Like icy sparks, the cool tingle of metal against Patches' forehead let him focus on something else as the headache he had been nursing all day slowly pulsed back and forth. His paws flexed and clenched involuntarily to clear the aching stress pains, digging his claws into his paw pads while he imagined jabbing each of the sharp bits into Angel's throat and tearing it in half.
Leaning against his- Angel's locker felt so wrong. Once, he might have coo'd in twisted delight at being so close to the personal effects of his obsession, it now was just a reminder of his failures and his position as an unlovable enemy of the world. He showered for a whole day straight and drenched himself in foul-smelling cologne, but nothing kept the smell of Angel's fur off of him for long- it irritated him.
"Hey there Angel!"
Patches grumbled. His thoughts seized, and his migraine doubled at hearing the lispy, confident voice of the most popular pink-haired cat in school, short of Mitt. His eyes lazily swivelled towards the siamese, taking in Whisk's light blush and charismatic demeanour. He tilted his head towards the cat in recognition, but nothing else.
"Oogh, not feeling too well today, are we?" Whisk commented, smoothly leaning against the locker next to Patches' with an outstretched arm. "You know, you could have the nurse take a look at that- or maybe I could, if you'd want~"
Patches stared straight ahead, headache pounding at the flirt, rage building in his core before it subsided with the understanding that the white siberian couldn't do anything to him.
After a brief pause, Whisk began to play with the fur near his lower lip, one eye addled and the other softly shut. The siamese stared on with a smirk as Patches groaned out a sigh, fiddled with the combo lock on his locker, and then threw it open. He jumped when a pile of sludge leaked from the locker and onto his feet, coating them in a greasy chunky foul-smelling substance Patches recognized as cheap, offal and wheat-based dog food. It was the same substance dripping from half-opened tins onto his binders and homework he had taken from Hachiko, but more importantly, onto the books he was reading. Pages were torn, and the goop sandwiched in their place, staining the pages that were some of his only possessions.
"Heh, what? Did you spill your lunch or something, Angel?" Whisk snarked. Patches' head snapped, fixated on the cat's face. "Actually, that reminds me- speaking of things that are full of shit, remember how you stole Angel's body and tried to get your own back? Well, the magic club had a good discussion this morning..."
Patches could barely hear the annoying tick chattering before him. He was consumed with just staring blankly into his smug eyes, pricking at his skin with his claws to try and force himself to calm down and stay in reality.
"See, Coco came to us with some news- it turns out, Felix told us about the idea you had to switch your bodies, and Ginger even offered a lock of her hair, for Angel's sake.
"Naturally, I was excited, finally, to have things set right, and for justice to be served. Mitt prepared the ritual, Coco arrived, and then she told us the damndest little thing-"
Whisk leaned forward, providing shade for Patches. The siberian white kept staring, unmoved by the story or the taunting.
"See, Coco told us that he- Angel, doesn't want to have his body back. He wants to stay like this, apparently forever. That's how much he hates you."
Dullness turned to widened eyes and a racing heartbeat. Patches was dead inside a moment ago, but these words- this harassment, he wouldn't tolerate it, he didn't have to.
The cat stared down, smug and upset, sadistic smile forming as he watched Patches' face curl and contort with rage. He leaned back and tilted his chin up, keeping his sharp eyes on the cat and letting a low chuckle rumble up from his chest.
"Y-You..." Patches croaked out, voice hoarse from going unused for so long. He felt his claws dig into his paw pads, drawing blood that slid down the sharp appendages and into his fur. "You're just pissy he'd rather date me, than a self-absorbed invalid like you."
Whisk leaned back, handsome smirk scrunching like a crushed soda can. He raised his arm and paw, faking a slap to make Patches flinch so he could laugh at him.
Patches did more than flinch.
With a "GRRAHH!" of effort and a sizzling zap ringing in the air, the deed had been done as quickly as it had been imagined. Blood stained the cat's right claw, bits of fur and flakes of skin stuck near its base- he had sunk the whole inch into Whisk's face, and the effects were immediate.
Whisk stumbled back, clutching at the side of his bleeding head with his left paw, eyes like radar dishes. The skin on his left eye down to his jaw had been torn with two large gashes and one small one- cleaving through fur, skin, capillaries, and muscles. Ichor dripped onto the floor as gasps rang throughout the halls, and a few students fainted at seeing the paw-full of blood dripping from his face to his uniform or onto the floor.
"Y-You bitch!" Whisk cried, losing his will as pain threatened to overwhelm him.
Patches stood triumphantly, smirking and giggling, before the shock from the collar caught up to him, and he slammed his back against a locker, resting on it until his body stopped throbbing.
Self-preservation took over the siamese, and he rushed down the hall in a speed-walk, tail spiked upward behind himself as he marched to the nurse's office.
---
A light shock powered spiral gears, pushing and rotating them with a rhythmic clicking sound, pushing the little hand of the clock forward every two seconds short of a minute.
It kept Patches off of his work, even as he read the insultingly easy algebraic question over and over- it just passed entirely through his mind. How long had that clock been off? Why had nobody ever thought to correct it? Even if it wasn't that big of an issue, it was something his mind could gnaw on- something to blow out of proportion so he could complain.
His eyes swivelled to the side as he heard a clattering, and a pencil rolled itself over to his side, tapping against his foot before stopping.
He ignored the thing, content to answer the work he had been given as punishment, even as he felt the uncomfortably wide gaze of the turkish van he had been sat next to.
"H-Hey," they wheezed out.
He chose to ignore it. An awkward length of time passed as he answered two of the three-dozen questions on the page, and then the cat spoke up again.
"Um, heyyy, could-"
The cat stopped when she realized Patches had been dully staring at her for the last two seconds. She kept her mouth open, confused and startled by the cold intent in his features. When, again, she lingered in the silence for too long, Patches shut his eyes and sighed. He returned to the worksheet as he watched the cat stare at hers from the corner of his vision, trying to bore answers into the sheet by staring at them, terrified.
Patches rolled his eyes. He grasped the left side of his desk, leaning down and plucking it from the floor with his claws. Patches flicked it onto the cat's table like a dirty sock, returning their meek gaze with a nod and smile.
"Thanks," they murmured, glancing around the room as if the two were being watched.
It irked Patches that the cat had- for some reason, decided to sit next to him in the back row closest to the window. The evening sun lazily beating down on him made him feel nice in a way that it hadn't before, like his new fur was just better suited for it somehow. In truth, it was one of the only nice things about his body, and still totally overshadowed by the rot that consumed his core whenever he thought about his predicament too much.
"H-Hey, think the teacher's gonna come back anytime soon?"
Patches swivelled his greys back to the van, finding a spark of amusement in how they grew apprehensive with each glare. He almost wanted to tell her that the teacher had better things to do than be around two wastes of space, but he really just wasn't up for it. Patches shook his head.
She nodded rhythmically in response, mouthing the words "Cool, cool," as he went back to minding his own business.
His peace was short-lived as, right next to him, the blaring sounds of mid-2000's alternative slipped him from his study. Irritated, Patches stared at the cat, hoping that would be enough to get across his feelings on the matter, but she kept her eyes focused on her work.
Patches felt his cold indifference parting with the irritation brought on by the cat's insistence on ruining every peace he was afforded.
He waited, patiently for the cat to realize her mistake, and ask him if she was disturbing him. Still, all the stupid cat did was rock her head and begin to smile- getting off at the idea that she was irritating him, knowing the collar would keep him from doing anything to her.
Reaching out, he plucked her left-side earbud and held it before the wide-eyed specimen. He was grateful the collar didn't shock him, smirking at their incredulous look.
"H-Hey, uhh..."
With the melody and vocals clearer, Patches nearly scoffed. "Are you listening to Linkin Bark?"
"Oh! Uh..."
"They were my favorite band..!" he began, pridefully beaming before staring back down at the cat. "... when I was twelve."
The cat was a bit stunned, taken aback by the forwardness of his harassment.
Placing the earbuds down onto her desk, Patches tutted. "What's your name, puppy?"
"I-" she paused, looking off to her right arm and starting to sweat. "I... I'm n-not a dog?" He saw a nervous blush creep across her cheek.
"What is your name." Patches leaned forward, his unimpressive stature negating any intimidation it would've otherwise had.
"Riley..?"
"Riley," Patches said, shifting in his chair to fully face the irritant, "The teacher's absence doesn't mean you can pollute my ears with your trash." He bared one of his canines, actually enjoying himself for once. "Unless you want me to ruin your pretty little face- please keep those cute habits of yours to yourself."
The sharp greens in her sockets peeled back, widening at the threat while bits of steam hissed from the cat's forehead. It was the most control Patches had felt in a while- seeing someone so fearful of him. In the moment, he was Patches again.
"Oh. Holy shit," she said flatly, "y-you're the cat that cut that one guy's eyeball out?"
Her tone wasn't as shaky as he would have liked. "Word gets around fast here, hm?"
"Y-You are?! W-Wow..." she chattered, excited. "Thank you, that g-guy was in the magic club. I- everyone hates those guys."
"Did you not hear me threaten your life just a moment ago."
She rubbed at the back of her head, beginning to breathe faster. "I m-mean, maybe what you did was a bit much, but, I mean, jeez." She looked at him in the eyes, finally seeming to leave her thoughts. "For a freshman- you don't mess around."
"Ugh," he spat, growing immediately sick of himself. Whatever joy there was in taunting her was long gone from how excitable she had got. Patches just planted his head atop his paw, and stared out the window opposite the cat.
"B-But I mean, he messed with your locker, right? Put like... dog food in it? For as much of a d-douche as that guy is, I've never heard of the magic club doing that. I mean, like... why dog food?"
Patches grit his teeth. "I AM a dog." Before he knew it, he had whipped his head in the cat's direction and hissed at them.
Both cats stood there, stock silent, staring at each other until Patches inhaled sharply. He had lost his cool, but the remark couldn't escape him- he hated it here, skulking the halls with which two of his mortal enemies were so familiar. He wanted to go home, he didn't want to pretend anymore, not when it was purposeless. He was the first to look away, frowning back at his worksheet and trying to focus.
"Angel Grimalkin?" a voice asked, cracking open the door to the classroom after fiddling with its lock. "Come to the office- your parents are on the phone."
He felt a blood vessel burst somewhere behind his eye, and his greys bugged at the concept. "Ha- eheh! My- Angel's parents?"
Stuck as she was, the turkish van only had the will to watch as the white siberian was dragged from the room. "They're not my parents you stupid bastard. I'll- HHHGZZ!!" After a particularly violent attempt to sock the teacher, the collar made the cat exhausted and complacent- terrifying Riley as it looked for all the world like he had been assaulted. He spared her one last glance with his defiant visage, before he began to comply with the instructions, leaving the room and marching the halls without so much more as a fuss.
Then, all there was in the room was their worksheets, her music, and the sun, warming her thin, short fur, caressing some instinct that would intend to lull her into a cat nap.
"I... What just happened?"