A Doll's House (PoW: Angelina Tarrant x Madeleine Citronelle)

[Malkavia]

Madeleine's legs were a refuge from a strange evening.

The Outside was always dangerous, full of peple and noise—but Rosemary knew how to hide. How to find the secret paths. How to stalk from the shadows

But now she wanted to go home — to her basket, bed, toys. Her bowl, which would be full of ground meat. Fish. But there was a stranger in the way. The stranger kept looking at her and making noises. Rosemary hissed at the stranger, who smelled of so many things it overwhelmed her — and she thought she smelled Madeleine's blood.

Madeleine made a scolding noise, bent down, and scooped Rosemary in her arms. The floor yawned out beneath Rosemary. Madeleine's arms were unsteady, unpredictable, a tree branch that swayed in the wind. Rosemary did not want to be there. She kicked. She yowled. She squirmed. And the stranger kept looking at her.

She hissed.

Then something unexpected and frightening happened. Madeleine hissed—at her. Rosemary's face whipped towards Madeleine. Madeleine hissing was not a good sign. Bad things happened, sometimes, when Madeleine hissed. Rosemary's heart beat fast, but she curled into a tight ball and let herself be carried for a short while.

—

"You're not to hiss at Angelina!"

Rosemary hissed at Angelina, while she continued to squirm and kick. In return, Madeleine bared her teeth and hissed back. The cat's eyes went wide, its pupils wider, and for a moment Madeleine was concerned she might claw at her owner. But the cat only stared at Madeleine.

"Good girl~"

By now they were inside the elevator. The ceiling light was a glowing ribbon of yellow light that formed the letter C. Glass sheets covered the metal walls, each engraved with a silhouette of the Odaiba Skyline — the Gundam statue on the west wall, the Statue of Liberty replica on the east, and the shape of the Jouets D'Ors palace on the north, opposite the door.

Accessing the private apartments required a security pass, but Madeleine's hands were full, so she squatted at the sensor beside the elevator buttons, flashing her tiara's central red jewel over the black, rectangular plastic reader. A red light on the reader turned green.

Beep!

And up they went.

"You'll have to forgive the...somewhat uninspired decor in the main hall," Madeleine said as they stepped out of the elevator into the main hall — which, in Madeleine's opinion, resembled a kind of hotel. A hallway spread out before them, tall enough to accommodate a chandelier every fifteen feet, floored with red carpet covered in a fleur-de-lis pattern. Paintings and potraits dotted the walls, and light classical music hummed through the yellow-lit space. The famous Debussy Prelude. Bleck. "I share this space with my sister and two brothers, so the space is necessarily a compromise."

Madeleine moved quickly down the hall. She found a door on the left. This door was deep black and reflective, like volcanic glass. Gold trim outlined the door frame, growing from its black surface like vines from soil. The doorknob itself was an intricate egg, covered in bright jewels and baroque golden designs. Madeleine readjusted her grip on Rosemary, twisted the egg, and ushered Angelina into her apartment.

—

The door into Madeleine's apartment opened to a circular floor, fenced off around the back, with two stairs descending around the left and right sides of the central space. Stuffed animals festooned the area.

Seven of them sat on the back of the piano itself, each facing the pianist's seat. Bears, foxes, and a pair of black and white weasels sat with their heads cocked, to all appearances enraptured by unheard music.

To the left, three toucans — also facing the piano — sat on a perch hung from the ceiling. At the piano's base lived the giants:

The panda bear nearly as tall as the piano itself.

the life-sized tiger that lay as if asleep at the chair's foot.

The twenty-seven mice, Mom and Pop and twenty-five children, arranged in an arc around the bench.

All the furry, stuffy world, it seemed, had come to watch a musical performance.

Rosemary leapt out of Madeleine's arms and dashed down the left set of stairs.

"Sometimes I wonder why she leaves in the morning." Madeleine muttered, sighing. Chesterton followed Rosemary, trotting briskly towards his dinner. "In any case. Welcome, Angelina, to my real home."

"When we were planning it — and I was a young girl mind you — my parents told me I'd gert a quarter of the space, so I'd have to be choosey with what I wanted to fit in. Well, I told them I wanted a kitchen and I wanted my piano in a prominent. Spot."

Madeleine sniffed, smiling slightly as she waved her hand over the scene. "As you can see, the architects didn't fail. Nothing like it. But I like to think my... interior design work with my friends adds a certain something."

[Monsy]

While Rosemary was cursing her out in Cat-a-nese, Angelina busied herself with Chesterton.

His black fur reminded her of her favourite faux fur blankets. Where the texture was like pushing on a cloud and had some squish to it when pressing down, supplemented by Chesterton arching his back low, then flopping on his side in front of her feet.

It rolled over, from facing her toes to the other way. She kneeled, holding the elevator’s side. Then she tried her luck.

“Meeeow!” Angelina scritched its head, making it arch back and kick the open air. Her second hand fed down its back from the neck, brushing over his side and and grabbing the tail gently to feed it through. The cat looked. She switched tactics to itching his chin. First the middle, then the jawline where she felt a bit of bone. The sensation and cue would make him turn head directly upward and close his eyes. Angelina stroked him again. This time, her hand spread across his side and Chesterton rolled over again.

His hind legs curled up. His front paws hugged her index and pinky.

Kick!
Kick-Kick-Kick!

“Ow. Fuckah.”
Kick!
“What the hell is wrong with you??”
Chesterton’s head reared back, open-mouthed, like some evil mastermind laugh that was completely silent and—
Chomp!
On her middle finger knuckle.

“Madeleine, help meeee. Why did ya adopt such a violent creatchah. Ow!”

And in another confusing turn of events, Chesterton licked the place he bit and ransacked, then nudged Angelina’s hand over his head and paddled the floor with exuberant energy. She followed the command.

Ding! The door opened.

Chesterton flipped around onto its feet and got up.

Angelina stood to check her little claw marks. They were shallower than paper cuts that mostly left her hand feeling slightly tingly and itchy. She rubbed it and went on to follow Madeleine into what felt like a chateau.

Château de Citronelle.

“Got it.”

—

Inside the apartment, Angelina’s lips tightened and her eyes went up.

Marble. Marble. Marble.

It glistened beautifully. As though the top-layer was a case of laminated water just moving gently in the quiet. Angelina stepped further in. Then the animals came into view. A whole nature’s reserve spilled before her eyes in those black-dots and coloured pupils, their unique furs and different colours and placement all across the room that gave it a sense of fullness and amphitheatre audience.

Interior design.

“A certain somethin'? Like the touch of a fuckin' genius.” Angelina walked deeper onto the floor to get the full picture.

“Nothin' I know even comes close.” Angelina went towards a little collection of otters that was standing on its hind legs, supported by the tail. Roughly knee height. Almost big enough to look like a chair. Angelina bent over and wondered if this was meant to be the ol’ Codswaddle family.

“Every fur-friend in here has a name right? Surely.”

She fixed on the piano at last. All the stuffies on it, a tiger and more. She went towards it, stood behind the bench and opened the cover that shielded the guys from dust and other damages.

“I wouldn’t mind learnin’ them.”

She just wanted to touch a key. Or three.

A, B, C.

[Malkavia]

Home—like a fluffed pillow and enough fluffy comforter to make a cocoon. She had spent the previous two days adjusting, polishing, vacuuming, arranging the apartment in anticipation of her guest, and that polish gave it a gleaming, artificial edge—but below that, she still felt in her place.

...A major part of that were the heels, the golden boots, which she unstrapped and kicked off as soon as Angelina had slipped ahead. Flat feet on a cool marble floor. Heaven.

Angelina wore a kind of invisible leash, now. She'd gotten loose once, and Sylvester paid the price. As Angelina opened the piano case and tinkled on a few keys — A, B, C — Madeleine slid behind her, belly to back, and let her hands slide over the kitten's shoulder, then capture her fingers.

"This used to belong to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra," she breathed, as she nudged Angelina's hands gently back from the keys. In spite of their decades-old provenance, the keys gleamed bright for the whites and golden for the blacks. "Have you ever heard of Daniel Barenboim? The conductor and concert pianist."

Madeleine rested her chin on Angelina's shoulder, swaying. Left, right. Like a cradle rocking. She cupped the piano keys' lid with her hands and pulled it shut. Click went the lacquered wood on the velvet cloth. The sound echoed through the marbled room, up to the domed ceiling and its glittering crystal chandelier (and the many toy parakeets perched among the jewels). In the crimson, almost black surface of the piano's exterior, Madeleine could see her face reflected beside Angelina's.

They were both puffy under the eyes. Like a pair of sweet, exhausted zombies. The Countess herself had a shiny purple bruise on her left cheek where Angelina's showtime kick had blasted her consciousness to dust, if only for a few bare seconds. It was superficial. It would heal. Without a scar. She breathed deep and closed her eyes.

"Like a lot of concert pianists turned conductor, he liked to lead from the keyboard. This piano was his White Horse Marengo. The seat of his power, from which he commanded his orchestra while, at the very same moment, performing THE central musical act as a soloist. A musical Scorsese and Meryl Streep, all in one. I always thought...it was..."

Her words began to slur, the edges whistling through her teeth. Madeleine's eyes felt so...pleasantly heavy. Her head, in spite of resting on Angelina's neck, felt like a fishing bobber bobbing along the surface of some slick pool of silvery water. Her hands came together, locking fingers over wrist as she leaned her whole body into Angelina's.

"Romannnntic. I love wrestling, but. If I had the chance to be a concert pianist..."

Madeleine felt as if she were melting, and falling, and...She started. Tightened. Blinked her eyes open. Then settled back into her embrace around Angelina.

"How about you, sweet? Any ambitions for which you'd trade the squared circle?"

[Monsy]

Angelina lost her shoes in what felt like ages ago.

She couldn’t feel even a speck of dust on these keys. Nor a finger smudge on its base. It was crystal and smooth. A piece of gold that would have its own locker. Which begs the question…

How did this get up here?

One day. One day…

But for now.
She was to be the boat to Madeleine’s sea. Rocking, letting herself be moved around as her hands were captured by the rising tide of Madeleine’s hands and pulling her out to sea.

“Hmmm… Daniel Barboim… Can’t say I do.”

Angelina stared off once the keys closed. Into the piano, seeing both of them.

She turned her head just a bit, then glanced, catching just a section of her calmness as Madeleine closed her lovely eyes. She let her shoulders go loose. Despite Madeleine leaning directly on her, she was doing the exact same back. Together, they each became their own pillows in this standing bed.

“You’ll have to put on a show sometime.”

Of course, she thought of Madeleine’s question. After a yawn, though. Silent, but expressive.

“Would ya believe me if I said. For robots?” She smiled, beginning to day dream with her head leaning on-top of Madeleine’s. “Not too long ago, I wanted to be a robotics engineer. Get my hands on a blank cheque. I’d personally design my own lab, fill it with shit I build. Then, I’d work day and night to make new friends for all purposes. My purposes.”

She inhaled deeply, then let it out calmly through her nose. “Like Chernobyl. Ya know the Elephant’s Foot, right? Just imagine, you read the news. And it headlined like ‘Chernobyl is No More’ — Ya keep readin’. Find anothah image. See a metal friend holdin’ a lead cube. In there, a souvenir from one of humanity’s worst nucleah disastah. And on his shouldah, you’d see the emblem of a lovely skull and horns.”

She reached around and ran a finger through a section of Madeleine’s blond hair, making it feed so it went down her chest. “See it?”

[Malkavia]

See it? Madeleine was swimming in it. Breathing the scene, where their metal friend grinned for the cameras, shimmering crimson and gold in the morning sunlight. She imagined him with a permanent smile, made of a single pane of glass, painted piano-key teeth that flashed white light when he spoke. A crimson, flared chestpiece, golden orb-like shoulders. Yes, there would be the horns on those shoulders, and—a golden, curly C on his chest. Like the S on Superman.

Madeleine squeezed Angelina, the smooth silk of her partner's dress cool under her fingers. "That's a beautiful dream."

A part of Madeleine wanted to sit, to rest her knees, to pop open the piano and perform...something for Angelina. Something as impressive and beautiful as the image Angelina conjured. Instead, she nudged Angelina towards the stairs.

"No wonder you could operate Bennington so easily. That was...impressive, you know. Watching you work that magic..." A smile curled along Madeleine's face. She sighed deeply, almost wistfully. "I found myself glowing inside. Bennington is a very dear 'metal friend' to me. And you made him dance."

As the two moved towards the stairs, they avoided the fenced-off balcony at the backside of the piano. The view from there was impressive...for guests. It made Madeleine's stomach turn. Still, as they descended the black marble steps that curled around the main pillar holding the piano, they soon got a view of Madeleine's dining room.

The floor of a wide, circular room gleamed with polished stone. Unlike the marble in the entryway, this floor reflected a dozen colours. A round blue expanse, covered in splotches of green, yellow, orange, white—The globe. The floor was a stonework mosaic of the planet Earth.

The pillar that held Madeleine's piano stood over the south pole of this map. There was a door leading inside the pillar, into a kitchen and bar. To the north pole, there was a high curving wall, hung with red curtains, emblazoned with a giant black etching of Madeleine's tiara—a door where the gem at its base rested in the real crown.

The main attractions, however, were on the globe itself. Vehicles. Tables. Tables made from classic automobiles, each one appropriate to the country or locale on which it sat.

I the States sat a 4-4-0 American locomotive, a train with a huge, funneled steam column and a round face like a clock. Its whistle gleamed brown, brassy and reflective, while its wheels and body were gold and black and red. Puppet dogs sat in the conductor's chambers. A golden retriever's head hunf out the window, tongue flying in the wing, while a pair of schnauzers behind him shovel coal into the engine. And behind this engine—a train car, sliced in half and filled with a comfortable white booth around a table.

There in Paris sat the spindly, skeletal metal frame of a Blériot XI monoplane. It looked ancient, like the kind of jury-rigged industrial marvel of naked steel beams that Orville Wright and his brother might have flown. Like a flying Eiffel Tower. It was piloted by a white unicorn dressed like Snoopy the Red Baron, goggles over her eyes, her golden horn piercing her helmet. Its backside extended out into a long table, covered in white cloth, bedecked with soft fabric-covered chairs. A Great Horned Owl perched on its wing.

A dozen other such seats littered the vast ballroom. Each automobile reflected a notable model from the region represented on the globe, and for each machine, at least three puppets were arranged in dynamic motion at each seat.

Madeleine rested at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes slid Angelina, looking to catch her reaction. "I told my family this was to entertain guests. And it is. But. Of course. It's also just loved to come home every night to a room full of soft friends and styrene friends and metal friends."

Madeleine's smile dimmed, as her eyes slid back to survey the room. "That's why I was so...hurt at the way you handled Sylvester, you know."

[Monsy]

She didn’t wanna say anything about Bennington.

How she hedged a bet and crossed her fingers. She loved the sound of praise.

Magic. Glowing. Dance.

Mm. Melody.

The dining room was fucking unreal. Her eyes went down to her feet and she could feel a brush of something underneath her toes. The whole wide world was theirs to step on and trounce. And on-top of that—history. Trains and planes from the early 20th and 19th centuries. France, America. Everything.

Around Germany, she found the Prinzessin Victoria Luise. Otherwise the first luxury cruise ship that launched in 1900. It was, by simple description, a floating pearl with its own golden trim, like a crown that trotted through the waves. Sleek. And advanced, with its golden masts standing in front of its bow, captained by seaworthy Dalmations. The arms themselves were lined with rich mahogany and upholstered by plush fabrics. Damask. Green. And the table cloth was white. Most certainly a high thread count, if she needed to guess.

Were these all custom?

After spending probably an odd amount of time on her tippy-toes trying to absorb just about everything in this expanse of wonder, she looked at Madeleine.

“Sylvestah…” Yes, the snake.

Angelina tightened her eyes shut and mused. Her head tilted, and she looked down at the ground between them before gently picking up Madeleine’s hand like a platform. Palm-to-Palm.

“I’m really sorry I hurt him. I didn’t mean to have him disembowelled. Just, wanted take ‘em for a walk, was all.”

She picked up Madeleine’s hand higher, batted her lashes, lowered her shoulders to be below Madeleine’s eye-level before planting a kiss between Madeleine’s middle and ring finger.

“How can I make it up to ya? Name it.”

Though she had an idea in mind. She wanted every ounce of this to come from Madeleine’s own head.

[Malkavia]

Madeleine hung back, by the stairwell, arms crossed, backside against the polished white railing while she watched Angelina. Who gawked. Who stood on the tips of her feet and took in the best Madeleine had to offer—and glowed.

Madeleine's eyes hung half-lidded. Her smile quirked at the edges of a face heavy with lines of exhaustion. Thank you, sweet. So many people — so many rich people — were too jaded, had seen too much, to give her world the...attention it deserved.

When Angelina took Madeleine's hand, the Countess accepted the gesture, and even let the sweet tingle she felt up her spine show on her face. She breathed in the apology and exhaled grace, as she drew her kitten to her. The grip between her hand and Angelina's was soft — the velvet touch of two dolls.

"Herbie," Madeleine called to the high ceiling. "Play In a Sentimental Mood. The live Dexter Gordon recording."

A pause of two seconds stretched beyond Madeleine's request. Then, the speakers popped, as if the orchestral stage manager had used his finger to test the stage mic, and a saxophone began to croon. Slow, soulful. The notes climbed to the sky and drifted in the warm evening air, careless of time and place, comfortable and passionate. Then the piano entered and began its courtship.

In A Sentimental Mood

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_egoBp1-EJ4

Slow and quiet for Madeleine's usually bombastic taste—but she felt slow as she drew Angelina to her and began to dance — blues-style and improvisationally slow — across the globe's polished surface.

I'm really sorry.

She thinks you're stupid. Stupid.

Madeleine flicked her head, tossing her golden bangs out of her face in the same movement that flung Charlotte's doubts off into the night.

"You don't have to do anything to make it up to me sweet," Madeleine murmured. Gordon's saxophone jumped and heaved at the sky, but it was the piano harmony he ear focused on. She sighed, happy, and nuzzled Angelina's ear with her cheek. "Although, I did have a thought. A project for us, maybe."

"Would you like the resources, sweet pea, to build some small metal friends for real? For me?"

[Monsy]

Perfect.

She allowed Madeleine to pull her in, to dance on top of the world. Like some moon and sun, chasing each other in an Eclipse around the Earth with the wonders of automobiles, trains and a couple famous ships. She wanted to lay her head down. She was so tired that she forgot her neck at times, but even greater was her concern about controlling her feet properly. Her aching feet.

It was all a guess, at the end of the day. Listening to the little leans, pulls and gestures, reading them correctly and then making a slow matching step and then—an action of her own. Step. Forward. Turn. Side-step.

Her favourite part was the piano. The background rise of an arpeggio and then double-bounce. She found her heartbeat matching it, slowing down to catch the rhythm of saxophone and piano.

“From scratch?” Angelina thought for a second. “Hm, Hm. That’ll take a decent amount of time. More than a weekend.”

But she had a content hum thinking about it.

“We’ll have to sit down, so we can design it. What ya want it to do. How ya want it to look. Cost. Materials.”

She paused. Then felt pink in her face.

“We can draw it.”

[Malkavia]

Ever since Charlotte had turned up, seated sideways in the dim light of a store that should have been locked to her, Madeleine's night felt off-track. Not quite derailed — just slightly out of its groove, in a way that made the train rattle and jump, ready at any moment to really fly and tumble and burn.

The music washed that feeling away. Each improvised two-step, dip, and turn seemed to scrub the night of its irritation and stress. Even the exhaustion — which had become acute at the center of Madeleine's mind and deep in her muscles — had the pleasant aferglow of a really solid workout.

It might have remained nothing more than pleasant in this shallow way, except Angelina blushed when the topic of little metal friends took the stage, which for Madeleine connected a web of ideas.

Into the pause that followed we can draw it, Madeleine hummed Gordon's notes, taking particular pleasure in the drawn out, crooning high note, before she dipped Angelina in her arms. Unlike the previous dips, however, Madeleine continued into the movement, scooping with her arms until Angelina hung lightly in the air.

"Before we talk any more about it," she said, smiling through lidded eyes that almost concealed the strain on her body. "Let's get some food and drink, hm? Victuals for the kitten. Pick a seat, sweet."

After Angelina chose the night's destination and was deposited into her seat, Madeleine retreated to the room in the northwest corner—less a room, really, and more an extension of the ballroom. It was a space nestled behind the piano's high column, undereneath the staircases so that it was almost invisible from where guests would be seated — though Angelina wouldn't be entirely in the dark. She'd see the lights switch on, hear sizzles and pops, a rattle of metal inside metal.

When Madeleine came out, she touted a tray with a cocktail mixer alongside two round crystal shotglasses — the type you hold in your palm the same way a king might a royal sphere — and a large, still sizzling steak. Plus gold-embroidered napkins for the two of them. The mixer was gold, but so light a shade it almost veered into silver.

"Lavender Elixir Rosé," said Madeleine of the cocktail when she spied Angelina looking at it. She placed each plate and cup on the table before placing the serving tray next to their booth. Then, she poured each of them their slightly-purple, mostly-black drinks. Then, with a sigh like a tree falling over, she sank into the seat next ot Angelina. "The steak, I'm afraid, is reheated. Leftovers. I hope you'll forgive me given the timing. Tomorrow, kitten, we'll treat you to some fresh food."

She unfolded her napkin, placing it over her lap so that the golden C faced upwards just between her legs. Then, as she began to carve her half of the steak into strips, she continued. "So, let's talk about this metal friend business. You've seen my home and what I do here. And you know what you can do. What are your recommendations, hm? What kind of friend do you imagine I might like." As she placed a block of steak that was half fat into the mouth, her eyes fluttered close and she made a soft mew of contentment. Then, without looking up from her food, she added, "Assume cost and time is no issue. Describe what you want to make for me, not what you can afford to make."

[Monsy]

First time she was dipped. And hopefully, of many to come in this special weekend. The dance they shared burned into memory that, while surely to be cold in a day, was warm and comforting in this hour. She letself be held, leaned into Madeleine’s strength and trusted it. She did catch you and powerbomb you from a mid-air jump. Yeah.. Yeah. Best not to think about that and jinx her back into a spasm. For now, though. She took the lead.

“Can do.” Angelina stood beside Madeleine shoulder-to-shoulder while surveying the room. She turned on the spot to point herself in different directions, thinking…

If I can take her anywhere tomorrow, where would we go?

While she contemplated, her back to Madeleine’s side, her hand searched and eventually touched Madeleine’s forearm. Then it went down, and down, and discreetly touched Madeleine’s hand, curling her fingers to suggest that Madeleine should do the same.

“If I evah left Japan, I think I’d stay in Asia for a while...” If Madeleine linked fingers with her, then she’d began to saunter. Her eyes scanned and picked on details.

“Not China. Or Korea. Taiwan… Philippines… Mmm…”

Down in Malaysia. She picked that one. The booth was an old tank engine. Simplistic in design with some history etched into a plate on the side of the booth. Perak Railway Company, said to have managed the rail from Taipang and Port Weld from 1889. Though the railway itself was from 1885. It primarily adopted British designs, with the model used here being mostly a strong guess based on loose records and rare photos.

The seats were sharp-edged and with a geometrical industrial frame, with braces and spaced bolts along its face, edges, corners, and divided into box shapes. There was, of course, a cushion leather bench for your bottom and back. But everything else was designed to be right angles, metal, greenish and with some black. The table likewise, but covered by a white table linen.

Then it was just waiting. She crossed her ankles over and kicked them idly with her elbows on the table, hands bridge and chin on-top. She watched Madeleine disappear, leaned outside the booth to catch a gander of the door and then took out her phone for the camera.

“Mm…”

Angelina spent the next few minutes just fixing and finger-combing, twirling her piece of hair and adjusting her dress. She wanted to make sure it sat tight on her. That it didn’t show off too much or too little. And to secure it so nothing slipped out by accident. She stowed her phone afterwards, rubbed her eyes and then not long later, Madeleine came by.

Drink. Food.

Mm.

“That’s fine. I’ve actually nevah had steak before.” And she wasn’t that excited about it, deep down, having picked up her fork to touch the slab of chewy protein block, full of old grease that’s gonna get on her lips. Every bite would take sixty seconds with all the fatty parts and gristle. Maybe she can cut those out and eat around it?

When WAS the last time she ate meat anyway? Dunno. Maybe a few years? She remembered almost having a bite from a completely plain small McDonalds burger on a day trip with some acquaintances.


Prompted to think, the idea of eating fell way back into her mind as she started cutting her steak both inefficiently and slowly. She hummed. Thought.

“Well. I’d say it needs a few things. To be presentable, memorable, child-friendly and different. It needs to be somethin’ to brag about. Somethin’ not just a company can add to its quantity, but has to have at any cost.”

She smirked. Her steak was all cut vertically. Which prompted her to start again, this time, horizontally.

“I’d make somethin’ bettah than Bennington. As cool as he is, I know we can raise the bar from there. I’d make ya a cat. And not just any cat, but a real Ai feline that feels, acts and reacts just like Chestah or Rosemary. Of course, if ya want him to talk. Sky's the limit. Say it and I’ll do it.”