Chapter Text
“He’s late.”
“I know.” Kitty’s ear twitched, unbothered at the tension in her brother’s voice. She scrutinized her reflection in a compact mirror, counting every flaw that needed to be fixed.
“Later than usual.”
The younger twin rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I know.” With a satisfying click, she shut her compact and tucked it into her pocket. Clearly, Cattrick was not going to let this go. But it wasn’t a problem for him to fix. Oh no, never Cattrick. He was far too busy and their baby brother was her responsibility. She was the only woman in the house, after all.
On cue, he lifted his eyes from his phone and gave her an expecting look. A single raised brow and a bored frown, as if his tone hadn’t already betrayed his anxiety. She knew him too well; why did he still feel the need to put on such an act?
“Give him another twenty minutes. He’ll show up.”
Her brother tsk’d. “He won’t be ready in time. He’s helpless with a tie, even more so with grooming.” Then he turned to his own reflection through the window, combing back that stubborn cowlick at the top of his head which sometimes refused to be tamed.
Kitty watched but her amusement was short-lived.
“Why can’t he take anything seriously? This dinner with the Whittakers is important.”
His gaze shifted to her, eyes narrowing a little sharper than before. Her stomach sank. He was right. Though stoats, the Whittakers were a stone-faced serious and prideful family. They were all geniuses, making waves in software technology and doing it all as a cohesive family unit. Relations with them had been strained for years, ever since...
Kitty felt a familiar ache settle in her chest. One that never really seemed to go away, no matter how many times she tried to get rid of it. A bright smile and infectious laughter entered her mind like an uninvited guest. Her ears flattened upon her head, though briefly.
The matriarchs of both households had brought them together once, a long time ago, through a love of the arts and an interest in philanthropy. But things shifted when Marie Lynxley unexpectedly passed away.
The Whittakers had a wonderful public image; their charity events never went unnoticed by the press. Kitty glanced upon a magazine conveniently left upon the coffee table, lips curling downward in something akin to envy. Ermias Whittaker and Fretchen Maisys' sweet, love-sick faces were plastered on the cover. They were the public’s ‘it couple’ at the moment and their wedding a few months back was supposedly something straight out of a fairytale. Kitty couldn’t confirm; she hadn’t been invited.
Meanwhile, the Lynxleys' had been facing scrutiny as of late. Milton’s temper was getting worse with age.
No. She shook her head, correcting herself. It was not worse.
He just wasn’t hiding it as well as he used to. Perhaps he cared less now that he was older, or maybe he truly didn’t notice every little slip. But his replies were short and borderline rude in recent interviews and he was smiling less in front of the cameras. That mask he had so carefully constructed and worn for his enter life was falling and people were noticing. Being seemingly shunned for years by a family whose popularity was growing more and more each day was just the icing on the cake. It didn’t look good, not one bit.
Her brother’s shoulders grew more tense. His ears were pointed back ever so slightly. His fear was beginning to poison the room, seeping beneath her own fur. She knew all too well why he was so worried. If Pawbert wasn’t ready when he needed to be, then they were all to be blamed. It had happened before on more than one occasion. It would eventually happen again.
It didn’t have to be tonight, a night that was probably going to be hard no matter what occurred.
“Fine. You win.” She stood from her all-too comfy and plush chair and turned without even sparing another glance at Cattrick. She didn’t want him to see the irritated frown on her face; he’d just say she would give herself wrinkles.
“I’ll find him.”
The Lynxly mansion was massive, but there were only so many places her little brother hid. She had each memorized by now.
His room.
A library nook which got the perfect amount of sun for a midday nap.
The kitchen.
The ‘cat tree’ room.
And his little music room.
Of course that one turned out to be the last one on her list and the room furthest from where they were getting ready. Kitty could already hear the berating and criticism; she could practically see the disapproval in her father’s gaze before his wrath would turn to Pawbert.
She walked just a little bit faster.
It wasn’t much longer until Kitty found the large oak door of Pawbert’s unofficial ‘music room’. It wasn’t the actual one, with the grand piano, harp, and accomplishments achieved by past Lynxly’s decorating the walls. This room, which she was pretty sure used to be a closet, was now a space carved out by Pawbert to specifically make his music. Music their father was not a fan of and thus, was not aware of the room’s existence.
She opened the door, finding her little brother hunched over his desk and back turned to her. She exhaled, partially relieved and irritated. “Pawbert.”
No answer.
Her ears drew back against her head as that irritation mounted. She stepped inside, careful not to trip over the wires powering god-knows-what. The room was not exactly a mess, but it was small, leaving only so much space for his expensive toys and a few mammals to fit into. “Pawbert.”
Not even a flick of an ear. She growled; how dare he ignore her!
But that was when she noticed. His ears.
The idiot had headphones on. He was so engrossed in whatever he was doing, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed a meteorite headed straight for him.
“Pawbert!” She yanked the headphones off and let them fall from her grasp and onto the ground. The jack was ripped from his computer in the process while her baby brother leapt from his seat in surprise. Papers were scattered from his hands and went flying. Music blasted from the speakers. An acoustic guitar, her brother’s whiney voice. One recorded and the other live and in person, profusely apologizing and stumbling over his words.
Oh, goody.
“Kitty! I didn’t- I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here! What are you doing here? Not that you can’t be here. Obviously, you can!” A single sheet of music floated down and landed perfectly atop her head. “I just hadn’t - Ohmygosh, I’m sorry, I -”
A massive headache struck Kitty beneath the eyes as Pawbert tried to reach out and help. She raised two massive paws in front of her, grimacing.
“Shut. Up.” And that had been enough to make him stop, frozen and leaning over his desk. Kitty didn’t make it a habit to raise her voice. Women weren't supposed to yell, after all. Her tone, as ice cold as their home, was enough to do the trick. She took the paper from off her head and suppressed a groan while Pawbert could do nothing but helplessly wait. The fur alongside his right jowl was sticking up, likely because he fell asleep at his desk at some point. His whiskers were crooked. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes. He was a complete and utter mess. Kitty was about to tell him as such, if something hadn’t caught her attention.
She hadn’t noticed it before, the way Pawbert’s singing faded from the song. It was replaced with another’s, one more feminine and undeniably familiar. She recognized it in an instant. Their mother’s voice.
Large ears twitched as emerald eyes grew wide. Her heart felt as though it stopped.
Marie Lynxly’s voice was pouring through the speakers, operatic and smooth and beautiful. Kitty was now the frozen one, practically hypnotized as her gaze shifted from her brother to the open track on his computer. Pawbert visibly swallowed, watching his sister closely while she paid no mind to him. The song, her mother’s at least, was one Kitty recognized. It was from an old Opera, one made almost a hundred years ago, but a favorite of their late mother’s. It was a tale of princes and princesses, a battle against good and evil, and the magical power of music.
Kitty blinked and suddenly she was a little kitten sitting at the edge of her seat, butterflies swarming in her stomach while she gripped a playbill tightly in her paws. On stage, bathing beneath a thousand lights, was her mother. Marie was dressed in mauve silk, a shining brooch pinned on the collar. Her voice filled the room and everyone was left breathless. Amber eyes scanned over the crowd and found her daughter. The little girl bounced in her seat, smiling and suppressing a giggle as she waved. Kitty never understood how she was always able to do that. 'Mamma's Magic', she always called it.
And those same amber eyes stared at her now, because Pawbert had grown into a nearly spitting image of their mother. From the speaker, his voice and acoustic guitar seamlessly mixed in harmony with Marie.
Kitty's anger fizzled, evaporating like snow beneath the hot sun, until it was gone. What replaced it was bitter nostalgia and grief, though she dared not acknowledge either. “What-” Her voice instantly betrayed her, cracking at its edges. Dinner, now, was the farthest thing from her mind. It took an extra moment for her armor to slip back into place. Brows furrowed as she scanned his desk, which was covered in old CD’s and vinyl records, their mother’s various albums. “What is all this?”
Pawbert flailed the moment he noticed her eyes wandering. “Oh! Uh - it’s really not - ! It’s just a little somethin’ I’ve been working on but it’s not even close to being finished yet! It’s just, uhm -” Kitty looked at the paper in her hand. It was the very first page with the song’s name messily scribbled at the top. She narrowed her gaze. “... ‘I Heard You Sing’?” A working title, no doubt.
Pawbert went quiet for a moment, ears flopping downward before he sighed. “Yesterday, I… remembered Mrs. Whittaker and Mom being real close so I started going through all of her old music.” Her little brother delicately picked a vinyl up from his desk and opened the jacket. Pictures of their mother in her prime, before marrying into the Lynxley family, greeted them from inside. It was a holiday themed album, lyrics painted and gold and sitting upon a burgundy background. Marie looked stunning in every photograph. She wore a champagne colored ballgown, leaning against an open doorframe whilst snow fell outside.
“I thought about maybe giving her one of these. Mrs. Whittaker, I mean.” Pawbert’s voice brought Kitty back to reality. She blinked at him, dumbfounded. He had actually remembered the dinner?
“And then after that, I don’t know…” He gestured awkwardly towards his equipment. An acoustic guitar leaned against the wall, just close enough to reach from where he had been sitting. A piano-style keyboard sat where a keypad would normally would. The story clicked itself into place. Her younger brother fidgeted, tugging at one of his ears. “I couldn’t get this melody out of my head. I just had to start writing.”
Any other day, Kitty would have rolled her eyes to the back of her skull. She had learned that all artists were like this. Overly-emotional, self absorbed, living in their own worlds. Pawbert was no different. But her mother’s voice flooded the room once again, hovering and heavy like a ghost. She couldn’t find the will to be mad at him.
He stood a little straighter as he carefully watched her, tired eyes searching for something. She hesitated, emotions high and all too confusing. What exactly did he want from her? A pat on the back and a ‘job well done’? Some sort of validation for his feelings?
She held back a scoff. That wasn't the way they did things. He knew that. But the moment stretched, agonizing. She could only stare at him, unable to say a damn word. Irritation bubbled, ice formed. She didn't want to think about this; about fairytales and ballgowns and magical music.
She couldn't.
Not tonight.
“Well, good for you.” Kitty spat poison at him with pinned back ears. “Thanks to your little song, you’re going to get us all into trouble. Do you even know what time it is?” She elbowed Pawbert with a glare, causing him to stumble away from the desk. Finally, she was able to silence the music with a single click of a button. Her mother’s voice was cut midsentence, and Kitty felt a knife stab and twist inside her gut.
When had she last listened to her mom's music?
Kitty sighed, head hanging while she attempted to reign in the emotional disarray that was threatening to spill to the surface.
Now was not the time.
Now was not the time.
Wait until you're alone. When it's safe.
A beat passed. Then another before Kitty lifted her head. “Wait, did you say yesterday?” She squinted at the coffee pot shoved into a corner and still connected to the socket. When she turned back to her brother, he looked at her with wide and guilty eyes.
He drank straight from that thing, didn’t he?
“You’ve been up since last night!” It wasn’t a question. When he opened his mouth to confirm her fear, Kitty simply raised a paw. Once again, that effectively shut him up. She tugged him forward by the sleeve and began leading him out the door, earning a grunt and a stumble from her younger brother. For not the first time that night, she pretended not to care.
“Ugh, okay. You are going to take the quickest shower known to mammalkind. Use cool water and set a timer on your phone. Don’t take more than ten minutes. I’ll help you with your tie.” Pawbert was nodding along with her every word, the gravity of his situation seeming to suddenly dawn on him.
Good. Maybe that meant none of them would have to face their father’s wrath.
She tried to focus on that, the dinner, her makeup which still needed fixing, and what she was going to say to the Whittakers. But Marie’s voice, proud and stunning, still rang like a bell inside her head. Other memories were flooding, unwelcomed and hurtful.
Her mother’s scent. Her soft paws in her fur. The way she always called her ‘Kit’.
...
Nobody called her that anymore.
Kitty stopped at the doorway, causing Pawbert to ram into her back.
Before he could even think to apologize, she spoke uncharacteristically soft. “What you were saying before… It’s a good idea.” She turned to face his puzzled expression and almost smiled. Almost. It was only because he really did look so much like their mother. His round face, his nose, his eyes.
Kitty didn’t want to think about who she inherited her looks from.
“... If you’re going to give Mrs. Whittaker anything, it should be a CD. Keep it under your jacket so Dad doesn’t see.” For the first time in a very, very long time Kitty sounded like an older sister. Her words were serious, but not without a certain tenderness. She brushed a bit of chip crumbs from his poor vintage sweater before turning and walking ahead without another word; her pride forbade her from saying anything else.
Sensitive ears caught his clumsy steps back into his home-made studio before he ran back to her side, CD in paw. She felt his gaze and could practically hear him opening and closing his mouth again, deciding if he wanted to push his luck or not. “Do you… think she’d like this one?”
Kitty almost immediately snorted, though unamused, and didn’t spare her brother a glance. “How should I know? I haven’t seen Mrs. Whittaker since we were all kittens.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw his ears fall. The hallway was once again as silent as a cold winter’s night. Kitty felt a knot begin to tighten in her stomach.
Damn it…
She took a breath and stole a glance at the CD. On its cover was a picture of her mother, three little snowdrop flowers held delicately within her paw, with the title of the album ‘Chronicles’ in cursive lettering at the bottom. That had been her last record before…
“She’ll love it.” The words were out of her mouth before she could even think upon them. “She would’ve loved anything you chose… All of Mom’s albums are amazing.”
Kitty blinked, startled as her throat felt as though it was beginning to close. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually said the word ‘mom’, and for good reason. Since her untimely death, Marie had become a forbidden topic in the Lynxley household. Of course, as children, they had all slipped up from time to time, only to be taught a swift lesson.
Years, she realized gravely.
It had been so many years since she talked about her…
There was a shift in the air and, suddenly, it wasn’t so cold.
“Yeah…” Pawbert’s voice was practically a whisper, but she heard it. She heard it crack and waver ever so slightly, and could only hope he hadn’t heard the way her own had faltered just a little before. “They really are.” He looked at her and then he smiled. A genuine, sweet smile as if to say ‘thank you’, as if he could feel the weight of the room lift as well.
Kitty faltered, having no idea what to do with that.
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her paw in his face before walking just a little bit ahead, arms crossed and snout held high. “Now come on. It’s time to get ready.”