It’s The Springtime Of My Life (intro)


Himbo? I hardly know her
Jun 13, 2022

Sitting around their shared camp, Cow could be seen clearly contemplating something. The bovine boy was lying on his back, unbothered by the dust and dirt marring a monochromatic pelt. The only part of him actually in motion were jet-black paws, idly bouncing a leaf up and down with the same amount of attention and effort one might give to breathing.

If one had particularly good ears, they would hear the occasional whispered mumble coming from Cow, though the subject was all but indecipherable. “Eyes…voice…heart…fire…fire? Lightning?” Suddenly the loner shot up, a question clearly forming on his milky-white maw. “Hey!” He shouted to the closest cat, clearly convinced the subject was more important than whatever the other had going on. “Are those weird, bright, glowy things called fireflies? Or lightningbugs?”

Emerald eyes narrowed as the first question became the catalyst for others, almost like a chemical reaction of stupidity. “And would a chick get mad if I compared her to one? I’ve known some who can’t stand little critters like that, but a few think they’re cute. What’s up with that?” Ah, of course the question connected in some way to the fairer sex. Creating pick-up lines might have been one of the boy’s hobbies, but being a few pieces of prey short of a pile did not lend itself well to wordplay.

Fritter has figured out that the longer she stays here, the more interesting peoplewatching has become. Today is her usual, sitting on the outskirts of camp and just watching through two-toned eyes. Her gaze falls upon Cow, a cat she has not met before, and hes muttering some weird things that have her tilting her head. Hes talking about the bugs, the ones she knows as lucioles. And then his subject changed to... chicks? She did not know what this word meant, surely he was talking about the small little yellow thing, right? She realizes hes talking directly at her, now.
She finds herself padding over. "Excusez-moi," her voice is quiet, interested, head tilting to the side. "U-Uh, what are chicks? They cannot talk." she realizes she sounds stupid and her face flushes, embarrassment flooding through her body. "Sorry." she adds, hushed, keeping herself from hanging her head and just walking away. Talking is so hard and her stomach is churning with the difficulty. Oh, how she wishes she was in her hometown again! "And, uh, sorry, again... But I call them lucioles, the glowing things."
☾ "speech" ☽​
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    ── ( ᴛᴀɢs. )  A quiet lift of her brow betrays Yarrow's contemplation of the question– with all the attention she can offer, as most of it is given to disdain. Pick-up lines, as Cow refers to them, are hardly part of her pastime. Hearing them speak sweet, meaningless things grates on her as little else does. "What you call a thing hardly changes what it is, or whether or not one will be offended by it." It seems that there was no halting the conversation, however, so the older molly offers only another sigh. "He does not speak of chicks the way you think he does. It's a rather demeaning term for one such as yourself. A molly."

    Taken by a strange temptation, she flicks another leaf towards the prone tomcat, watching it float slowly down towards him. "One's opinions are not bound by the words that they use for themselves. Fireflies, lightningbugs, like or hate– you should think of who you are courting, not the words you wish to use."

  • i am so sorry she's rude rip
  • ──── yarrow, eventually yarrowtongue.  cis female,  she - her pronouns.
    ──── approximately five years old,  though age unknown. ages the first.
    ──── sexuality unknown, presumed to be wholly disinterested in others.
    ──── lilac silver ticked tabby with curly fur  and deep,  muted olive eyes.
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╰☆☆ Scarlet is no stranger to compliments. Pick up lines. Some tom gushing over the softness of her pelt, the luminance of her eyes. Nonsense, all of it. She knows she's beautiful; she doesn't need some daft male to tell her that. It's as irritating to her as it is to Yarrow, though for different reasons. She could make a single exception, of course, thinking of the dark-pointed kittypet she'd stumbled across... but Cow is not Bartholomew. Cow is a good-looking idiot.

Scarlet flicks her gaze to Fritter, and an enormous smile splits her otherwise doll-like face. Speaking of fools. The brown and white molly thinks he's talking about birds. Laughable. She approaches on paws scrubbed clean of dust. "Lucioles!" She parrots, followed by a giggle. "Oh, Fritter, you say the silliest things sometimes. Who's ever heard of such a thing!"

She flicks her gaze to Yarrow, who is entirely unamused by Cow's contemplations. Scarlet's smile remains wide, though it loses some of its forced charm as she says, "Cow, my dear, I imagine any she-cat you compare to an insect won't be worth your time."

In response to the tomcat’s arguably innocent inquiry, a slew of she-cats stepped forwards with confusion, disgust, and amusement, respectively. Of course, to cow, thought on the situation stopped squarely a few sentences back, with the word “she-cats.” Fritter was first, and unfortunately she was playing ping-pong against someone without a paddle. Padding forwards, it became clear her question wasn’t interpreted correctly once Cow had finished crafting a response.

“Chicks certainly can talk! ‘Course, they don’t have to to be beautiful, but they lose that special something once they can’t convey how much they’ve fallen for me.” Sealing the speech with a wink, the bonehead was certain Fritter was utterly smitten with him. Now to bring it home! “Speaking of talking, why do you talk like that? It’s weird, but beautiful.” Invisible eyebrows wrinkled with concentration. “Beautiweird…weirdiful…whatever. It’s pretty!”

Speaking of pretty, Yarrow was next to offer advice. Turning towards her, all the comments about his conduct went in one ear and out the other. “Chicks, babes, girls, they’re all compliments to me! Such a perfect selection of cats deserves a lot of respectful names, right?” Without thinking, the milk-face intercepted the leaf, proceeding to balance it on his nose while answering her next set of words. “I don’t really understand what you just said” he began, “but pick-up lines are like prey. Some are good, some are bad, some are stringy, some are tough. There’s so many animals and so many traits out there, one must be the perfect meal! Same with pick-ups. There’s so many words out there, some combination must be perfect for every cat.” a slightly disappointed look crossed his maw as the leaf dropped to the ground. “At least, that’s my theory.”

Finally, Scarlet stopped by to say a few words, which was the opposite of a problem in Cow’s eyes. However, a small frown did form on his face when the clean cat belittled Fritter. “Hey, I like lucioles!” he started cheerfully, jumping to her defense. “Lucioles…lucioles…” The bovine boy repeated the word a few times, testing it out like one might with a new car. After a few moments, he nodded. “Yea, It sounds better than fireflies or lightningbugs! I’m gonna start using it, if that’s alright.” A questioning gaze turned towards fritter, deferring to her as if she had dominion over who could and couldn’t use a language.

While waiting for an answer, an ever-cheerful gaze switched back to Scarlet. “all women are worth my time!” he answered, not sure if he’d just been complimented or insulted, but also not caring. “Especially the buggy ones. Bugs are neat! I found a spider the other day that was as big as my eye, y’know.” Cow paused, trying to recall specifics. “Actually no, it was a little smaller, I think, since it stood on it and all. Still stings…”