- Aug 24, 2022
- 413
- 145
- 43
tw: violence / language
He’s caught up in the storm in his head, staring blisters into the weird carved pumpkin sitting on the twoleg porch railing he had decided to rest on. The steps made of rotten wood, decorated now with strange yellow and orange lights. Upwalkers were so strange during the colder moons, dressing their homes with colors hideous on the shells of their dens. The upwalker of the garage he lives partly- well, he never did such things. It was always noisy and gloomy, and quite eerie. A place for a crow like Thistleback. He was starting to think he was doing the old man a favor by keeping the yard free of rodents.
He didn’t owe the upwalker anything, but he did let the stray linger while he grew up so- there was a mutualistic respect. To call him a kittypet though, would be to speak without truth. Thistleback was feral through and through. He just- liked to consider this lonely metal shard jungle home part two.
present time - the pumpkin held a small flame, flickering and dancing. Grey eyes reflect it like two golden ghoulish orbs swimming in silver. He hears a strange spring and rattle behind him- snapping his chin to the side to spot a tall gangling twoleg with a large stick in his hand. The ugly things muzzle peppered with red ant-bites it looked like, and a snarl on its face.
Thistleback stares back, his own upper-lip twitching. He growls deeply now as the stick is angled at him. Too much had happened in the past few days, all the feline felt was stewing rage. The stick suddenly explodes POP…THAP!. Furious was the sting that electrocuted through his skull from the trangular flag of his ear. The impact reels him backward and off the railing with a thud. A grunt punched out of his chest and the whole world is white for several long moments. His side is bruised where he lands.
He groggily stands, the twoleg is aiming the stick at him again and Thistleback charges. Swinging out a leg to rake the clothed thing’s leg before retreating to the forest line. Long thin streaks of red seeping into the white of his face-fur. Crimson lightning across his maw from the jagged hole in his ear- he bursts into camp and rolls in stagger. Flush to the ground he breathes hard, nose crinkled in a snarl and eyes distanced like a wild animal.
" s-s-shit. " he could feel it now, the stinging like a thousand wasps.
He’s caught up in the storm in his head, staring blisters into the weird carved pumpkin sitting on the twoleg porch railing he had decided to rest on. The steps made of rotten wood, decorated now with strange yellow and orange lights. Upwalkers were so strange during the colder moons, dressing their homes with colors hideous on the shells of their dens. The upwalker of the garage he lives partly- well, he never did such things. It was always noisy and gloomy, and quite eerie. A place for a crow like Thistleback. He was starting to think he was doing the old man a favor by keeping the yard free of rodents.
He didn’t owe the upwalker anything, but he did let the stray linger while he grew up so- there was a mutualistic respect. To call him a kittypet though, would be to speak without truth. Thistleback was feral through and through. He just- liked to consider this lonely metal shard jungle home part two.
present time - the pumpkin held a small flame, flickering and dancing. Grey eyes reflect it like two golden ghoulish orbs swimming in silver. He hears a strange spring and rattle behind him- snapping his chin to the side to spot a tall gangling twoleg with a large stick in his hand. The ugly things muzzle peppered with red ant-bites it looked like, and a snarl on its face.
Thistleback stares back, his own upper-lip twitching. He growls deeply now as the stick is angled at him. Too much had happened in the past few days, all the feline felt was stewing rage. The stick suddenly explodes POP…THAP!. Furious was the sting that electrocuted through his skull from the trangular flag of his ear. The impact reels him backward and off the railing with a thud. A grunt punched out of his chest and the whole world is white for several long moments. His side is bruised where he lands.
He groggily stands, the twoleg is aiming the stick at him again and Thistleback charges. Swinging out a leg to rake the clothed thing’s leg before retreating to the forest line. Long thin streaks of red seeping into the white of his face-fur. Crimson lightning across his maw from the jagged hole in his ear- he bursts into camp and rolls in stagger. Flush to the ground he breathes hard, nose crinkled in a snarl and eyes distanced like a wild animal.
" s-s-shit. " he could feel it now, the stinging like a thousand wasps.
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— tl;dr: Thistle is shot with a 22. in the right ear while in twolegplace - there is a perfect hole right through. he's laid out in camp.
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— Thistleback | thirty moons | cis-male
— daylight warrior of Skyclan
— bisexual | fallen for Deersong 9.29.22
— very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes. Wears a purple collar with brass clasp.
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