border HE'S A SCOUNDREL | twoleg interaction

[BUCKFIRE]

The Horseplace is always approached with a level of caution that is wielded by his clanmates and Buckfire supposes he understands why. Most of these cats have never interacted with a two-legged in their lives, only watching from afar as they went about doing strange things. They sneer and spit upon the creatures who willingly subject themselves to their care, including kittypets and mousers, but he's never taken any personal offense to the scathing remarks. Buckfire would never consider himself a pet; he never really got too comfortable with those hairless bipedals but he felt safe sleeping under their structures for all the moons he's been alive. Most were peaceful and even friendly to strays.

He has long given up the loner lifestyle by now... or so he claims. Buckfire speaks fondly of his days as a barn cat and is more willing than most to venture toward twoleg territory but he feels that he's been pretty good about sticking to WindClan's ways and learning their customs.

It is when the chocolate tabby sniffs around the fence that he catches a whiff of something fragrant. His attention is grabbed as he weaves through the posts with ease, parting from his clanmates to tread onto Horseplace land. What is that smell?

Then, a pair of twolegs appear. The crunch of their hefty paws against the snow and the bulky pelts that they wear give them height as well as mass, catching Buckfire off guard for a moment, but he does not run. They murmur something unintelligible to him, the shorter female cooing and extending a gloved hand, but Buckfire folds his ears and backs away before she can touch him. The tabby tom has never been real fond of twoleg touch; such physical interaction crossed a boundary for him.

Luckily, thankfully, the twolegs seem to understand his body language and keep their distance. They murmur one last string of incomprehensible language to him before tossing some smelly shreds of meat in his direction.

Buckfire is quick to inspect the meat, wriggling his nose before giving a lick, and then it is shoveled into his maw. It has the consistency of bird... but what kind he is unsure. All he knows is that it's delicious. Yum! "Y'all wanna come try this? It's pretty darn good." The moor runner mrrows toward his clanmates that observe him from behind the fence, completely oblivious that he's done anything wrong.

WHERE THE WHITE RIVER RUNSㅤ ☀︎☀︎ㅤINFO.ㅤ/ㅤ12/30

• ooc: tldr; while patrolling at horseplace, buck is approached by the workfolk that run the farm! they seem to recognize him and, before leaving, toss him cooked chicken pieces ( which he happily snacks on )
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  ■■■■■■■ ✶ buckfire. moor runner of windclan ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆｡𖦹°⋆
  ☀︎ㅤamab male, he/him | bisexual, single
  ☀︎ㅤ35 moons old | ages every 24th
  ☀︎ㅤwarrior ( moor runner ) | mentored by scorchstorm
  ☀︎ㅤsh chocolate tabby with orange eyes
  ☀︎ㅤwritten by beatles, ic opinions | tags‎

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

The only Twoleg interaction Sedgepounce has had was against his will. He'd drifted a long way down the river, ended up stuck somewhere in the foul-smelling maze of the Twolegplace. Trapped in a cold, reflective cage with wounds that couldn't heal fast enough. He carries the experience like a mark of shame, afraid to give his clanmates any reminder that he'd lived in their nests, ate their food—his claws dulled by nearly two moons of laying in wait. His only solace is that he was never whisked away to anyone's house. He was never a kittypet, but...it's a close thing, isn't it?

Patrolling near Horseplace doesn't usually make his fur stand on end. The Twolegs here are typically distant, gravitating around the house and barn in close orbit, so it's not too concerning when Buckfire breaks from the crowd for a moment. Sedgepounce is busy looking for moss—or, better yet, some stray sprigs of wool caught on the fence.

Several moments pass. He doesn't find any wool, but he doesn't find any Buckfire, either. Concerned, Sedgepounce wheels his way toward the fence-line. The border's right there, so he couldn't have wandered off too far. Unless something happened to him. He takes a moment to lift his nose. There's no rogue smell, DuskClan or otherwise. Just the border-scent, and something strange he doesn't recognize, and...

Whoosh. Sedgepounce flattens himself to the dirt, the stench of Twoleg sharp in his nostrils. They're close.

Wishful that the overgrown grasses are enough to conceal him, Sedgepounce holds his breath and crawls forward until his whiskers are skirting the border, at which point he can finally spy Buckfire's mousy pelt through the fence. "Buck..." Sedgepounce whispers. Thank the stars he didn't get grabbed!

The twolegs, from what Sedge can see, have made enough distance that they won't be turning back around. Probably. Not that it matters to Buckfire, apparently.

"Buckfire!" he hisses, louder and sharper than intended. An unexpected heat scalds through him, fanning from his chest to his face like a flame. Sedgepounce scowls. "Man, what are you thinking? Come back here!"

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[Silkpaw]

// mentor tag @SCORCHSTORM

Silkpaw peeks out from behind Scorchstorm, her paws tingling with nervous excitement as she takes in the sight of the Horseplace for the first time. The tall fence stretches along the edge of the moors, casting long shadows across the snowy ground. Beyond it, she can see the barn, its weathered boards standing resolutely against the leaf-bare wind, and the strange 'twoleg' creatures moving about. Gray tail twitching behind her, she blinks her wide blue eyes as she fixates on the scene. She feels unsure whether to flee or step closer. Her mentor's presence beside her keeps her grounded, of course, but her thoughts race. It's so…strange. Twolegs actually live here? She's heard stories of them, but never expected to see one so close to their territory! Her gaze flits to Buckfire, whose relaxed demeanor feels wildly out of place amidst her own hammering heartbeat. And then, when her clanmate calls out to them, a small gasp escapes her when she realizes just what he's doing. "He's eating their food?" She whispers, scandalized, turning her wide-eyed gaze up to Scorchstorm. "Is that…is that allowed?"

Sedgepounce's sharp voice cuts through the air, drawing her attention back to the fence. She watches as the WindClan warrior tries to coax Buckfire back, clearly frustrated. The apprentice glances up at her mentor again and mews hesitantly, "What should we do, Scorchstorm? Should we get him back? Or…?" Her voice trails off as her eyes return to the tom still blissfully sampling the twolegs' offering. Border patrols are weird, she decides.
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[SCORCHSTORM]

Scorchstorm is lucky to never have had a real run-in with twolegs. They have often heckled WindClan's border with their garbage and tame beasts; they have kidnapped Clanmates of hers; they have gifted WindClan more barn cats than she can count. They razed her territory to the ground when they let their fire off its leash. It is easy to see why she scorns them so vehemently, then — why she scorns the kittypets that choose to live with them; why she rejects them on principle.

To see Buckfire practically running into their hairless paws would become an understandable offense. Scorchstorm had been his mentor. She ought to have passed down her aversion to him, despite training for only a few moons together. Her jaunts about the Horseplace are typically peaceful, even welcomed in case she catches a glimpse of Luckypaw. Today she is glad to be in good company — some of the best company she can think of, really; two friends and her apprentices in two, Scorchstorm had been anticipating a walk that could clear the mind.

When Sedgepounce flattens himself to the ground, Scorchstorm follows suit. Her pupils blow wide with alarm as she fixes her gaze on the twolegs, hostility brewing in the spiking of her fur. She casts a backwards glance at Silkpaw and Bramblepaw almost as an afterthought. They're behind me, she realizes, relieved. They have not stupidly followed Buckfire's example. At least, not yet — she can hear the hesitance in Silkpaw's voice as the girl asks her what to do.

But, truthfully, Scorchstorm isn't quite sure. The twolegs aren't advancing, but the thought of putting herself any nearer to them — even in the name of saving Buckfire from potential capture — is a great risk. "Don't go near him," she directs the gray-muzzled apprentice. "Stay hidden. Twolegs often take what is not theirs."

Meanwhile, Buckfire wolfs down the pallid scraps with gusto. She cannot prevent her muzzle from creasing with disgust, joining Sedgepounce in an attempt to persuade the brown tabby back to safety: "get back here or else." Her demand becomes a heavy toll, crisp and clear, leaving little room for argument. The or else what might come later — she has no idea how to punish this type of self-jeopardizing — but she knows something will follow, whether it comes from her paws or the twolegs'.

MY ARRIVAL IS HONORED WITH THE HONING OF AN AXE ✦

• ooc. app 2 tag: @bramblepaw -

• SCORCHSTORM —— deputy of windclan . mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . mentoring bramblepaw & silkpaw . scorchstar x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw

  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. distrustful and stoic with a taste for violent correction.
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 21 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ penned by meghan
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

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[BUCKFIRE]

Pale chunks are shoveled into awaiting jaws, gobbled down without hesitation and with pleasure. The chocolate tabby simply can't help himself, not when what he was tasting was so delicious. "Buckfire!" His name is managed with a sharpness, one that grabs his attention and prompts his warm gaze to look back over his shoulder. The rest of the patrol had caught up with him, their features painted with confusion and concern as they observed him from behind the fence.

He swipes his tongue over his lips, giving a playful cock of his head before teasing, "Don't tell me y'all are too chicken," No pun intended. In fact, Buckfire hadn't a clue that the meat he was eating even was chicken. But were they seriously too scared of the humans to sneak over and grab a bite for themselves? Passing this opportunity up during a scarce season such as leafbare would be a waste in Buck's eyes.

It was Scorchstorm's command that slices through the brisk air like a blade of grass that finally convinces Buckfire. "Yes, ma'am." The moor runner huffs, not necessarily irritated himself but more so stumped as to why his patrolmates wouldn't trust him. The twolegs wouldn't harm them... he knew they wouldn't. They'd taken care of plenty of loners like him and Celandinepaw. They probably would have offered more food if the WindClanners showed themselves.

The warrior trots over with brown paws crunching atop the snow, the remainder of the scraps in his jaws. After he'd squeezed through the fence and reunited with the others, he set the pieces on the ground and gestured toward them with his chin, "It's food. Free food, too. Ain't no harm in it." It wasn't like it was kibble. Buckfire had eaten kittypet pellets before when there wasn't much of anything else to nibble on, but he knew it wasn't the best quality. This, however, tasted fresh. It was akin to the fresh-kill that they caught on a daily basis. So, what was the issue?

WHERE THE WHITE RIVER RUNSㅤ ☀︎☀︎ㅤINFO.ㅤ/ㅤ12/30

• ooc: text
• 
  ■■■■■■■ ✶ buckfire. moor runner of windclan ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆｡𖦹°⋆
  ☀︎ㅤamab male, he/him | bisexual, single
  ☀︎ㅤ35 moons old | ages every 24th
  ☀︎ㅤwarrior ( moor runner ) | mentored by scorchstorm
  ☀︎ㅤsh chocolate tabby with orange eyes
  ☀︎ㅤwritten by beatles, ic opinions | tags‎

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