private day of dead ╱ the trio

[VEGAS]

He thinks the sky is still spinning a little bit, or maybe that's just the world that's come crashing down around his head. Little pieces of robin's egg blue, shattered like fucking dreams and happy endings. He'd expected it to go sideways– shit, who couldn't have expected that when you lived like he did? But a little mess was nothing new. He'd thought he could handle it, he'd thought. . . what he thought didn't matter, not really. Not when it still ended up like this. All those fucking dreams. The less time he spends thinking about it the easier it was, maybe that's why he'd gone along with the half-assed plea that got him where he was. The street he walks is too pretty for his blood, even with all that he's shed. Usually there'd be rocks kicked by this point, or at least a few of those up-walkers making cooing noises at him. Angel seems to know his way around well enough, or maybe he's just careless enough to make it look good.

"You sure you actually know shit about this place? I swear, Ange, if you're dragging me through this place and this friend of yours 's'not even here–" He can't even threaten to leave. Angel'll just call him on it, and the thought of turning away from the last link he has in this shitty life leaves him embarrassingly short of breath.

"He's here, trust me." He doesn't. Yes he does. "He's not hard to find when you know what to look for." Uncomfortable opulence? High fences and fresh, beautiful grass? Vegas can't decide if he's jealous or disgusted by it, or maybe it's some part of both. Archangel doesn't let him think on it for too long, leading him to a fence and scrambling up like it's nothing. That dark fur of his is shorter along his back, shows off the rippling of each muscle, and he wonders what fucked up twist of fate it was that'd meant he saved all that rather than the other way around. He's caught on that a moment too long, blue eyes rounded for a heartbeat before he reminds himself to scrabble on up after him. It's not quite as easy or graceful, as much as he regrets admitting it. He looks just fine on the perch, at least.

So does Angel. And the yard. "You're so full'f it," he mutters.
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ooc: ─


check the next slide for basic tags!

full information.

VEGAS,  vee  or  v.   will accept others,  either begrudgingly or happily depending on who.
──── uses he - him - his and mascuine titles; accepts others with vague bemusement.
──── approximately  26 moons old,  born during early greenleaf  or  very late newleaf.
──── gay, single ish. crushes easily and on a broad range of men, but doesn't act on it.

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[kerosene]

Having dreams is a nightmare. Most of the time they splutter off and die before they can get two feet off the ground, no matter how much damned effort went into those two feet. Kerosene's figured it's easier to have some kinda goal instead, and it might be people use them interchangeably, but a name can be a powerful thing— and in a place that's really just one big fuckin' needle waiting to pop whatever walks by, the difference between a dream and a goal is which one it'd take more pleasure in ruining. Still, he's held onto a couple dreams. Hasn't done anything to get 'em on paper, so to speak; they're just nestled right up in his skull 'til he can figure out what to do with 'em.

Once upon a time, Ker dreamed that Angel would've kept his ass in one place, or at least one piece. Dreamed of bein' enough for him, too, but Angel'd go off and find some other pretty face to look at him like he'd kicked the fuckin' moon into place, and then Ker would do the same. 'Cept none of 'em ever looked at him like Ange's side-pieces did. Called him names, guilted him into staying, ruined his shit— that's the kinda dynamic Ker always seems to pull.

He'd gotten tired of rough living and scoped out another twoleg place. This one's worked well the past couple moons: no dogs, no noisy twoleg kits, no picking him up every hour. They cooed when he'd wind between their legs or knead their laps in the evening, gave him these delicious soups or somethin'. But he's closer to being bored of the box-den than wanting to stay, meaning it'll be time for another disappearing act soon.

Ker slips through the small flap in the door to the yard, rubbing up against a flower pot along the way. Then it's the porch rail, and the fountain, and the stone bench— and he doesn't realize he's got an audience 'til he's on his back stretching. He twists onto his paws, baring his teeth at the familiar face who's been missing for too fuckin' long to show up out of the blue pretending nothing happened. And he's not alone, either: he's got this cute thing with a stupid expression next to him.

"Been ages, Ange. Missed you somethin' awful, you asshole. Who's the new flame, and what the fuck are you both doing on my fence? Get over here, c'mon."
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INFORMATION​

 

[ARCHANGEL]

V's been looking at him like he needs answers, and for once in his fuckin' life, Angel wishes he had any to give. Some reason as to why, or why him, but it's not as if there's ever been a reason for anything before. For all that they try to make sense of the world, they dig for answers just to find themselves wrapped up in the creature's maw to be chewed up and spit out. Vegas has seen more than his share of that in this world already, but he's not the only one. Street cats have to look out for themselves, and each other. It's why he's dragging the both of them here. The world was full of bad things. They're brewing hard in the forest, and his fire's starting to burn again despite the healing wounds all over.

Ker knows his way around– he'll get it, know more about the details than Angel himself dos. That and he's bound to have a place for them to crash. Despite everything they've put each other through, he knows if there's one cat out there that's got his back, it's Kerosene. V's making his way on up the list, though both of them seem to hate admitting it. Whatever pile of awful they found themselves wound up in this far into their adventure, traded witticisms and tongue-bitten advice have made a fine bonding point. He didn't have the answers he needs, and V's lost too much to be willing to risk any more, but they'll grow. He's sure of it.

"Well well, if it isn't the finest show cat this side of the city." Archangel jumps from the fence, but only onto some rectangle thing that twolegs like to store their nonsense in. All the nonsense they use to dig up perfectly fine dirt and put whatever they want in. He can feel V staring at him still, and very much not following his lead. "Still living it up on someone else's soft heart, huh?" Finally a thud as Vegas joins him, at which point Angel of course decides it's time to hit the grass and leaves the younger cat behind. "Don't mind the groupie, he's more of a pain in my tail than anything else."

"Bein' a groupie'd mean I could actually stand hearing your voice. Seems like 'm not quite there yet. You sure do love yours though, dontcha?" Thump, and the kid's standing next to him again. He found his way around Ker quick enough, though there's that wideness to his eyes that makes it hard for Angel to hide his smile. "He hasn't shut up about ya since he woke up."​

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ooc: ─


check the next slide for basic tags!

full information.

ARCHANGEL,  angel.   might accept others, rather begrudgingly depending on who from.
──── uses he - him - his and mascuine titles; accepts others with vague bemusement.
──── approximately 39 moons old, born during the full height of greenleaf. acts older.
──── bisexual, single?  mostly here for a good time. not particularly interested in love.

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[kerosene]

As Angel hops down to step closer, Kerosene realizes something else: he looks awful. Not even Angel's typical shade of fucked-up and unwashed, but more than that, worse than that. Reminds him of the nights Ange'd wake him up with all his twitching and labored breaths— sometimes with screaming, on the worst nights. And it's funny 'cause he's groomed better than usual and he doesn't reek of some alleycat he'd snuck away with. Nah, no, it's the eyes and the face that tell Ker what he needs to know.

"You sweet-talkin' me? Now I know you want something." He glances at the groupie again, still up on the fence. "And it looks like you're still findin' strays to lead around. Classic Angel, dragging everyone you meet into your shit." His tone's playful, lacking anything sharp or bitter, and he moves to close the distance between them, leaning up to rub his cheek against Ange's. Ker licks his ear before stepping back, and now the groupie's chosen to leave the fence.

Must've been on it figuratively, too.

He chalks the wide-eyed stare up to their little display. There's no telling what kind of garbage he told the kid about Ker, or about him and Ker. Expression of his is cute, though. Y'know, Ker thinks it might actually be some shade of starstruck, but as he keeps talking, there's one thing that smells wrong.

"Wait, wait, wait, woke up? You find him passed out in a ditch? And one more thing: 'fore we go any further, I'm gonna need a name."

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INFORMATION​

 

[VEGAS]

Feel's wrong, to be an intruder with Angel. They'd been glued at the hip since they stumbled their way out of that shit, blood and bone intermixing 'til they weren't even themselves, just us. Nobody's really got that as they travel, but it's been good enough for them to share it. Angel doesn't turn away from him, doesn't leave him even when it'd be easiest to. And he likes to think it's not just 'cause he's still a little rough on those paws of his. The dark tom doesn't really see it like that, probably doesn't even see just how entwined the two of them are at all, but it's not like it matters. What they are's not bound by what anyone sees or accepts.

Guess that probably goes for everyone. His gut still twists when the stranger twines himself around Archangel. He could've guessed they knew each other, maybe even knew each other well since he's the one the cat insisted on coming to visit, but he hadn't thought– hadn't wanted to think– V couldn't blame him, anyway. He's pretty, in the right kind of way. Not soft and small, just . . . neat. Somewhere between clean and tidy and rough-hewn. What's the opposite of cleaning up nice? He'd look good with blood, dirt, and sweat all over. Same sort of pretty Angel is, just a little smoother 'round the edges. Jealousy and want are like the tang of poisoned water. He doesn't want to feel it again, but he's parched enough to consider another sip.

"Passed out?" V snorts. "Half-dead, more like. The both of us." The story sticks on his tongue and he looks to Angel like he might have the words for it in him, but there's a distant kinda pain, and he knows it's not coming. "I'm V. But I doubt you're here to play nice with little ol' me. You want to talk it out with Angel, be my guest. Maybe he'll tell you more than the one who saved his ass. Detes sure were lacking last I asked." V pointedly looks to him but turns away from the duo, searching for a place in the yard out of view from the potential homeowners. A nap would do him some good; especially since he's feeling what he is every time they so much 's look at each other.​

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ooc: ─


check the next slide for basic tags!

full information.

VEGAS,  vee  or  v.   will accept others,  either begrudgingly or happily depending on who.
──── uses he - him - his and mascuine titles; accepts others with vague bemusement.
──── approximately  26 moons old,  born during early greenleaf  or  very late newleaf.
──── gay, single ish. crushes easily and on a broad range of men, but doesn't act on it.

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[kerosene]

He stiffens up, gaze sharpening. Half-dead? Half-dead? Angie and his pale ass had left Kerosene after one of their many tiffs, had nearly fuckin' died, and now he's come strolling back with all that nonchalant swagger as though it doesn't matter? How much of that time had he spent with this V instead, dawdling and dragging his paws about finding Kerosene? He'd been joking when he called V a new flame, but now he's not so certain. Angie, you asshole. He's gotta be mocking Ker bringing V here like this.

Even sounds like he's one of Angie's, 'cause all any of 'em ever do is complain about how he never opens his mouth about the important things— Kerosene included.

As soon as V turns his back on the pair of them, Ker's stepping in close to Archangel again, but this time he's not leaning in for an affectionate cheek rub. There's a molten chunk of rock sinking down from his lungs and into his belly and every exhale is a stream of flame. "You almost died, and the first thing you say to me's, 'hey, showcat?'" His voice is low and that lisp is here in full fuckin' force like it always is when his brain's too fast for his mouth to catch up. "Bet you waited a good couple twists of the moon 'fore you visited, huh? Took your sweet time with a new piece of tail 'cause Ker won't know, Ker worries but who gives a rat's flying ass about how long I left him, yeah. But it's fine 'cause I talked about him, 'cause I eventually deigned to grace him with my presence." Half a mind to hit him right in that stupidly stoic face of his.

"There's enough room for both'a you. Doubt you have anythin' better waiting, and I'm nothin' if not convenient." He bares his teeth at Angie in a bitter grin.
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INFORMATION​

 

[ARCHANGEL]

❝  Well that wasn't exactly fair. Maybe not wholly inaccurate, but– he'd done what he could, in this as in all things. It'd never been enough for Kerosene. He puts his all into everything he's ever been; the problem's always that nobody sees it. They see the ego, the desperate front he puts up. And for all the time Kerosene has known him, that never really leaves. They get angry and it's there again, that wall 'tween them. Every time it rears its ugly head, he's more and more tempted to tear it down. Never done him any good before, though. He'll have to rip it from those bared teeth and it'll end with both of them bleeding. None of it'd do them any good. The temptation's still there, gnawing at his damn throat until his lip starts twitching into a mean sneer. V turning away from them wipes it from his face, like he'd pulled a curtain 'round them and suddenly they're the kids they'd once been.

He exhales, breath gusting past his teeth. "It was for Tip," Angel forces out, leaning forward to press his few extra inches of height over Kerosene's shorter frame. Or maybe into him, pulling away from Vegas even more than they already had. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that pale back turn to him, offering privacy, and he's not sure if what he feels is guilt or gratefulness. "Got my head handed to me like a tin of tuna, lucky I didn't flatline." If it weren't for that new piece of tail, he might've lost it there on that sun-warmed asphalt, but he sure won't admit that to Ker, 'specially not when V can still hear him. Not that he'd do anything about it, aside from maybe quote it every now and then in that "run down and deeply exhausted, trying to be funny when there's nothing else to hold on to" voice of his. He doesn't want to get to the point. Doesn't want to prove Kerosene right, even if he is.

Angel closes silver eyes briefly, voice dropping even further. "We need a place to stay while this blows over. Some information about the area, if you have it. Left parts of V back on that floor, we need something safe." You're not convenient, Ker. You're my best friend. You're safe.

†  ooc notes information †

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  ooc: —
• full information.
  

  
  ARCHANGEL,  angel.   might accept others,  rather begrudgingly at times.
  ──── uses he - him + masc titles;  will accept others with bemusement.
  ──── about 39 moons old, born during the full of greenleaf. acts older.
  ──── bisexual, singleish?  mostly here for a good time, not a long time.
  
  a tall, short-haired black tomcat with odd splashes of white and intense blue eyes that seem silvery in most lighting. he has a very lean build, with notably long legs and wiry strength. a stray cat from a busier area of the twolegplace, and a lifetime ass. a flawed creature with his heart in the right place, and a deep desire to change the world around him.
• "speech"

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