Miracle Box - an MLB rewrite

Intermission 2 - Gato Nocturno

A/N

Another intermission I'm writing just in case I get behind again. Same as the last one, this is a short story for a previous wielder, this time of the black cat ring.

Weeee (unenthusiastically enthusiastic)

WARNING: There is a scene here which many may consider animal abuse. I am not trying to glorify this type of entertainment.

It was the year 1590, almost 100 years since Spain became its own country and the battle of the Strait of Gibraltar was happening... somewhere. Plagg didn't care.

Plagg had a habit of running from things when life got a little too complicated, so fleeing China entirely to go to Spain was not completely out of pocket. He knew he wouldn't be here for long but that curse he had seemed to worsen by the day, becoming especially painful when near Tikki. He'd run away before and he was running away again.

He'd been spending the last month in the great ancient city of Toledo. His wielder, Baltasar del Cano was washing up his face before a show. He was an egotistical young man, much like many of Plagg's wielders. And just like all the others, he had a sense of humor.

"This is going to be a tremendous night Plagg!" He declared, finishing laying his hair perfectly in the mirror. Plagg nodded his head in agreement. "The governors are sure to indulge in my theatrics enough to allow this vigilante the freedom of being a hero."

"None of your performances have convinced them of that," Plagg reminded.

"Ah, well, I have a different approach this time."

"And what's that?" Plagg asked curiously.

"I will NOT be killing the bull. Force sympathy on them. Make them see me as a gentle man who cares about all life."

"But you don't."

"That's why it's a show," Baltasar said, sparing one last look in the mirror. "I think it's time. Plagg, make sure the costume is shiny in the front. I want the eyes of the people led to my face."

"They already will be."

"Alright, Plagg, claws out!"

A flash of green consumed Baltasar, transforming him into the strange hybrid of a matador and a sword wielding bandit. He had a black mask and... well he generally resembled the guy from Princess Bride. This was Gato Nocturno! Cat of the night! There were many legends about this man. He stole from the rich to feed the poor, making him very popular among peasants and hated by nobility. Yet despite their hatred, no one could deny he was quite the entertainer.

He could already hear the roaring cheers of the crowd outside before he entered the arena. Now, ordinarily, wielders of the black cat possessed a baton as a weapon. But Gato Nocturno had a sword. Sometimes it was a poke sword, sometimes it was a fatter blade suitable for killing a bull, just as it was this evening. The hilt glinted at his hip as he emerged on horseback into the arena. Cheers consumed his ears, swelling upon his entry. He waved and boasted, grinning like a man who knew he was about to win the game of their hearts.

His horse's head jostled in agitation as he halted on the reins, waving to the crowd with immense pride. The bells on its bridle and girth jingled, with intention to irritate the bull when it would be released. He circled the giant base of the arena, jeering. Then, the bull was released.

Instantly the matador on the ground toyed with the beast as Gato Nocturno pulled to the side, out of the way so he could watch. Someone even handed him a goblet of something, something with liquor. By the time the chastising of the beast was done and the bull had grown tired, Gato Nocturno had nearly downed all the contents in the goblet. He tossed the near empty goblet aside haphazardly and jeered his stallion. The horse reared his head and turned, just as the clownish matadors left.