JUST DREAMING ╱ SHENANIGANS, O

[VEGAS]

❝  The porcupine-pin ache that'd settled in both his head and limbs has yet to fully leave him, but work doesn't wait on anything. Certainly not his physical well-being. Soon as word got around that he was for hire, there were a few desperate faces asking if a some bites of food would do the trick. Some of them he'd ignored, no shame. Tracking down someone they made run away in the first place, taking something that definitely doesn't belong to them. This one'd caught his heart for all the reasons he didn't want to talk about. My kitten's collar, the shaky old molly had said. They threw it out. I want it back. Her up-walkers weren't the sentimental sort, it'd seem. But Vegas– well, sometimes he was. He'd tracked the way they tossed it, from riverbank on up until the ground started to stink of other cats and sink in between his toes.

His white extremities are nearly the same color as his face at this point, but he thinks he's getting closer. Or maybe he's just hoping for it. At this point there's a prickling on his neck. Someone's nearby. Many of them, maybe. He regrets leaving Angel and Ker back on that fence, but he'd thought maybe they needed it. And he needed to get away from it. And some of the food that old molly'd promised, 'cause his belly's starting to rumble. Maybe he'd snag a bite here before heading back? Knowing what he does about the cats that'd settled here, though, that doesn't seem like the best idea. If only they were stupid enough to throw a few pieces of fish at him to scare 'im off. He's still not leavin' until he finds the damn collar anyway. V sighs. Deeply. Desperately. Soon.

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: —
• 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"

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[BUCKGAIT.]

"why are you creeping around?" a heavy and clear tone, with a very annoyed molly. today had not been one to keep her moods from plummeting, and now there's another stranger sneaking about the waters. she is tired. tired of cats that do not belong here. tired of cats who steal and can't even survive. a scowl forms on her darkened features, eyes narrowed at the more lightly-pelted tom before her. he's searching for something, that much is obvious. he scents the air, glances back and forth too often, inspecting what the banks hold for him.

it seems to be nothing. she can't tell if she should feel a sense of pity for him or not, with how desperate he seems to be. hungry, and she thinks to have heard something about a tom of similar pelt. something about him doing things for things of interest. she has only caught a snippet of his tale in the wind, but it doesn't lead to any lessened suspicious. at the very least he seems determined on whatever he may be searching for. there seems to be a heavy exhaustion upon the pointed desperado, something to weigh him down.

truly, she is not to be concerned. this a rogue that holds no ties to her or the river. ​

[ MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ]​

 

[CASCADESONG]

To him, Buck's hostility is strange. It was clear that things were changing around the river, new faces that had crept toward the loner-heavy space with a weary hello. New friends, and a new group, the ranks of which, he has slid into rather easily. To him, it hadn't changed much, besides providing an influx of company. "Why the face?" the tom exclaims, features lighting up with slight surprise as he addresses Buck. His tone remains friendly, a genuine question. "Maybe he's sightseeing, checkin' out the neigh-bor-hood?" His tail flickers across the grass with every syllable of the word.

Sea-green eyes sparkle with unhidden interest. Another newcomer to commit to memory. Warm chocolate fur and snow-dipped paws. His scent was familiar, hot asphalt and the busy clashing of twoleg scents. Another leaving their upwalker-nest for the river, maybe? He hums at the thought. "You plan on sticking around, stranger?"​

 

[CICADASTAR]

− ♱ ABOUT : he makes his approach with the slightest tilt of his head, frigid luminaries taking in the chocolate tom with a mild bemusement. his paws now frantic alabaster empty despite how his eyes still scan the banks, brow furrowed in concentration. he’d never seen him before — not in the marshlands, not in the pine group. he wonders vaguely if this tom hails from the same place as he had, long before he joined hare whiskers colony in the forest. the distant smell of smog stink and twoleg clung to his pointed coat and the tortie had been only a youth then, his memories so tainted and blackened with misery he would not be able to tell one place from the other there now — but the scent remained, lodged somewhere deep within the confines of his skull. the place was a greyed blur, a cacophony of sound and noise, scraping metal and the snarling cries of feral cats far older than he at the time. cicada nearly pities him, the rough life of the twoleg place, food scarce and over - scrawny when caught. how they’d not taken refuge beyond the treeline before kittypets, he would never know.

the long - legged felidae slinks his way alongside mahi - mahi, bicolored curls still dripping slightly with river water. buck is present, her voice ringing clear and irritable, as he often found her. the smoke casts her a brief glance, a single orbital ear twitching in her direction. while loud and accusatory, she’d done nothing to provoke outrage outright, and he was nothing if not a man of his word. riverclan would accept outsiders, for a time. his agitation grew by the day, however, and his gaze locks back onto the stranger tom who searches at his shores, “ where have you come from? “ the man asks, accented vocals tinged with vague, careful curiosity. the two to approach before him had asks what was needed so the riverclanner merely settles to his haunches, his perked ears the only signal that he was still fully alert.

out of character information translations

• − CICADA ; he / him, roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
  − tall black smoke tortie chimera with icecap eyes and curly fur, homosexual
  − speaks with a german accent, former marshlander, penned by antlers
  
  
• none.

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[Frostdrop.]

GOT A HEAD FULL OF SPIDERS​

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Buck had been the first to approach, showing her clear distaste in a stranger wondering upon the river, which Frost still refused to accept at Rivercla's despite joining in on the new group that took over the lands. Mahi-Mahi showed to be more warm and welcoming towards the stranger, trying to be more so on the light side while Cicada showed more and more irritation towards those who kept tresspassing onto the borders but, this wasn't a land or place to be own by one amount of cats, so it fristrated her more that they continued to try and claim something that wasn't theirs to take.

Her tail swished as she approached, curled ears perked towards the stranger who seemed more interested in trying to find something instead of dealing with the ever growing swarm of cats that showed to be either irritated at their arrival here or seemed to welcomed them with open arms. This group was... unorganized, and perhaps that would be their downfall. "We don't need more of these land-cats, mahi, right now focusing on helping the ones here to survive is at our best interest" she said with a snippy tone as her bi-colored eyes glared icly at Vegas. "Whatever it is, please get it and leave, fast" the she-cat stated, her tone cold as those bi-colored eyes that were glued onto the frame ofnthe rogue. ​

"speak""Thoughts"​