BOLD STANCE; azalea

[ONCE.]

— His chin lifts high to the sky. In this moment, he's larger than life. Treading past into the marsh like he didn't give a damn, cause he didn't. If those marshers were allowed to stink up his pine forest with the smell of decay, he certainly had the privilege to freshen up this dump they called a home.

He didn't come with the intention of taking prey, as if there was any to take. It seems that even rats avoided this place if they could. He hates the smell, hates the way the mud presses between his toes, hates the odd warblings from creatures he couldn't even see, but he was making a point here, and he wouldn't back down because of a bad scent, or two, or a ton.

And just as he thinks that, the scent suddenly becomes harsh, clear with a distinct source, rather than the strange air of this place. Slimy, rotten, with an underlying scent of of something sweet. Eh, his nose playing tricks on him, he bets. He raises his tail. Verdant hues peer below him, expression pinched in a condescending look. He opens his maw to spit something harsh, only to realize, it's just some little lady. He blinks. "Oh, you're just some pipsqueak, huh? Don't mind me, just passing through!" he chirps. Maybe she'd run back to tell the other marshers he's on their land. Good, they can get mad!

[ I didn't rlly proof read sorry if this is icky LOL @𝒜𝓏𝒶𝓁𝑒𝒶 ]​

 

[LAKEMOON]

✵ ღ ☾ IT TOOK ME BY SURPRISE - Azalea had only ever seen two Pine cats in the flesh, Lily, and that whimpering bag of bones by the creek. So far, the stereotypes that had been poured into her ear as she grew turned to be true, they were small, weak, kittypets- and thieves at that, stealing from their famished kits.
The strong scent of pine had hit her before she had even seen the tom stroll into the Marshland, but that was enough to spark challenge in her heart, the audacity enough to draw her over.
The shrubbery of the marsh was sparse, but with enough ashy branches to conceal her as she observed, ready to step out- when he spotted her first.
Instantly, Azalea crouched, forcing herself to look smaller with the coverage of the shrub, she flickered her narrow gaze up to meet the kittypets.
His taunting words sent a fiery feeling rippling along her spine, but she silently taps a white paw against the ground to channel her anger until the perfect moment.
❝ Pipsqueak? ❞ She echoes with a tilt of her head, now rising to her full height, stepping through the branches.
Now, it was her turn to glower down at him, her chin tilted ever so slightly downwards, he was clearly almost grown.
Now Azalea truly found the humor there. ❝ Did the kittypets let their kits escape again? Tsk, tsk, tsk. They should really be more responsible… ❞ she now cooed, her eyes shining with a challenge. ❝ It’s dangerous to wander all the way out here all on your own, do you need help finding your mother? ❞ She sneered, hoping to push the tom over the edge. Attack me, I dare you little man.
❝ Speech. ❞

[Floppa content is always god tier]

THE HATRED IN HER EYES​

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[ONCE.]

— What's his luck that the one kit he comes across around here has the ability to shapeshift or something. His haughty expression quickly narrows into disbelief, appall, annoyance, a good blend of all three maybe. His brows pinch together. Green eyes narrow into slits as a grimace creases at his features. And now she's trying to turn his own teases on him, trying so damn hard to seem clever. He's not bothered, no no, not at all. An eye twitches.

She's clearly still young, but with way-too-long legs on a body that isn't ready for them. "Are all marsh cats shaped like spiders, or is it just you?" he comments wryly. He wouldn't be surprised, since all the marsh cats he knows are named after the most unpleasant things possible. It's almost like they're self-aware. Almost.

He flexes his claws, eyes flickering across her form. "You're not even that much taller than me," he complains, a childish growl beneath his breath. The more he dwells on it, the more he frustrates him. The characteristic haughtiness they carry around applies to even their youths it seems. A pity. "Taking every little victory you can get, huh."

Yeah, he's bored of talking. He steps closer to the molly, chin tilted and eyes narrowed. The spark of challenge in her eyes is met with his own glower. "Keep talking and see where that gets you," he growls. Oh, he had much better things to do than fight some random marsh kit, but she's practically asking to have some sense knocked into her...​