Ash wasn't expecting much when he took the commission.
A missing cat. A name like Truffles. Some old lady who might bake him muffins if he succeeded—or curse him with a cheek kiss if he didn't.
But as he trudged down the bustling market street, brushing past vendors and adventurers, the growing sound of small claws, squawks, and… are those battle squeaks? made him pause.
Then, like the tide parting before something truly stupid, a lone goose came barreling through the street. Riding astride it was Poffin—arms raised, fur windswept, eyes wild with power and a crown fit for a king of critters. Behind him: a parade of stray animals. Dogs. Ferrets. A turtle dragging a spoon like a sword. And a particularly smug ginger cat prancing in the rear like it was royalty.
"BEHOLD," Poffin declared from atop his avian steed, "MY ARMY OF THE UNSHAVEN AND UNLEASHED! FURRY ANARCHY RISES!"
Ash stood in the center of the road, arms folded, unmoving.
Poffin spotted him too late. "Ash! My loyal subject! You're just in ti—wait why aren't you mov—"
Ash raised a hand.
"Stop."
The goose stopped.
So did every mutt, weasel, and semi-deranged street pigeon behind it. A domino effect of frozen paws and tilted heads cascaded down the line.
Except Poffin, of course.
Momentum betrayed him.
Fwump.
He landed with a soft thud against Ash's chest, bounced once, then dangled indignantly by the scruff in Ash's hand like a damp sock full of complaints.
"I HAD A KINGDOM," Poffin squirmed, tiny paws flailing. "A KINGDOM OF STRAYS! UNWASHED MASSES! YOU CAN'T JUST—PUT ME DOWN!"
Ash raised a brow, calmly inspecting the parade now waiting for orders like a very small, illegal militia.
"…You name any of them?"
"That's Sir Wigglepaws. That's Captain Biscuit. That pigeon's name is Fear. And that alligator over there is Larry, lastly—" he gestured dramatically to the ginger cat at the back "—that is Sir Chompalot, once known as Truffles, but he cast aside his old life to follow me into glory."
Ash squinted. "That's the cat from the poster."
"No, that's Sir Cho—"
"Truffles," Ash said flatly.
The cat, with all the sass of an emperor who's seen too much, licked its paw and meowed once in vague acknowledgment.
"Traitor," Poffin whispered.
Before Ash could decide whether he was more impressed or concerned, Lyra caught up, slightly out of breath, very satisfied.
And holding—oh no.
The tiny dress.
She beamed at Ash. "Perfect timing! Hand him over."
Poffin froze.
Ash looked at him. Poffin looked at Ash.
"Ash, no. No. Don't you dare."
Ash held him a little higher, studying his squirming expression like a man weighing the value of his own soul.
Lyra held out her arms expectantly. "He agreed to try it on, didn't you, Poffin?"
"I agreed to consider the idea of discussing the possibility of maybe trying it on. That's not a verbal contract!"
Ash sighed, defeated. "…This feels like betrayal."
"I'll explode again," Poffin warned.
Poffin was passed over.
Small paws reached back toward Ash as he was cradled into a fashion-based doom.
"Nooo! Ash! ASH! I THOUGHT YOU WERE ONE OF THE GOOD ONES!"
Ash looked away, emotionless. "No, I'm not dealing with that today"
The ginger cat purred in approval.
And somewhere, an empire of misfit animals quietly awaited their floofy monarch's return.
As soon as the handoff was complete and Poffin's muffled screams faded into Lyra's gleeful cooing—something about sequins and matching sun hats—Ash gave a long, exhausted sigh and turned to face the absurd assembly of animals still waiting behind him.
A goose stood front and center like it owned the place. A raccoon with half a baguette over its shoulder leaned coolly on a barrel. A cat—formerly Truffles, now dubbed Sir Chompalot—sat with a smug little smirk. And behind them, quietly and inexplicably, was… an alligator.
Just sitting there.
Like this was completely normal.
Ash blinked. "Why is there an alligator."
Poffin, from somewhere off to the side, shrieked, "Don't you dare touch Larry! He's a vital part of the infantry!"
Ash gave a tired squint toward the gator. "Larry?"
The alligator opened one lazy eye. Blinked. Then, as if understanding the mood had shifted, turned around and waddled off without a word—tail dragging, dignity intact.
Ash rubbed his temples. "Right. Of course."
He clapped his hands once. "Alright. Meeting's over. Time to disband. Go back to your trash cans, tree stumps, and whatever dark forest you crawled out of. Shoo."
There was a moment of solemn stillness.
Then, like a switch had been flipped, the menagerie scattered.
The raccoon fled down a gutter with a dramatic flourish. The goose flapped off into the sunset. Sir Chompalot glared like a noble wronged, flicked his tail in betrayal, and pranced off toward home. Even Larry gave a final lazy salute with his snout before disappearing down a side street with the soft clomp-clomp of alligator feet on cobblestone.
Ash stood there a moment, hands on his hips, before muttering, "I was supposed to buy a grimoire."
Behind him, Lyra squealed, "Poffin, this one has lace! Lace!"
The fluffball's wails carried faintly on the wind.
Ash didn't turn around.
"I need a drink, I'm tired of this shit."