pafp let the sunlight in my lap — questions

[Cherryblossom]

Greenleaf afternoon sits snugly on SkyClan territory. A good season to be born in. Cherrykit and her litter have never known a mother unable to give milk (though lately Orangeblossom has been refusing Cherrykit's advances, only pushing hard-to-eat birds towards her whenever she lunges for a teat). Nor have they known the barren scapes of Leaf-bare, or the bleary world of the dawn patrol. Cherrykit simply exists, tumbling through the fern-dappled light and hearing her cries aborbed by the hollow walls, scampering up to warriors and soaking in the various expressions on their faraway faces. In this moment, she's huddled up against Orangeblossom's back, unknowingly preventing a well-deserved rest for the molly strung across motherhood and civil duty.

Tiny paws knead at a patch of orange fur just below the nape of Orangeblossom's neck. "Mama?" Her mother is lying down, closer to the height of her kittens, but Cherrykit clambers onto her ribcage in search of further closeness anyway. A tiny white paw patch the kneaded spot. Orangeblossom has a color she's never seen anywhere else but on cats. Sunshinekit has some patches that look like Mama's, and there are even some other cats who have their whole bodies slathered in it! I don't have this color. Cherrykit tilts her head. "I don't have this color." she thinks again, but out loud. Wide yellow eyes blare at Orangeblossom, almost accusatory with the growing frown on her face. Sunshinekit has orange. But Cherrykit only has a little bit of red, reddish orange. Not this pastel hue, one that reminds her of sunlit sand and the sky sometimes. "Why didn't you make me orange?" She twists around to grasp at a couple of ruddy hairs on her leg, then shuffles over to compare it to Orangeblossom's shoulder. "See?" Cherrykit blinks expectantly, but she would accept an apology just as much as an explanation.

ooc: pls wait for @orangeblossom ! also she's deffo orange but someone needs to convince her
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[Orangestar]

"Cherrykit." Orangeblossom grunts, half pain and half acknowledgement as her eldest daughter steps directly in the tender spot between her ribs. Remember when she'd once foolishly thought being kicked in the ribs by her kits would stop after giving birth? Yeah, nice joke, past Orangeblossom. It would never stop. The deputy adjusts herself as pale paws knead at the nape of her neck, tugging on the sunkissed strands there as she complains how she's not orange too. Orangeblossom blinks, surprised for a moment. Not orange? StarClan forbid, Cherrykit was a darker ginger than she was!

"Your stripes just show up more than mine do, look." She sweeps her tail closer, holding it aloft to compare her ginger patches to Cherrykit's undercoat. That, at least, is a pretty similar colour. "You've just got dark fur elsewhere that makes your orange patches look darker ... if you look closely at my ears, you can see it's lighter there."

— info

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  orangeblossom. tags.
  — she/her, skyclan deputy.
  — mentor to eveningpaw.
  — attack in #e08550. uses trees as an integral part of her fighting style.
  — mean enough to note that her thoughts don't reflect my opinions as a writer haha.
  — penned by mercibun; @ me in any official tabbytales discord for plots. :]
  — art by merc!<3
  

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[DAWNGLARE]

Dawnglare has no real interest in the nursery, its residents, nor its happenings. Any urge to leer upon them with the essence of watchfulness is because only, the clan sees it as his duty to care for them, and perhaps then, the stars would too. Thicker winds marrs his connection to sky and earth, but he has lived such a long and divine - filled life that any guess of his would be good as their word. There is no reason in the world that he would drag himself to the maw of rolling sickness and milk - scent, (even less, to the deputy) if the desire were all his own. Not unless he were driven truly and welly mad.

A little one prattles on about nonsense, color. Why this and not that? Tiny and frail - minded as she were, she best be thankful she had not received her father's sickening eyes. Was that not enough? " Cherish what you have, hm? " The medicine cat casts a shadow over them both, his smile crooked in a way that made it difficult to tell what he was truly feeling. Pinkish lips faught with his own whims often. The light disgust that he eyes the deputy with is non - specific enough that it could be a comment on anything, if you truly wished it to be. For example: only time would tell if she would inherit her mother's stunning personality.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Where Dawnglare was, Mallowlark was never far. Except when they had differing duties borne of their separate ranks, Mallowlark often elected to stay rather close to his mate, cherishing the company every day as if he had never had before. As Dawnglare loomed a sepia-streaked shadow over the pair, a grinning wraith would stretch out from behind him at first like a second head, eventually giving way to a large phantom-hued form. With amusement, his silver eyes bore down at the pair. A giggle spilled from an alarmingly wide grin at the prospect of Cherrykit's question, and the path down which his imagination began to barrel at the notion.

"Oh, hah- but imagine if you could just--" He snorted at his own incoming comment, a surefire warning that something less-than-savoury was about to flood out of his mouth. All the while, he framed the words with the aching fervency of his grin. "... rr-rip the colour off of someone else! Take it for yourself..." It was easy to imagine- chaos borne of envy! At least, it would have been like that in WindClan... plagues creatures stumbling over themselves to tear the beauty off the back of one they admired, to wear it for themselves. What would be left, when colour was stolen away? A spurt or sprawl of blood on flesh, or simply a snow-white speck, like fresh settled snow?​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[DOOMPAW]

Like Cherrykit, Doomkit has been forced away from Orangeblossom’s once (semi) generous offer of milk. He’s developed a liking for fresh-kill, the way the bones crunch between fearsome teeth and the way the blood and meat fills his mouth, but he’s left perpetually hungry and his attitude has sharpened as a result. The pale tortie tomkit stalks near Orangeblossom and her real kit, one of the worst—Cherrykit. She’s so stupid, he thinks to himself with contempt. She’s asking why Orangeblossom didn’t make her orange. “Because she didn’t want her dumbest kit to look like her,” he says, wagging his rump in the air as if he’s inviting her to pounce on him.

He doesn’t get a chance, though, because that strange tom from the nasty den and his companion approach. Doomkit scowls at Dawnglare. He knows who the medicine cat is now. He thinks he’s so important! He thinks Doomkit couldn’t chew his tail off in a heartbeat.

He’s looking at the temptingly twitching object in question with near-salivating jaws when Mallowlark’s giggle interrupts him. Doomkit looks up, green eyes glittering with interest. “Can you do that? Can I be all white and rip your fur off? I hate these other colors. Make me look. Dumb.” He throws Cherrykit a smug look; he’s referring to his own tortoiseshell patches.
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Her paws sink into her mother's fur like a rabbit in a snowstorm, white against softest white. "Cherrykit," that's her name. Everyone has told her cherries are red, like flowers, like spooky blood, so Cherrykit must be red. Orangeblossom's exasperation blips right past the girl, a leaf carried upon strange winds soon to plunder their home. For now, her mother's lovely face hovers still before her, and Cherrykit unconsciously twists cheek fluff petals towards the pastel sun.

A tail sweeps up her mother's long legs (so, so unimaginably long) and settles at her own; immediately, she lifts a paw to bat at it before Orangeblossom calls her attention deeper. "Stripes?" she echoes. She immediately twists around to paw at her own tail. It's stubby, wiry, and slightly grimy; nothing like the sweet plume of tangerine laid out before her. Still, she squints at it at her mother's behest. There are some hints of orange peeking through the deep ginger, flecks of sunlight buried in calm waves, but she vehemently shakes her head. She can't be wrong because she's already made up her mind: no orange.

Then Orangeblossom beckons her to look at her ears, and Cherrykit doesn't hesitate to rear upon her hind paws (digging them deeper still into Orangeblossom's tender ribcage) and grasp where she's directed. "Mama, this ear is broken!" she exclaims, leaning in closer to examine the Deputy's torn ear. "It's okay," she giggles. Cherrykit offers her condolences in the form of a quick lick to the back of her nicked ear. "Don't worry. I still like it," she reassures her mother, whose ear is surely at the forefront of her mind and not the incoming missile in the shape of another calico kitten.

Cherrykit snaps round to a familiar, soul-grating voice. "You're dumb," she immediately retorts. It's a poor comeback and she knows it. So she continues, growling, "You're not even her kit." The kitten puffs up, chest fur rising into a furred collar as though she's queen conqueror of the Orangeblossom mountains. "You don't look like anyone." Moon eyes stare imperiously down at her latest enemy, crouched leagues below her fuzzy throne. Cherrykit drops into an equally messy crouch, the prospect of sinking her teeth into a paler, inferior copy of her irresistible, until a dazzling shadow drowns her attention.

She glares up at the medicine cat, frustration and fury redirected into cool blues. "Cherish?" she repeats, rage momentarily dissipating with deeper thought. A new word, and he doesn't provide any other explanation than the slight look he gives Orangeblossom. It reminds her of Doomkit's expression, with the tomkit still off to the side, but less so. A bad feeling simmering between twin pools of chilled water, not tranquil but simply cold.

The kitten jumps a little at the appearance of another cat, who just falls out of Dawnglare's back like a pair of wings stripped from the monstrous back of an angel. His smile stretches so wide it makes his face appear to be only teeth, laughter squeaking between each yellowed white, so large as to rub helplessly together when he talks. Cherrykit immediately flattens her ears; what's so funny? Continuing to look at him feels like squinting into the sun, so much effort for nothing but discomfort, so she gazes at his progenitor while he squeals. (Dawnglare's expression seems to have improved too, though in comparison to Mallowlark or for another reason, she doesn't know.) Delicate brows furrow at the thought of r-ripping. "I don't wanna do that..." she meows, mostly to herself beneath his continued giggles. She wants the orange, but not enough to steal, nor to remember wanting it next week.

Doomkit has to butt in though, and she picks up where she left off. "You are dumb." she huffs. She feels his disgusting eyes over her ears and rump, the gentle flames and streaks of night, and feels oddly protective over them. She would never let him rip her fur off, especially not to steal her colors; what if some other cat saw Doomkit wearing her colors and assumed he was her? "You look ugly no matter what," she jeers, smugly curling her colorful tail over her paws. Who was she kidding—no one would ever mistake her for Doomkit.
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