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A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away....there was an orphan boy who was discovered by a jedi. This boy was strong in the Force and from a species the Jedi had never seen before. The boy was taken to the Jedi Temple, as all who were strong in the Force were encouraged to, and for once the boy did not go hungry nor have to fight for his survival.

He grew within the Order, though had trouble with some of the tenants of he was taught. Eventually he was claimed as a padawan by Pong Krell, who tried his best to instill a strong sense of purpose and dignity in the young padawan, to very mixed results.

Now Tybalt, once Rand, is soon to face the trials that will make him a jedi knight, but he is uncertain if that is the path he wishes to travel.

Tybalt is from a species of cat-like humanoids. He has slit pupils and bright green irises with malachite banding. His ears are pointed and his hair is brown with black strips. His fingers end in claws rather than finger nails.

Have you a need to reach my narrator but are shy of email? Feel free to leave a comment here (which will be screened) and I shall be certain he receives it, even if I must chase him down.

There are events in lives that lead to moments which freeze the hearts of those whom live them. As Tybalt looked into Toby's eyes, at her anger and fear and pain, all that mattered was that moment; despite the events which lead there. Finding the Luidaeg and trading a favor (A favor he knew he would regret the paying though not the asking), walking the Shadowroads to finding himself with Toby's moving car (a trick he dearly hoped he would never have need for again), and then returning to the Court of Cats with Toby that she may find her lost changeling and perhaps his missing prince, Raj.

He'd hated to add to her burden, but knew she'd have flayed him had he not told her of Raj's disappearance.

"You didn't tell me you died!" Toby hissed, her voice clawing at his heart.

"I got better," he tried, aiming for levity to disarm the situation. Alas, his skill was not up to the task. At her continued glare, he added, moving his hand from her wrist to the small of her back to steer her towards the next room, "You can shout at me for dying later. For now, we have larger things to worry about. Come."

There are few venues within the mortal city of San Francisco that are dear to Tybalt, and the one closest to his heart is Mad Magda's Tea Room. Long ago, in the days before the Great Earthquake, Tybalt had adopted a mortal family who'd just come from Eastern Europe and who had shown him kindness on several occasions, both as a cat and as a man, and for their actions, Tybalt has watched over them and their children. The latest, and perhaps last, of the line had turned the family blessing into a profitable and unique tea room in a city overrun with coffee shops.

Situated on the Western edge of Hayes Valley, the tea room was a wash of bold colors, wood, velvet chairs, antique theater posters, and other archaic pieces. Tonight, there was even a few Tarot readers working, and the soft beats of trip hop played softly through the speakers. One might enjoy the place simply for its ambience, but the true value was in the tea. This night, Tybalt had ordered a pot of lavender and anise, and took it to the back garden, where he'd reserved the largest seating area, as a means to insuring privacy beyond what magic could provide.

He'd leave to food stuffs to the boys...once they arrived. Still, he wasn't so foolish as to bid his time waiting for them to appear, and so snacked on candied orange peels covered in dark chocolate as he sat and watched the pixies dance among the strings of lights which criss-crossed birch trees and the sole oak, which played host to a few cats, who in turn agreed to keep an eye out for any spies within the garden.

Caution was rarely wasted.

Somewhat calmed by his visit to Milliways, Tybalt returned to the Court of Cats and found himself intruding on the kittens practicing their hunting skills. Any last vestiges of vexation he felt was quickly chased away by the tiny heads of kittens, both as cats and fae, popping in out of the worn furniture and detritus that collected in his Court. He could even feel the corners of his mouth pull towards the heavens.

Of course, this was when he noted Sampson and Raj enter, and so he schooled the smile before it could claim him. Raj and his Court could see him smile, and know it for the pleasure at his strong Court. Sampson would read it as mocking at best, and a challenge at worse. And as much as Tybalt loathed the man, he was Raj's father and he would grant the man mercy for that.

This tableau held for some minutes when Tybalt caught a whiff of calla lilies. It was all the warning he, and the Court, received before a portal opened and a screaming, panicked changeling girl burst through. She ran straight at Raj and before Tybalt could cry a warning, lava poured into the Court from the portal. For the briefest of moments, Tybalt became Rand and he was in the Great Fire of London again, frozen in terror before Tybalt leaped for the nearest of his subjects and threw them from the room. A Prince is allowed to fear, but a King must act.

The smoke came quickly as he worked, throwing furniture aside to reach the kittens within. Coughing, he heard others grasping and pulling the children from the room, but it was all too slow. The fire, a hungry beast at the best of times, was ravenous.

Tybalt's jacket caught fire then, so he jumped through the Shadow Roads to the far side of the room, both to pull more of his people to safety and to extinguish the flames. He did this several more times until the smoke was choking him and the light from the flames chased away any shadows.

Still Tybalt fought on. He would save his subjects. Every last one. He was King and nothing so lowly as fire would end his Court. Silently he raged at the flames, for the smoke stole his breath.

And still he fought to find his people and get them to safety.

Pain was beneath him. Air a weakness he could ignore.

Tybalt stalked away from Toby's home on Valencia, frustrated at her deflections and obtuseness. And, if he were honest, himself for attempting to not only talk of the lack of care she gave herself, but to hint at his feelings for her. In typical Toby fashion, she could see nothing beyond the quest before her.

Foolishly, he replayed the scene in his mind.

"I'm not lost, Tybalt. I know exactly where I am," she had said, looking down and avoiding his eyes.

"If I believed that, I would walk away and never darken your door again," he had replied. "I can forgive your foolishness only because I know how lost you are. But one day, you'll have to come home. When you do, I hope you'll find me waiting."

Sighing a near growl at himself, he shook his head and returned to the business at hand. There was a changeling girl lost, whether by design or accident, and he would do what he could to help, as he had promised. He knew his thoughts were not the best to speak within the Court of Cats--Simon, he knew would take advantage or attempt to--but the mortal alley cats and strays of his realm were a simpler matter to attend and so he began asking them to keep an eye out for any strange fae girls appearing and disappear.

The Court of Cats, despite what one might assume from the name, is not a body that typically calls for mediation in disputes. There are certainly traditions defining the protocols, but as a rule, cats and cait sidhe settle matters with tooth and claw before ever deigning to speak before an audience or mediator. Tonight, Tybalt wishes the two parties before him had followed the rule and not been the exception.

"So, allow me to be certain I understand clearly the purpose of your coming before me," he drawls in his most patient, yet put upon voice. "You both have separated and no longer bed together. Regardless of the cause," here Tybalt arched an eyebrow at the father before him whose indiscretions ended things, "your time as a pair has ended? Yet there is a child to complicate matters, and neither of you can come to an agreement as to the treatment or residency of the child?"

"No sire," the father answers while the mother scowls at the man.

She, at least, Tybalt thinks, has the forethought to be shamed by this farce. If Tybalt didn't know better, he'd think this was another feint by Samson to needle at his rule. Yes, any within the Court of Cats had the right of mediation by the King or Queen, but typically to do so was assumed to be a sign of weakness.

"And you both agree to my ruling?" A nod from the father, followed by a reluctant one by the mother.

Tybalt sighs and is about to speak when he catches the scent of pepper and burning paper. Turning, he sees Raj stepping from the shadows near the chair that is currently serving as Tybalt's throne. Looking closer, Tybalt notices the tension in the young prince's fingers and lips. A spike of worry stabs Tybalt but he cannot act upon it now.

Returning to the petitioners, he reconsiders his decision and words. They, and the Court, wait to see what the king will do in this and Tybalt can't help but wonder how many of them expect him to rule as one of the Divided Courts. Leaning back against his seat and steepling his fingers, he speaks. "Very well. Since you cannot settle this matter between you, the child is now my ward. You two shall be responsible for her care and feeding, but I will supply any needs you are unable to provide."

The father looked alternatingly pleased and shamed by this, while the mother's scowl deepens. She at least catches the jab at her strength as a provider. "And do trust that I shall have my eye on the child and will take it as a personal attack should I discover any mistreatment. When the child is of an age to decide, she shall pick which parent is hers. I advise you to raise her wisely and fairly. Furthermore, I shall visit the child as I deign. You would do well to divide the time she spends between you, for I will be visiting you both as the mood takes me."

"But what of when we need to hunt?" the father sputters.

"A perfect time to teach then." The father looks away and Tybalt can't resist the chance at a strike. "If the responsibility is too much for you, then perhaps you should have considered such things before deciding to have a child." The man's nostrils flare, finally feeling shame in this, but Tybalt turns from him to gauge the mother's reaction. She is displeased at the arrangement, but knows better than to challenge the rulings. He doubts he'll ever need to visit her and the child beyond the sake of appearances.

The matter closed, Tybalt stands and gestures for Raj to follow him, stepping through the shadows to his private chambers. As the light fades, Tybalt just catches Samson's glare of outrage. Inwardly, Tybalt sighs. He'll have to take care of Samson once whatever danger Toby had caught herself into this time was past.

"What news, nephew?"

"Toby is out late and Quentin is working himself into a frenzy. I thought it best we get involved before he injures himself." Raj sniffs as if he weren't just as worried.

"That certainly wouldn't do now, would it?"

The realm is safe and the call to war silenced, much to the disappointment of the Queen. Toby, yet again, has accomplished a miracle and not only found the kidnapped children of the Undersea, she also brokered a treaty of sorts that opened paths between the two kingdoms. All it cost her was her daughter to the mortal world and her love his life.

Tybalt had not liked Conner, which was not surprising; he had been his rival for Toby's affections after all. In addition, he was weak. Much like Paris, his was a lover's soul in a surfer's body. The man tended towards being carried by events rather than driving them. But in the end, he sacrificed everything to protect Toby's daughter and Tybalt simply could not ignore such nobility.

The cait sidhe mourned this night as they always did, by feasting. Several of his people had either died, or were in the sleep of elfshot. The battle with Rayseline's goblins had it's costs, but they had taken back the hand of King Gilad and with it Rayseline's promise to the goblins. A weighty price but not one paid in vain.

"We few, we happy few," Tybalt murmured to himself on his throne,"We band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition." Hollow words for the dead selkie but he had no others.

"What was that my liege?" Samson, Raj's father, called out from a nearby table. The man was a bother, ever eager to pounce on perceived slights or errors, but one Tybalt tolerated for his heir's sake.

"It was nothing, idle thoughts."

"Please, my liege," Samson returned, his tone just shy of mocking. "Share with us you idle thoughts. We have paid for your idle whims have we not? Have we not earned the right to hear them?"

"If you have something to say, I bid you speak plainly Samson." Tybalt replied, his eyes narrowing.

"Our people have died this night and I would know why!"

"Our people chose the path that lead to their fate. My whim, as you so caustically say it, was a request. I gave no order. If you feel I have erred, perhaps you wish to challenge me for this seat? I am certain our people would relish an evenings entertainment. No? Then I command you, Samson, to think carefully before ever you speak to me again. The alleyway to Fisherman's Wharf goes untended. I suggest you correct this oversight." THen, since Samson hadn't moved, he added tersely, "Leave my sight, least I have you removed."

I stood at October's side and seethed. That this mortal man would dare to stand between October and her daughter eroded any sense of kindness I might feel for him. Regardless of the fact that he was the father and her once love, he had no right to keep bar October's way. In fact, only October's need for support and the fact that this was her battle to be fought kept the man breathing easy.

Earlier in the day, when news of impending war had spread, I had instructed one of my best guardsmen to watch over October's daughter, to inform me of any goings-on, and now my foresight paid fruit. We not only had the missing children of the rulers of the Undersea realms missing, but my dear October's as well. An odd act for the times; truly, a rather odd and personal crime. Whomever was behind it could not have chosen better for wounding October.

I set my suspicions aside as October turned to leave, the exchange with the mortal concluded. As we left, I told her all I knew of the crime scene, what my people saw and scented, as well as who and what came and left the area. It was just as we were deciding on our next actions that the goblins attacked.

"The Queen of the Mists calls to all within her realm and bids them hear these words," the herald calls out nervously in the hall I have allowed for such matters. "The Undersea is poised to attack our fair lands and all true Fae are bid arm themselves for the realm! Three days hence shall battle be engaged."

I stare at the daoine sidhe long enough that I can see sweat begin beneath his helm. Good. The Divided Courts forget all too easily that my Court is not part of their domain.

"Why three days? I would think with the Sea poised so that tradition would be set aside for the good of the realm."

"The Queen has allowed one Sir October Daye to attempt to forestall the perceived injustice the Undersea claims."

I do not realize I have shifted position and stance to one threatening until the herald takes a step backward. "You will tell me, now, what injustice this is and what Sir Daye intends to do about it," I command as my guards close on the man.

[OOC: All dialog and events herein come from the short story Rat-Catcher which is from the anthology A Fantasy Medley 2.]

June, 1666. London, England.

"I do love the way they stage the duels here," Rand commented to me as we perched up in the rafters of the theater the Duke Company used for their productions.

I sat cross-legged and scowled at him. "You've seen this show a dozen times!"

"Closer to a dozen dozens, more likely, and yet I never tire of it," he said, glancing away from the actors long enough to grin at me. "Can't you relax for one evening, and enjoy a little entertainment?"

"No, I can't, and neither should you," I replied, and folded my arms. "Father wants you."

"So he sent you to retrieve me?" Rand scoffed. "Did he consider, for a moment, that I might refuse to come?"

"He did, yes."

"And?"

"And if I fail to retrieve you, I'm to be put to work minding the kittens for a week's time, to teach me obedience," I replied with a baleful scowl. "I won't mind kittens for you, Rand. You're coming with me, whether you like it or not."

"Am I, then?" Rand asked, raising an eyebrow. "Will you fight me in order to bring me home? Much as I love you, darling Jill, I doubt you'd come out the winner in that particular contest."

"I won't fight you."

"Then what?"

"I'll sit here and cry through your precious performance if you refuse to come. And tomorrow night, when my time in the nursery ends, I'll do the same. And the night after that, until such time as you apologize to me." I replied and smiled sweetly. "You can save us both a great deal of time and suffering if you simply come with me now."

Rand cast a longing look towards the actors. Mercutio was preparing to die, and in the process was layering curses down on both waring houses. "Are you sure father can't wait?"

"Come on!"

jrm_icons at live journal.
Hollow Art's tag.

[OOC: This takes place a few weeks before Rat-Catcher and is from before Tybalt was a king. He is Rand, a prince of cats, instead and the year is 1666.]

I shift to my human form once I am clear of the chimney that leads from the Court of Fogbound Cats and pause to drink in the sights of mortal London. The moon is near full and hangs warm and grand above the Tower of London. The smoke of cooking fires spice the air with temptation and the voices of the humans drift in its melodic cacophony. A wicked smile threatens my lips as I casually duck to avoid my sister, Coleen, and her clumsy attack.

"Tsk, tsk," I chide as she barely catches herself from falling off the roof. "It would not do to break your neck where the mortals might see."

Too late, I see her own wicked smile and realize she was a distraction, though a poorly executed one. I feel the weight on my other sister, Jill, land on my back, driving me face first to the clay tiles of the roof below. I twist at the last moment, spinning about so that she instead is the one to hit the roof and lose her breath.

"Nicely done," I admit, once she stops struggling. I offer my hand to assist her to her feet before adding, "But not quite good enough."

"Where do you think you go, brother?" Coleen asks behind me and I tense in case she wishes to test me again.

"To the theater, where else?"

"Father will be displeased if you are not in attendance when he wishes to find you."

"True, but you will know where to fetch me. The Duke Company is beginning a new production. I would not miss it."

"I will not change the bedclothes for you again brother. You must stay!" Jill near mews.

"The King will ignore me as ever, dear sisters. He thinks me a fool after all."

"You are a fool if you go!" Both my sisters reply.

"And fortune favors the fool, does she not?"

Name he gives to mortal policeman: Rand Stratford.

Was in New York in 1812. Feel in love with a mortal woman named Annie O'Toole. She was impulsive and similar to October. She died in childbirth with their child.