thecapitol | Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word [Closed]

Who| Howard and Sigma Klim
What| Apology cats.
Where| The Suites.
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Mild cat abuse.

It's always awkward with Sigma. Then again, Howard thinks, in general it's awkward with anyone after you've snapped at them over little nothings, after you've somehow managed to take offense to the fact that they like their own kid more than you, the stranger who stabbed them when you first met.

Howard's holding a designer cat that he stole from a pet shop. Given that he didn't kill anyone last round, he didn't have the credit to buy it, so he had to smuggle it out and replace it with the padding his stylists have been shoving into his outfits to make him look less pathetically starved. Thankfully he's starting to fill out, just a little, the bones looking less sharp against his flesh, the butterfly and fern leaf shapes of his pelvis and sternum turning into a spade and a ripple, respectively.

The cat's in a plastic box he's carrying. Howard looks at the cat's bizarre pattern and rolls his eyes. Figures that the Capitol can't even do a proper housecat right. The cat scrabbles against the side, probably for air, but Howard's reasonably certain it'd take a few more hours for it to suffocate.

He knocks on Sigma's door.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Supplies?" Howard raises his eyebrows, then looks down at the box. "Oh, this isn't mine. It's for you."

He sets it down on the bed and backs away from it, not sure if he should open it and spare Sigma a face full of angry cat or leave it to be opened like a present.

"How you been?"

"For me? Why?" Sigma looks upon the box with legitimate surprise. He can't think of anything he's done to deserve a gift.

As for Howard's second question, Sigma shrugs weakly. There's a profound sorrow in him that threatens to break forth, so he gives a simple answer while avoiding eye contact. "I've been as fine as can be expected. Yourself?" He's been lonely. It is surprising even to him that he can move from an isolated environment to a bustling city and feel even more alone than before, though this was perhaps self-inflicted to some extent.

Howard shrugs. Apologies are hard, and gifts are easier. Gifts come with only the aura of an admission of guilt rather than a forthright display.

"I'm okay." It's a lie, but if Sigma's going to fudge the truth to him he's not going to be honest right back. Howard rubs his thumb on the back of his hand and shifts between his feet restlessly. "Are you going to open it?"

Sigma doesn't believe Howard's answer either, but nods quietly and heads towards the package, his curiosity mounting. He's hardly touched it before something inside jostles the box. Sigma recoils in alarm. What had the boy brought him, a rabid squirrel? A wild animal would hardly hurt his cybernetic arms, but he thought it was unlike Howard to play such a mean-spirited joke. Then he remembers their encounter with the cat in the Arena- and finds himself suddenly growing very hopeful.

Now Sigma steadies the box carefully in both hands, and raises one to slowly lift the lid. He peers inside - and within, growling, ears pressed down, bushy-tailed and wide-eyed, is unmistakably a-

Cat!!

"Howard, you got me a cat!" Sigma exclaims in joy, forgetting for an instant he's supposed to be a widely respected Nobel laureate to throw open the lid like a child on Christmas Day. The poor creature scrambles out and begins to zip about the room, tearing up carpet as it goes and eventually settling itself in the darkest and most distant corner it can find. Despite Sigma's love for the creatures, never in his life had he actually owned one. For the first time in weeks, a smile comes to his face, and when he can find another word, Sigma is practically bouncing. He tracks down the cat with a stunned expression, staring at it as though to convince himself it is real.

"I wasn't aware we were purrmitted to keep pets," he says quietly. "Thank you..."

Howard's body slumps in visible relief that Sigma takes so well to the gift. He's always heard you're not supposed to spring pets on people, but he was otherwise at a loss for Sigma, and nothing else came to mind. ~~Except maybe skin cream~~.

So he smiles back at Sigma, genuinely, with the kind of innocent and earnest delight of a kid who's presented their parent with a particularly wonderful Christmas card.

"Well, I figure if you die the Avoxes can take care of it. Or I'll adopt it. Whichever." Howard seems to realize belatedly that this probably isn't the appropriate thing to say upon getting someone a gift and might just be a little morbid, so he sheepishly smiles and appends "not like I'm hoping for that".

Sigma didn't take offense to Howard's unseemly comment, knowing the boy wouldn't wish ill on him if he'd just bought him a cat. He even had the humor to chuckle at the comment. "Well, he would have a better home than a ruined Arena, for certain." The Doctor hadn't bothered to check what became of Rita, but knew it couldn't have ended well.

Sigma offered his hand to allow the cat to smell him, and slowly the animal drew closer. Unlike his last "pet", this cat wasn't wild, and soon its growling ceased. As his new partner stepped into the light, Sigma's eye narrowed. "What curious fur," he said with slight concern. He thought it somewhat resembled cells in prophase, but the pattern was likely coincidental. "I wonder how they managed it. I hope it wasn't cruel," his voice as low and soothing as the cat read Sigma's intent. As skilled in genetics as Sigma was, he couldn't imagine breeding cats for such peculiar and specific markings.

"The, um, the little tag near the cage..." Howard stole that too, of course. He fumbles for it in his pocket. "Says it's a he, born five months ago, felis domesticus, breed, Rusty Panemian Peafowl."

That is absolutely the dumbest breed for a cat he's ever heard.

"He likes you way more than the last one did." Howard wants to ask if he can try and pet the kitty too, but he doesn't move towards it. He figures he probably has enough bad cat karma (catma?) that the little guy will smell the bad vibes off him and try to rip his face off.

So it was bred to look this way. Curiosity ignites in Sigma's eye, but is replaced with affection when the cat rubs his head against Sigma's outstretched hand. "Of course he does, he was bred to be docile. A boy, then? I've got just the name for mew." He had made up Rita's name on the spot to try and divert an awkward encounter and it wasn't a name he would actually consider giving a pet. But this one's name came easily to him, and he gives the cat a goofy smile. "I'll call him Nye. Do you like that, kitty?"

After giving Nye a few more cheerful pets, Sigma straightens up and takes a seat. The feline begins to explore his new home, jumping up on the bed and starting with the pillows. It seems as though the Doctor's sleeping space has been commandeered. The old man looks back at Howard and smiles. "You didn't need to, Howard, but I'm glad you did. I wish there was something I could give you in return."

Howard looks at the tag again - supposedly this specimen was originally named Helios - but decides to let Sigma stick with the one he's given it. Howard crumples the paper up in his hand and tucks it back in his pocket, standing awkwardly still as the cat sniffs his ankles.

"You don't got to. I'm the one who yelled at you and ran off to do my own thing." Besides, now that K's dead, Howard doesn't have competition, or so he tells himself.

Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word [Closed]

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