While Celeste walked the streets searching for colors and clothes, all the glances fell upon her. Only a few were able to pass by without staring at her in awe or pronouncing a muffled curse of surprise. Unfortunately all the attention was directed to her scarf. Despite it was missing a last color to be completed, the rainbow scarf quickly became the center of attention. Not even her beautiful crimson cardigan or her beautiful Prada black skirt could compete with the dazzling colors of the scarf.

Each stripe was composed of a different texture combined with colors that were "painted" in different ways. The red extracted from silk cloth formed the first strip, then a dark orange from a brick, golden stolen from a gold ring in replace of the tedious and inexpensive yellow. In the green stripe, she used the fluorescent green left by a marker on a sheet of paper, while the blue was formed by the natural grayish blue of steel. Finally, the purple had been extracted from the painting of a car, so it had some similarity to metal. The only color she was missing was indigo.

At the exact moment she decided it was time to go back, a new problem presented in the form of a unnatural wind. It stole her scarf with ease since it was resting loosely over her shoulder. In just an instant the scarf was flying far away from her reach, so she started to run behind the unlikely comet.
Fortunately before the scarf could fly farther, it crashed into the face of a passerby that was soon about to collide with Celeste that was too focused on catching her treasure.

((ooc: Do tell me if I need to edit anything, for I fear, my dear, that I may have taken liberties~))

If a rainbow is seen in the pitch dark, is it still a rainbow?

This was not a philosophical question. This had, in fact, been the last seven seconds of Calley's life. He'd heard light, running footsteps behind him; maybe heels? First one black kitten ear had swiveled back towards them, then another. In his own good time—the only pace at which time moved, for cats and catboys alike—he paused his step and turned to look.

He caught only a fleeting glimpse of alarming colors and textures, things that made very little sense to his mind: a strip of metal hewn from a car door, a compact beam of steel, a brick—

Hurtling towards his face at alarming speeds while red silk and florescent paper fluttered around them.

The shifter only had time to draw himself up and poof out his tail in the face of this threat: then the medley of expected pain hit his face.

...With a surprisingly soft, anticlimactic flutter. It wrapped around his head, cutting off his vision; he reached up a hand, and felt just a plain, normal scarf. His tail slowly relaxed as he pushed it up—

Just in time to see 5'3" of slender, athletic fourteen year old on collision course with his chest. He reached out a hand, catching her arm, and slid a step to the right; he channeled her momentum into a spin that caught them both up, and ended with two black ears coyly angled down at her.

The catboy held the damsel in a dip.

"Well now," he said, catching his breath; "Is that any way for a young lady to say hello?"

The scarf had come loose in all this, and now fluttered lightly, caught up in the curl of the black tail that hovered near her cheek.

If it was another object, Celeste would undoubtedly left it without mercy to get one of better quality in the nearest store, but unfortunately that multicolored fabric was not a normal object. Along with the flying colors fluttered hours of effort and dedication along with something even more important, the secret of her mutation.

Since her dark eyes were fixed on the fabric that mocked her attempts to catch it, Celeste was unable to see the man until the last moment when the scarf seemed to devour his face furiously. But by then, it was too late. She could not avoid him. She closed her eyes tightly to endure the impending blow, cursing the stupid man who dared to stand between her and her goal.

Then the shameful fall became a vibrant catch which in turn transformed her momentum in an elegant twist that ended with the two very close together. As she tried to catch her breath, Celeste opened her eyes to find the stranger's chest rising and falling in an attempt to do the same. But when the agitation of the race disappeared, her heart still pounded with fury, fueled by the emotion of that uncomfortable closeness.

As she noticed her free arm holding his waist, her heart began to beat even faster, painting her cheeks with a deep crimson. Her thoughts ran as fast as her heart, disappearing before she could catch them. Only a question seemed to impose before the others. Who was that man? It was like if she sharing a dream with her perfect man... but at the same time she was sure that the arms that held her were very real.

The sound of his voice forced her to return to reality where a question waited for an answer. Celeste opened her mouth to respond, trying to find something accurate to say, but all that came out was a simple "Mmnn...". To make matters worse, she was no longer able to restrain herself and finally looked up to see the face of her hero.

At that time all the things she was ignoring marched in unison just for her to see them very clearly. A feline tail held her scarf, and two ears of the same animal crowned the man as if they were an unusual hat. "You..." Celeste achieved to pronounce while anger began to grow inside her chest. "Why you?" She wondered aloud, remembering their last meeting. One more time that mutant had shattered her dreams. How dared he to be so charming and mutant at the same time?

"You better let me go." Demanded the girl in her best aristocratic tone but making no move to escape his embrace.

Him.

Why yes, him.

It took the shifter a moment to place the face. The black eyes, the golden hair—

Ahhh. It wasn't gold he remembered, when he thought of her, it was silver—she'd been wrapped up in a Valentine's dress whose texture and shine was just as real as the ones on the scarf wrapped around his tail. Oh, he remembered her perfectly well. And apparently the impression had been mutual.

A small smile curved over his lips.

"Let you go?" He said, the twitch of his tail tip the only warning she would get. "Well, my lady, if you insist."

The shifter let go.

Being a gentleman, he made sure to catch her again before she hit the ground, of course. Their little lean had turned into a full ninety-degree dip.

"You were saying?" The young Italian said, with a felinious smirk.

Since they were stuck in that romantic hug that held both uncomfortably close, it was very difficult for her to concentrate on anything else than his face. Partly because of those stupid ears that keep staring from above and moving occasionally, probably in an attempt to distract her from some other vileness in execution. The other part of her inability to look somewhere else was based on the fact that, even for a mutant, he was quite good looking.
So, in order to avoid staring at those inhuman ears that displeased her so much, the girl chose (badly) to move her gaze back to his face. Unfortunately, she accidentally concentrated on his lips, creating another uncomfortable gap for her thoughts to run wildly. Would that monster dare to steal her first kiss and condemn her forever? For what else were they in that position? In the movies it always ended in kisses...
But while she was analyzing these ideas, her own human ears caught a strange phrase. "If I insist in what...?" For a moment, she thought that the mutant had read her mind and was about to kiss her (because she insisted) but then his arms mercilessly dropped her.

Once his arms disappeared from behind, her body became a victim of gravity. Meanwhile Celeste tried desperately to cling to his body without success. When her destiny was clear, she put aside her useless efforts to avoid falling and concentrated fully on the task of wishing him a slow and painful death. Fortunately, before she could kill him with her incredible psychic powers, the mutant caught her one more time, showing the same agility and grace as the first time. Why did he do that?
The discomfort and curiosity she felt toward him began to turn into hatred so quickly that the girl had to fight the temptation to stab her Taser into his chest. It was a difficult task, but for the moment, her murderer impulses were under control.

What was most difficult was to avoid verbalizing a long list of sentences beginning with "how dare you" ranging from trivial issues as how he dared to use that mischievous smile with her, or who told him to be so playful and almost unpredictable but even more important that all those things, was the fact that he was still holding her when she had made it very clear that she did not want it.
Of course the girl was willing to forgive his last act of boldness, because his arms were all that separated her from the floor and that fall, although short, promised to be painful and humiliating. Therefore, in thanks for keeping her (not so) far from the floor, she commented on his grace and audacity with very accurate words. "I hate you."

"Hate me?" The Italian catboy replied, aghast; "My lady, you wound me."

His ears dipped tragically low. With only the slightest of flourishes, he set the young blonde back on her feet, and turned his back to her. His tail (her colorful scarf still safely entangled around its tip), wrapped around his body in a harrowed hug.

"Goodbye, lady, and have no fear—I will never show my hateful self before you, ever again."

He cast one last tragical glance of baby blue eyes over his shoulder to her, then flipped up the hood of his coat, and soldiered bravely on.

Her scarf fluttered delicately after him. It was still locked in a playful curl of his tail, like a mouse dangling from the end of a cat toy.

"Wounded?" The girl asked, using a tone of feigned concern that corresponded perfectly with the mischievous smile on her lips.
But before the man could answer her question with words, his face was wrapped in the deepest sadness accompanied by his extremely expressive cat ears. There was something hypnotic about that expression that ordered her to take him home, feed and pet him... probably it had something to do with those cat ears that made him look like a wounded puppy. But fortunately those same ears reminded her that he was a mutant. And also poor because if he had money these ears would had been surgically removed a long time ago, right?

It was then that the man allowed her to stand on her own and after a long and dramatic farewell, the boy walked away. Meanwhile Celeste remained still in the same place where he left her, watching the scene in disbelief. Was that all? After he took her as a hostage in his arms for so long... he just left like that?
Suddenly, the girl wanted to have his attention once more time... just as she did in Valentine´s day when he had adorned her with praises... but she could not apologize, that was not allowed in her family.

It was a hard decision to take, but just when she had decided to let him go, she noticed with horror that the man still had her scarf so she immediately rushed over to walk beside him. "That scarf is very expensive..." Said the girl, as she continued to walk alongside but always trying to keep her gaze straight ahead, not meeting his eyes since she did not want his ears to influence her decisions. "And you are technically stealing it..." She affirmed with certainty, not daring to take it from his tail.

The golden-haired kitten gave chase, but could not yet be lured to spring. Yet he could feel her paws twitch-twitching as the scarf dangled so neatly within reach. It was only her unbounded pride that kept her from tumbling after it.

"Stealing?" The young man gasped, rounding on her with an affronted set of his shoulders. "I think not. I count it merely as just payment, from the girl who stole my heart."

His tail held the scarf aloft, streaming behind his head like the banner of his own pride.

Since her pride stopped her from wrestling for the scarf, she continued to walk by his side, waiting for him to surrender to her logic. Unfortunately, her cold logic melted against his passionate warm producing nothing but a useless stream of words; dangerous, romantic words that were starting to affect her resolution to keep fighting for that piece of fabric.

"I can return it back." She replied in a hurry with a deep crimson still painting her cheeks, it was a feeling originated from a mix of anger and interest. Of course, she felt flattered by his words but she was not going to let him win, not anymore, not even in a small skirmish. So she hastened to add more treats to counter his charming accusation. "I will be glad to open your rib cage and put it back in its place."
She will need some tools, maybe a sword or a ridiculous long knife. It also promised to be a bloody mess. It was better to try to win it back with diplomacy. Some sweet words... “Screw it!” "I do not want your feline heart". It was not diplomatic... but at least it did not hurt her pride. "I do not like your ears and your tail is stupid."

Oh, she was good. She was good.

The catboy's maligned tail crossed in front of his heart, the scarf still fluttering from it. "You're right," he gasped, his kitten ears drooping. "Of course you are; does the sun lie? It might help flowers to bloom or scorch the earth with its fury, but it never lies. My tail is stupid! I can't hide from your light; you see it at once. My stupid, stupid tail, which thought it could hold onto a token of your light, if only for an instant..."

The catboy heaved an aggrieved sigh, his shoulders slumping, his ears like black teardrops on the side of his head. Slowly, regretfully, he extended his hand to her, palm first.

"Give me your hand; I will give you the daggers with which to pierce my chest, and end this cruel torture. Give me your hand, and you can take back what is yours."

The heat of her sincerity attack was still on her cheeks, burning her perfect skin with her own boiling blood when the cat boy spoke again in that same annoying poetic tone. She listened each of his words carefully as someone that does not really trust what the other is saying but this time he was telling the truth. She was like the sun, oh yes, a destructive force needed by each living being. Without her “light” the world would crumble into oblivion. And of course, he was also right because her sincerity could dazzle people as much as her beauty and modesty.

She listened. He was really good at sweetening words but his logic was wrong and she was willing to make him notice his mistake. “You admit to be unworthy of a token of my “light”…” She pronounced the last word as if it were an ancient word, full of meaning and magic. It kind of reminded her about her own powers and the mystery of why she was able to steal colors. Was it possible because of some unknown light bending ability? Or was it something different? She continued speaking while trying very hard to avoid rhyming like him. “Yet, you dare to touch my hand.” But even after these words, she extended her hand toward the mutant to close the deal. It was too easy that it was probably another of his tricks but she was too busy savoring the imminent victory to pay attention to these silent alarms.
In her mind he was already flying too close to the sun so there was no way to lose, and he was about to burn for his boldness. At least his feline heredity would help that twisted version of Icarus to land on his feet.

"I so dare, my lady," the car-eared Italian confessed effusively, "but how could I do otherwise? Knowing that the sun will leave, and it's life end, what can a flower do but grow as close to that radiant star as it can in what little time it has?"

He caught her extended fingertips in his own warm hand. Then, with a gallant motion that encompassed sweeping movements of his tail, his ears, and his entire self, the catboy bowed down to lay a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

Half of him smirked as he arose again, and the smirk sparkled on his lips and in his eyes as brightly as the light reflected from any star. The other half of him strongly hoped she wasn't the type to slap impertinent flowers.

As promised, he'd given her the daggers with which to pierce his heart; retractable ones, in fact. Being a generous young man, he'd given her matching blonde cat ears, on the house. She might have a tail, as well—he was still working on the finer points of shifting others, so he wasn't quite sure if he'd gotten that detail right. But of the handiwork he could see, he was quite the proud little flower.

"My lady," he said, still holding her hand, "how is it that you grow more beautiful by the moment?"

All that rambling about her inexistent scorching aura and life giving presence was annoying her a lot, up to the point that she started to consider leaving the scarf with him. Yet, she stayed still and endured another boring line about her sun-like abilities. It was then that a doubt crossed her mind, was she still doing it for the scarf or was she there for something else? For some moments, when he adorned her with adulations, she forgot all about that piece of cloth but luckily she always managed to remember who he was, a mutant and probably a very poor one. So she focused on his ears to distract herself from his charming flattery.

Her inflated ego won the next battle, so she did not punish him for kissing her hand when she had already forbid it. She even allowed a little smile to show on her face after such display of chivalry, even if he was a mutant, she had to give him some credit for his performance. It was then, with the faint smile showing on her lips, that she heard that particular murmur. Her smile vanished. Was he purring like a cat? She directed her ears toward him, scanning his chest for any strange sound that may be coming from it but before she could identify the source of the purring as herself, she noticed that her ears were a lot more mobile... how else could she direct them to something? Her heart skipped a beat, her muscles froze with fear.

His voice unfroze her, snapping her out of that catatonic state. Immediately, she raised her paws to the side of her head and found nothing but countless strands of golden hair. Meanwhile, her ears kept moving in all directions, capturing an amount of small noises she never heard before and when she finally gathered enough courage to touch her new feline hearing organs, she also found that her beautiful hands had turned into hairy paws. She stared at her own hands in disbelief, unsure as what to do with such strange tools.
"What did you do?" She asked him. Her voice was trembling with fury while a few tears gathered on her eyes. He turned her into a monster, she was so beautiful and now she was a freak. It was his fault!

She glared at him, and then stared at her stupid claws that refused to come out. It was useless. No matter how much she tried, she could not unsheathe the daggers to pierce his heart. He tricked her again. Claws or not, she would not forgive him, so she slashed at his face with all her might.

Velvety softness raked across his cheek, leaving a smarting red mark from the elegant hand underneath. He had never been slapped by a cat before; truly, it was an honor not many in the city could claim.

Happily, the kitten kept her claws in. Was that because she couldn't yet flex them out, or was it for the same reason that she professed insult as loudly as, a moment before, she had purred?

It was not a question to ask; that would be rather toying with the dear kitten. And kittens—especially Queens-to-be—were known for taking themselves quite seriously.

And truly, this was a serious matter. Why, with those tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes, a proper tomcat could not fail to treat the situation with the precise degree of solemnity it deserved.

"My lady, don't cry," the shifter implored, placing a light hand over his poor reddening cheek, "I know it is a shock now, but you will have plenty of time to appreciate this gift."

Plenty of time. He made sure to emphasize it, with innocent sweetness more befitting a lark than a catboy: plenty.

Her delicate skin was in contact with his insolent face for just one second and despite it was not enough to punish him for what he did, it was more than she was willing to endure, so she retired her hairy paw with a newly discovered feline agility.
She was rewarded instantly by his hurt face painted with red; it was such a lovely red that she wanted to pierce his skin and take that color for her collection. It was a shame her claws were so stubborn and her so untrained in making them cooperate. How much of that blood in his face would be outside his body if she had used her new claws? That simple thought pleased her even more.

With her punishment delivered, or at least the most feral part of it, she returned to glare at the half cat in from of her in silent demand of returning to her original and most gracious form. Until he dared to say she was crying, triggering a defensive mechanism to conserve some dignity. "I am not crying!" She screamed at the top of her lungs at the same time that her paws wiped some dust in the form of tears from her face. She was all fury and arrogance but then he shattered all of that by just saying "plenty". The tears that she would swear were not there before started to fall copiously from her black eyes, rolling down her checks while dissolving all the rage. "Please." It was a sincere "please", one of those words that almost never manage to escape her lips. "Turn me back." Her vision was blurry; his face was distorted by the tears. "Don’t you dare to let me looking like this."