>> "Oh, well... those are very tempting perks, sir, but how can I agree to a position where I do not know the requirements? What if I fail to do my Retainer's duty out of ignorance?"

The cat's whiskers came to rest at an approvingly smug slant, nine degrees shy of touching his face. "Your concern clearly shows your qualifications for the position. Worry not: the job of the First Retainer is straight-forward. When I bestow upon you a clearly stated command, you may enjoy completing it with full confidence that it has bettered the world, through serving me. When I grant you the privilege of deciphering my desires from a yawn or a tail flick or absolute stillness, you may engage your intellect towards unraveling my whims. As for compensation: your allowance will come mostly in the forms of my company. I may allow you to pet me as well, on occasion, or leave a dead mouse in your shoes."

"Mind you," he clarified, "the mice are a bonus, not part of your usual salary," the cat's tail gave a just-so-we're-clear flick, high in the air. "I will also, of course, properly claw anything--animate or inanimate--that dares to disrupt your happiness in any way. Happiness is key to Retainer retention." It was clear from the upright way he held his head that the orange-and-ginger tom was a businesscat, in the style of a venerated Italian Mafioso.

The sprite took the stairs a graceful two at a time, her clever cowl flying behind her head; the tom took them one at a time, in a rapid bunny hop that may have been comical if it didn't involve quite so many flashing claws and ears laid back with a determined air. At the top, he paused for a moment to give his chest hair a quick licking back into order, and then continued to follow.

>> "This way, Master Sinatra."

The cat paused again outside of the door as the puddle dancer proceeded him in: he stretched out his neck, nose lightly touching the edge of the door. It had been ajar when they arrived. Was that its usual state? Clearly, his First Retainer would not need much training at all. The cat gave it a hearty rub with the side of his face, and entered.

She was rummaging in her dresser; he, naturally, hopped onto the bed. Found the edge of the sheet. And, with the mastery of the mole he had been hunting earlier, tunneled underneath it.

"You may change," he granted her; "I will not look." His tail, its ringed length sticking out near her pillow, was shedding soggy orange strands in a gentlemanly manner.

"Your concern clearly shows your qualifications for the position." She was already smiling and disappointed that she could not smile at this statement. "Worry not: the job of the First Retainer is straight-forward. When I bestow upon you a clearly stated command, you may enjoy completing it with full confidence that it has bettered the world, through serving me." She giggled not off put in the least. Of course she would enjoy it, she enjoyed serving her friends in any way needed. "...As for compensation: your allowance will come mostly in the forms of my company. I may allow you to pet me as well, on occasion, or leave a dead mouse in your shoes. Mind you... the mice are a bonus, not part of your usual salary,"

"Oh." Well, she was less than enthused about the mice bonus, but those were the hazards of befriending cats.. even if they really were just shapeshifting mutants with a cat mentality. "I will try to treasure every but of compensation you offer." Ghost wandered to the bathroom slipping slightly on the tile, but catching herself on the sink before anything disastrous happened.

"I will also, of course, properly claw anything--animate or inanimate--that dares to disrupt your happiness in any way. Happiness is key to Retainer retention."

"I'm honored to be a First Retainer, and I believe that you have done well in choosing, if I may be so bold. I'm not hard to keep happy." Ghost piled her clothes onto the counter and inspected her hair. It was brown tinged and clumpy with wet. She sighed and turned on the hot water spigot on the sink.

"You may change," The slightly muffled nature of the cat's voice made her turn to see the lump that was talking to her from beneath the sheets."I will not look." A still soggy tail swished across her once clean pillow leaving orange evidence of its passing.

"How gracious of you." The smile was apparent in her voice. Even though there were two beds in the room, Sinatra had wormed his way under her sheets. It was a shame that he had chosen hers to dampen, but what did it cost her to wash them? Ghost washed her hair in the sink and closed the door in the bathroom before changing. Even tough the cat had thought of her decency, it was Ghost's habit to change in the bathroom. It was a price she was willing to pay to be able to keep her door ajar.

A few moments passed before the bathroom door opened in a gush of soapy smelling steam. She'd brushed her teeth, changed into some gray sweatpants and a white shirt and was ready for some cuddling. "Much warmer in dry clothes, do you also need to change, Master Sinatra?" She'd hung up her wet things in the bathroom and could hear the patter of large droplets echoing around the tiled room, though no where near as loudly as the tapping of droplets against her window.

>> "Oh. ...I will try to treasure every bit of compensation you offer."

Clearly, she was disappointed about the mice. It really was sad that they were a bonus, but a cat could not spoil his retainer too often, least she become complacent, and cease to hunt for herself.

>> "I'm honored to be a First Retainer, and I believe that you have done well in choosing, if I may be so bold. I'm not hard to keep happy."

The cat gave a burst of purr; indeed, he had chosen wisely, if the rainy fey was already beginning to praise herself. Pride was an inherent part of the job description. Vocal pride, naturally; that went without saying. Nothing less would do for the First Retainer of a cat.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom, though the cat could naturally not see much of what was happening. Was she bathing herself improperly, without the use of her tongue? He tried not to fault her for it. When he was in human form he, too, used those 'faucet' devices. A human really wasn't cut out for keeping itself cleanly without technological interventions. He would give his own fur a proper grooming, once he was done removing the worst of his lingering dampness with her bed sheets.

When she reemerged from her watery side den, her scent had changed: the earthly perfume of mud and grass had been replaced with soap and fluoride. Not the worst smells in the world, though not truly an improvement. His tail gave a flick, then disappeared in a curving line under the sheet; a moment later, a head poked its way out, pupils dilated to maximum from their time in the tunnel of darkness.

>> "Much warmer in dry clothes, do you also need to change, Master Sinatra?"

"Hmm," the cat pondered. "Perhaps." He gave a light lick to the back of one paw and then--sensing something about the set of the fur he did not approve of--he followed it up with three solid tongue swipes. He sat up, wiggling to remove the last of the sheet from his nobly fluffy form; then, with one last comment, he began to set himself back in order with a thorough grooming; "Perhaps not."

"How are you liking my fine Mansion?" He asked, off-pawedly.

After Sinatra emerged from beneath her blanket he seemed to realize that some of his fur was sticking every which way and set about correcting this oversight. That left Ghost with one option: to hop with all her might onto the bed and disrupt his poise. Of course, this feat would have worked better had she the weight of a normal solid being. After some settling and self-satisfied hehehe's Sinatra saw it fit to question his Retainer.

"How are you liking my fine Mansion?" He asked between licks. Honestly, Ghost was still impressed at the mechanics of cats talking at all even if she had seen it before. She had to draw her attention away from watching Sinatra's bath to think about the query.

"I really love it here at the mansion and in New York too. It's... actually strange to me to think that the registration ended less than a year ago and stranger still that I've known the residents here for less time than that. " Ghost smoothed the dampened coverlet for many reasons. One, it was a familiar nervous gesture and two, it kept her from touching the hairline scars at her wrists. She had it so much easier than the rest. If she didn't draw attention to the scars, she imagined that someday they would go away. "I guess that's because so much has happened for me in that short amount of time. But I really feel like a part of something. Almost like a family. It's easy to belong here."

But the sense of loss was still there. She was still smiling, but Ghost was no actress. The expression was hollow. It was almost like a family, but it would never be the same. How do you get back that innocence? That wonderful sense of perfect safety that only exists for people who are loved and that have never really had anything bad happen to them. How do you get that back? Claiming her mutant birthright had forced Ghost to grow up some.

"Do you like it here?" The cover was sufficiently smooth so she decided to trace the contours of the seams. Risky business with a feline in the room, but her finger was not moving very fast. "In your mansion?" She teased. It was the best she could do to keep things light.

Her bed-hop warranted an ears-back-glare, and a solid bracing of his legs against the bed sheets. He had been in mid-groom at the time--a half-licked tuft of fur stuck from his right shoulder. It lacked a face, but you can be sure its expression was stern.

>> "I really love it here at the mansion and in New York too. It's... actually strange to me to think that the registration ended less than a year ago and stranger still that I've known the residents here for less time than that. "

The orange tabby continued his grooming, though his ears stayed on the fey no matter which way his head happened to be facing. This is how he missed looking at her wrists, and the scars there, but caught her words. There seemed to be three types of people in this city: those who had been imprisoned during Registration, those who had been in the Resistance, and those who seemed to have missed the entire ordeal, for their own lucky reasons. Calley had been the middle choice. Seeing as he had not seen the woman where he was, and given the subdued way in which she was talking, he tentatively placed her as the first.

>> "I guess that's because so much has happened for me in that short amount of time. But I really feel like a part of something. Almost like a family. It's easy to belong here."

He lifted up his right forepaw, and began setting the hairs on his side and flank in order. His eyes flicked over her face as he did. She had a nice smile. Like the perfect kind painted on porcelain dolls, high on their shelves. She had a nice smile, but not a good smile.

>> "Do you like it here? In your mansion?"

Hand was--

Fingers were--

Moving. In a regular pattern; easy to stalk. At an unwavering speed; easy to judge. Easy to lower, lower, lower his paw back to the bed, and his chest down to the covers; easy for his rear to slowly raise into the air. Easy... easy....

DEATH TO THE FINGERS!

He remembered to keep his claws sheathed, at the last second. It was a close call.

"I like it quite a bit," he rumbled; if he had caught her fingers the first time, he would roll over with them between his paws, and properly thump-kick her entire arm to death: if he had failed, he would pursue them to the ends of the earth; even into her lap, or the air. "Though," he added, mid-killing-spree, "I prefer it when my First Retainer has an honest smile." Killing sprees were no bar to a cat's seriousness, you see. Truly, there were few things more serious.

Talking to animals, even animals who are really teenagers and can talk back, is somehow easier and much less intimidating. It would have been perfect had Sinatra not had those too-intelligent kitty cat eyes. Well, that and the finger gnawing. Ghost sighed dramatically as he rolled over and wrestled with her arm. She gave her appendage willingly in the hopes that limp fingers were easily dismissed in favor of something new. At least Calley understood how much was too much.

"I like it quite a bit... though, I prefer it when my First Retainer has an honest smile."

"I think we all do, but I just can't conjure them out of thin air, you know."

His comment earned him the shadow of something real and a counterattack in the form of a diversion. Something small and twitchy was moving under the moistened cover. Ghost's small hand, walking on its fingers like the Adam's Family "Thing," "accidentally" bumped into the tabby and then skittered off with all haste. Comforters made for excellent guards against kitty teeth and claws.

"Tell me, if you like it so much here, where do you go? I mean, aren't First Retainers entitled to know when their Masters will suddenly disappear on them?"

Ghost didn't know that he didn't always stay at the mansion, but she did know that he had disappeared for a short while earlier in the semester. The incident had made Calley the subject of many a rumor. Even after he returned in a grand fashion, certain residents still wondered about the tremendous growth in power he attained while away.

Ghost was interested to a point about these matters, though it was another form of counterattack. A grand diversion from the matter at hand. Animals were less intimidating to talk to, true, but if the subject itself is too difficult, even a cat can't make you talk.

His First Retainer's arm, it seemed, knew its proper place: locked in a feral hug-kick-bite of DEATH, and liking it. That's right, punk appendage. That's rig--

Bump.

Stillness. Stillness, the likes of which sent ears fully back and pupils fully dilated. Stillness, engorged with a furry pride thoroughly encroached upon. There was something there, under these covers, that had dared to touch him. There was something there that wished to die.

The arm was given one final kick as he twisted back to his feet in a sort of spine-powered corkscrew leap that would make circus contortionists green with lime-like envy. He landed with all four feet at precisely the same instant.

The Cover Creature, his intrusive foe, had already skittered to another area. His body sunk low to the bed. Flight would not help it. Oh no. He--

>> "Tell me, if you like it so much here, where do you go? I mean, aren't First Retainers entitled to know when their Masters will suddenly disappear on them?"

Urk.

The orange and ginger tabby lay itself casually down in a graceful thump of fur, forepaws stretching to their full length in front of him. With an air of supreme disinterest in the world, he began to carefully groom them. This had a questionable effect at drying their remaining dampness. In a choreographed flash of teeth between tongue strokes, he spoke. Casually, of course.

"I just go... here and there. One can hardly expect a cat to be content with one little Mansion. Even if it is a fine one."

Little did the tabby know that it had fallen prey to a most nefarious scheme, indeed: the Grand Ghostly Diversion.