MEDUSA — trespasser / joiner

[ANASTASIA.]

[ ✧˖°. ] anastasia has long left the familiar border of twolegplace, idly wandering through what she's quite sure is wildcat territory. she's not really worried, though. for one thing, she'd spent her entire life weaseling her way out of things by way of either charm or use of her massive frame. for another, this was actually her goal (for once); in the end, she was hoping to find one of their groups and join it. she'd spent her whole life as a twolegplace rogue, yeah, but the life was beginning to lose its charm—you could only spend so much time pretending to like ugly toms and getting into fights. maybe it was time she finally left that kinda life behind.

the heavy metal tag hanging from the base of one large ear clicks quietly as the silver tabby makes her way through the sparse undergrowth and towering pines; it reeks of the wildcats here. from what she's heard about them, they're all about honor and vows and stuff, which isn't really for anastasia—commitment isn't exactly her thing—but it sounds a hell of a lot better than joining another starving group of rogues for the coming seasons, she thinks, having to scavenge in nasty twoleg bins for food. she's got a reasonable idea of how to hunt, too damn much experience fighting, and well—her size will help her pull her weight if nothing else will.

the spiked blue collar slung loosely around her neck is worn by a lot of wear, traces of grime and glitter dotting it; she doesn't know its name, but her one of her many residences had been a nightclub. overlong legs drift casually about, no particular destination in mind; really, she's just waiting to encounter one of those rumored wildcats.

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ooc: trying out the character — giant f3 savannah in skyclan territory, looking to join :D
former kittypet & alley cat / rogue so you're welcome to have your character recognize her if you like
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[SILVERSMOKE]

Each clan cat was equal under the eyes of StarClan, all had choices to make that'd define their place in the world and whether they could truly call themselves worthy warriors. It was a lesson of the world's faith he remembered vividly, absorbed like water in dry moss, that only seemed to solidify his belief that very few things were worse than the rogues in the Twolegplace. He'd lived among them once, as unpopular with them as he was with the Daylight Warriors now and almost for similar reasons outwardly. His silence and independence had taught the others that he believed he was better than them, but it was only when he'd first discovered the pine colony did he ever think that was the case. No, Silversmoke had been trying to survive just like the rest of them and, at the time, didn't trust the other rogues not to sink their teeth into his neck the moment he looked away. Injuries almost completely healed from battle, the Lead Warrior had thrown himself back into patrols like the recovery days had never happened.

He always dreaded taking his little groups out towards the Twolegplace, but someone had to do it and, as Silversmoke traversed through the scattered pinesm he did his best to avoid the startling flash of colour taunting him a safe distance away. A smell pricked his nostrils that gave the Lead Warrior pause all the same. Quickly, the large cat swished his tail in warning towards the others and veered off toward the west where, before he even had a chance to assess his surroundings, his glare locked onto the intruder. Eyes narrowed as he looked the large feline up and down, claws out and hugging the ground in preparation to take off from it. Back arched in a bid to make himself appear even taller, a brief glint of recollection appeared in his gaze. They'd likely only passed each other a handful of times, but he recognised the rogue all the same, a lankier reflection of himself that almost sent a snarl rippling through his bared teeth. Almost. She wasn't immediately fighting him, hardly a worthwhile pacifier yet still just enough to remind him that he lived in SkyClan and not on the rat-ridden streets.

"You lost?" His tone was more informal than usual yet also less stilted, as if he was slipping into a tongue he'd long tried to abandon as a representative of the clans. It was the only way he knew how to speak to rogues. "The Twolegplace is the other way, go back that way if you don't want a fight." Was it bad that he almost wished she ignored him? He reminded himself of the scabby flesh hiding beneath his long coat and tried not to grimace at how foolish it was to think such things.

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[DAWNGLARE]

Dawnglare sees it from ages away. Even if the skies glittered more than they usually did– even if the brittle nettles and dense undergrowth made him decidedly less queasy on this day, natural growth is unlike twoleg - made glitter. Mother dearest was an artisan besides everything else. Minus the skinny, furless paws, she could wield things to her liking molding things in blue and earth - tones. But there is only one of Her, and a vast world to cover. Twolegs were a persistent pest, swarming in droves within hives carved of woodstuff. There are many of, and many more sets of talons to dedicate to shining things.

At once, he can see that it hasn't been taken care of, and he can't help but feel a flare of frustration at that. Sun glints off of studded gold only partially, and glitter gives way to nothing too - quickly; unnaturally. Somewhere, burried deep is a future where he save it– where he could marvel at the wealth— glittering, bejeweled— without consequence, eyes going starry when face - to - face with sapphire gold.

He reaches toward it with outstretched claws— that is, abruptly hastens his pace as quickly as it could go so that he may rip the thing off of its hinges. Only moments away from claws peeling at golden studs did he realize there was something— someone attached to it, and the face he regards them with is truly and utterly bewildered, before it melds into a discontented smile.

" Oh. " And this one is not as ugly as he is used to. He needs no contortion of the mind to realize this. The silver - spotted coat is unlike anything wild born, and that was because she was not. An internal bias beneath him tremors with glee.

He lowers his leg; glances to the side. Silversmoke, wasn't that who this was? He is concerned with all the wrong things. Dawnglare gazes longingly at the gold - studded thing. " This— this is... lovely, " he tells her, and claws tear idily across the ground so that he would not rip her riches right from her. He would apologize to Her later.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 7.18.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: TL;DR: he abruptly gets in her face cause shes shiny and rich <3

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 54 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  Currently in an era of questioning; upset and uncomfortable by things he should not be.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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[CHALK]

⭒✧ A leaf of parchment sifting between the trunks, Chalk kept his distance from the frontrunners of the patrol. As objective and amiable as he strove to be- it left more paths to track- the pair were well, objectively not his favoured conversationalists. Dawnglare was slippery and supported the slinging of bird skulls while Silversmoke's openness to novelty, especially kittypets, appeared inhibited somewhat. By what, the tom did not know. It teased an interesting rationale, but without it, he could only flank the matter- and them.

The crack of blue amongst green caught his eye as much as the others though, and so Chalk converged on the group. They were still of fair mind. His sandy shoulders had just become level with Dawnglare's when the medicine cat slithered forward. A stony expression hid his private incredulity. The, anomalously tall, stranger had yet to reveal their character. He stood still as a block as Silversmoke intoned after their intent.

Whiskers broad in anticipation for Dawnglare to stop his appraisal, he looked the newcomer over. "You appear very relaxed." A minute of the tilt of the head countered his tone- it was a question. Silversmoke had already asked if they were lost, not knowing about a nearby colony could lower a cat's guard. They looked experienced, however... Unable to resist further clarity, Chalk tacked on, "Or were you seeking the territory out?"​

⭒ ———————————— ✧⭒​

 

[shrewflight.]

Pocket was spaced out, his gaze falling on the ground as the patrol continued. His tail slowly swayed and flicked, no not in agitation. Just to fidget, he would guess. Patrols were pretty boring sometimes, unable to play as it could scare away prey or alert predators of their position.

As the patrol drew to a stop, the small brown tom with a light blue bow centered around his neck would bump into his mentor. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking around to see why they stopped before seeing a large feline.

She had to have been taller than any cat within all four clans! Her pelt dripped in whites and stripes, and her collar though dirty, was so pretty. Pocket seemed in awe, his olive eyes looking up at her wide and in awe.

He wanted to be big like her, he wished he could! He was still the size of a kit in the nursery, and it frustrated the young Tom. But he had nothing to say, everyone was already overwhelming her with tons of questions he sure wouldn't be too happy to get. Well, fine with it, but to many was too many.

mentor tag ; @Sweetybee /

 

[ANASTASIA.]

[ ✧˖°. ] unsurprisingly, she encounters not just one of the wildcats but a whole troupe of them rather quickly—led by a large tom with a spotted pelt not unlike her own, if of a lighter hue; it reminds her of the bright spots dancing on the walls of her previous home. anastasia squints vivid orange eyes, turning over memories of night after night of hazy faces and bloody fights; does she recognize him, faintly? perhaps, but she shrugs it off; after all, if she had a mouse for every rogue she's run across, she wouldn't have to be here at all. the tall shecat tosses fringe across her face, peaked serval-esque ears flicking casually. the big guy's claws pierce the ground, his back knotting to make his frame larger as she blinked in mild confusion. weren't these guys supposed to be friendly?

"hey, you can chill, big man. i'm not looking for trouble," the nickname isn't intended rudely, but it's certainly not a term of affection; just an acknowledgement of simple facts. her voice is chill, easy, surfer-girl beachy; surprisingly relaxed, she tries to hunch her muscular frame down to look less aggressive. her perpetual resting bitch face had gotten her in fights more than once, but hopefully it wouldn't this time.

before she can reply to his blunted questioning, another stranger appears alongside the big dude; tall-ish, with fur of a shocking reddish hue that contrasts her own silvered spots sharply. his white paws reach out, claws stretching towards the spiked leather slung about her throat, and before she can say a word he withdraws them just as quickly. her sharp face is bemused but not angry, perhaps a bit charmed; moons on the streets would teach you to deal with, maybe even like, odd personalities, or you'd get in even more fights than you already did. the raised scars cutting into the beauty of her face are testament enough to that as they zigzag over her nose and chin.

"thanks, red. not too shabby, yourself," her tone is friendly, not quite crossing into flirtation; that's not really the first impression she wants to give here, after all. the tag in her ears jingles slightly as she glances past the newly christened 'red' to spot a pair of other wildcats—one of them with a pale pelt and molten cerulean eyes, the other tiny and sporting a pale bow around his neck, like a softened version of her own accessory. it's nice to see a cat who's a bit normal, a little .... friendlier, at least; he prods her with a couple questions and she nods in response, one eye on the little guy behind him. she's glad to see they're friendlier than the first two—even with her impressive history of bloody street fights, she's not exactly eager to take on four wildcats.

she dips her heavy head in a show of semi-genuine respect, tossing feathery silver fringe out of a spotted face again. hopefully if she plays her cards right with these answers, she can gain entry to the mysterious world of the wildcats—if her memory's correct, the big guy earned his way in somehow. if someone like that can get in, it should be a piece of cake, she thinks with private amusement. anastasia nods again and replies, "yeah, dude. i heard on the street you guys take in rogues, so i was figuring i could join you. if you'd all have me, anyways." she pauses and adds with visible amusement, "i know how to fight and hunt, and i mean—look at me."

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ooc: --
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