The Purging of Ruen - Abridged.

Chapter 9

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"IS that why you stand before me so closely, Sedervitz?" Oscar asked. "Forcing me to accommodate your appallingly fishy breath because only one of your eyes works properly?"

Raising his whiskers in question, he inadvertently dislodged his pantaloons, which slipped to cover an eye, rendering him in the same predicament as the accused—which he hoped was seen as unflattering caricature, rather than unfortunate punctuation.

Sedervitz glared at him, before striding to the window and peering from it. "Who are you?"

Oscar scoffed. "Will you be asking the same question ad nauseaum, Sedervitz? I heard you the first time. And the fact that I didn't answer suggests I'm unlikely to oblige, regardless of how often you might ask. Is that not obvious? Or are you thick as well as blind?"

"I admire to a degree your prowess, cat," Sedervitz said, turning to him with composure unruffled. "But although you may know my name, it is clear you know nothing of me. Were it otherwise, you would certainly not attempt such foolish banter."

"Oh, please! Stop contradicting yourself you silly animal. Either I am incompetent or I have prowess. I can hardly have both." He smirked from beneath half a pair of pantaloons. "Unless, of course, you do not know the meaning of either."

The smirk was unfortunate, because the pantaloons shifted to cover both eyes. Feeling ridiculous, Oscar hoped the more comical he appeared, the more courageous his retort might seem.

But Sedervitz would not be drawn, though he chuckled, as though amused by a kitten trying to be scary. "I shall ask you again," he said. "And if you do not answer, I shall retrieve one, literally, by clinically inverting you."

To this, Oscar swallowed.

"Who are you?" Sedervitz asked.

"I am a poet."

"A poet?"

Oscar's pantaloon-draped head shifted in nod.

"And what possible reason might a poet have for sneaking around deserted industrial ports in the middle of the night, pray?"

Oscar shrugged. "Inspiration."

Sedervitz fell silent.

"It's a certain ambience I seek," Oscar said, "in the deserted abandon of places bereft of day."

"Prove it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Prove you are a poet."

"How?"

"Make up a poem now."

"About what?"

"About me."

"You?"

"Yes."

"I'll need a drink of water first."

Sedervitz hesitated, then returned to the table and poured some water from the bottle. When Oscar felt the glass at his mouth, he drank messily.

"And I'll need my sight back."

Sedervitz lifted the pantaloons from his eyes. "Well?"

"These things can't be rushed, you know, I need time for inspiration."

Sedervitz smashed the glass onto the floor. "If you are a poet, you will compose a verse about me now!"

So Oscar began.