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One day, Mao stormed into their meeting with green sparks in his eyes.

He didn't even wait for the king to ask the question. "My partner has been having mechanical trouble with his arm."

The battle badger, like the villains who had attacked the Valley, had visited the West and garnered an experimental prosthetic. It, too, was steam-powered. Among many other functions, it could send out a grappling hook with either a clawed or soft gripper at the end, which could either tether to rocks, or cast out to pull people to safety.

"It's strewn syrup all over the house-"

Apparently its many compartments had other more domestic uses, too.

"-and I had told him to take it off and keep it in the workshop until he could sort it out, but he refused! It can't be turned all the way off as long as it's attached in its housing on his shoulder- I mean I wouldn't want it to be anyway because it guards us while we're sleeping-"

The long metallic rope could be encircled around their sleeping bodies, like a tripwire, and an interruption of the current would set off a small phonograph.

"-but he wouldn't, and now every bit of sugar needs to be scrubbed off the walls and the entire carpet replaced!"

"We can get some servants sent over to help-" the king started-

Mao laughed malevolently in resounding baritone. "Oh no, Your Majesty, he's going to do it all himself!!"

"And how has that been going for you?"

The cat glowered.

"Yes, that's what we thought." The king rolled his eyes. He was impressed with himself for concealing the reaction to the dark, skin-tingling laughter. If Mao ever decided to be a villain the king wouldn't mind being taken captive for ransom one jot. "If you don't mind our saying so, how you get that lazy lug to do anything is beyond us."

"Ain't that the truth." Mao plopped down, ripping off his cloak. "He's a great co-hero, don't get me wrong but sometimes . . . " he trailed off.

"Hm, that's an interesting term . . . co-hero."

"Yeah, he made it up. I think it suits us. I used to think of him as a sidekick. Guess that wasn't very good of me."

The king raised an eyebrow. "Why would that be a bad thing? And no one else calls him the co-'enforcer'. We appointed you, not him, and we've heard not one word about it." He was getting a bit more animated. "He is the sidekick. I mean. Mao. Honestly. You're a dragon slayer. _A magic wielder. If he didn't have the _misfortune of losing a limb, where would he be?" the aristocrat said snootily. "What, does it hurt his ego?" He fluffed his mane. "There is only one top spot, in government or in business. At each level. Tough titmouse for anyone who has a problem with that."

"Mmmm, titmouse. I could go for a bird right now."

"We have a wide selection of-"

"No, Your Majesty. A wild bird."

". . . Oh. The kind of craving for a chase . . . not so much the taste." The king hummed. "That's what father used to say at least."

"Right you are." He winked, and the king giggled. "I'll get one later. I'm here for . . . well our meeting, sure, but I honestly don't have much to cover this week. I know this is a different sort of stress than I usually have but . . . ?"

"As if it mattered for massages, my dear boy." He put a paw on his chest and summoned his best sassy tone. "A masseuse _does not _grill his clientelle on the source of their stress. They just get to work." He interlaced his hands and stretched them above his head.

"That's more of a therapist's bag," the cat grumbled.

Psychoanalysis was a very new thing in the world, historically speaking. But the king had the good fortune of having one of the coveted new specialists in his kingdom. The dog, whose fur had been turned blue with magic as a rite of passage in his family, did not wield magic himself, but his importance to the Valley could not be underestimated.

The king himself was quite a few shades lighter than the average lion, but that was not due to magic. Nor was his ginger-tinted mane.

Mao was staring down at the floor and the king was sure he'd burn a hole through it, had his particular magical gifts leaned that way. Was he detecting some resentment towards the little dog, whom Mao visited regularly? Should he even ask? Especially since the cat was in such a mood.

The dog, the king was very sure, did not 'grill' anyone. He had known the soft spoken, slightly somber spotted canine for a very long time. But to Mao, any question he didn't like was tantamount to 'grilling.'

The dog had a simply huge influx of demand since the cracking of the Ruby Pure Heart. The ruler first had heard he was trying to set up instructional courses for others. The canine later even requested the king bring in educators or those looking for work, if he heard of any. Progress was slow but they had sent out feelers.

"About the sidekick thing . . . There's a part of me that wants to agree with you . . . but . . ." the cat sighed. "I have to admit our dynamic has improved with that understanding. He still gets under my skin, rrrrrrrr, but I'll get over it."

"Maybe something a bit different would help more." The king tugged gently up on an elbow to get him to stand. He leaned in and touched his forehead to Mao's, a feline greeting that he hoped was universal enough to extend to the little warrior's far flung homeland culture. After a moment's hesitation, the smaller cat rubbed his cheek along his eyebrow. And to the king's delight, kept at it until his head was under the lion's chin, ears on either side of his face.

"Wow that . . . really brings back memories," the samurai said softly.

"Want to share?" the king asked.

He pulled back. The green eyes flicked up to him and away.

A long enough silence passed that the king wordlessly pulled back the chair again.

He made little circles. How the cat could be this much tenser from a spat with his roomate than fighting vicious monsters was truly beyond the pale to the pale lion. But maybe whatever memories he had brought to the surface hadn't been all good ones, either. He let all speculating drop and just concentrated on the cat's biceps. The samurai made a motion as if to take off his gloves, so the king lifted his own paws. "No, don't stop."

"All right," and predictably the king's head was filled with lots of other uses of that oblivious, carelessly tossed out phrase. He placed his paws back on the arms and it was neat to feel the muscles doing a light task even as they were rubbed. The little black paws that emerged were so widdle _and _wiggly as Mao worked them to tense and then relax . . . the king had to resist the urge to gush over them. Instances where the warrior cat had shouted at the top of his lungs "I'M NOT CUTE!" to many a citizen rang in the king's head.

The king always did his best to respect the cat's feelings on the matter, and not coo over him. He had met many families of 'pretty' animals in his visitations that felt the same way. Some people just wanted to be appreciated for things other than looks. Craftsmanship, physical grace, education, even social savvy. Warriorhood was just another to add to the list. So even though the common folk tended to not understand why sincere compliments were not taken well, the king at least had experience, even if he disagreed with the other cultures' outlooks. Looks weren't bad, as long as attention to other things did not atrophy because of it. But, Mao felt differently. So he refrained. Even though he was sorely tempted on the regular.

The runt's sensitivity to his perceived size truly permeated all aspects of his life.

Yet, once he had caused a miniature explosion just by sheer force of will in a friendly dueling match. He had gotten over-excited. The king could not stop marveling at how he truly was such a force to be reckoned with. All contained within such tiny paws.

"That's a neat trick, by the way."

"My gloved hands?" Mao asked.

When he donned his red gloves, his short paw 'fingers' seemed to change into a hand more suited to wielding a magical weapon.

"Yes, who taught you to project hardened ether to increase your dexterity?"

"My eldest sister. She-"

But again, he clammed up.

The lion suppressed a sigh. He worked his way back up the smaller cat's arms, then at least permitted himself to give into the urge to rub his nose into the cat's cheek. The troubled warrior accepted the comfort, twisting his head a little in reciprocation.

As the lion straightened again, and moved onto his neck, the cat craned his head back until he was looking at the king upside down. Wanting to squeal at the absolute cuteness, the bubbly royal instead cleared his throat pitchily. The cat didn't look bothered, per se, but he didn't look quite at ease, either.

"Sorry, too much?" the king asked, praying the answer was 'No.'

Mao blinked. Then he studied him more intently.

He squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. Silently the king sort of wished that the cat would work out the royal's designs on him so he wouldn't have to say it aloud. He was sharp. Surely he would eventually . . .

And yet, a fair bit of physical affection was normal for felines. Even, it appeared, for exotic, hardboiled warrior cats not raised in a sugary paradise.

He didn't know whether the cat was ever attracted to men. But, he figured, the massages might eventually give him an idea. It was almost less intimidating than asking directly. Besides, he enjoyed the contact himself.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Mao finally said.

It made the king's heart skip a beat, but best not to get his hopes up.

Even though he wanted to burst out 'yes, yes, yes of course!'

He simply nodded.

"I got the material for these gloves on a quest. It was rumored to be woven from the mane of a legendary dragon who had been slain centuries ago. When I finally was victorious, I had no idea what to make it into. How do you decide that sort of thing?? Especially after going through so many trials for it, and because there was so little of it."

He paused. "At the very least I knew my whole wardrobe was going to have to change to match it." He smiled reminiscently. "No more apprentice green for me. Luckily a sorcerer I met later suggested I use them to augment the ether projecting and have more magic left over for fighting. I haven't told anyone in my family yet. It's sort of-" he righted himself on the chair and his voice trembled just a little. "S-some of them don't use the ether technique at all. I'm afraid they'd see it as just more of a crutch."

If this little cat was such a titan, he could scarcely imagine what the _rest _of his family must be like for him to be looked down on.

It was actually sort of terrifying** _. _**

"Well we don't know about your family," the ginger-maned lion said gingerly. "We'd like to reassure you that they wouldn't, but we can't make that call. However. Your apprentice." The bat, like the badger and the cat, had lost a limb fighting dragons. There were magical healing salves, but the substance could only fix so much. "You wouldn't look down on her for using her peg leg, would you?"

"Of course not."

The lion suspected the loss of a leg was particularly devastating to an animal that hung upside down as a default method to sleep. But, maybe the badger, in tinkering with his own technology, could fashion her a gripper that would mimic the action.

"Then even if it were a crutch- not saying it is- wizards use staffs and amulets and any number of assorted things to help them- but even if it were a crutch, it would be wrong of anyone, magic user or not, to look down on you for it."

"I doubt an average person would even understand it anyway." he said, a bit haughtily. "It's the clan I'm worried about."

"Well that is your choice," the king nodded. "I wasn't even saying you have to inform everyone of your magic ins and outs. Not even your family, if you didn't want to."

Mao clenched his paws.

"And on that topic . . ." the king resumed his attentions, "perhaps you're being a bit harsh on that fellow of yours, too. You don't like it when your hands are revealed as shorter, correct?"

Mao only grunted.

Anything that made him look smaller and 'cuter' than the warrior already appeared, he was sensitive to.

As soon as the gloves came off, the lion supposed he didn't bother with keeping the ether activated, right? Of course, it was an effect that a non-magic animal couldn't see. He wasn't sure if wielders could or not. Hadn't he read perhaps that it varied between them? Yes, that sounded about right. It must've been useful for other things rather than using his sword, obviously, so maybe he did keep it passively activated all the time.

In any case, he did think he was being unfair to the badger.

"Well imagine how it must feel to have your entire limb taken away for a sizable period of time."

"It's not his real arm," Mao protested.

"Semantics, sheriff. It is his arm to him."

He sulked.

"Do those not feel like your real fingers?" the lion asked. "Especially with the added visual of the fabric."

No reply.

The king must've been feeling pretty daring, because despite the lack of positive response, or even neutral response, he laid one of his huge paws on top of the smaller one. "Can you show me?"

Knowing he was risking the sheriff throwing it off, storming back out exactly the same way he came, he waited. This was important enough to press him about.

Unable to see the digits completely engulfed in his own, and knowing that the effect would be invisible regardless, he focused on the sensation of the fingers lengthening and tapering.

"Seem pretty real to me. They certainly inflict very real casualties on monsters," the king teased lightly.

"Heh."

And with that one syllable, it seemed the tide of the conversation had turned and he had finally polished off the cat's resistance like a good cloth scrubbing of fine silver to remove tarnish.

A well-placed compliment did wonders, the aristocrat thought. His mother had taught him well. And yes perhaps it was a bit ... odd ... that to defrost the hardened dark cat, an appeal to violence had to be made ... but he was learning how to handle him. He hoped, well enough to parlay into-

Mao slipped his hand out from under the king's, much to the older cat's chagrin. The ends were . . . dainty, he realized with a slight flutter of his heart.

"And even sword masters I've trained with say to mentally merge with the sword as an extension of the arm," the samurai said pensively, turning his palm over. The king thought he could see just a slight shimmer where the five little extensions ended. "To think of it that way, to act that way. And a sword is not even replacing anything."

Satisfied at least that had gotten through, the king kneaded more, but this time around the black covered sinew didn't seem to have reached its normal softness before Mao abruptly stood.

"Sorry, keep thinking about that bird," he said gruffly.

Maybe sometimes pent up frustration simply had to be dealt with other ways, the king thought to himself, trying not to let his feelings be hurt too much.

"We must admit we haven't done that for ages! Gone too soft, we suppose. You must think us unexciting." Some animals could be quite uppity about it, and he fully expected a feline so fearsome in many other ways might snub him. Perhaps at least he would conceal it or downplay it.

"B.C. tends to like food that doesn't fight back," he said of his badger partner, "delivered on a platter." The adventurer spoke tightly and rolled his eyes as he yanked his gloves on, then considered for a moment, and took them back off. Claws would need to come out soon anyway. The king's heart sank a little at the thought of his own filed claws. Maybe the palace-raised lion couldn't measure up to the daring cat's lifestyle. "Even though other badgers I've met are really into it, he never much liked the old fashioned way. Tch."

Perhaps it was too much to expect for him to hold back his opinions. He was not one to overly fret about other peoples' feelings, unfortunately.

The green eyes caught him like a trap. Or maybe like that set of said claws. Straight into his chest.

"When we're out roughing it and he's bellyaching- That's what really annoys me. You may be pampered, but that's no fault of your own." He tripped over himself, "A-And I don't even mean to say 'fault' really. Not the right word. If I held it against you, it'd have to go double or triple for him. His preferences when it's not necessary aren't so big a deal. Animals who simply don't partake, for any reason- rich or poor, because they think it's uncivilized, or because they don't like gamey taste, or they're lazy like my big butter-ball badger, whatever other hangups may present themselves . . . it doesn't bother me much. Never has." the cat added kindly.

Relief washed over the bigger cat.

The uncommon warmth in his voice was like digging into a good hot meal, the lion thought.

"Could I possibly . . . join you on your hunt?" he asked somewhat shyly, slipping into first person.

Mao blinked. "Uh. Maybe we could schedule one later. I need some ... time to think to myself. Sorry."

Then the black feline gave a smirk that the king found enthralling. "Just try not to get in my way. You do not want to get between me and my prey."

"Maybe I'll just watch?" the lion offered.

"Might be a good idea," the samurai nodded. "Lions may be group hunters, My Lord, but cats, well-"

"Lone rangers."

The Eastern, not Western, sheriff nodded.