twolegplace FIRES OF HELL | o, intro


Jul 25, 2022

Heat waves are the worst, he’s decided. The sidewalk is too hot for any sane creature to even consider stepping upon it, and even the grass provides little relief, dry and brittle as it is. Even the flowers lining the edges of the white picket fence around his house are beginning to wilt, despite the care his twolegs put into keeping them alive. They care for those flowers almost as much as they care for him. Business Frog doesn’t have the mind to care about the flowers, though—not when the sun beating down is causing his brain to turn to mush.

It’s too hot to be outside, and there’s not even a good reason for him to be out here. He’s the ”pwecious wittle man” of his house; his twolegs wouldn’t think twice about letting him stay indoors where the temperature is always comfortable. But sometimes the house is just too small, too suffocating, too boring. And besides, if he goes inside now they’re going to put a dumb costume on him, and he tries to avoid that as much as possible. His dignity is damaged as it is, he doesn’t know if he can handle many more costumes.

The mink tom is lounging atop a disgustingly bright yellow and red car, the faded yellow plastic of the roof is slightly warmer than the grass, but is far cooler than the hellfire that is the sidewalk right now. It’s too hot out here to actually think—his favorite pastime—so he’s content to just lie here and nap for a while. "Hate this stupid fuckin’ weather," he mutters to himself, a hiss escaping his maw as he rolls onto his back. At least the sun’s good for warming his belly.
❝  It's some sort of a miracle that the ground's not melting beneath their paws. If he hadn't been walking 'round since this morning, he might have been yelping in pain by now. Luckily for him, it was kinda like putting a frog in water and turning up the temp. He doesn't know it's that bad. His paws are numb. But hey, isn't that just how Mister Business Frog came to be? If he hadn't paid so well all those moons ago, Vegas might've found it in him to laugh more often than he did. Find yourself a pretty place to live, comfortable and easy. They love you, take care of you. Then, when you're nice and cozy, they dress you up in what looks like some chewed up bubblegum, still neon pink and a little misshapen. It wasn't the sort of life V would ever find himself entangled with, much less enjoying, but life kept on kicking him when he was down so maybe he should start thinking about it.

'Course that's not why he's here. He's not even here for Frog at all, it's just the sort of coincidence that has him– smiling? Yeah. He's fuckin' smiling. "Well well well, if it's not the Business Frog himself." Vegas shifts himself from the sidewalk to the grass near the mink's grand perch. He considers hopping up another step to join him, but that's a bit of familiarity he's not all that fond of. Or sure of, for that matter. He doubts the kittypet would welcome crowding company. "Not gonna spend your day inside? Didn't get kicked you, didja?"

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  • full information.
    VEGAS,  vee  or  v.   accepts others, how happily depends on who it's from.
    ──── uses he - him + masc titles ;  will accept others with bemusement.
    ──── about 26 moons old,  born during early greenleaf or late newleaf.
    ──── gay, singleish. crushes on a broad range of men; doesn't act on it.

    a sleek chocolate point tom with some odd irregularities in his spotting, and a soft length of thicker fur from between his ears and down his spine. his eyes are a soft, mellow blue, though they have a more intense glow in certain lighting. deceptively strong, with the build of one accustomed to work.
  • "speech"

An all too familiar voice reaches his ears, and they fall flat against his skull. In a way, though, he’s relieved. Were it a stranger’s voice, Business Frog would have been on his feet in seconds, anticipating an attack or some other harshness. He’s out of the business now, and some cats don’t take his telling them that very well. But it’s just V, and he doesn’t bother to straighten himself up. To attack him here would be unwise, and V doesn’t seem outwardly aggressive anyhow.

For once the panicked droning inside his head quiets, though perhaps that has more to do with the merciless heat beating down upon them. "Was hopin’ you’d just walk on by," he mutters, cracking a turquoise eye open. He doesn’t look, doesn’t need to, but he tips his head back a bit more in a halfhearted attempt to face the other tom.

Questions already, he thinks. Christ, this guy. He’s uncomfortable with the familiarity of the other feline, but there’s a reluctant respect there as well, and he shakes his head. "Nah, I didn’t get kicked out. I ain’t some street cat, and I ain’t never gonna be." That he is certain of. No matter how many of his twolegs’ belongings go mysteriously missing, or how many times he himself disappears for days at a time, his twolegs will always welcome him back with open arms, bright smiles, and perhaps a ridiculous outfit or two. "Can a guy not sit in the sun no more?"