pafp on and on, i continue circling / unwelcome visitor

[TWILIGHTFALL]

---

╰☆☆ There's a disc of sinking sun burning red at the horizon. The marsh shadows are elongated, reaching for the border and the bulk of the forest that lies beyond. A dappled black and white she-cat moves deftly through bramble bushes and pools of stagnant water, pale green eyes colored almost orange in the sunset's fire. She relishes the warmth on her fur; it chases away the familiar chill the swamp cover offers her.

She's broken through, is just on the border now with a look of unbroken longing on her face. She does not want to live among those soft-hearted cats Rain calls his family. Twilight has worked hard to raise her son to be grateful to the earth and all it can provide for a wild cat; she is grateful to Briar for offering them a home worth fighting for. But her stomach rumbles temptingly as she watches a distant squirrel scuttle its way up the bark of a pine tree. There's a sour taste at the back of her throat, one that she has kept suppressed.

What are they doing with all of that prey. They have bowls of dust to crunch on at their Twoleg nests, don't they? She frowns. Her son, Soot's unborn children, Gecko's growing boys, Dewdrop's litter -- there are children starving. Things will only get worse--that's what the talk around camp has been.

She can't let that happen. Ash is old enough to hunt for himself, but what of the kits still wearing their downy coats? What of the unborn? She closes her eyes, prepares herself mentally. Twilight is not a troublemaker. But she would die for not only her child, but the children of her companions. She prepares to step from soft earth to firm, prepares to bunch her muscles and tear across the forest floor for that squirrel, when a noise stops her. So much for avoiding trouble.

// please wait for @KARTH. but then anyone is free to join !​

—PENNED BY MARQUETTE.​

 

[BUCKTHORN]

in character   out of character   character tags   reference

• 
  ── ( ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ. )  They can't truly think they're the only ones in need of feeding, right? This isn't– it's not just one group suffering, it's not just one set of kits that need to be fed. Karth isn't technically on either side. He feeds himself, he finds his own shelter, but this pine forest is becoming more home than not with each passing day. The cats here deserve to survive. They deserve a place in this life. And the more he hears about the marsh cats, the angrier he gets. Attacking the youngest member of a patrol? Scent marking the territory as if they own it? It's ridiculous is what it is. It's– it's cruel. The oak forest is favored by both of them, rich in prey and places to shelter themselves, but aren't there others? It's a big place, is it really worth trying to drive out a bunch of cats just trying to make a life for themselves? He's tired of thinking about this. He's tired of trouble, of suffering, it just follows him everywhere, doesn't it?
  
  But here comes more. Of course it does.
  
  This time trouble takes the shape of a cat with dappled fur, smelling of the marsh and their odd choices of prey. Smelling like that, sure, but chasing a squirrel that is most definitely not. For all that he's just said of this place being rich enough in prey for both of them, Karth almost considers just letting her have it. Is it worth the battle? Is any of this worth it at all? He can't, though. She's not the only one that needs feeding. "You– you marsh cats act like everything belongs to you. Aren't there other places for you to hunt?" His voice is deeply bitter, bristling with irritation. "I'm not gonna let you keep pushing these cats around."​
  
  

  ---

•  
• n/a​
•  
• ──── karth. cis male, he/him pronouns. wanderer, hangs by the pine group.
  ──── adult, probs around four or five years old, but he doesn't talk about it.
  ──── bisexual,  currently grieving his former mate  who has recently passed.
  ──── a strong-shouldered  brown tabby with  medium fur and  amber eyes.​
•  
• 

 

[HAKU]

Thoughts grumbled away in a stormy mind when the rank odour of the marsh-cat scent stuck Haku's nostrils, ears pinned back against the carrier of said tumult. Haku sought not trouble- he was hardly a fighter, and though he knew he would lay his life down for his group he was not exactly sure why. Yet, knowing how righteous those swampwalkers were- he had witnessed it firsthand, convinced that they owned every inch of the land that slightly pertained to their marshland home- the tuxedo tom could not let his group be out-mobbed.

Dark blue eyes settled upon a speckled shape- an unfamiliar molly face-to-face with Karth, who he did know. It was rather easy to tell from whom the stink was radiating from, and it certainly was not Karth.

A sharp voice leaves the other tom's muzzle, spat with annoyance and judgement. Perking up from behind, the domino feline began to close in, a half-snowy shadow stashed behind a broader tom such as Karth. His tone was level and frigid as it left his muzzle, the wrinkles of a frown beginning to form upon the top. "Just hunt closer to your own place." He knew not the authority of this marshwalker- leader, right-hand man... that would be a terrible twist of fate, ordering someone far more important than he was about.​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[hitch]

in character   out of character   character tags   reference

• 
  
  
  ── Clearly he isn't trying his hardest to avoid the altercations between Cat Group A and Cat Group B. If he were, he wouldn't be around for any of them, but here he is yet again on the scene of tension. He spies a familiar face, one who should have as much investment as Roseal in the direction the wind blows— except Karth steps forward, challenging the marsh cat. And what he says leads Roseal to believe he's beginning to reach a choice, one he himself hasn't. He's almost envious of that...conviction, he supposes, for lack of a better term.
  
  He sits, as he had in the other section of the forest, though upright this time. "There goes that squirrel," he comments, watching it disappear into the branches, little more than a tawny blur. Roseal glances at the pine cat, one he doesn't recall seeing before. Then again, he's spent more time stuck in the mud of the marsh lately. "I think they would, if that were an option. A squirrel isn't really worth all the fuss getting this far— unless there aren't other choices." He sighs, flexing his toes. "Believe me, it's not teeming with much more than dirt and wet dirt and mud." ​
  
  

  ---

•  
• n/a​
•  
• ──── surr'oseal'isme (roseal). he/him pronouns. roamer; goes where he pleases.
  ──── approximately thirty-eight months old; not entirely certain of his own age.
  ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
  ──── very tall, scarred albino with sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail.​
•  
• 
  
  

 

[LILYBLOOM.]

Lily hadn't had many interactions with the Marsh Group thankfully. There had been a few occasions that had sprung to mind - most recently with the silver she-cat in the woods - but most of her encounters had been brief, and mercifully not too confrontational.

The young tortoiseshell weaves her way through the bushes to stand beside the other of her group, eyeing this stranger with a curious but not outright hostile look. She finds herself silently agreeing with Haku that this marsh cat should hunt closer to their own lands, though she thinks albino cat next to her (a tom she vaguely knows but couldn't put a name to the face) has a fair point too. A squirrely wasn't really anything special. It would satiate a few hungry bellies, sure but it wasn't really anything special. "Do they not think we need to eat too?" Lily questioned innocently. She knew many of their group had once come from those strange twoleg homes - or still did - but Lily knew nothing of that life, only the pine trees she currently called home.​

 

[TWILIGHTFALL]

---

╰☆☆ It's a tabby who approaches first, and his amber eyes are blazing with what she can only interpret as blatant hostility. He confirms it with his growl. "Aren't there other places for you to hunt?"

Twilight steels herself as more shapes begin to move into focus, cats with distinctly different scents than her own. Almost desperately, her green gaze lights onto the albino she's seen around the marshes, though he doesn't seem to be in any hurry to defend her.

She straightens her posture, forces the bicolored fur at her shoulders to lie flat. "There are not other places for us to hunt," she says. Her whiskers tremble, not with fear, but with a brief flush of anger that sends heat traveling through her body.

The black and white tom with a dour expression tells her sternly to hunt closer to her own home. Twilight's eyes narrow. "Don't you think we'd like to?" She challenges. "Don't you think I'd love to avoid having to cross paths with pets every time I want to feed my son?"

She looks at Roseal, wondering just where his loyalties are lying. He seems awfully comfortable around these pine cats, she thinks. But he attempts to diffuse the situation, in his careless, offhand way.

She forces herself to move her attention to the tortoiseshell, who is young, as young as her son. The sharpness fades from her features, if only briefly. "I would never want a cat to starve," she tells the spotted young molly. Her nerve threatens to fail. "Especially the young. But I--" She steels herself again, directing her furious gaze to Karth, "--am a mother. And my duty is to my son first and Briar second. We will not go hungry. Not so cats already being fed can grow fat off of the land."

She lifts her chin and meets the tabby's furious expression squarely. She dares him to make a move towards her. Even outnumbered, she will fight. Twilight has never run from a battle. Today will not be the first time.​

—PENNED BY MARQUETTE.​

 

[VERMILIONSUN]

WATCH THE FLAMES BURN AUBURN ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE​

---

"Go cry yourself a river, then. We also have cats to feed. What do the foreigners say? Adapt and overcome, was it?"

A gruff voice called from behind the group of cats, tail swishing and flicking with irritation. Much to his own displeasure, there was a rumbling in his stomach that he could feel- and this cat trying to snatch prey that could be used for the kits of the group wasn't welcome. His shoulders tensed, the mention of the cat being a mother making his heart twinge. He didn't like saying no to mothers needing to feed their children, but this was their prey.

Turning towards the other cats of the group, foreign to him- he huffed, sitting down and avoiding the she-cat's gaze. ​

 

[LITTLE WOLF]

Little Wolf was… not the right cat to bring if you were hoping for backup in a fight, although she hadn’t been prepared to run into one today. ‘It’ll just be a hunting party like any other’ they had told her ‘just go find food, the kits need it’ and those words had tugged on her heart strings, of course she wouldn’t let innocent kits starve and of course she would do everything in her power to bring them back something. But she didn’t want to fight, not that she wasn’t capable of it. Her anxiety grows increasingly stronger the closer they get to the pine groups new-founded territory. Several times she wants to speak up, to tell them they should head back but when she finally musters the courage she’s immediately shut down.
When cats emerge from the bushes around them she purses her lips, eyes flitting back and forth in worry. She did not want to have to unsheathe her claws unless she absolutely had to. She listens to their harsh words and while she does take some offense, she understands. The marsh group had not exactly been the kindest or most welcoming to these cats. “To us, you are the foreigners here” she reminds Vermillion, although there is no trace of malice in her tone. She does not want to be here, not at all, and she hopes that her and her fellow group-mates can leave without a fight. ​

 

[Sandylights]

"Oh guys I think theres some of those other cats around-," Came the rather cheery voice of Sandra as she bounded in behind Little Wolf. Skiddering to a halt as she spotted those she was trying to warn of and flushed a bit in embaressment. How stupid was she? OF course they already knew! They probably smelt them from a mile away while her nose lagged behind by several feet. The skinny cinnamon tabby swished her feathery tail and backed up a bit as more cats seemed to emerge. Words couldn't be found as Sandra slipped behind Twilight, giving a worried look as a fight is the last thing they needed right now.​

[ I Use To Hear A Simple Song ]​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

And annoying foreigners at that. It makes her wonder why they even bother talking to them. Caring about anything that comes out of their mouths. It is obvious that they won't listen to a word that they say. In their mind they have already made up that the colony of the marsh are bad cats. Wanting nothing more than to so called steal from them when it was their home first. She js not sure of some things but she is sure of one. She is getting tired of them. She is starting to feel the pricks of anger simmering in her gullet. Acid in the back of her throat at the mere scent of them and she comes up along to stand near her colonymates. Despite their differences she has a duty to them and one she will uphold if need be.

"Why do we constantly bother with trying to reason with those lacking actual thought. They don't understand our territory and why we roam out so far. They don't care if our young or elders starve. If our queens can't provide enough milk for their young. It's all about them, narcissistic kittypets through and through. Shows just what a pampered life will bring, entitlement and a lack of understanding." Her voice is a low snap, her spine rigid. Encounter sfter encounter she sees the same thing. It's always about them and she is sick of it. Sick of outsiders who don't understand what is at stake here for them.​

[ PENNED BY RHOS ]​

 

[ONCE.]

— These Marsh cats had been way too bold from the beginning, way too entitlted, preaching about the rights to their land or something just as stupid. If you asked him, they'd had way too much land prior to rain moving in. They were doing them a favor, keeping these swamp rats from becoming plump and overgrown. Clearly they couldn't handle not being spoiled anymore. 'Sides, if they were really so malnourished they wouldn't be so quick to jump on anyone they disagree with

"'Why you roam out so far...'" The tom mocks, rolling his neck to express how little he truly cared about what they had to say. "You love to roam in our direction, huh? Why don't you roam over to the moor and catch yourself a rabbit? Skinny bones'll make you more... aerodynamic."

A shrewd gaze travels over the gathered marshers. From what he sees, they're clearly outmatched, though they did tend to slip from the shadows like rats in an alleyway. He narrows his eyes, unsheathes his claws, though his stance isn't quite aggressive yet. "Looks to me like you're outnumbered, so... maybe turn tail and let your leader know you failed your little mission for today." His last words are added on at the last minute, a spiteful recalling of how damn frequent these squabbles were becoming.

His gaze would flicker to Roseal for a moment. "Unless you planned on joining them, that is." His question was in the form of a light-hearted tease, but an expression pinched in a sharp glare told another story. He's nothing but a stranger, insisting on interjecting himself into their business. Dragging his pale ass into either group would be nothing but an insult, in his eyes.​

 

[SQUALLMIST]

Days without a run in with those from the marshlands seemed few and far between, at this point. And, with each occurrence, the scent of swamp grew closer and closer to Squall's home.

This time? A black and white queen, stepping foot in the pine forest. Infiltrating the forest that housed his family's camp. And, it angers him - sure, it does. Of course, it does. But, he's not going to attack a mother for trying to feed her kid.

No, he'll never stoop as low as they did when they attacked Finch for trying to feed his brother.

"You claim we steal your prey, and yet, here you are, catching squirrels on the land we made our home in," the silver tom points out, nodding towards the squirrel, "Unless I'm not aware of it, I don't think we have stepped foot in your marshes to catch prey, have we?"

He's beginning to grow tired of this - the fighting, the tension, cats arriving back into camp with fresh wounds. There had to be a different way.

"Is there not prey on the other side of your marshes?" he asks the queen, and those that have begun to arrive beside her, "Certainly there's got to be more opportunities to hunt beyond your side of the forest. Beyond this area, in general." Hatred aside, no one's kits should have to struggle to survive over where prey is caught.

​

 

[hitch]

in character   out of character   character tags   reference

• 
  
  
  ── He's starting to think he'd prefer a fight, now. They talk and talk and talk but there's still no understanding between them. Maybe because they don't want a compromise— they want to be right, which is just a synonym for winning, and how better to find a victor than in the great forge of battle? Roseal almost scoffs aloud at the thought. It could be he's just ascribing an impetus too lofty to what is simply a territorial dispute.
  
  Still. Boil that goal down to its base and it spells bloodshed, not some peaceful agreement they'll reach on their own, and Roseal half-wishes they'd just get it over with already.
  
  He doesn't miss the pointed remark made by the young, former kittypet. He supposes it was only a matter of time before even his disinterested presence became an issue.
  
  Sighing, he glances at the small group of marsh cats, none of them quite up to a skirmish if more pine cats keep arriving. Skill can only go so far when outnumbered. "For the third time: no, there isn't, or they wouldn't be here sitting through six different lectures and transparent threats for a single squirrel." His voice doesn't change volume or tone, still calm and vaguely pleasant. With another deep exhale, he rises to his paws and glances at Karth inscrutably before turning to the marsh cats.
  
  "It's probably time to leave now that the hunt's spoiled— and before anyone acquires a taste for something else instead."
  ​
  
  

  ---

•  
• n/a​
•  
• ──── surr'oseal'isme (roseal). he/him pronouns. roamer; goes where he pleases.
  ──── approximately thirty-eight months old; not entirely certain of his own age.
  ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
  ──── very tall, scarred albino with sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail.​
•  
•