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"Yeah nah, I ain't the one, man," Jabber says to the wannabe thief. He'd just been traipsing through the woods on his way to bother Zanka (who he swears has been avoiding him ever since their last spar got a little too heated), and here comes an amateur bandit demanding he hand over his enchantment ink. Fuck that mess, dude's practically begging to get his ass whooped. Jabber probably won't even need magic to do it!
The masked man considers his reply, then lunges forward to take the ink by force. A sadistic grin stretches across Jabber's face. Who knew a little warmup would fall into his lap today? Not that this asshole will actually give him a good fight.
Jabber swiftly sidesteps the sloppy punch aimed for his chest, then swivels to kick the stumbling man in the rear. The blow launches the bandit into a thick tree trunk, but he quickly scrambles back without even wincing.
Something about the man's movements seems off, as if the frantic energy pulsing beneath his skin doesn't truly belong to him. He eyes Jabber from beneath the mask like a wild animal.
"You don't get it man, I need that ink. There's not—" The bandit twitches, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. "Not much time. Don't make me use that…" he trails off.
Jabber couldn't give less of a fuck what this freak's yapping about now. Matter of fact, he's about ready to smack the thief upside the head and get on with his day. Zanka's got some shady-ass neighbors out here, for real.
"Miss me with that cryptic shit, man. I told ya you ain't gettin' nothin' from me," Jabber growls.
When the man rushes forward again, Jabber doesn't pull his punches. After a few heavy headshots and a well-placed kick to his chest, the thief collapses into the grass like a bag of rocks. Jabber's knuckles are happily stinging, and he's ready to continue on his merry way.
That is, until he feels the telltale tingle of a sigil against his back.
Jabber whips around, but the clearing is eerily empty. The thief seems to have vanished without a trace. Jabber's ears strain as he scans the forest around him, but he doesn't hear any footsteps.
Fuck it. He turns and continues along the route he's memorized through the years, picking up the pace as his skin prickles.
Something about the forest is definitely off, though. It's as if every sway of a leaf is amplified, and every scent along the breeze assaults Jabber's nose. A few moments later, he picks up the soft yet rhythmic rustling of an animal moving through the brush behind him.
It doesn't sound large enough to do any real harm… maybe a stray dog? But Jabber's skin crawls at the sound, and his head's beginning to throb. Seriously, what did that asshole hit him with? Some whack-ass sense-maximizing spell?
Just as Jabber's beginning to feel light-headed, the crackling footsteps behind him pause. He turns his head, but before he can threaten whatever's stalking him, a wave of vertigo hits him so hard he collapses.
Jabber's limbs seem to stretch and contract unnaturally as he falls, and the landing knocks the air from his chest. It takes him a moment to find his bearings.
Is he tripping, or did that fall take way longer than it should've?
Jabber stands and looks down at the ground, which is now disconcertingly close to his face. Two soft calico paws press into the grass in front of him. No fucking way. He lets out a startled laugh, but it ends up sounding closer to a meow.
A cat… That motherfucker turned him into a cat.
Jabber doesn't even have time to adjust to his new reality before the creature in the brush reveals itself. A bundle of fur and sharp claws rushes out toward him, and Jabber can barely coordinate his limbs to leap out of the way.
Is that a fucking bobcat? Damn, cat on cat violence… It really be your own, man. Jabber would laugh if he weren't literally fighting for his life right now.
The bobcat lunges in again, and Jabber's too discombobulated to fight back. Shit, it's all he can do to dodge the claws slashing at his face!
So this is how Zan-Zan must feel when Jabber conjures Mankira in their fights… Aww, that's tough.
Jabber's daydreaming costs him the little ground he made up, and sharp claws tear through his flank before he can dodge them. It may be his first day as a cat, but Jabber has a strong feeling his leg is now bent in a direction it shouldn't be.
The pain that lances through him should be grounding, but instead Jabber feels himself devolve into pure panic. He can't cast spells without hands! Adrenaline courses through him, and he drags himself away kicking and biting like a rabid animal.
Somehow amidst Jabber's thrashing, he manages to nick the bobcat across the eyes. The deep gash gives the predator pause, and Jabber uses his last burst of energy to make a hasty escape as blood clouds the larger cat's vision.
He can barely even feel the pain from his injured leg anymore, heat coursing through him as true survival instincts kick in. Thank god he knows these woods like the patterns of his own sigils.
Jabber's adrenaline wears off as he finally exits the woods, and physical sensation gradually returns to his injured leg. Bolts of agony shoot up the limb, and Jabber can't even properly enjoy it knowing the small body he's trapped in could easily bleed out from this wound. Pain's only fun when it's temporary.
Jabber's mind goes hazy as he stumbles onto the cobblestone path, determined to make it to Zanka's cottage. No way in hell he's kickin' the bucket before terrorizing that snobby witch again. He's sure this spell will wear off soon, so all he has to do is drag.. himself.. a few.. more.. steps...
Unfortunately, the warm stones beneath Jabber's paws are lulling him into a sleepy daze. Surely one nap won't hurt, right? He's gotta build up his strength before clawing Zan-Zan to pieces, anyway.
Yeah, a cat nap doesn't sound half bad. Before he knows it, Jabber's slumped against the cobblestone, eyes fluttering closed.
Warm rays of evening light fall across Jabber's face, and his nose slowly twitches. He yawns, waking to the scent of rich soil and the rhythmic thumps of a wooden cane in the distance.
Is that…? Jabber cranes his (annoyingly still feline) neck and spots a familiar silhouette. It is! Looks like he would've beaten Zanka back if he hadn't been sidetracked by that shapeshifting bum.
Jabber can tell the instant Zanka notices him on the path. The witch pauses and stops humming to himself, then tilts his head as he continues his approach.
"Hi there, kitty," Zanka says softly as he closes the distance between them. He glances down to Jabber's wounded leg with concern. "Yer like me now, huh?"
Zanka's leg never healed right after he fell down a well as a child. Or so Jabber heard. Whenever he asks Zanka about that goofy-ass story, the witch either shuts down completely or threatens to fuck Jabber up instead, "Since yer so curious 'bout gettin' hurt."
Unfortunately for Jabber, Zanka's never followed through with his threats of permanent bodily harm.
Zanka could probably fix that leg of his with ease if he just accepted Jabber's experimental body modification magic, but he's real stubborn when he wants to be (which is all the time). And he seems ridiculously attached to that enchanted cane of his, anyway.
As if reading his mind, the witch rests his beloved cane against a tree and slowly kneels down to the cobblestone. Snooty Zan-Zan would usually be worried about sullying his precious clothes with dirt, but his attention seems to be solely focused on Jabber now.
What's his deal? Did Jabber somehow run into some freaky-ass Zanka doppelganger? Nah, no way there's two witches out here with those fuckass eyebrows…
Zanka leans in to take a closer look, and Jabber tries not to bristle under his gaze.
"Hmm, somethin' 'bout yer eyes…" the witch mutters. "Have we met before, kitty?"
Seeming to realize that Jabber has no way to respond to this inquiry, Zanka shakes his head and refocuses. "Nevermind. Looks like yer leg's hurt real bad. Want me ta take care of it for ya?" he asks. He reaches a tentative hand out, and the calming scent of incense envelops Jabber.
Before the hand can graze his fur, Jabber swipes a paw out and feels his claws sink into Zanka's palm. Zanka winces, and Jabber braces himself for a hit. It's not really a fair fight given his current condition, but he's ready to claw the hell outta Zanka, ready to give him some death by a thousand cuts type shit. He hisses, goading Zanka to retaliate.
Instead, the witch withdraws.
"Ah, that's my fault, kitty. 'M sorry. Ya must be real scared, huh?" Zanka murmurs, pulling away and holding his palms up to reassure Jabber.
'Sorry'? This fucker's never apologized to Jabber in his life, even when he sent him flying face-first into mud during one of their fights. All it takes is a fuzzy cat, and suddenly Mr. Bad Attitude's Mr. Nice Guy? That just ain't right. If his legs had the strength, Jabber would lunge and bite that fake-ass smile right off Zanka's face.
"Would ya let me pick you up?" Zanka asks, voice still infuriatingly soft. "Ya really shouldn't be walkin' on that, n' it's nearly dark out."
How the hell is Jabber supposed to respond to that? He already feels worryingly tired, and it's true that spending the night in the wild like this may be a death sentence. But allowing Zanka to scoop him up and nurse him back to health feels damn near twice as dangerous.
Jabber shivers, and his body makes the choice for him. His head dips down in reluctant acceptance. As Zanka's warm calloused hands gently lift him, the cat feels a new wave of drowsiness wash over him.
Zanka presses him to his chest with one hand as he retrieves his cane, and Jabber pretends the clean fabric against his cheek isn't a welcome reprieve from the rocky ground. He's only resting his head here because he's too tired to attack again. Seriously, this feline sleep schedule is no fuckin' joke.
"Good kitty," Zanka says as he continues down the path. That murmured reassurance is the last thing Jabber hears before the rocking motion and sweet woody scent of Zanka's clothes lull him back to sleep.
Awareness returns to Jabber slowly, and he struggles to blink his eyes open. Are they back in Zanka's cottage already? He looks around in confusion. He's resting on some sort of table, but the ceiling seems miles away, and his limbs feel all wrong.
Jabber glances down to the cushion beneath him and sees two fluffy paws. Oh. Right. So clearly today wasn't just some weird-ass dream. He tries to stand and assess his surroundings, but his wounded leg spasms, and a pained meow is all he can muster.
"Ah, hey there," a warm, resonant voice calls out from behind him. Jabber twists around and is met with the familiar face of his spellcasting rival. There's something softer and more open about it now, though. It's almost uncanny to see Zanka smiling. "I'm gonna tend ta that leg of yers now, kitty, so bear with me," the witch says.
Well, it's not like Jabber can really fight him off at the moment. Fine, he'll let him cook.
If Jabber had hands, he'd just cast a quick flesh-healing spell directly onto his own skin, but it looks like Zanka's working on some sort of magical splint instead. He's carefully inscribing sigils into the wood with writing that would be beautiful if it weren't so unnecessary. For real, Zanka's aversion to casting on the human (or in this case, feline) body is gonna get him killed someday.
Jabber huffs, flopping back onto the cushion and resigning himself to wait for Zanka to finish his work. His ears twitch when Zanka quietly laughs.
"Well I'll be… You've got quite the personality there, kitty," the witch says with a smile. "Be patient, I promise you'll be runnin' around again in no time." Jabber flicks his tail and ignores how the witch's eyes sparkle in amusement.
Finally, Zanka inscribes the last of his spell into the wood. He reaches out cautiously, then with renewed confidence when Jabber just slowly blinks at him. God, he wishes Zanka would get this shit over with already and stop looking at him like damaged goods.
Jabber's so caught up in his own annoyance that he almost misses the next words out of Zanka's mouth. "That bastard would probably cast some shit to instantly heal every damaged cell in yer body, but this is the best I've got fer now, so we'll hafta make do," the witch mutters under his breath.
'Bastard', huh? Jabber wishes he could laugh.
Thankfully, Zanka's spite doesn't bleed into his careful ministrations. The witch stabilizes Jabber's injured leg and secures the splint firmly, then pats Jabber lightly on the head before moving back to admire his handiwork.
"See? All done. This'll numb yer pain n' speed up that healin' for ya. Such a brave kitty, sittin' so nice and still…" Zanka says soothingly. Something about the low timbre of his voice makes Jabber's fur tingle. It's almost as enticing as the warm stone from before, and Jabber has to actively bite down the responding rumble building in his own chest.
Jabber's ears are just more sensitive like this, that's all. And he's not used to Zanka's voice when the witch isn't hollering profanities at him. The false sense of security it brings him is just that: false.
And yet, when Zanka reaches back out to scratch behind his ears, Jabber doesn't try to bite him. He ducks his head and refuses to meet the witch's gaze, though (as if that can save his last remaining shreds of dignity).
Zanka's deft fingers trace down Jabber's spine, gently stroking his fur before withdrawing. "Awright kitty, ya ready for bed?" he asks, cupping his palms out in front of Jabber.
Well, he might as well test out this enchanted splint… Jabber's never been on the receiving end of Zanka's healing magic before, always opting to fix his wounds himself. He stands up to stretch, then uses the proffered palms as a boost to launch himself onto Zanka's shoulder. His leg barely twinges!
Zanka gasps and rears back, quickly settling a palm against Jabber's side to support his weight. Huh, Jabber kinda expected to be flung off immediately.
"Yer a clingy one, ain'tcha?" Zanka says as he affectionately pets Jabber's back. He carefully stands from his work bench and retrieves his cane, then carries Jabber into what must be his bedroom.
Oh? He's not kicking him out for the night, or leaving him to sleep on that table cushion? Damn, Zan-Zan really does have a soft spot for cats!
Zanka leans down to deposit Jabber onto a blanket at the foot of his bed, then carefully inspects his injured leg. "Hmm, looks like the wound's already healin'… you'll be fit as a fiddle in no time, kitty!" He smiles, and Jabber folds his ears back in annoyance. With his own magic, he'd already be good as new.
Jabber can't dwell on the thought for too long, though, because Zanka soon draws away to open the cedar chest at the foot of his bed. He stoops down and retrieves a set of light flowy garments, and it suddenly dawns on Jabber: Zanka's about to get changed in front of him.
Jabber's tail swishes as Zanka steps away to remove his outer robe. Part of him is curious to see which wounds he's inflicted on the witch have left permanent scars — Zanka's always hidden beneath layered fabrics, so he can't help but wonder. But a larger part of him knows that once he breaks this spell, Zanka might actually kill him (or worse yet, excommunicate him) for peeping.
As soon as Zanka begins to slide off his inner blouse, Jabber resolutely turns away.
When the sound of shifting fabric behind him grows too alluring, he limps along the covers until he reaches Zanka's pillow, then curls up right in the center. Jabber won't completely violate the witch's trust tonight, but he can't resist inconveniencing him at least a little. Zanka's funny when he's angry, always crashing out over the dumbest shit.
But when Zanka returns in his billowing nightclothes and sees that his pillow has been claimed, he looks more amused than annoyed. The witch glances from Jabber to the abandoned blanket at the foot of the bed, rests his cane against the wall, and actually laughs. Jabber's ears prick. That's probably the warmest sound he's ever heard from him.
"Ya found a real comfy spot there, huh?" Zanka asks, still chuckling.
Jabber refuses to cede territory as the witch approaches, but Zanka just eases down onto the mattress beside him and rests his head on his arm. He's afraid to take his own pillow back from a cat? No wonder Zan-Zan keeps losing their fights. Too fuckin' soft for his own good.
As if proving his point, Zanka yawns and reaches out to pet Jabber again. Jabber instinctively nips at his hand, but the witch just patiently moves his palm to trace soothing curves along his back. Ugh, what's his deal?
Jabber pointedly ignores the rumbles reverberating through his chest, but Zanka is annoyingly perceptive. The witch laughs again and scratches him behind the ears. "G'night, kitty," he says quietly. Then, in one smooth movement, he leans forward and kisses Jabber on the forehead.
Warmth dances across Jabber's skin, and his whole body tingles with frenzied energy. He squeezes his eyes shut as a familiar wave of vertigo passes through him. In a split second, his limbs stretch and compress, head throbbing until it suddenly goes blissfully clear.
Jabber runs his tongue along his teeth and cracks open an eye, confirming what he already knew to be true. Thank god his clothes are intact.
The transformation must've been instantaneous, because Zanka's only just drawn away. Jabber can't help but grin as the witch blinks. Then blinks again. He can almost see the thoughts racing through poor Zan-Zan's head.
"Yo, thanks for lettin' me crash here tonight," Jabber says, trying to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible.
"What. The fuck." Zanka stares at him incredulously. His body springs into action quickly after, shoving Jabber away. "Are ya— Were ya just— Huh?!" the witch fumes, evidently too appalled to string a coherent sentence together.
Jabber giggles and twirls a loc around his finger, glancing down to Zanka's lips. "Why'd ya stop pettin' me?" he asks innocently, trying (successfully) to enrage the witch further.
"Jabber. Get the hell outta my bed. Now." Ah, there's that bad attitude he knows and loves!
"No "good kitty"?" Jabber whines. "So cruel, Zan-Zan."
Zanka's face flushes impossibly redder, but he hasn't made a move to throw Jabber out yet. Looks like he's still got a little more room to push the seething witch...
"C'mooon, Zankaaa, it's dangerous out there!" Jabber pouts. "You'd make me brave those creepy-ass woods alone at night, without a strong witch to protect me?" He bats his eyelashes.
A vein in Zanka's forehead twitches. "You are a strong witch, asshole," he bites back. Then seems to realize his mistake a beat too late.
"Aww, Zan-Zan! Never thought I'd see the day Mr. Bad Attitude would be gassin' me up," Jabber giggles, scooting forward to drape himself across the disgruntled witch. He buries his face in Zanka's neck and winds his arms around his waist, holding tightly when Zanka immediately tries to pry him off.
Jabber never really noticed Zanka's aroma of warm incense until today, but now he can't ignore it. "Mmm.. might have to take a cat nap right here Zan-Zan, I can't lie," Jabber mumbles, yawning exaggeratedly into the witch's neck.
Zanka's body goes ramrod straight. "Jabber. I know ya had a rough day n' all. But if ya don't get offa me by the count of three, I'm crackin' aibō over yer head 'till ya think yer a cat again," he grits out.
"Promise?" Jabber asks gleefully. Zanka starts counting without missing a beat. Damn, he wasn't playing, huh?
Jabber burrows closer into Zanka's fancy nightclothes, waiting until the moment the witch begins to utter "three" to launch himself off the bed and hop to the windowsill. Huh, his leg really is good as new!
"See ya later, Zan-Zan! Don't go adoptin' any other strays without me now," Jabber grins. He slips back out into the night before the other witch can respond, wishing he could permanently etch Zanka's mortified expression into his brain.
Forceful shapeshifting may be one of the wildest experiences of Jabber's life, but being a cat did have its perks. He's gonna miss darting around with peak agility, and fighting with claws that were a true extension of himself.
The cat-like senses were whack, though. Constantly assaulted by sharp scents and the smallest of noises… How the hell do cats live like that? Physical sensations were so nauseating and overwhelming when he was in that form.
Well, most of them. If he really focuses, Jabber can still feel the soft press of Zanka's lips against his forehead. He giggles to himself as he winds through the forest back home, already planning feline puns to rile Zanka up in their next fight.