FSE

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"This isn't what I wanted. I know it."

Nobody was there to hear her, but that wasn't what mattered. Her thoughts had been vocalized and her complaints made physical.

"Some birthday," the panther scoffed. A birthday with no new clothes, some paltry checks from distant relatives that didn't really give two shits about her, and in place of anything she'd asked for, a tiny box.

One box.

Shrill squeaking from behind her forced an annoyed twitch of her ears; it didn't take more than a guess to know where it was coming from. Perhaps that fact irritated her more than the sound itself. The disembodied voices cried out meaningless words: "Open the box! Open the box!"

"'Course I'm gonna fucking open it," Seranna muttered in soliloquy. "Why the fuck wouldn't I. A present's a present, sure, doesn't mean I'll like it."

The house was all but empty save for herself. It was always the convenient conundrum that a goth's parents left for "business" on their child's birthday--to avoid the backdraft of her disappointment was more like it. Her eyes found themselves staring drills into the marble floor.

Seranna was used to not having much control; she hadn't since childhood, and knew it was just the way of things. The world was shit. Nothing was really good. Everything only sucked on varying levels, some lesser than others. It was a true core philosophy that never left her disillusioned with anything.

While prey species--the ones that were rather small, herbivorous, and necessary for a carnivore's diet--often kept to themselves outside of predator civilization, there were many exceptions. Deer and the like were almost never seen, but mice and rats were so common they outnumbered almost every type of feline combined, ten-to-one. The key difference between them and other sources of meat, however, aside from their ease of access, was their blinding stupidity.

"Open it!" The squeaking again. "Look at that pretty ribbon!"

Whatever. It couldn't possibly be worse than nothing, even if she had too much faith.

****

It was still dark. What was taking so long?

Sure, it had given him plenty of time to double and triple-check his belongings and tricks--not that it would matter at this point if he'd left any of them--but the anticipation was about to either turn him to stone or give him a heart attack. Isaac wasn't rightly sure which.

The parents seemed nice enough. All they asked was for him to do a bit to cheer up their kid, as was often the case; never was a hard job on paper. He'd attended many a party, less like a clown and more like a figurine with the label "look, but don't touch". Being a prey species trying to make a living in a community of predators and far outside the homely warrens was never, ever anything but a hard job, no matter what the paper might say.

Kids were nice, kids could understand when their parents told them not to kill their present because they got peckish. Most of the time. Close shaves were inevitable. But up to now he'd remained alive, and really, what else could he ask for?

...A safe place to live outside the city, sure, but that really wasn't up to him. He was born here and he'd stay here. Thanks, mom.

Suddenly, the entirety of his chamber seemed to shuffle and quake, cardboard sides smacking his face as it was lifted into the air. Like an elevator shaft stuck between floors it meandered up and down, up and down--soon his sense of direction was beaten senseless, and Isaac gave up figuring it out. He'd be out soon, then he'd do his thing, and then he'd live.

The sound of light fabric being unwoven startled his ears. He could swear he heard a voice behind the cage of thick paper; its tone was sarcastic and baritone, but womanly nonetheless.

Light suddenly poured into the box, which was revealed to be a stale black on the inside. His tan-brown fur seemed to project a luminance of its own in such a background. Isaac reared back to let his eyes adjust, the moment allowing him to ponder his newest client, before he at last looked up. And up... and up.

"Oh goodie," he murmured while taking note of the black dress, hair bow, and expression of genuine disappointment upon the gothic pantheress. One word came to mind to describe everything about her, physical or otherwise: black. "I'm in for a treat."

****

She listened, as she tended to do. The mice always had dumb ideas but they, often enough, were not too stupid or against her schedule to comply to out of pure coincidence. Unveiling her whatever-it-was... she had no excuse not to. Whatever, she thought, if it made them think they were at all wittier than a thumbtack and satisfied them to a point of staying quiet then it was fine by her.

Seranna shook her head and carelessly unwove the jolly red ribbon of the wrapped box, then tore open the wrapping paper with one half-hearted stroke of her claw. Psh. What could it even be with something so small? A mood ring? Ha-ha, very funny; she was goth, not emo. Not like anybody even knows the diff, she thought.

She hated everything, not herself. Least of all that.

But she had to give credit to her parents as she at last removed the lid: they did manage to surprise her, in the very least.

"And... great. It's a fucking mouse." The creature within the open box cringed. "Hey thanks mom, always wanted another one!" Hell, she would have preferred the ring...

Still sitting with crossed legs and leaning with her back against the couch, the pantheress emphatically reached into the squeaking bowl on the arm of the sofa and plucked one of its contents out by its tail, ignoring its continued calls. Its limbs flailed about in poorly-executed instinct as its head tried to meet the eyes of its captor, only to find that their callous gaze consisted of heavy balls of disappointment rolled to the side. "I mean geez, they're so hard to come by these days," she said to nobody, popping it into her mouth.

The creature struggled on the surface of her tongue, a mere tickling sensation as its claws were too small and dull to pierce even the weakest of portions of her flesh. It was only a mouse, one of the innumerable pathetic creatures not at all suited for any purpose in this world save the one they fulfilled in her snack bowl. Too frustrated even to chew, she let her tongue lather the sorry creature over a few cycles before tilting her head back and swallowing with a stark gulp.

"Look at that. Another one gone. All it took was two seconds of my time, not a fucking annual investment," she finished dryly. Uncrossing her legs, she let gravity sit herself onto bent knees, toes flexing in true boredom and ebony dress blossoming over her gently-curved calves. Her gaze shifted back to her new "gift" shuddering at his stand; it seemed that for one of the first times shown of a mouse, he actually understood his situation.

"I-I... I-I'm your present," he said lamely, accidental emphasis placed on_present_ as opposed to food. "It's your birthday, isn't it?"

Huh. Coherent words? And fear--usually that wasn't shown until past the lips.

"Why... yes, it is." The sentence was a prompt, not an answer.

By his species' standards, the panther was decidedly unattractive. Hips that hinted beneath her frock, slender arms, sharp eyes and suppleness in the legs were considered undesirable traits. However, he had lived and grown up in the city, surrounded by felines. The cities were, after all, solely predator territory. His standards were as theirs. While there was nary an inch of romantic attraction, he could acknowledge a degree or two of her beauty.

Not that it mattered one bit when she seemed to be just as many degrees frustrated with his presence.

"I--oh man, I don't know if I can do this--what would you like to see me do? I have c-cards..." he swallowed. Then there was brief silence.

"C-cards, you say? I've always like c-cards," she mocked. She snaked thumb and finger around his legs, not yet lifting, only urging a continuation. Her grip rooted him in place like shackles of furred iron while the remainder of her hand nearly filled the empty space of his box. "What else is it you came to do?"

He struggled mightily to summon words. And they were hard, hard pressed to escape his mouth. "Entertain you," he finally let words dribble. "Your parents hired me." Perhaps that was more than he needed to say, but that was the last thing he bothered taking into consideration. The paperwork for proof was all in his pocket... though for some reason he doubted she'd want to invest any time looking over the fine, _fine_print. Which happened to be all of it.

"So they did." Contention was heavy on Seranna's brow and in her glazed, golden eyes.

How intelligent was this thing? Until it showed the first sign of free thought and non-rehearsed lines she wouldn't rightly believe it. Smarter mice were rare cases; most were prospect-in-a-minefield stupid and never recognized danger until it was two seconds from taking their pathetic life. She would long run out of saliva before being able to finish the list of things that classified them as irredeemably brainless. Hell, almost every other prey species she knew about even had a sort of collective deity, more cultural than religious. That Which Watches, though the name came from elks and did have its nuances between interpretations. Meanwhile, mice did not acknowledge such a thing at all.

She hated them so, so much.

Her glare focused back down on him, urging... something. Almost anything. If he burst into a fit of tap-dancing that would probably be enough for her, really. But for now, he remained quiet and uncertain, while the calm, occupied squeaking behind Seranna resumed as if she hadn't just paid a visit to their bowl. Chances were they hadn't understood the ramifications or why one of them had suddenly gone missing.

Isaac's eyes squinted. Some things were motioning at him from the inverted dome of colored glass--mice, yes, she had many of them, and he was only inches away from being looked at just like them: hungrily. They were gesturing with unintelligible words and smiles. One was making a bowing motion; another swept a hand horizontally from outside the bowl. Advice? Gesticulations of caution? Or were they simply planting false ideas into his head? He had not a clue...

Suddenly, the titanic panther's head whipped backward with a trail of curly black locks stopping at her shoulders, only to narrowly miss their signals. She suspiciously curved her neck back to Isaac to stare expectant daggers into him.

A shot in the dark was better than nothing; Isaac decided to act before the panther woman grew less than amused. Even if she didn't want to eat him, a single foot could pin him down and crush his bones in mere seconds of impatience--to the feasibility of that, Isaac had no reason to doubt. In truth, being stomped upon was considered the taboo death most devoid of honor or meaning across all species. Perhaps an introduction was in order.

"I... I'm Isaac," he started, cautiously emphasizing every sound that escaped his lips. "And--what is your name?"

"So, your name is Isaac." She huffed the name, yet it curled so gracefully off her tongue that he couldn't help but listen to every pronounced syllable. "Mice don't have names. They refer to each other by scent and by color nuances. You..." her flat expression seemed to curve at the edges, if only slightly. "You're an interesting case, little one. I think I'll give you a chance."

But the expression and tone communicated volumes more than she spoke: the odds of such a chance were not favorable. One wrong move and she'd snatch him away to oblivion, like any mouse to any cat. She was impatient, a little upset, and not terribly convinced of the total sapience of her food. However, he was making progress. Her grip loosened around his legs--only for the titan's ears to flick shortly thereafter in irritation at another sound.

"Will you eat 'im? Where's his tail?" One in particular squeaked from far above him; despite his legs having been freed, they just now decided to turn to loose jelly, quivering at the suggestion.

"Shut up. Stupid as all get out," Seranna hissed, but only briefly before directing her attention back to her prize. He looked simply delicious; much more well-groomed, healthy, and a little plumper than other mice. Whereas the average rodent measured up to her thumb, he definitely had an inch or two on them. Isaac, as he was called, would be a meaty snack the likes of which she'd never had the favor of being treated to, no doubt.

No matter. He tempted her curiosity, and she wanted to make the most out of her birthday present before making a decision. "I'm not sure yet, to be perfectly honest. But you already know that." She had to admit, the question of his apparent lack of a tail wasn't a _completely_idiotic one. Still it was probably a close nick with another predator some time ago... hardly worth inquiring further.

Come to think of it, he did look _slightly_different in some respects, though his rustic hand-me-down tunic and pants hid most but his head.

Finally, the hand returned to Isaac's form. White laces punctuated ebony sleeves, the arm thereof ending in furry fingers that came back to wrap around his torso. The force applied was simply to prevent any kind of escape: harsh, tight, and none too pleasant, though he had to admit for its roughness, the fur did help alleviate it. However, his place in her hand did show just how much control he had in this situation: none at all.

The trip was short-lived. Fingers uncurled from his being as the gigantic wrist met the ground, letting lungs finally retrieve the breath they gasped for and him to regain his footing on an environment that was not air. Rather it was soft carpet--much, much better than a cramped box. Except for the looming feline that would like nothing better than to eat him and be done with the whole ordeal. He had to admit that was a touch he wasn't too fond of.

Seranna stood to her full, daunting height; she was not particularly tall for her scale, being just an inch away from six feet, but that made no difference to the quivering birthday gift of hers at her feet. A fact she reveled in. There was no pleasure left to be gained from overpowering a normal mouse on part of their lack of a reaction, but Isaac showed fear--a true treat.

Isaac's warden took to sitting upon the couch cushion as if it were a throne, bowl of mice at an arm's length. She was given the chance to invisibly watch Isaac for a few moments; his gaze was on her paws, no doubt terrified of what she could do to end him so quickly and so simply. However, he was not completely silent this time.

"Look... can we level for just a second?" he nearly pleaded. "I entertain kids, not teenagers, that's what I'm used to. I--I don't really know what you want me to do...."

Another sign he wasn't a fraud, but relenting was out of the question. "This matters to me?" she asked sweetly. "We've been over what you're here to do, and what I'm waiting for." She raised a thigh, and an ebony, pink-padded paw followed like a limp pulley before craning a short distance over his body. His entire world was completely shadowed. "I would suggest you continue, but I won't argue if you don't."

"Okay, f-fine, I will!" he spat hastily. He was both awed and terrified by the paw that loomed over him, a black-and-pink fuzzy mass with five clawed toes that showed how ultimately inferior he was simply by it being his potential killer. It returned to the ground in front of him in as if in compliance with his thoughts, still somewhat fidgety with anticipation. He had to do something or this would be it. There were no places to hide, the place was cleaned very recently--perhaps for this very moment--and the last thing he'd want to deal with was her parents, or as he'd come to know them, his clients. Oh no, no, and no.

Well, he thought coldly, not that I could outrun a fifty-or-something-foot panther to begin with.

From his sleeves he produced a deck of cards. He wouldn't dare try to guess her card--that tended to work well with children--but... oh by What Watches, how to please a giant gothic nineteen year old? Maybe some of the more basic, visual stuff...?

Isaac did all in his power to avoid eye contact with the pantheress that loomed over him like a two-starred night sky as he set half the deck in either hand, preparing to send them as a constant stream between them. It would do to warm up for certain. However, as he began to flick his cards between sweaty palms, one loose finger lead to one stark fumble, and let them all slip forth in a thin cardboard mess on the ground.

Her eyes glinted with an amusement most terrible.

"E-excuse me," he said, trying desperately to force his hands to pick up the cards, but finding himself unable. He couldn't do it, he had already made the mistake and nothing would fix that. A heavy weight suddenly plunged down his heart and made his stomach hot. I'm screwed, I'm so fucked.

His ears were greeted with an ominous rumbling, coming not from her stomach, but from her thin, fuzzy neck--one he found himself wondering how much worse it was inside than out here, at the beck of her terrifying narrow eyes. "That's... quite possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen."

"Really?" He coughed, standing straighter as if to say that such an act was planned. "Well, I mean, I aim to please--"

Genuine laughter echoed from her throat; a light, purring chuckle that dripped with doom. "Guess you don't get it. You're appealing to the wrong sense. I haven't believed in 'cute' since the sixth grade."

His back went limp again, and the weight reappeared. "Does that mean...?"

Seranna knew the rest of the question, and the answer was still no. She was going to subsume everything she could from him, wring him like a towel before it was all over.

Wordlessly, she pinched two fingers around his chest and raised him higher as she took to laying on the couch with head resting on the arm by the mouse bowl. Isaac's pained squeaking was loud and sudden--it was a wonder she didn't simply squeeze harder to end the sound right then and there.

There he was, craned over the massive feline. One leg crossed lazily, widening the gap of her dress and hefting the hem closer to her thighs. He was being inspected; the yellow eyes were glowing, glossing over his puny form. The pain was quickly becoming too much to bear.

For better or for worse, he had to say something--if not to make himself more comfortable, then to continue doing his job and keeping her attention at arm's length.

"Can--can you not hold me like that?" he said, gasping for breath. Seranna's arm bent, rushing him through a downward tunnel of wind as she began to eye his body from mere inches away, though just what she was looking for remained to be seen--either by Isaac or even by her.

"Why... not, dare I ask?"

He took a deep breath, words ready from their holsters, despite his entire field of vision being taken up by her sclera. "All it takes is one mistake, one wrong second, to break your toy's spine," he said bluntly. "And I'm sure you don't want that."

He was... wow. It was almost impressive that he might have been doing everything reasonably in his power to control the situation. It was never enough to wrench it all from her, not even close, but it did call to attention a bit of her respect.

"You'd be correct. Smart of you." Her grip loosened just so to give him elbow room and air to breathe. "Better? Or perhaps we can compromise?" She said the last with just a taste of mocking, a sweet flavor she'd dare not leave home without.

"I... think we can," he replied, spice in his voice growing evident. "How about you put me down? Less work on the both of us."

"You might be right." Unceremoniously, her fingers unhinged and he was sent falling and flailing onto her torso. "Any more bright ideas?" Her words dripped with superiority and something coming awfully close to disinterest, though it was more for show than an accurate depiction of her psyche.

Isaac gathered his bearings on the new ground, crawling to a stand. The fall wasn't too generous, despite it being softened by both fur and cloth. The span of Seranna's upper body was a wide open plain of fabric to the tiny creature, dark cloth of her frock ending in frilly--almost ironically so--white laces at the neckline. Ebony hills mounted behind beckoned his attention, but paled in size to the looming chin pressed against her neck, gleaming yellow eyes above watching him with playful intent.

"I... ever consider flannel?"

A slow breath. "No."

"Right. Sorry." Further moments progressed filled with him trying to formulate the proper plan and words. The gargantuan cat's patience began to whittle away like wood in a chipper right before his very eyes.

"Well?" Hot breath washed over him. A hand reached from beyond her sides, beyond his ready vision, to pet him curiously. With it a thumb, claw and all, stroked over his head and pressed his ears with the pad, him wincing slightly just as it left; he could swear he'd almost been nicked. Shortly after the hand retreated, he felt his cheek to find the smallest of open cuts while the pantheress licked the pad of her thumb.

"Well." Ignoring the tiny wound, he was almost ready to call it; he was completely at a loss. Would he look to the mice for advice again? Indeed, he would, but this time all the three leaning off the bowl situated just beside her ears were doing were manic caricatures of things he didn't rightly understand.

His feet began carrying him backwards across the field of Seranna's chest. His brain wanted none of this, and while he wasn't prepared to bolt, he couldn't bring himself to stop--until one of the furry mounds behind him happened to do so for him. They were... so--large, they were--no, no, he had to stop that train of thought. Flushing madly he raced forward into an awkward middle between the two things he knew he should be farthest away from: her awaiting mouth, and her assets.

"Boy oh boy, do you try," Seranna said. "I won't comment on that. But I'd expect... something from a birthday gift, wouldn't you?" She was a strange mix of dryly amused and impatient. "You're a unique case, a smart mouse..." it seemed to be almost her mantra.

It became clear in all suddenness: even she did not quite know what she wanted with him. She was still trying to figure out who he was, why he was, and how something could be so different from her standard. "So I... I don't know what to expect."

"Er... thank you." Right then, it hit him: was she alone? "I don't want to press, but, ah, where are your parents?"

"My parents never really gave a shit," she blurted. If there was regret on part of her mentioning it so suddenly, she hid it well. Then again she tended not to show much on her face to begin with. She knew that she had to play along the road she'd accidentally made and the only sign of that was a degraded flick of her eyes to the side. "Well. They're not here."

Her ears splayed; the teeniest of voices in her head wanted her to apologize for nearly going on, but the rest of her resisted. It simply wasn't in her nature. Instead, she paused. Behind her, the peanut gallery resumed their business; hands waved, and fingers pointed to ears for their one-man audience consisting of Isaac.

Perhaps... lend an ear? Sure, Isaac thought, that sounded like a great idea. Sympathize with the person that would sooner eat him because she wasn't entertained enough. Unfortunately, he had no idea where to go next--and if he decided to bust out the sarcasm and ask if he even remotely looked like a counselor, he already knew enough about his warden to guess what the inevitable reply would be: "You look delicious." Oh, the very thought made him shudder... those words were paling enough from any cat, but the addition of her mouth in particular was a simple arithmetic disaster.

He had to admit it before he could proceed: he was terrified of her. She always seemed seconds away from lashing out, but to this point, she still hadn't. Even though she wasn't certain on his fate, she was still a predator--and a jaded one at that--and one wrong step would plant his feet on a tongue surrounded by eager teeth.

"You... you can talk, if you want," Isaac chimed.

She did not hesitate, but nor did she show any particular passion toward the relay that ensued. "Once upon a time they shipped a little girl to a boarding school the first chance they got. She developed her own... tastes," she continued whilst dusting away her ebony dress, a powerful swishing sound that echoed behind Isaac, "and nobody threw her a bone until she returned home a completely different girl than who they boxed up and sent away."

Could the panther possibly have a bit of a tender spot? Isaac could only hope. "Sounds a bit like my mom," he started. The face that was otherwise fixated on empty air then inched in rotation, eying him peripherally. "She... well, I won't get into the bare bones. But she ended up having me here, in the city. It was part of some affair she had and up until now, I've managed by doing--er, what I came here to do." He didn't need to shed light as to why that was unhealthy for someone so small and defenseless, and the last thing he'd want to do was encourage her.

Seranna shifted; the act of crossing her arms was intended to be subtle, but there was no such thing as subtle with her titanic stature; rather, it created a barricade of sleeves that trapped him between it and her head.

"Really." A question, but not even remotely said like one. His heart was beating quicker and quicker in his frail chest, a thumping that he dearly prayed did not echo loud enough for her to hear. All he could do was nod at first before realizing it would behoove him to go on.

"I'm sorry for how your parents treated you." Decidedly straightforward. That would work, right? "Some things are universal, it'd seem. But being who I am is pretty hard--n-not to say you don't have it worse, of course." She didn't reply with sharp teeth or even a sharp retort. "Just that..." It would be a lie for him to insist he was entirely honest with his next words, "I understand where you're coming from."

He couldn't believe he was doing this, he couldn't believe it at all. How did it even come to giving professional help to a panther? He was never exactly on a high horse to begin with... but this was either a whole new level of degrading or his only way out of deep shit. Likely both.

"I get how the world works. It's like, you're the prey, you're weaker and dumber than everybody else, sure. You aren't even given a chance for that shit. Everything's worked out long before your mom knows she's gonna have you. Kinda fucked way of looking at it to say I might sympathize with you the most. In a weird... outlandish kinda way. I mean, you're still mice and all, so... guess there's hardly anything to say."

Her expression was somber and serious, and her mood was beyond mortal divining. He cared less about her mood itself, more about the repercussions it would have on him. Should he be tender, quit while he was ahead, or...?

Further quiet squeaking followed, which apparently went unheard or unnoticed by Seranna--for it, Isaac couldn't be much more thankful. Finally they nodded their heads in consensus; this might be the last verse they had, and it was three of them leaning off the edge of the bowl, impersonating laughter. Did they mean... a joke?

Better than nothing. "Oh well. It's all just bad luck, right? That's a thing with black cats, if I remember right."

Or not. He may have overdone the witty inflection.

The cat was forthright with her impatience, snatching him from the perch of her chest at last. "That's black cats, you idiot. I'm a panther!" A growl of contempt emitted from her thin, unamused lips. It seemed she had been waiting for just the right slip-up, and misplaced stereotypes happened to push the according buttons. "And... you thought you could get out of this by buttering me up with some therapy, didn't you?"

"N-no, of course I didn't! I just wanted to--to offer my advice, is all--"

Then he was wrong. The mice were... no, they weren't afraid of Seranna as much as they were mere children playing hide-and-seek and concealing themselves from an adult. Their 'advice' wasn't that at all, it was only them trying to see what he'd do and mix things up. They truly were as senseless as she'd said... and he couldn't claim to be smarter for listening.

The scowl upon the colossal predator softened into evenness, and eyes went half-closed, yet still focused on his form. "Well, perhaps you'll be delighted to know that it didn't change anything. More delighted to know that you didn't really have a say in the matter to begin with. But believe me, I do owe you my thanks."

"How do you plan on showing that?" One last quip; he did try, after all.

A smirk in the heavens above parted her lips, hinting at dagger-like fangs. "Thanks."

The tongue washed over her lips like a shoreline, moistening her narrow nose and revealing dozens of teeth. She swallowed once as if to prepare the travel down for her new quarry, and Isaac was forced to watch as the muscles of her dark-furred neck stretched up, then again down--even empty for the time being, there was no better sign of a sealed fate.

Isaac was brought to her lips, warm breath that bore the scent of death and long-gone previous victims settling over him as they opened. Sharp fangs imitated the rock formations of a cave's darkest depths, and the only light within belonged to that of the chandelier from far, far above. Then her grip became loose and unforgiving, two fingers putting pressure on both sides of his shoulder to keep him aloft.

Slowly, Seranna twirled him so as to face his front away from her. Her thick tongue lashed out and slowly traveled up his furry back to only to loiter there for a time, eliciting many a defeated shudder from her catch. The jaws came down slowly upon his arm--just to nibble with her incisors, to spoil herself... yes, just as tender as she'd anticipated, more so than any other mouse thus far.

The panther then righted his facing back to her. He knew it: this was it, the final glance of his killer that was iconic of every prey death. He could still glimpse the mice in the bowl--most had their eyes set upon him, though with no consistent reaction. Some laughed as if he'd done something utterly silly or he was putting on a show for them, others tilted their heads with absent curiosity and blank, beady eyes. They couldn't care less about him.

As in, they literally could not. They were so... so--by What Watches he hated to admit it, but she was right: they were dumb as bricks! It was hardly a wonder at all that she had a bowl full of the fuckers. The balance of his emotions tipped into the favor of anger at the fact that such creatures were about to audience his demise, and not even know what it really meant.

Seranna's visage beckoned his final sight of what lied outside the maw. Then... her expression altered. Lips curled ever so slightly, nose twitched, and near-emotionless yellow eyes settled on his form with eyelids halfway dimming their glow.

Others... others she had downed so casually, as she was about to do with him. But no, no, this would not do for such a prize.

Isaac was no mere shuffler of dirt and berries--contrarily, he was a rare case that could weave words in much more refined and dignified threads. He could crack humor, he didn't mean to offend her, he could understand her, he could...

A high-pitched, unintelligible gibbering pried Isaac's ears open. His eyes followed suit and wildly swiveled their gaze, shortly finding that there was another stuck in the vice grip of Seranna's once-free hand. She gave him--not the other new mouse, him!--a look he could only describe as morbidly relieving: it was a knowing grin, or possibly as close to it got to a warm smile.

He wasn't going to die yet. Someone was taking the bullet for him.

One second passed, and the nameless sacrifice was suddenly in her open maw, taking in the view of massive jaws, the thick tongue that rippled beneath him, and the fleshy environment of a predator's favorite chamber. Another moment, he merely blinked, and the bulge reappeared; by this time there was silence permeated only by the wet gulp that accompanied and Isaac's quick, airless breathing.

Gargantuan eyes of gold in which he could see his own trembling reflection shut for a few moments of relaxation. Then, in another moment so sudden, they opened and refocused on him like searchlights. "Show me what else you can do."

The panther was sating her hunger, delaying what may well have been the inevitable consumption of her toy. A last-minute misdirection. He didn't need to ask, but the word still slipped from his grasp: "What?"

"You have my interest... now keep it. For now, Isaac, you live. Let us say it shall be how I'll show my thanks, yes?" Seranna took the bowl from behind and set it onto her lap within easy reach, masses of white-grey rodents within writhing like coinciding ripples in a pool. Whenever the urge arose, Isaac did not have to be the one taken. In fact... she'd prefer that he wasn't. "I should say it since we're, ah, a little bit on the same page here. Or at least in the same book. Life's just too short for the smart ones to slip through the cracks, you know?" She somewhat averted her gaze. "And by the way, I don't believe I ever did answer your first question: I'm Seranna."

More than all that, she was thankful for the ear he had lent. Nobody had ever bothered. Yet he did, the one who she could so easily kill and almost had. She just... wasn't ready to show it. Not yet.

But to her their fates were intertwined, inextricable, so she would have the opportunity. Whatever outcome she'd decide on with him, she would have him. He was hers and hers alone, at her beck, in her hands. It felt empowering to finally be in control of something--but more than that, it didn't have to be control that lead to his demise, for it could be more interesting than that... at least, for a time.

In the deepest nooks of her heart, she knew she couldn't feel right about devouring Isaac so plainly and simply. This one could comprehend the feeling of control, or rather, the lack thereof that she too had felt. Another casualty of fate, as she might put it.

No... there was no question, he had_to live, because the world was shit. Nothing was _really good. Everything only sucked on varying levels, some lesser than others; life was just too cruel, and even though she deigned to admit it... he really had taught her that the rule did not apply to just herself. If she were almost anybody else or if she hadn't given him a chance, Isaac would be long, long dead. His life was crueler than hers on some level that she knew she could never truly understand.

Perhaps she was even growing a bit of a liking for the little bastard... her birthday present. The extent of that remained to be seen. Most of it was her sense of fairness, after all.

The shuddering Isaac in her hands, however, was thinking thoughts much less complex and existential. For now, he'd done his job. He entertained her, not in any way he was used to--but he had been successful, and so he'd live another day. Though there still was the question of his pay and his future, he wouldn't be picked and eaten like he was nothing... not yet.

Still, it wasn't a terrible surprise that he'd made it. Pikas were, after all, quite a bit smarter than mice.