Much as she appreciated the security of Vermilion and his group, there were times she just needed to be away. She could disappear for days, even if it would make the others upset, especially if there were the younger kittens she was expected to look after.
The ginger she-cat bunched her muscle and leapt up to the top of a fence, balancing precariously on its thin edge. She stalked forward slightly, head angled up to watch the beginnings of dusk-fall. Of course, she had thought of leaving entirely. It was not a frequent thought but it did occur and every time it did she denied it any further toying. The world was bigger than their sewers and concrete houses. It was bigger than the Clan territories. She should stick to things she knew.
A quick movement below her made Anastasia's attention snap down. A flash of dark fur and the sound of tiny claws scurrying against cardboard. Her ears pricked and her pupils dilated, tracking the movements of the mouse from above. If she waited long enough, it might come right underneath her and she could gain an easy meal. Anastasia licked her lips and fell silent and still.
❪ TAGS ❫ — Being apart of a group, a community... well, it sounded suffocating. Jersey Boy had to learn how to fend for himself from day one, seeing as it had been hard for his mother to provide ample meals for a litter of five. He and his family operated as a ragtag little gang, for a lack of a better word, collecting scraps to feast from and bones to pick at. However, it wasn't long before he was separated from them all.
Sure, the tom had friends that he kept up with, but living alone was so underrated! He could never imagine sharing a space with anyone but himself. All the food he found was his. All the turf he defended, his. Ideally, Jersey Boy would keep it that way.
Speaking of food, Jersey Boy was doing what he did best — digging for scraps. The advantage of living amongst twoleg garbage was that his scent tended to blend right in along with everything else; he usually found himself sneaking around undetected by other cats because of the acrid ash and pungent grog that stained his pelt. So, what the molly above likely thought was her next meal was actually the tuxedo tom shuffling around under the cardboard.
He backed out soon enough, dangling some days-old rotisserie chicken skin from his jaws. Jersey dropped the scraps at his paws, licking his lips before he was quick to notice a pair of eyes settled on him. "Whoa, 'ey." The tom grunts in surprise, staring right back up at the perched she-cat. "Sheesh, y'look like you're gonna eat me." He isn't quite sure if he's actually joking or not. Cats eating other cats was a rarity, but he had heard tales of such a thing actually happening in the most desperate of times.
Ah, well. The bowtie-donning lad doesn't suspect that this ginger molly was going to jump down and attack him, and if she did, he was confident that he could fend for himself. Instead, he tries to discern her face in the depths of his memory, but he cannot. Jersey Boy roams all over the city and knows a lot of different cats, but it's not impossible to have never met someone. "I don't believe we've met." Oh, there he goes with that signature smirk and that charming tone. He loves to try and coax a reaction out of whoever he flirts with, mostly for the sake of his own ego. Sometimes for the sake of sheer entertainment.
A disgruntled huff came from the ginger she-cat's half-parted maw when her prey revealed itself to her. It was not the mouse she had been craving, but instead a tuxedo tom with what she assumed what used to be chicken dangling from his jaws. Times were desperate, especially in the winter, but she could generally count on some twoleg noticing her and putting food out. Unlike the Clan cats, Anastasia had absolutely no reservations on eating housecat slop.
"Ah, well," She tched, balancing again as the fence wobbled under her delicate weight. Anastasia readjusted her position, claws digging into wood, before finally leaping down with a graceful thump. "We're all the same when we're dead." Her lips lifted a little, a slight tug that revealed some of her teeth in a half-made smile.
She was no stranger to the tone the black and white tom was using. Brows slightly slanted and eyes half-closed, she chuckled at the remark. "No, neither me." Anastasia sighed, giving a slight toss of her head. She took a few steps forward, eyes now trained on the tomcat's neck. "I would have recognized this from anywhere. Hm?" She reached out a paw to bat at the bowtie.
❪ TAGS ❫ — Living on the streets, it was a constant gamble meeting other cats; would they be a friend or foe? Most of them kept their distance and to themselves, some were bolder and preferred confrontation. It wasn't too common to meet a cat willing to banter and make casual conversation with Jersey; it was admittedly nice, for a change.
The tuxedo tom keeps his cool as the she-cat approaches him; he doesn't suspect that she's an immediate threat to him, but a smart cat never fully lets their guard down. He glances down as her paw prods his bowtie, and whether she finds it dapper or perhaps a bit dorky, Jersey Boy isn't afraid to proudly show it off. "It's my signature. Ain't nobody else who wears it like me, baby." The male offers a cheesy grin, puffing his chest out like a peacock strutting its feathers.
He gives a brief swipe of his tongue over his forearm, casually primping his fur; it wasn't a bad thing to be mindful of when talking to a lady. "Name's Jersey Boy. Call me Jersey, it's less of a mouthful." The green-eyed tom introduces himself formally before turning the question onto her, "You got a name yourself or should I just keep comin' up with nicknames for ya'?"
Life was rough—any of the house-cats or Clan cats could say that, but Anastasia preferred her freedom. While she managed her wits about her, she rarely found herself in a dangerous position, quick to flee and ready to see that a fight would be lost. This black and white tom did not seem to her to be any sort of threat.
She smiled up at him, eyes blinking slowly before withdrawing her paw and placing it back on the ground. "Classier than the chokes the pets would wear. You aren't a pet, are you?" She tilted her head sweetly, recognizing the puff of chest and lick to his fur. Charming, wasn't he?
"Alright Jersey." Anastasia replied, rolling the name over her tongue. For a moment, there was a brief thought of keeping an air of mystery, but with the way he was up keeping himself for her, Anastasia decided she would be honest with him. A reward—to think of it.
"Anastasia." She purred. "Nothing shorter, nothing longer—until perhaps, we get more familiar." Her eyes shone.
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