The owl landed gracefully beside Garfield, extending one leg toward him.
Garfield hooked a claw under the rope tied around the tiny leather pouch and tugged.
Hoo~hoo!
The owl gave him a few impatient hoots, then lifted off again, disappearing into the fog like a specter with wings.
Garfield watched it vanish into the greyness and sighed to himself.
"One day I'll be able to fly too..."
He pressed a paw against the bulging pouch. It felt soft and jiggly, like some sort of herbal jelly.
He tore open the top.
Pop!
A letter sprang out, unfolded mid-air, and immediately transformed into a floating mouth. Dumbledore's voice flowed out.
"Garfield, thank you for accepting the task of guarding Grindelwald. Inside the bag is Language Grass. Eating it will allow an animal to speak."
"You don't need any further preparation, just consume it directly. But take care… although it grants speech, your voice will take three days to settle."
"Practice during those three days, because whatever voice you use will become permanent afterward."
"As for Grindelwald, his words are laced with silent spells and enchantments. He is extremely dangerous even without a wand. Don't look him in the eyes. That's all for now. If you need assistance, contact me anytime."
"I may be… slightly inconvenienced at the moment, but I will make time."
The mouth folded shut, and the letter disintegrated into ash, scattering in the wind.
"So I get to choose my voice…?" Garfield blinked.
Now that sounded fun.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Maybe something like Deadpool?
Or perhaps the crackling tone of that electric orange mouse that kept biting Deadpool…? Though imagining himself sounding like Pikachu every time he spoke made Garfield shudder.
A majestic king's voice?
Mmm… maybe, but a bit cliché.
His original Garfield voice?
Too youthful.
What about mixing in Dumbledore's deep, steady tone?
He snickered. "Oh, that's not bad. Has a kingly vibe. And it sounds fun."
He opened the leather pouch again and peered inside. A quivering ball of green grass jelly wobbled back at him. When he poked a paw into it, the leaves shook like terrified slime.
He sniffed it… just grass. Nothing suspicious.
"What kind of weird herb is this…? Whatever."
A Great Devourer fears no food.
He once swallowed a silver spoon by accident at Queenie's house, it had felt like soft candy going down. So why not this?
"Alright…down the hatch!"
Chomp.
Gulp.
Chew.
"Blegh!"
It tasted like mustard, chili, curry, and eggplant had all gone to war inside his mouth. A chaotic, indescribable flavor explosion.
His stomach, however, didn't care. It digested the stuff like it was nothing.
As the herb broke down, Garfield felt a surge of energy moving from his stomach into his bloodstream. It pulsed upward, gathering at his throat.
His jaw tingled. The bones in his throat softened and rearranged. Muscles reformed. A brand-new vocal organ took shape.
A tiny bit of impurity from the herb bubbled in his stomach, but his Void Furnace physique burned it away in less than a second.
Nothing survived in there, not even purple sweet potato essence, if he ever dared to try.
He coughed.
Again.
Then cleared his throat.
"Eh-hem… audio test… audio test…"
The sound that came out was thin and high.
"Nope, that's too girly."
"Hello? Testing? Have you eaten yet?"
He winced. "That sounds like SpongeBob…"
"Braised fish, sweet-and-sour pork ribs, pork knuckle~"
He paused.
"…why do I sound like someone performing cross-talk?"
But at least he was getting closer.
Garfield waited on the roof until the sky darkened and he had finally settled on a voice… a young Optimus Prime.
Yes. That Optimus Prime.
Why?
Because it amused him.
Garfield flicked his tail. "And maybe a little meow from me as a bonus," he muttered to no one in particular.
"Autobots, attack!" Garfield barked.
"AUTOBOT TRANSFORMATION!"
Satisfied, he opened a portal and stepped through to New York.
Back at Queenie's shop, morning light filtered through the windows. Garfield had misjudged the time difference, the store should have been open. He popped the portal and slipped back inside.
"Master Garfield, you're back!" Baima greeted, bowing with relief.
"Mm, I'm here," Garfield replied, testing the new sound.
Baima froze. "You can speak?"
"Meow." The word came out strange and theatrical, as if he'd swallowed a radio.
"You sound… different," Baima observed.
"I ate language grass. My voice is still settling." Garfield ran a paw along his chin. "Three days. Practice."
They looked for Tina, Lilith, and Vivienne, but the three were gone. A neighbor had reported a haunting, Tina had taken the succubi out to exorcise it.
Queenie was alone in the kitchen. Garfield relaxed a little, succubi or no, they wouldn't let Tina get hurt.
Perched on the counter, Garfield began warming up. "Baima," he called in Baima's direction. "Tell me I look handsome."
Baima blinked. "You are… handsome, my king."
Garfield preened. "Good. Carry on."
Then, on a whim, he decided to sing. He hummed the brassy, swaggering tune you'd expect from a movie hero… the sort of song that makes one feel like strolling into battle while dancing.
His body moved before his brain could stop it, a strange, bouncy choreography of half-meow, half-lyric nonsense.
"Hey—hey—what's with your head—meow—hey—meow—" he improvised, flashing broken English and odd mews between phrases. The rhythm was infectious.
Baima frowned and scratched her head. "Has Master Garfield taken something? He's acting… odd. Saying things I don't understand."
Her English was serviceable, but Garfield's new voice warped words into strange syllables. Worried he was ill or bewitched, Baima extended her hands and cast a quick detection charm.
A rippling, golden shield scanned Garfield from head to tail.
Nothing abnormal returned.
Relieved but still puzzled, she asked, "Lord Garfield, are you certain you're all right? Should we go to Kamar-Taj and have Master check you?"
Garfield waved a dismissive paw. "No need. Listen."
He dragged Baima into his private dimensional pocket, a small, safe space he used for practice and the two of them danced the tune together, two ridiculous figures illuminated by their own ridiculousness.
The Ancient One, quietly observing Garfield from the astral plane, rubbed her smooth bald head with deep concern.
"…What on Earth is my foolish apprentice doing?"
"And Baima too… did they both overdose on enlightenment or did I mix the wrong tea this morning?"
Meanwhile, in Asgard, the Rainbow Bridge hummed to life. Heimdall stood at his post, Odin's command echoing in his mind.
"Keep an eye on the orange cat."
Heimdall narrowed his golden eyes as he observed Garfield's antics from across the realms.
"…Should I report this?" He wondered aloud.
"Is it possible, just possible… that this creature isn't dangerous… just insane?"
He considered it very seriously.
"Should I tell Odin the cat is mentally unstable and requires divine medical intervention?"
Heimdall sighed, shoulders drooping under the weight of cosmic responsibility.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
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