Chapter Text
MEOWMEOW ALL AT SEA
~~~
CHAPTER ONE
~~~
Funny things, boats. The bigger they get, the less they toss and turn on the briny waves of fate. Or some such. Looking up at the burnished funnels of HMS The Velvet Glove, I vainly wrangled a metaphor or two to remind the inimitable Mrs. Meowmeow of the same.Alas, her arms stayed folded and her tail remained stubbornly up in the air, jagged and touchy as an alpine peak with a thorn in its snowcap. She’d been in a dour mood since we’d left our Parisian apartment – and the sight of a sea craft was doing nothing to lift it.
The year, you see, was 1931. As for the date… Well, that was not the 21st June, which was a hearty pie slice of the problem. Midsummer Night’s Eve had come and gone a hearty three or four weeks earlier, marking the first anniversary of our escape from the confines of compulsory cisheterosexuality. And also Glimmer. Suave romantic that she remains, Catra had celebrated the occasion with a bouquet of all my favourite proteins, served on a platter some fellow had cleverly painted with little pictures of steam locomotives.
I’d been happy as a Melog in mud! The feeling had lasted until last night. Tossing and turning like a church tombola, I found myself woken to the strikes of Sacre Coeur and the beating horrors of my hideously underprepared heart. Catra gave me a one year’s gift, I suddenly realised, and I had totally failed to do the same. She’d be steamed! Her heart would be broiled as brisket! And I had… what… the hours between now and her wakefulness to set the whole business right.
Well, the noble Sir Adora de la Meow-Ra didn’t need telling twice! Before a self-scolding sentence could fully scramble across my noggin, my eyes were burning blue and my muscles were swelling to the size of anatomy-sized boulders. For the Honour of Greyskull! And for the Sanctity of my Freshly-Established Marriage!
Ms. Floaty-Cane – my faithful sword – snapped to my side and, dash it, there was no time for these infernally twirly Parisian staircases. The windows snapped open and pop, I was out! She-Ra was flying through the French dawn – straight to the travel agent. And only some of the bedroom plaster was coming with me!
Tucked deep in somewhere the locals call the Dixieme , chiefly on account of their not speaking the Prime’s Etherian, no matter how slowly I enunciate it to them, I located just the building I’d been hoping to find. Daring And Really Loving Adventures , or DARLA , had taken the expat travel scene by storm since its foundation some six months prior. Bow had positively raved about his trip to Stuttgart. Nobody could quite work out why he’d liked that grey slice of Germany , but the facts remained. He’d had one merry heck of a time – and DARLA had carried out all the organisation.
What’s more, the shopfront sign was written in pure Etherian. In hindsight, in a city as fiercely protective of its own linguistic heritage as gay Paris, that little fact should have rung alarm bells. Alas, in the moment, it did not. Instead, I stabbed the ringer for the front door.
‘Come in. Cooooomeee iiiiii-nnnnn!!’ said the voice inside the shop.
I did just what I told, only to come face-to-fizzgog with a lengthy tape measure and the sentient mound of motor oil that was holding it.
‘You really are unusually TALL. Taller than when I first saw you turn into She-Ra, in fact. Ooh! Ooh! Do you think it’s something in your diet? Adora, is there anything you’ve started eating regularly since you moved in with Catra? Something you can’t get enough of, no matter how hard you try?’
From the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I went a vivid shade of rhubarb. Or, as this was France, rhubarbe . Entrapta just rolled their eyes.
‘I don’t mean that!! Unle-eeeesssss…’ They drifted away into their dictaphone. ‘Contemporary She-Raian Research Query number… 63? 64? No, definitely 63. Current She-Ra appears stronger and more capable since starting to accept their gender and sexuality. Will further improving their self-security allow her powers to grow stronger and even stronger, until we finally have enough collective power to save my boyfriends from their present… aah… situation? Also, would it just be the action of a good friend? Hmm. Yup. Yes. It probably would.’
‘Entrapta?’ I asked. ‘I want to book a holiday?’
‘I’m GLAD you’re a Lesbian! Way to go!!’
‘Um… thanks? Why are you a travel agent now?’
‘Oh! THAT! That’s simple. After you and Catra… um… “departed” the Brightmoon place, Glimmer went ahead and fired me pre-tty darn quickly. Yeaahhhh… Turns out there’s not much use for an engineer when all your cars burn down. And your house. Aaaaaand your summer house. And all your worldly possessions. So – yeah! I’m in the travel business now!’
‘Way to g-oh no!’ I congratul-miserated. ‘I’d like to take Catra on a trip to somewhere exciting – and very, very far away from Etheria.’
Entrapta nodded sagely.
‘Because of the arrest warrant.’
‘The what?!’
They cocked their head at me and started talking terribly slowly.
‘It’s… a… piece of paper… the po-lice… use… to make their state-funded violence… look… well thought-out… and legitimate.’
‘I’ve heard of a warrant, Entrapta, old fellow! What I’d like to know is who the Dickens put one out on Catra.’
‘Oh! Nobody. The cops are looking for you, Adora. Didn’t you know?! You allegedly abscond with the ENTIRE contents of your Aunt Shadowtha’s bank accounts and you don’t even monitor the ‘papers or the wireless for any news pertaining to the Etherian authorities and how they’re absolutely gearing up to crush you into smithereens!! Eeeee! What a FASCINATING approach you’re taking!’
‘Alrighty,’ I croaked through a froggy throat, ‘I guess I’ll be needing whatever trip you have departing today, please and thank you.’
Entrapta flickered through a filing cabinet. Improbably, every single sheaf ensconced within was covered in a gleamingly unctuous layer of machine oil. Fluttering droplets across the desk, they landed at last on a delightful pen-and-ink of searing lights and shouldering towers. The postcard positively hummed with life and activity, tremulous nights and the potentiality of queer acceptance. A Better Berlin, if you will. It was everything Catra loved in a place.
‘Sold!’ I shouted. ‘Entrapta, you’re a genius! We’ll go to New York.’
‘O-kay! And you can fly away today, courtesy of a two-person berth on the latest in Atlantic-spanning technology. Yes, sir-ee, you’ll be flying at the speed of science aboard The Velvet Glove. It’s veeeeeerrrry technologically advanced!’
‘And it’ll cost us how much?’
‘I’m willing to offer you all this for the unusually low price of free…’
‘Three what? Francs? Entrapta, chum, I’ll level with you – I’ve absolutely no idea if that’s a lot or not.’
‘No, Adora. I’m going to send you both on the trip for free – nothing – nada. There’s just one tiny thing I need you to do while you’re aboard.’
‘Name it.’
‘Save my boyfriends.’
‘Plural?’
‘People can be polyamorous, Adora. It’s a very usual thing to be.’
‘So Glimmer keeps telling me.’ I scratched my chin. ‘It’s not the nature of your relationship structures I’m questioning, so much as whom that second boyfriend might be. One of the fellows is my Wrongcle, I know that much. That’s just gravy – I’d know him on sight. But how in the blazes am I meant to identify the other? I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced.’
‘Oh, but you HAAAAVEE… I’m dating the Hord Akmiral of the Etherian Navy.’
‘You’re seeing my uncle?! The one who – and you’ll have to excuse my Etherian – thoroughly cream-crackered my childhood?! The one in crummy cahoots with Aunt Shadowtha? That uncle?’
‘He’s really not that bad when you get to know him like I have.’ Entrapta gasped. They were going their own shade of mauve. ‘His technical drawings are some of the best I’ve ever seen.’
‘And he’s been kidnapped? By strange and terrible forces, I presume?’
‘Yup! So if you could just go and rescue him, that’d be great! Emily will help you pack. Byyyyyyeeee!!’
The conversation ended there, courtesy of the automaton shoving me back through the front door. Morphing into a horse, then a car, then a perfect facsimile of a faceless butler, Emily marched me back to my rooms and started packing our cases, folding everything in sight with the same robotic efficiency, regardless of whether conventional wisdom believed the item to actually be foldable.
An hour later, we were on the docks, staring up at the great steaming tree trunksThe Velvet Glove called chimneys. In other words, we’ve arrived back where this chapter started, complete with a curt and colourless Catra. Her arms were folded. She was more than a little steamed that Emily had folded the tea kettle. Treading warily up the gangplank, she turned me to with a question, her voice pinched by fear – and the compression bandage pulled tight across her nose.
‘Adora, this appears to be a boat. My thoughts on seafaring are well established.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re no ancient mariner, I’m bally well aware. But! I very much believed this craft to be an airship when I booked our voyage.’
‘You mean we’re travelling on this contraption, sir?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘Oh. No.’
We were at an impasse. We were also at the very cusp of the vessel, a queue of the well-to-do snaking behind our heels. One well-dressed gentleman coughed his displeasure. Two women tutted. Catra swayed. I tried what I hoped was a winning grin. She pouted… I think. Her recent surgical corrections had blessed her with a permanently stiff upper lip. For at least the next six months, she was medically forbidden to smile.
That wasn’t about to stop this vessel’s crew. The blighters were terminally chirpy. At some point in our little contretemps, one of the dozens-and-dozens of crisp, white uniforms on deck had snapped up to our fizzgogs and begun positively beaming at us. When we finally bounced back, he thundered into an induction speech like a gramophone record, his chirpy expression never wavering.
‘Welcome aboard HMS The Velvet Glove, little sisters! All will bask in the pleasurable purpose of our cruise and the gallantry of our wise and glorious captain! Would you care to step aboard and join our righteous crusade? There will be cocktails!’
‘Sir…’ Meowmeow whispered, darting away from our new buddy.
‘Yes, Catra?’
‘Doesn’t that deckhand look strikingly like---’
There was no time to finish that thought – or to finish hearing it. Before my dearly beloved could round in on her suspicions, the line behind us scattered in a furore of whistles and assuredly unconversational French.
‘Attends! Attends! Arrêtez-vous! Vous êtes en état d'arrestation, Elle-Ra et votre… valet!’
I couldn’t tell you what that meant – but it sounded bad. Shouting policemen usually do. More talented with foreign tongues, Catra snapped round, blocked the path between gendarmes and my prosecutable self and confidently declared:
‘Pardonnez-moi! Je suis votre femme!’
I’d hoped that would save the day. Alas, the opposite was true. There was more shouting, further whistles. One of the policeman started scrambling up the gangplank, a gun emerging from his pocket. He did not seem happy to see us. We looked at him. We eyeballed the cultish crew aboard the ocean liner. A decision lay before us – one that put us between a devil of a court case and weeks on the deep blue sea. We made our decision… and jumped aboard.
Our deckhand nodded his satisfaction, raised both arms and threw the gangplank straight into the waiting brine, policeman and all. There was a lot of French shouting, followed by an almighty splash. And that was the end of it. The steam whistle sounded and we were away – next stop New York!
‘Catra, dearest?’ I asked as we strolled the decks. ‘Just what did you tell that gendarme? He seemed awfully steamed about something – do you know what it was?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say, sir,’ she purred. ‘I merely updated him on the nature of our relationship.’
~~~