning ones to the ones that spoke of complete satisfaction. Still, even as Shanks' demands to be noticed occasionally grated, so did Jameson's moods. Ben seemed, like always, to bear the brunt of it.
She slept on his head - especially during rough weather, had a tendency to jump at his sash - claws digging uncomfortably into his thigh when she missed, and her yowling for food in the morning was only sometimes drowned out by Shanks' snoring. And what thanks did he get? Usually a bite on the hand when he tried to pet her or a flicking tail as she sauntered away from his attempts to play. No wonder he tended to refer to her as Shanks' demon or just 'damn cat.' Everyone knew he didn't really mean it though; the anger that should have lurked behind such unfriendly names was missing, tempered by humor and a resigned acknowledgement of reality. Plus, every once in a while, she was especially nice to him.
Shanks hadn't seen his cat or his first mate for several hours. That wasn't unusual. But it was getting late and at least one of the two should have found their way to his bed by now. Seeing as it was entirely empty and therefore lonely looking, he decided to go and hunt them. For once he didn't have to go far. They had a series of specially made chairs bolted securely to the deck and to the wall of his cabin. When the waves or wind were particularly strong, the chairs doubled as a kind of deck box and another place to secure lashings. Mostly, though, they were used to sit in when there was some spare time. Ben had even added a couple of hooks to the wall at just the right height for him to suspend a lantern. He read there sometimes at night, whenever he wanted to appreciate the stars or the breeze or didn't want to disturb the captain.
That was where Shanks found him, slumped back in the chair, book resting closed except for a finger marking his space and eyes closed. His free hand was moving slowly and steadily over the large mass of orange fur that was practically melting off of his lap. Jameson was purring so loud he could see her whiskers and tail vibrating from the sheer force. Next time they put into port, Shanks decided, he was making a love seat. Then he could pet his cat and have his own head stroked as well.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-22 04:57 pm (UTC)About Sunday, I don't mind if you drop by sometime before work. If anything comes up I'll let you know, I might end up working Sunday but I hope to god not. LOL
no subject
Date: 2005-07-22 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-22 09:19 pm (UTC)(BTW, my cousins sizes for cosply: large shirt, 36/32 [it does go length/waist, right?] pants, whichever weapon is easier for you.)