alive today ╱ introduction

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

❝  A slow creaking of leather betrays Hound's location– buried in the shadows, the rich colors of his pelt swallowed up in the dark, he's some distance away from most of those who walk these marshes with him. Where he'd normally be caught up in watchful gazes and irritated huffs at any'f those brave enough to pass by, the tabby's oddly stuck within himself for now, it'd seem. His eyes are a little downcast, narrowed at no one in particular or nothing at all. Upon closer inspection, his paws are just as awkwardly busied. There's no contorting himself to get his claws into the leather, but still the tom tries. So too does he try with his mouth, twisting as if to dig his teeth to the leather. It presses close enough to his throat that there's no getting past the tufts of his fur, and there's no way in night Hound would let another close enough to his neck to let 'em try.

With a huff that turns to a snarl, he gives up and slumps to a tense log wit a lashing tail. Irritation's taken its toll on him; his mind turns unquestioningly to things he might do to busy himself instead'f wallow, but there'd be no harm in allowing just a moment more, right?​

out of character   tags

• his collar won't be removed today and there's a very slim chance he'd let anyone try, but not zero.​
•  
• ──── complete information can be found here.
  ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes.
  ──── lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride.
  ──── hound's notable features include his impressive height (fifteen inches at the shoulder), the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.​

 

[salamander]

Veiled eyes, emotions kept securely in check, Salamander watched from the shadows as the brown tabby tore at the leather contraption around his neck. What were they called again? Eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she struggled to grasp the correct memory. Eventually, the she-cat shrugged to herself.

Pine needles clung to her unkempt fur while the mud painted her lower half. "Hound." she calmly greeted as shadows parted to solidify her features. Questions danced on her tongue but she kept her mouth shut. Invasions of privacy always riled her up so she imagined the same would be true for others.

"May take a moment's respite with you?" Weariness, a testament to her workaholic attitude, gnawed at her strained muscles. The molly had taken to skirting around in the shadows, shying away from the camp. She hoped the distance would help reduce the bitter taste of contempt but, unfortunately, the opposite occurred. Instead, she brooded within the darkness: alone with her restless thoughts.​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

---

╰☆☆ Flicker is on her way to the pine forest. Orange eyes blaze with determination, and her claws are partially extended despite the trek through mud and bogwater to get to her destination. She has a strange feeling in her belly--and yes, it's her belly that tells her things, not her brain--and it's letting her know that there will be a kittypet stealing food today, and she will get lucky enough to catch them.

With the way Hare's -- now Briar's -- group has expanded, Flicker finds she never isn't stumbling across some random fellow swamp dweller. Even as steadfast as she is in her mission, Flicker pauses, one mud-packed paw raised, as she comes across two older felines. Hound is slouched in defeat against a log. The thing hanging from his neck is ... loose, she thinks. Maybe? It's hard to tell.

Sal joins him, quiet and with as much excitement as crowfood. Flicker turns shining orange eyes first on Sally, then on Hound, before she exclaims, "What in the frog are those things for, anyway?" She's seen the odd kittypet wear one, but she's never really had a chance to ask anyone... anyway, it's clear to her Hound is trying to weasel his way out of his own contraption.

She gives Salamander a doubtful glance before tossing Hound a smirk. "You'd almost fit in better with the kittypet group," she says.
​

—PENNED BY MARQUETTE.​

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

❝  Respite. Hound's immediate reaction is a disgruntled huff, prepared for a comment far snappier than what the interloper deserved, but as soon 's his mouth opens for the snap, he closes it with an audible clip and a deep inhale through his teeth. Slowly, he lets some'f himself relax. There's something too polite about this one, though he can't find it in himself to demand her to ease up around him. As irritating as formality is to him, what little energy he had wouldn't stretch far enough for all that nonsense. "Hardly any respite to be found 'round here, but I've no trouble with you resting your bones."

Not that any such thing was promised to them. He watches Flicker with unreadable eyes, seeing where those eyes wander and feeling the tension start to creep back up. The collar's a relatively new addition to his ensemble– an unwelcome one at that, and more'n a bit of a sore spot. And of course, some of these fools see 's'much and can't help but prod. "Say that again and I'll toss you to the thunderpath," Hound snaps, voice a harsh rumble though the threat is toothless. "I'm no spoiled pet here for the fun'f it." He sighs, and the fire starts to leave him. He sinks back to the damp log as if it'll cool him off. "They use't to keep track of what's theirs. When they caught me, they wanted me to be easily found– if I wandered off." A guess, really, but going by the jingling of it, he supposes he must be close enough. "All the good it's done 'em so far," he mutters.​

out of character   tags

• n/a​
•  
• ──── complete information can be found here.
  ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes.
  ──── lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride.
  ──── hound's notable features include his impressive height (fifteen inches at the shoulder), the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.​

 

[salamander]

A half-hearted chuckle surfaced from her chest. "You're not wrong." When was the last time her sleep went unperturbed? The promise of rest and restoration lured her eyes shut but the much needed embrace never fully grasped her.

Ears perked with quiet interest as the young Flicker joined the conversation. Curiousity stepped back and annoyance surfaced when Flicker infiltrated the other's privacy. Salamander sighed. The dark tortoiseshell was in desperate need of etiquette lesson. Teal eyes shot a narrowed, short glare at the younger molly before shifting to Hound when he began to talk.

Sally wanted to argue but bit her tongue. The pine group weren't just a bunch of soft kittypets playing pretend. Her sentiments, though, were most likely unwelcomed.

"Do you need help?" she asked, gesturing to the tattered collar around his neck. ​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

---

╰☆☆ The tabby reacts by snapping at her comment, while Salamander shoots her a stern look. Flicker's eyes widen a bit at Hound's threat, but her smile remains intact. She's more interested in his explanation than the older cats' reprimands. "Keep track of what's theirs," she repeats. She doesn't like how the words feel in her mouth. "As if they can own a cat! Twolegs're filthy." She clicks her tongue.

Salamander asks if he wants help removing it. Flicker looks at the thing hanging around Hound's throat with doubt. "Can ya bite it off? I mean. Could someone else bite it off? Looks kinda... soft." She's curious about what it feels like, tastes like. It's in an awfully soft and sensitive spot, though. She wouldn't like another cat gnawing at her throat.​

—PENNED BY MARQUETTE.​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

A pelt of deep darkness and shining light slips along the thick marshy ground. Her eyes like smoldering embers shifting to look at those that have caught her attention. For the most part she is just passing through but the conversation is one that just manages to catch her attention. With a flicking of her tail she sighs softly and examines the thick leather collar that is wrapped around Hound's neck. The way it grips tightly and even with his claws he doesn't seem like he is able to get it off. A shame. He does look like a kittypet but he is definitely not one of them. He has too much pride to even be considered one of those flea ridden prey stealers. For a moment her eyes turn cold before she shakes it off and proceeds to pat her muzzle in almost thoughtful words. [/b]"The material looks soft but I doubt a few chews will get it off. I'd never let that touch my tongue anyway. You would think Twolegs would know better than to try and tame a cat. But I guess there are mouse brained cats that will let them."[/b]

If that pine group is anything to go about then it is obviously true. She shakes her head a little then before slowly sitting down and contemplating how else there is to help. Maybe use a stick to pry it off or something else that is stronger. Claws to cut just seem like too much wasted time and she tilted her head a little bit as she tried to focus on the idea of it.​

[ PENNED BY RHOS ]​