A cat moved its mouth, and the girl heard Calley's voice.

Kaitlyn stopped running and stared at the cat. It was almost as if this feline had mouthed the words "I don't think he's following," at the same time that Calley was saying them. Almost as if the cat had said them. But that would be silly, because Calley said them, not the cat, and Calley is not a cat. He is a person.

A person whom she could not see anywhere.

The cat was staring at her. It was the only living thing that she could see when she looked in the direction of Calley's voice.

She blinked. People in the Sanctuary are all mutants. Calley was in the Sanctuary.

"Did you turn into a cat?"

>> "Did you turn into a cat?"

“No no,” the cat corrected, drawing itself up with lofty pride, one of its paws raising to flick dismissingly at the idea. “I’ve simply become a Felis silvestris catus. Of the Felidae family, you understand.” This being the proper way to answer a little girl who’d gotten him chased from lunch. Granted that he’d already eaten, but extra granted that she’d thrown him across the room, too.

“Walk with me,” he stated, with an imperious tail flick. Whether or not the girl followed, he was going deeper into the building. Just because the Tantrum Man wasn’t following now didn’t mean he wouldn’t, and just because Calley’s other self could give warning didn’t mean the man couldn’t catch up. That trick he’d used to get the gun back in his hand had looked suspiciously like teleportation. He’d like to get a bit closer to the Abyssi’s rooms. Just in case. Nothing said ‘leave that cat alone’ like red muscles and monkey tails.

“So. You make things go boom.” The cat said, its ears flicked back towards her and its tail high. It wasn’t a question.

Blank stare. 'Felis silvesteris catus.' It sounded like one of those species' names that Kaitlyn had heard in school, and it had "cat" in it. So it probably meant the same thing. This begged the question: was he trying to tell her something about cat courtesy, or was he just kidding around? It was hard to tell from his tone, and looking at his cat-face gave her no hints. The only reply that she could give was a nod and a hesitant "Oh."

Doing as she was told, she followed the talking cat. The talking felis silvesteris catus.

>>"So, you make things go boom."

Another nod. That she did. But she never did it on purpose...

Her mind went back to the boom responsible for her arrival at the Sanctuary. It may have saved her life, but what about those other people? No, never mind. She made a concerted effort to not think about that. Nor would she think about the man whose back wasn't supposed to bend that way. Not about the person driving the car that she had stopped, either. He was probably alright. It wasn't worth thinking about.

She shuddered. Her eyes began to water. No. I shouldn't think about this now. Think about something else... Calley is a mutant. She was still following him.

"You can turn into a ca... a felis silvesteris catus." Kaitlyn was proud that she had remembered the whole thing. She pronounced it correctly, too.

...Thoughts were drifting back to the color red, and its presence on certain walls in Manhattan. No. She blinked.
Calley can turn into a cat. He seems to have much more control over that than Kaitlyn had over her... no. The girl rubbed her eyes in an attempt to remove whatever was making them water so much.
He had control over his ability to turn into a cat. Why was he able to control it, when Kaitlyn herself... well, why was he able to control it? It was worth asking. She should ask about it. And concentrate very hard on the answer that he gave.

"How do you control it?"

Her eyes were only barely red, and they occupied a face which betrayed little to no emotion. Nothing wrong here.

>> "You can turn into a ca... a felis silvesteris catus."

“Just ‘cat’ is fine,” the feline magnanimously stated, his tabby-stripped body turning a corner. His tail followed, with a flick. They were in the residential area of the Sanctuary, now. Rooms lined the hallway. They walked past an open door to the communal rec room, complete with a squabble between two groups of mutants: it was the Gossip Girl fans versus the Halo players again. The fate of the room’s wide-screen TV hung in the balance.

The girl’s breathing had a certain hic to it. Her nose was sniffing somewhat more than usual. His ears flicked back, then forwards again. These things did not concern a cat. Clearly.

They’d come to a door. The door to his own room, to be specific. It wasn’t locked: given that he usually returned in a less than bipedal condition, he couldn’t be bothered with keeping track of a key. There wasn’t anything much to steal inside, anyway.

>> "How do you control it?"

“Open this, please,” he commanded politely, staring up at the door knob. It wasn’t the diabolically difficult round kind, and it was technically within his reach if he stood on his hind legs, but there was no need to waste slave labor when it followed him obediently. Inside the room was exactly one object of note: a large aquarium, with a lobster inside easily as large as the cat. It lifted its claws in threatening welcome. Everything else in the room—bed, dresser, chair—was just the non-descript standard issue furniture that came with every Sanctuary room. Also, there was a basket. The basket held dirty laundry.

“Carry that, please.” The cat ordered, strolling back out into the hallway. He didn’t deign to look back and see if she followed. He merely kept up their conversation, in assumption that she did.

“Controlling a power is like walking. Once you learn to do it, it’s fairly easy.” Though a teen was still allowed to trip. Say, into an unwanted toad form, which was held hostage by a Mansion witch. “Learning is the hard part. What do you do to practice?”

>>“Open this, please,"

Caught off guard and confused, Kaitlyn looked at the door, then at Calley. At her hands, then his paws. Thumbs. "Oh," she said, opening the door for her now-somewhat-disabled fellow mutant. A small favor. She continued to stare expectantly at the talking cat for some sort of answer to her question.

>>“Carry that, please.”

Her mouth curled into a frown as she stared down at the dirty laundry. This was an uncomfortably familiar kind of request. A significantly more polite and less threatening rendition of what she was used to, but still. Kaitlyn shot a questioning look at the spot the cat had occupied only moments before. He'd already left the room. The girl picked up the basket of laundry with a discontented sigh and hurried to catch up.

>>"Controlling a power is like walking. Once you learn to do it, it’s fairly easy. Learning is the hard part. What do you do to practice?”

"Practice?" The girl gave him a blank stare. "I don't do anything to practice," she said. "Don't know how to." Practicing didn't sound like a very good idea to her, either. Every time her power showed itself, she didn't like the result.

“Well then,” the tom cat said, as he led them around a turn in the halls, “that rather explains why you took out the dining hall. And that poor, innocent cup.” His tail flicked: another turn, and they entered an open door into a room.

A laundry room, to be specific.

“Dump those into there,” the cat instructed, “with some of this.” He rubbed his body against a washing machine, back arching in extravagant affection before moving off a step to twine lovingly around a bottle of liquid detergent that had been left on the floor.

“Do you know what triggers your ability?”

Laundry room. Kaitlyn already knew where this was going. Although she objected to the idea, she resigned herself to being bossed around. Perhaps this was just her place in life. Clothes were making their way into the washer even as the cat spoke. Tossing the basket aside, she picked up the detergent.

>>“Do you know what triggers your ability?”

"Hmm." The kid thought about this as she poured the detergent. The first time she remembered her power going off, a car was about to hit her. Later, she saw a guy whose head was on fire, and she blew up the dining hall. Then, Mr. Pruitt was about to shoot Calley, and she blew up her cup. What did these three things have in common? ...Fear? ...Surprise?

Shoot! While she wasn't paying attention, she had added too much detergent. A cracking noise shot through the room. As she jerked the bottle away, it disintegrated into tiny chunks of plastic. The thick, blue fluid went everywhere.

"I think it happens when I get surprised," said the detergent-soaked child, trying to wipe the blue stuff from her face. "Sorry."

Why does everything look so blurry?

Blue drops sprayed in all directions. The tom cat watched, impassive, as they splattered the floor in front of him. One landed on his paw. He flicked it off with dignified distaste, his dark blue eyes appraising the soapy child.

“Turn the machine on, please. Then you may wish to partake of the sink in the corner.” He said, at length. His tail flicked towards said sink.

“What makes the difference between one of your room wide explosions, and a small one like that?” The tabby asked. It was a rather vital difference, really: the difference between soap flying at him, and him doing the flying.

The washing machine looked... blurry. As did everything else. After fumbling around to find dials that she could barely see, she leaned in and squinted at them. Squinting did nothing to help her see what was written on the console. Rather than own up to the fact that her vision was currently impaired, Kaitlyn turned the largest of the dials in what she hoped was the right direction and pulled it before making her way to the sink.

Huh. That was an unusual sound for a washing machine to be making.

>>“What makes the difference between one of your room wide explosions, and a small one like that?”

This blurry object looks like a towel. That blurry object resembles a sink. Fumbling with a gray splotch on the latter blurry object seemed to yield water. After she had dampened the former and begun to use it on her face, she realized that it was actually somebody's dirty old T-shirt.

eew.

The child looked over at the blurry thing which may or may not have been her new feline overlord as she shrugged. "I dunno. One kind's bigger than the other?"

No. Think.

She just blew up a bottle of detergent. She had also blown up a cup of milk. These were the small ones. "...Oh. With the small ones, I was holding something. With the big ones, I wasn't."

The girl seemed to be having some troubles. With button pressing, sink finding, and towel procurement. The tom cat watched her sedately, his head moving as his body stayed seated. The washing machine began lurching and clacking behind them.

“Do there happen to be, perchance—the towel is under the sink, hanging on the cabinet handle—any side effects to using your ability?”

His tail would feel less restless when that towel was in her hands. He was suddenly quite fond of the concept of keeping something in her hands at all times.

Oh. That blurry object looked much more like a towel. The dirty shirt soon found itself flying to the other side of the laundry room.

"Side effects?" The girl scrubbed her face properly this time, so to remove any dirty-shirt-residue. "I guess I can't see very well right now."

Scrub, scrub, scrub. She looked back over to where the cat was. No, that's a pile of laundry. Calley's over there. Piles of laundry don't have tails. At least her vision was good enough to notice this, now. Still not very clear, but getting better. Now to try to get this blue out of her new pajamas.

“That would be a side effect, yes.” The cat agreed. She had found the towel. He complemented himself on his excellent and magnanimous directions.

Tail twitch. Twitch.

“So. What do you plan to do, to learn how not to explode things? Keep holding that towel, please.”

The cat wanted her to be empty-handed about as much as he wanted her to scratch his head.

That should do it as far as getting the blue out. She moved to put the towel back on its cabinet handle--

>>“So. What do you plan to do, to learn how not to explode things? Keep holding that towel, please.”

or not. The girl walked over and sat down next to the talking cat, still holding her towel. Plan. What could she possibly do? She had no idea where to even start. "I don't think I have a plan," she said after a while.

Cats like being scratched behind the ears, right? The child reached out to do just that, so to ameliorate herself to her new feline overlord.

Her new feline overlord was fond of his ear. Attached to his body, and generally intact. To safe guard against any unfortunate interruptions to this state, the ginger and cream tom cat gracefully ducked under her hand and twined behind the vibrating washing machine, putting its sturdy (if epileptic) metal between her and his own estimable self. His head peered out from around the side, dark blue eyes regarded her. It made no comment upon its own escape.

“Little girls who make things explode should not small animals touch.”

Almost no comment.

“We need to work out a training regimen for you,” the cat stated, as obviously as one would comment about the sun on a clear day.

“Learning to use your ability on command is generally a step towards learning not to use it when you don’t command,” the tom observed. “Blow up that towel, please.”

His ginger-stripped body stayed regally crouched out of sight.

Hymn was strowling through the sanctuary with a notebook and a pen. She was scribbling down all sorts of things since she couldn't cope that well with all the things she heard. The decision was to write stuff down maybe for future use. It was good to know who was the violent guy and who was the guy who liked to keep the seat down when he goes number one. Saved you allot of trouble.

She was chewing on the pen as she passed through hallways and she could hear stuff coming to her in her head. She scribbled down most of the giberish she head and it kept her more focused then ever too. What a insane person would do to keep the illusion of sanity up.

She took a left and then a right and passed the dinning halls and passing through the washing machine area. "2 people." She muttered as she written it down and payed no attention to the people having a conversation. "Felis silvestris catus is not a cat but family of a cat." She continued in the same tone. "cat's have family." She stated then and written it down a bit bigger as she stood still before her conclusion. Chewing on the pen she continued her stroll and waved the kitty cat and the girl sitting next to the kitty cat..... eh Felis silvestris catus. She waved with one hand absently minded and said: "Hi Calley, Hi Kaitlyn, have a nice day." And walked out of the laundry room. Maybe she should have written down some names too. A shame that it was already forgotten.

(Enter and Exit Hymn )