pafp MY BLOOD ╱ TRADING STORIES

HOUNDSTRIDE.

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 & 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⋆。˚ 𓆝
Jun 7, 2022
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( ᴛᴀɢs. )  ❝  The battle's faded from their present but never from their minds. It seems to haunt them all, wrapped about every aspect of this new clan. Cicada's paranoia's trapped all of them inside of it. He could hardly fault the man, in truth, but there was more to this than anything he could admit. Whatever poison was dripped down their mouths, he would swallow without complaint– but that does not mean he believes it thoughtlessly. His mind works in slow and lazy loops. He works through the thoughts in cycles, from the good to the bad an' then the worst. From there he'll struggle his way back to truth, back to reality and to goodness from there. Today, he hovers on the cusp. The worst'f his past and the best of his future, which he holds in gentle paws.

He's laughing uproariously, a sound long denied him. The water's curve that cradles RiverClan's camp is loud enough to make Hound even louder, where he's lounged with a familiar face and trading stories that'd once been somethin' forbidden. Memories of the battle, made kinder traded between. "Tell me then," he laughs, "were you always so well on your paws? There must've been a time in your youth you still stumbled over 'em." He urges warmly for a story; he doesn't want this moment to end.
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    ooc: @MUDPELT
  • ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
    ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
    ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.

    ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
  • "speech"
 
Where Hound is laughing, Mudpelt is echoing. He lounges alongside the river, a paw submerged idly in the warm current as they chat. He is hardly the type to hold a grudge, so it should come as no surprise to anyone who knows him well that he actually became quite good friends with the very cat he battled with during the war. The two had been remarkably even-matched, with both littered in scars before the stars themselves had stopped them. Now? It's like they're old friends who'd known each other for seasons!

"Well, you'd think I'd always been this great, right?" He jests, a smirk cresting his maw as he tips his head to the side. "No, no - Clay can tell you I was more of a liability than anything growing up. Although, I was quite the actor! Did you ever hear about the time I pretended to be lost, and- and Clay swooped in to steal the she-cat's bird? She didn't even notice till we were long gone!" He's laughing as the words come out, fond of the memory. He couldn't have been older than four or five moons at the time, with his brother not being much older. A pair of orphan youths, with empty bellies and too much courage.
 
( ) "great stars, mudpelt! you were trouble!" the soft laughter of the femme echoes across the river as she calls over, having been seated not far away on the soft grassy bank of the island. sleek fur damp and sparkling in the sun, willowroot basks in this moment, this peace in which two of her clanmates offer such entertaining stories. "i can't seem to imagine you as a kid, but now i need to know everything." smile playing on her lips, the smoke tips her head, as she often does when enraptured in a conversation or thought.

the two before her are not cats she has had much time to speak to, but they are certainly decent warriors and kind clanmates. wil wants to know her clan batter, wishes she could've grown up with these cats so she could know the intricacies of their culture and ways of life. still, as she didn't know them as a child, she will as an adult. resting her tail across her paws, the elegant feline purrs softly. this is what the river is made for- moments like these.

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )
 
The adults are talking, and Iciclekit finds herself drifting from her playmates so she can sit nearby and listen. Willowroot, one of the Clan's lead warriors, sits with a dark tabby and her own father. The three of them are laughing, though she doesn't know what about -- she's late to the party, and isn't too upset about it. She can catch up on her own time.

Willowroot's words cause her to prick her ears, though. The small tortoiseshell gazes sharply at her father. "Were you bad, when you were little?" Her gaze burns with curiosity. Mudpelt is a warm father, kind and fun-loving, and he never does anything to upset Cicadastar or anyone else. When he was little -- was he like Ashkit or Seedkit? Now they, she thinks, are naughty.

PENNED BY MARQUETTE
 

Fernkit might be a little dense- unbeknownst to him- but, he was not always oblivious. When he spotted though bug-eyed periphery his sister picking her way toward the adults, the scrap of a tabby surmised that something far more interesting was likely happening over there. Paws as unsteady as ever, the kitten's toppling form sidled up beside his calico sister, dwarfed by even her smaller stature.

Her question- that interested him further. He could not imagine Dad being some kind of... mischief maker. A liability, apparently, which Iciclekit equated as bad so he figured must be the meaning. Willowroot's excitement, too, was... contagious, and had a tiny smile brightening Fernkit's fishlike face. "I wanna know everything, too," he chimed, voice a fumbling mimic of a much older warrior. Stories were always entertaining, never failing to capture his imagination. If Mudpelt, Hound, and Willowroot had them... he'd learn so, so much!
( penned by pin )
 
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A S H K I T

Ashkit's really sleepy today.

The little orange kitten approaches quietly, soft slow pawsteps, mouth stretching wide in a yawn. She follows Fernkit and Iciclekit, ears perking up despite the exhaustion at the mentions of stories-- old stories, from when grown-ups were kits just like her.

Were you bad? asks Icicle. I wanna know everything, says Fern. Ash opens her mouth to add her own excitement, but she just ends up yawning again. Her little body almost shakes with the force of it.

She's so tired.

"Me too, I want stories," she finally manages, though it's not her trademark screeching at all-- a soft murmur that trails off at the end, as the kitten curls up beside her denmates, resting her chin on her paws. Her eyes slide shut, and she forces them open again.

—— i found gold in the wreckage
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  • ooc text goes here
  • - 3 month old orange tabby with green eyes
    - will bite you
    - and then apologize bc she's trying to be good, really, she is
    - latches onto anyone who shows her affection
 
info — It is Hound's laughter, he realizes. The sound that paused his step, bent his ear and stare— full-bellied, weightless laughter. Flint's search elsewhere had meant his absence during the groups' skirmishing, and subsequently Hound's acquisition of new burdens, but he had thought it was best to...give him space.

As though he knows how to do anything else. As though distance isn't the only proximity he's capable of. And despite it —or because of, or entirely unrelated to it— Hound laughs in a manner Flint has not heard in some time. That is why he approaches the river, and that is why he stays in spite of the small crowd of faces, most of them children.

They're eager for stories, but Flint can't say he gives a damn about whatever childish mischief Mudpelt might have engaged in. For this reason he doesn't move closer, standing silently and almost far enough away to seem separate from their conversations. Maybe they will coax Hound into a story, and maybe it will be one lacking barbs; maybe there will not be blood in the back of his throat when he tells it and Flint can learn something of his son that does not bruise.
 
  • Sad
Reactions: HOUNDSTRIDE.
Willowroot practically eggs him on, which only gets him to laugh even harder. He tosses his head back, jaws gaping as he lets out hoots of amusement. He is prepared to give the lead warrior exactly what she asked for. "Well, then let me tell you about the time I-"

Were you bad when you were little?

Brown jaws snap shut, as if his own mother had just caught him up past his bedtime. Wide amber eyes blink at his daughter, who is sitting by him and staring at him expectantly. Fernkit toddles forward to clumsily demand stories as well, following by a sleepy Ashkit. Well, mouse-dung. He's trying his best to be a great role model for his kits; he can't tell them stories about all of the reckless things he did as a kid! An idea pops into his head, and he flashes his fangs in a grin. "Ah, you know who I'll bet has some great stories? This guy!" He reaches a paw forward to prod intentionally at Hound's foreleg as he fixes him with an eager look. His kits wouldn't be hearing naughty stories of their father tonight, nope!
 
( ᴛᴀɢs. )  ❝  It's all too sudden, how his laughter begins to fade off. It's not Flint's presence near the back of the group that does it, not really. Childhood questions, stories from time long behind him– was there much he could share on that front? Was there any entertainment to be found in all those distant days? Most'f all he could remember was tinged unstaunched red. Not tales he would offer to children; even if it'd been just the grown ones there, he could not promise openness. There was much to be held tight to his chest, even on those nights his silence starts to suffocate him. The good-natured chatter'd bought him some time 'fore that came creeping up. Might as well take full advantage. Ashkit's sleepy form softens him some, gaze goin' quiet.

"I'd never been too much of a troublesome child, believe it'r not. My father kept me in line when it'd so much's crossed my thoughts." That word still rolls foreign from his tongue, a soft A he'd never learned to swallow. Father. "There's something, 'course– I couldn't've been all that older than the three of you. Now, my father's a hard man to fool. He's clever as they come, fair bit quicker'n you'd think. And he's stubborn, too, strong as the river rushing by when he's got something on his mind. It's one'f the many things he taught me, even so early in my life."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he glances at Flint. Their eyes don't quite catch. Perhaps if he doesn't spook him, he'll stay. "One day, middle of a storm, I'd finally had enough of that sh– stuff he tried to tell me to do, and I ran away. That's what I'll call it, anyway. Didn't make it more than a dozen tail-lengths 'til the storm got the better of me. Mind you, I look worse than a bird soaked like that. Crawled my way into a tree hollow an' slept there for the night, trying to pretend he couldn't drag my tail right back home if he stopped humoring me." Though he doesn't laugh again, a smile starts to quirk and curl at his mouth. "My father's one hell of a patient man– just like yours," he chuckles with a nod to Mud's two.
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  • 50335651_ibz4tSApItgOjRI.png
    ooc:
  • ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
    ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
    ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.

    ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
  • "speech"