nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop | kitten

[ilya]

TAGS — Ilya's evacuation from the city had happened without warning. One day they were on the streets, huddled with their siblings and fighting over whatever scraps of up-walker garbage tumbled into their path, and the next day they were on their own and stumbling through a forest too green and vast for comprehension. As they stumble along, a mess of heart-rotting anger, they find themselves hating their sister; hating the rustling of too-tall trees; hating the nicks that burn the bridge of their nose with each new breeze. And, they think, they hate the blonde tomcat that had run away from them in such a hurry. Or maybe he hadn't. But that's what it felt like, and despite the way they track his rain-muddied scent now, hardly conscious of the fact, they hate the idea of ever seeing him again.

The trail of cinnamon leads them through the pine tree forest. It's a world as alien as any to a child so used to concrete jungles; they never felt oppressed by the up-walkers' heaven-scraping rocks, and though the rumbling monsters had been frightening, at least they were a staple of their life. This loamy earth under barley-dipped paws and the towers of evergreen needles are frightening to them just by their unfamiliarity. Is this really where Mourka had run off to? And if it was, should they really be following? Their pelt was already as black as the asphalt they crawled among; maybe they didn't need to find a new place here.

But Ilya's stomach gurgles with terrible hunger and their muzzle stings with fresh injury and their ribcage feels like it may burst with the force of their anger. They'd be a fool to try and make the trek back now even if they wanted to. Instead, the kitten tries to take the scent-lined border as a sign to push forward. Maybe they could at least get a meal before they decide to give up?

/ looking for @MOURKA but no need to wait for them to post!​

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[BLAZESTAR]

Through the muddled scents of pine and the acrid stench of Twolegplace, Blazestar finds a kit's scent. He spots the stumbling dark shape treading precariously over the pine needle-littered forest floor, shaggy fur fluffed out in fear, eyes obscured by thick ebony bits of extended pelt.

Blazestar is reminded of a day long ago, peering through a bramble bush to find a tiny spotted tortie. Butterflytuft now, Gaia then. His heart aches for the lost kit. From where he stands, he can see the poor spotted scrap has a muzzle scored with injury.

"Hello there," he says, his voice gentle. He tries to approach on soft paws, but Blazestar often forgets his immense size and presence, and there's no telling what sort of background this ill-begotten kit has. He shouldn't be surprised if they're startled. "Where is your mother, little one?"​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[DUSKPOOL]

.anger makes you stupid —————————

————————— stupid gets you killed.

▵ ———————— ◮ ———————— ▵

DUSKPOOL HAD BEEN OUT HUNTING, VOLE HANGING LIMPLY IN HIS maw when he caught the familiar tinge of Blazestar and something unknown. Curiosity getting the best of him, the hulking brute slipped into the undergrowth until he found the familiar sight of his leader and a kit that reeked of injury.

Molten copper hues narrowed, scanning the kit with a twitch of his tattered ear. At the mention of its mother, Dusk held back the snort that threatened to escape, instead, he swallowed down the notion that weighed heavily on his tongue. He doubted the thing had a mother, not with an injury like that and alone of all things. “You hungry, pipsqueak?” He gave Blaze a side glance, before his attention drifted to the mangled kit, having dropped the vole before he spoke which rested against his tufted paws.

“You got a name?”

thoughts speech​

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[TWITCHBOLT]

Dwarfed by the two other cats to approach, Twitchbolt could not help the disquietude that flailed around in his chest when he lay eyes upon a lonesome kit. Cruel, wasn't it, that it had happened more than once by now? Twolegs seemed to have some... endless supply of cats flooding, bursting from their dens. A surplus; it was no wonder they ended up with so many at their borders, when it was apparently so easy for some Twolegs to move on. And- even then, some cats that hailed from Twolegplace were not previously taken care of by Twolegs.

The two names that came to mind felt as if he was being double punched in the gut. Daisyflight and Quillstrike. Was this kit of the same ilk?

He swallowed, but resolved to approach. Despite his tremor, that involuntary dither, he was not afraid; rather, concerned for how a kitten smelling of the Twolegplace had gotten this far alone. There was blood on their face, too. A grimace contorted his mahogany face for a moment, a soft "Oh," fleeing from his throat before he could stop it. Feet freezing to the earth, he took rank beside the others, sorting through every possibility in his mind.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[ilya]

TAGS — Despite Blazestar's attempts to be gentle, the child is startled indeed. Ilya's ears flatten and their scruff spikes with their surprise. Mother, he says, and their thoughts flash to Adelaide, that gentle black-and-white molly who had born them; who had left them and their sisters squabbling over borderline-inedible scraps; who had loved them but not been right for the job. Lightning-yellow gaze size up the ragdoll as if they believe they could win a fight against him. Their ears pitch forward and their lips draw back in a snarl that is more instinct than true hostility-- for all of his imposing size and threatening unfamiliarity, he speaks gently. Ilya's bobbed tail lashes as much as it can.

"Dunno," they finally answer, needle claws flexing restlessly in the piny loam. Their voice is young but gruff like pinecones. They don't know where Adelaide is, so there's not much more to say about it-- and besides, there is more movement to be attentive to. Ilya's gaze cuts into Duskpool from behind their thick mop of bangs. He's huge, too; two imposing figures, beings far larger than little Ilyusha. They think that they could fit inside his shadow, should he step any closer. He stares down at them just like Blazestar does, assessing and judging them, and they can feel it. But the minute that he drops the vole Ilya darts forward, snags it on a thin claw, and retreats a few paces to enjoy it without all that oppressive tallness beating down on them.

It's only after they've torn a few chunks out of the vole that they realize Duskpool has asked them anything. "Ilya," the kitten chuffs while blood beads at their muzzle. They can hardly acknowledge Twitchbolt's arrival between bites of food. It's delicious too; like the prey their mother used to bring home for them before she must have gotten bored or tired or both. It's so much better than the garbage they would fight their own sister to get a taste of. Up-walkers never did have a good palette, and though Ilya isn't picky, they certainly have their likes and dislikes when it comes to their food.

Their bright, wild eyes lift to Twitchbolt to consider him, then to the other SkyClanners before them. "Want more," the child tells them. They fold their request into the demand: I want to stay here, at least for now. They don't know about the clans, but they do know about hunger, and if there is more vole in their future, they'll stick with it. Besides, maybe... maybe Mourka is here too, similarly enticed by the promise of endless prey. Surely they'd run into him again, right?​

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