Fic: Vacation (2/?)
Spoilers: Definitely spoilers up to the beginning of Fool Moon, though there may be bits and pieces I've picked up from fandom that creep their ways in. I apologize for some OOC-ness and the complete fabrication of Lea's character. I know almost nothing about her, including how to spell her full name. I also don't really care, since it isn't important to the story.
Rating: this chapter is actually more PG.
Pairing: Marcone/Dresden (eventually)
Warnings: Marcone is again not wearing a suit!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the premise, that belongs to prompter roseinlove12.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
I woke to an empty bed. The house was quiet, though the sun was pretty warm and bright already. I checked the clock. Nearly noon…crap. Marcone was probably already gone. Theoretically that was good - I wanted the safety he could provide without the awkward feelings of being around the man himself. But I was very aware that I…okay, that “Hairy Dresden” made Marcone feel better. And a Marcone off his game was one who couldn’t protect me as well, right? At least, that was the excuse I was telling myself.
I napped uneasily, on a pillow that smelled like Gentleman Johnny. No…really it just smelled like John. The Gentleman was a predator, the public mafia-face of John Marcone. But John of the flannel pajamas was different. He liked kittens and children, even if he would never admit it in public. This was John’s smell, and it was like hot cocoa for the soul. The man was solid, dependable, decent. It was the Gentleman I distrusted, the Gentleman who controlled the business I abhorred. I did John Marcone a disservice by splitting him in pieces, but it might be how I had to think of him if I wanted to work with him. The Gentleman was dispassionate and ruthlessly efficient - and John made sure that ruthlessness never harmed innocents.
In a lot of ways, it reminded me of my subconscious side. Where I let Id Harry out as rarely as possible, never if I could avoid it, John lived most of his public life through his Id, using the Gentleman as a shield for John’s weaknesses. His favorite food, what kind of entertainment he liked, his favorite sports teams - these were the hedonistic indulgences the Id was allowed, to make a person out of a mask. But the deeper things, like childhood memories, family and close friends, John hid those for just himself.
And possibly his cat. Lea probably didn’t mean for my “vacation” to have so much pressure.
I emerged from my room, taking the opportunity to explore the Gentleman’s mansion. I thought I found tiny hints of John, in some knickknacks in his office and what must have been his bedroom…in some of the older furniture. I had noticed my magic trying to figure out what to do with me now that I couldn’t use it like I was accustomed to; mostly it manifested in a kind of toned-down Sight. I could get a visual impression from an object or a person - knowing if I could trust them, if it was loved, that kind of thing. Very little in this house had any kind of presence in this Sight, which, if I was reading things correctly, told me that this wasn’t a home, not for Marcone.
I found the kitchen, and conned some guards into feeding me all kinds of crap that would probably be awful for a normal cat. Hopefully I would process it like a human being.
Marcone got back before nightfall, which seemed odd to me. Wasn’t he a busy guy? Seemed like running Chicago’s criminal underbelly would involve a few more hours in the office. He had already changed out of his suit; he scooped me up and took me to his office for another round of play. It was kind of like making potions: an enjoyable challenge that expands your skills. Except these skills involved being able to jump six feet from a standstill, which might be better than potions. Might. With a running start, I could make eight feet, easy. I sailed right over Marcone’s head doing that. His expression was priceless.
“Doing that on command would be incredible,” he said, amused now that twenty-odd pounds of half-tame cat weren’t liable to drop on his head. And so for an engaging half hour he tried to “train” me to do something. This was funniest for me, since I could have obeyed him at any time, but thinking like a cat was a challenge I’d never really faced.
Eventually I “got” it which led to Marcone fetching my “reward.” It was a little stuffed mouse. But it smelled…really good. I pawed at it curiously, and then took a big whiff. If I had thought it smelled good before, that was only because I had a brief, painfully narrow flash of insight into the pure heaven that was the smell of that stuffed mouse. The kitty parts of me were in screaming ecstasy, as I purred and tumbled with the mouse. The human part was dying with humiliation at being brought so low by some fucking catnip mouse.
And Marcone was laughing, the bastard.
He took the mouse away, to my vocal displeasure, after he’d gotten enough work done. I knew vaguely that he was doing something at the desk while I was in kitty heaven.
“Calm down,” he said sternly, and scratched behind my ears. This was an acceptable substitute for the catnip mouse, especially since it meant less undignified rolling about on the carpet.
We played a little more and he carried me to an entertainment room, with a huge television. I held my breath, waiting for it to explode. He turned it on, flipping the channels and stroking my back. It flickered a little, but he rolled his eyes and cursed the cable company.
The more I relaxed, the less it flickered. I fell asleep once or twice, but the stroking always brought me back out of it.
John got up eventually, moving to another room filled with electronics - a home gym. I hung back nervously when he got on the treadmill. “Come here, Hairy,” he said after a little while. “It’s not going to hurt you.”
I jumped onto the handlebar/cupholder, and then onto his shoulders.
“Hey, I did not ask to put on twenty pounds,” he said, but he wasn’t really angry. I curled around his neck and purred. Miraculously, the treadmill did not explode. Marcone’s shoulders weren’t really built to hold cats, but it was comfortable and stable enough I could doze off some. I purred louder.
Hendricks opened the door, and Marcone stepped off the treadmill. Hendricks noticed me and shook his head.
“When are you going to advertise him as found?” Hendricks asked.
“A few more days,” Marcone said. “Have there been any ads for a lost cat of his description?”
Hendricks shrugged. “There weren’t when I looked yesterday, but I can check again.”
“It’s possible his owner was out of town for the weekend,” Marcone said neutrally. I could hear a different message there, or I thought I could: John didn’t want an owner to come forward. I wished he had a real cat. I was glad I couldn’t talk like this, because I was awful at lying and I couldn’t really afford for him to be angry enough to throw me out. I didn’t have opposable thumbs, and living in a cardboard box and eating rats sounded like an awful way to live, even for only five days.
“Boss, you should probably start advertising,” Hendricks said softly. “Put signs up near your office, within about a two-mile radius, and take an ad out in the paper. I wouldn’t put your name on it - hell, put mine, if you want, and my number. But you want a cat, get a cat. Don’t take someone else’s.”
Marcone scratched behind my ear and didn’t answer for a while. “I know that. But I’m not going to just leave him with a disinterested pet sitter.”
Hendricks nodded and dropped the subject.
I wasn’t really sure what to do. I didn’t want to be bored, which meant hanging out with Marcone, since the guards had jobs to do. But I didn’t want John getting attached. John was the decent part of Marcone, and he deserved happiness.
He said I made him happy. Would it be worse to pull away early or hurt him more later?
Of course, I was treating this like I’d have a choice. Marcone had been toting me around like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal, so more likely my choice was to be unfriendly and difficult or be cute. Then I remembered my general incapability of lying and figured I might as well act however I felt like acting. Marcone wouldn’t really punish me for it, it wasn’t like I could get in trouble from anyone else…the freedom of choice, unconstrained by societal standards of behavior, was an incredible rush when it hit me.
It was kind of funny that it felt so striking, because I didn’t normally self-censor much, even around Marcone - even when I probably should have held my tongue. The difference was mostly that I wouldn’t be able to make snarky remarks.
Which was a tragedy. My snarky remarks were one of the few things I had going for me.
Marcone left me in the guest room with the catnip mouse. I played with cat-heaven for a while until I got tired, and curled up on the pillow again.
Lea was there again, scratching me behind very human ears. I sputtered and stumbled out of her grasp.
She laughed. “How was your first full day of vacation?” she asked.”
“You need to turn me back,” I said. “It’s not fair to Marcone.”
“Who - oh, Johnny.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about him. Part of the spell is a mood-mollifier. Just a little helper, so he’s not going to hurt you or anything.”
I gaped. “You’re modifying his emotions.” I mean, she was a fae. So she wasn’t bound by the laws of magic like I was, but she had to realize I wouldn’t be okay with this. Not that that had stopped her from turning me into a cat.
“Oh, it’s just a little nudge further in the right direction. And it’s only temporary, Harry.” She kissed my cheek and the dream melted into something about dogs chasing me and a mouse playing the fiddle.
Now I knew I had to escape. Conning Marcone into feeding me with kittenish antics was one thing, but knowing he was being magically brainwashed into it was much worse.
I slept poorly that night, but at least I didn’t wake John - no, Marcone. John was at least partially a product of the spell, and whatever he had told me while under the influence was not only inadmissible in court, I could not conscience using it against him. It felt like I’d read the man’s diary. I woke two or three nightmares about the mouse playing the fiddle and growing in size each time. When I was awake, I made plans to escape. I didn’t have high hopes for any of them, but if I could figure out how to access a little magic, I might have better luck.
Finally I slept normally, peacefully, with no giant rodent violinists to disturb me.
/*/*/
A little clarification: Lea's spell would not just affect Marcone. The idea was whoever picked Harry up would be inclined to take care of him, at least as long as the spell lasted. Harry just found Marcone, so Marcone was the one who got mind-whammied. It's not a particularly invasive spell, since it can only do the best with the real personality: someone who dislikes cats would just take Harry to a shelter or a vet, a sociopath or sadist would leave him alone rather than harm him. So the fact that Marcone wants to keep him is a reflection of Marcone's general fondness for cats, as is his ability to find "Hairy" so endearing.
Rating: this chapter is actually more PG.
Pairing: Marcone/Dresden (eventually)
Warnings: Marcone is again not wearing a suit!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the premise, that belongs to prompter roseinlove12.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
I woke to an empty bed. The house was quiet, though the sun was pretty warm and bright already. I checked the clock. Nearly noon…crap. Marcone was probably already gone. Theoretically that was good - I wanted the safety he could provide without the awkward feelings of being around the man himself. But I was very aware that I…okay, that “Hairy Dresden” made Marcone feel better. And a Marcone off his game was one who couldn’t protect me as well, right? At least, that was the excuse I was telling myself.
I napped uneasily, on a pillow that smelled like Gentleman Johnny. No…really it just smelled like John. The Gentleman was a predator, the public mafia-face of John Marcone. But John of the flannel pajamas was different. He liked kittens and children, even if he would never admit it in public. This was John’s smell, and it was like hot cocoa for the soul. The man was solid, dependable, decent. It was the Gentleman I distrusted, the Gentleman who controlled the business I abhorred. I did John Marcone a disservice by splitting him in pieces, but it might be how I had to think of him if I wanted to work with him. The Gentleman was dispassionate and ruthlessly efficient - and John made sure that ruthlessness never harmed innocents.
In a lot of ways, it reminded me of my subconscious side. Where I let Id Harry out as rarely as possible, never if I could avoid it, John lived most of his public life through his Id, using the Gentleman as a shield for John’s weaknesses. His favorite food, what kind of entertainment he liked, his favorite sports teams - these were the hedonistic indulgences the Id was allowed, to make a person out of a mask. But the deeper things, like childhood memories, family and close friends, John hid those for just himself.
And possibly his cat. Lea probably didn’t mean for my “vacation” to have so much pressure.
I emerged from my room, taking the opportunity to explore the Gentleman’s mansion. I thought I found tiny hints of John, in some knickknacks in his office and what must have been his bedroom…in some of the older furniture. I had noticed my magic trying to figure out what to do with me now that I couldn’t use it like I was accustomed to; mostly it manifested in a kind of toned-down Sight. I could get a visual impression from an object or a person - knowing if I could trust them, if it was loved, that kind of thing. Very little in this house had any kind of presence in this Sight, which, if I was reading things correctly, told me that this wasn’t a home, not for Marcone.
I found the kitchen, and conned some guards into feeding me all kinds of crap that would probably be awful for a normal cat. Hopefully I would process it like a human being.
Marcone got back before nightfall, which seemed odd to me. Wasn’t he a busy guy? Seemed like running Chicago’s criminal underbelly would involve a few more hours in the office. He had already changed out of his suit; he scooped me up and took me to his office for another round of play. It was kind of like making potions: an enjoyable challenge that expands your skills. Except these skills involved being able to jump six feet from a standstill, which might be better than potions. Might. With a running start, I could make eight feet, easy. I sailed right over Marcone’s head doing that. His expression was priceless.
“Doing that on command would be incredible,” he said, amused now that twenty-odd pounds of half-tame cat weren’t liable to drop on his head. And so for an engaging half hour he tried to “train” me to do something. This was funniest for me, since I could have obeyed him at any time, but thinking like a cat was a challenge I’d never really faced.
Eventually I “got” it which led to Marcone fetching my “reward.” It was a little stuffed mouse. But it smelled…really good. I pawed at it curiously, and then took a big whiff. If I had thought it smelled good before, that was only because I had a brief, painfully narrow flash of insight into the pure heaven that was the smell of that stuffed mouse. The kitty parts of me were in screaming ecstasy, as I purred and tumbled with the mouse. The human part was dying with humiliation at being brought so low by some fucking catnip mouse.
And Marcone was laughing, the bastard.
He took the mouse away, to my vocal displeasure, after he’d gotten enough work done. I knew vaguely that he was doing something at the desk while I was in kitty heaven.
“Calm down,” he said sternly, and scratched behind my ears. This was an acceptable substitute for the catnip mouse, especially since it meant less undignified rolling about on the carpet.
We played a little more and he carried me to an entertainment room, with a huge television. I held my breath, waiting for it to explode. He turned it on, flipping the channels and stroking my back. It flickered a little, but he rolled his eyes and cursed the cable company.
The more I relaxed, the less it flickered. I fell asleep once or twice, but the stroking always brought me back out of it.
John got up eventually, moving to another room filled with electronics - a home gym. I hung back nervously when he got on the treadmill. “Come here, Hairy,” he said after a little while. “It’s not going to hurt you.”
I jumped onto the handlebar/cupholder, and then onto his shoulders.
“Hey, I did not ask to put on twenty pounds,” he said, but he wasn’t really angry. I curled around his neck and purred. Miraculously, the treadmill did not explode. Marcone’s shoulders weren’t really built to hold cats, but it was comfortable and stable enough I could doze off some. I purred louder.
Hendricks opened the door, and Marcone stepped off the treadmill. Hendricks noticed me and shook his head.
“When are you going to advertise him as found?” Hendricks asked.
“A few more days,” Marcone said. “Have there been any ads for a lost cat of his description?”
Hendricks shrugged. “There weren’t when I looked yesterday, but I can check again.”
“It’s possible his owner was out of town for the weekend,” Marcone said neutrally. I could hear a different message there, or I thought I could: John didn’t want an owner to come forward. I wished he had a real cat. I was glad I couldn’t talk like this, because I was awful at lying and I couldn’t really afford for him to be angry enough to throw me out. I didn’t have opposable thumbs, and living in a cardboard box and eating rats sounded like an awful way to live, even for only five days.
“Boss, you should probably start advertising,” Hendricks said softly. “Put signs up near your office, within about a two-mile radius, and take an ad out in the paper. I wouldn’t put your name on it - hell, put mine, if you want, and my number. But you want a cat, get a cat. Don’t take someone else’s.”
Marcone scratched behind my ear and didn’t answer for a while. “I know that. But I’m not going to just leave him with a disinterested pet sitter.”
Hendricks nodded and dropped the subject.
I wasn’t really sure what to do. I didn’t want to be bored, which meant hanging out with Marcone, since the guards had jobs to do. But I didn’t want John getting attached. John was the decent part of Marcone, and he deserved happiness.
He said I made him happy. Would it be worse to pull away early or hurt him more later?
Of course, I was treating this like I’d have a choice. Marcone had been toting me around like a kid with his favorite stuffed animal, so more likely my choice was to be unfriendly and difficult or be cute. Then I remembered my general incapability of lying and figured I might as well act however I felt like acting. Marcone wouldn’t really punish me for it, it wasn’t like I could get in trouble from anyone else…the freedom of choice, unconstrained by societal standards of behavior, was an incredible rush when it hit me.
It was kind of funny that it felt so striking, because I didn’t normally self-censor much, even around Marcone - even when I probably should have held my tongue. The difference was mostly that I wouldn’t be able to make snarky remarks.
Which was a tragedy. My snarky remarks were one of the few things I had going for me.
Marcone left me in the guest room with the catnip mouse. I played with cat-heaven for a while until I got tired, and curled up on the pillow again.
Lea was there again, scratching me behind very human ears. I sputtered and stumbled out of her grasp.
She laughed. “How was your first full day of vacation?” she asked.”
“You need to turn me back,” I said. “It’s not fair to Marcone.”
“Who - oh, Johnny.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about him. Part of the spell is a mood-mollifier. Just a little helper, so he’s not going to hurt you or anything.”
I gaped. “You’re modifying his emotions.” I mean, she was a fae. So she wasn’t bound by the laws of magic like I was, but she had to realize I wouldn’t be okay with this. Not that that had stopped her from turning me into a cat.
“Oh, it’s just a little nudge further in the right direction. And it’s only temporary, Harry.” She kissed my cheek and the dream melted into something about dogs chasing me and a mouse playing the fiddle.
Now I knew I had to escape. Conning Marcone into feeding me with kittenish antics was one thing, but knowing he was being magically brainwashed into it was much worse.
I slept poorly that night, but at least I didn’t wake John - no, Marcone. John was at least partially a product of the spell, and whatever he had told me while under the influence was not only inadmissible in court, I could not conscience using it against him. It felt like I’d read the man’s diary. I woke two or three nightmares about the mouse playing the fiddle and growing in size each time. When I was awake, I made plans to escape. I didn’t have high hopes for any of them, but if I could figure out how to access a little magic, I might have better luck.
Finally I slept normally, peacefully, with no giant rodent violinists to disturb me.
/*/*/
A little clarification: Lea's spell would not just affect Marcone. The idea was whoever picked Harry up would be inclined to take care of him, at least as long as the spell lasted. Harry just found Marcone, so Marcone was the one who got mind-whammied. It's not a particularly invasive spell, since it can only do the best with the real personality: someone who dislikes cats would just take Harry to a shelter or a vet, a sociopath or sadist would leave him alone rather than harm him. So the fact that Marcone wants to keep him is a reflection of Marcone's general fondness for cats, as is his ability to find "Hairy" so endearing.