pafp Show me how the world looks through your eyes || kit intro

[Ptarmiganpaw]

The world is so big to him. He wants to explore, he wants to see the world outside the nursery! His littermates are great and all, but there's so many more cats outside he hasn't met yet!

He watches them eagerly from the nursery entrance, trying to remember each face and voice he sees and hears. He's most familiar with the queens in the nursery, though he can't quite say their names right yet.....

He looks behind him at his siblings. Frostbite is asleep.....

He wobbles to his littermates to tell them his plan.

"Aah!" He has not learned words yet, but he can make noises and that's the same thing.

He bounces, and then bumbles his way to the entrance of the nursery. He hopes they follow him on his adventure outside!!

( @POPPYKIT @GRACEKIT. @Wolfkit wait for at least one to post first! ))​

 

[GRACEPAW.]

Gracekit was content to keep to the nursery - the most she ever really did was awkwardly hide near the entrance and pick up words from the passing cats. Whilst she was doing quite well with developing her speech, she was still a bit clumsier with her motor skills than most kits her age. A trade off, it seemed.

Ptarmigankit squeaked at her, and she tilted her head, trying to figure out what exactly he was trying to communicate. But he moved towards the entrance, and suddenly, it made sense.

"Oh! Out." She nodded in understanding, getting to her paws, and walking with uncertain, wobbly steps over to her littermate, before trying to beckon Wolfkit and Poppykit as well. "Come! We go out!" Surely with them all together, the outside world wouldn't be so intimidating, right?

"Speech"​

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I CRIED IN THE SHAPE OF MY DREAMS​

​

 

[POPPYGLOW]

( tags ) Poppykit thought very little of the world outside of the nursery. What was there to be thought about when everything she needed or wanted was right there for her in the form of her father? Recently, though —perhaps as recently as earlier that day— a new, unpleasant itchiness would prickle upon their skull. Boredom. For this reason would the kitten depart from their sleeping father to join her squeaking siblings at the maw of their dark haven, the itchiness already being scratched by the interesting newness of venturing farther than three tail-lengths from Frostbite.

If Gracekit had traded her motor skills for her precocious speech development, Poppykit had done just the opposite. She was quite good at walking, so far, stepping with confidence and hardly a tremor to be seen. Talking, on the other paw, was completely absent from Poppykit's skillset. Technically, it was still anyone's guess as to how well she would fare in a battle of tongues against such formidable opponents as Ptarmigankit and Gracekit, because Poppykit had yet to even make an attempt at forming words. So far, they had done just as well with deploying formless wails when they were hungry and had not much use for their vocal box otherwise. Oh, except for purring—they were quite good at that, a prodigy, one might say— Poppykit hardly ever wasn't purring since they'd figured out how to do it.

She was purring now—cicada-esque in her ceaselessness—as she stepped past her silvery-pelted siblings and out into the perilous world beyond, bright red tail waving the stubby flag of the proud kingdom of The Nursery. She trekked onward, her eyes fixated on her ginger-socked feet as she stepped. Step, step, step, step, step, step, step, step, ste-

"Hmmph-!"

She'd hit a wall. Or what seemed to be a wall. It was wall-ish in its solidity, in its impenetrable stalwartness. It was fuzzy, though, and warm. Like a body. It was a body, actually. She sat, quite tired after her many—nearly dozens of—steps, and peered up to stare at the face attached to the body. She wrinkled her nose on instinct, the body smelled nothing like the smells they were used to and therefore stank. She blinked at the face belonging to the body which stunk with only-recently-cleared blue eyes.

You stink. Poppykit thought, but did not say, purring all the while. You stink and my nose is itchy because you stink. What followed was preceded only by the faintest twitching of whiskers.

Poppykit sneezed directly onto the body (stinky) with a seemingly blatant disregard for proper social convention, a disgusting trespass indeed. My nose isn't itchy now. thought Poppykit, and also, You stink.

ooc: feel free to make your character be the stinky cat Poppykit just walked into and sneezed on :)
⊱✿⊰

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[GHOSTMASK]

†—— of course, ghostkit knew some new kits were coming. she knew frostbite had moved into the nursery with the rest of the queens and kits who didn't have the privilege of living in the medicine den, privately thanking starclan she wouldn't have to share a space with the screaming fuzzballs. today, though, her peace would end—she spots one of the fluffy little things bumbling its way outside, forcing her spiky neck fur to lay flat as best she can as she makes her way over cautiously. the first screeching thing doesn't even talk as he makes his way out, only makes loud yelling noises; it's difficult to imagine she, in all her self-ascribed eloquence, once was the same. dark eyes widen a fraction in surprise when another kit trails after—she didn't know frostbite has more and again she must force her muzzle not to wrinkle distastefully.

at least this one talks better, she observes with a certain detached interest, though her sentences are broken and screeching as it wobbles out of the nursery entrance, causing ghostkit to back away a pawstep or so to avoid tripping over her. yet another one, to her well-hidden distaste, follows; though the other two are squeaking and screaming their stilted sentences, this one only purrs ceaselessly as she steps with much less shakiness than her siblings. ghostkit is suddenly very glad she doesn't sleep in the nursery with these kits; she thinks she'd lose her mind and become some kind of wailing phantom haunting the den should she have to share so much as a tail-length of space with these things that constantly scream and purr and wail, shoving tails and paws and noses in her face. she nearly shudders at the thought.

the third one's tail is so red it seems to bleed into the air, waving it around like a weapon as the masked she-kit backed quickly away. ghostkit turns and stares as she runs into someone, wide blue eyes on them with carefully disguised judgement—how could you miss the screeching, sneezing, gross things? she sighs, calls to both the kit and their unfortunate victim, "you okay?"

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┏━•†˚୨୧⋆ OOC ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ INFORMATION ⋆୨୧˚†•━━━━━┓ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ༘*.ﾟ

• ooc: whoever poppykit's victim is, she's staring at you :-)
  

• 

• † ghostkit — named after the deceased ghostpaw she/her ; afab cisgender female — shadowclan — kit — 2 ☾s —— ghostkit is the daughter of the soft-spoken medicine cat starlingheart and her possessive mate, granitepelt. she looks just like her mother, and while she can be a little difficult, there's nothing really wrong with her ...... right? —— smells like milk, herbs, and .... iron? ; sounds like tbd ; speech in #EB80B7 ; thoughts in #253DC6 —— peaceful / healing powerplay permitted ; attacks/contact in underline ; won’t start fights ; will flee ; will show mercy ; won't kill or maim (kitten) —— too young for romance ; open to enemies, "friends", tormenting other kits, plotting ; not open to battles, romance penned by dejavu— desklamp9 on discord for plots

• shhh don't look here (battle info will go here at some point)

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[smogstar]

Alas, Halfshade's plight. Condemned to a torturous tenancy within the brambled nursery den, once a haven for comfort, now a prison of maternal duty. Besieged by droves of kit-spawn, ever-increasing with every waxing and waning moon. Loudening cries, mouthes spoiling for milk, hungered yowls and aching mewls herald this cycle of ceaseless toil. She, his mate, must languish to this fate that ensnares her so, whereas he, Smogmaw, may live unburdened by the impediment of direct parenthood. She is a resilient she-cat, yet he holds not a doubt in his mind that she now longs for solitude, to resign from the exhaustion and sleepless nights. It is an inequitable set of circumstances, beyond contention.

An exceptionally plump frog - perhaps, a bullfrog, if not a well-fed one - is held taut between teeth yellowed by time. It is guided towards the brambled nursery den, where it will inevitably drop before the paws of his beloved. The image conjured of her is aghast in quality. Matted fur, bagged eyes, robbed of any prospect to venture beyond her thorny confines. Has she eaten today? Smogmaw does not know. He can hardly see a hare's length in front of his own limbs, what with the stout morsel in his jaws, let alone navigate the hypotheticals of motherhood.

"Ptooey!"

The frog is expelled from his grasp and sent airborne. Some thick-skulled, miserly-coordinated kit collides directly with his midsection. Not only does the impact thieve him of his offering, it pinches the breath straight from his throat, and prompts his eyes and brows to coalesce into a grimace. When his lids heave upwards seconds later, it is a scarlet-touched pipsqueak that receives his heavy gaze. It would seem the trials, terrors, and tribulations of the nursery have spilled into the outside world. Now, no nook nor cranny in the hollow is safe from their plague—not even the most noble of frog-fetching missions.

Broad shoulders shake the lingering impact from his corporeal form. "You made me drop my frog," he murmurs, simple and cold, voice calloused like the underside of his paws. "Why?"

A second voice breaches the stillness, timbre high-pitched yet somewhat recognisable. Widened eyes pivot to glimpse the masked form of Granitepelt's brood. She dares ask if he is okay, ignorant to the display of aggression before her very person. "No. I'm not okay." Once more, his ire latches onto the culprit's silhouette, yet he cannot overlook abundance of wriggling forms trickling into the foreground. This was not okay. This was getting out of hand. A moratorium on kitting ought to be closely considered in the near future. "They made me drop my frog. I cannot believe this." The flatness in his tone belies his attempts at humour. Had he truly held malicious intentions towards these rascals, they would surely know it.​

 

[Ptarmiganpaw]

They are going on an adventure!!! He is so excited that his siblings are coming with him. He giggles happily as he takes his first steps outside the nursery. He looks around at everything with wide eyes and shivers with excitement.

Suddenly, he hears Poppykit bump into something. He looks over to see Smogmaw drop a funny creature. What's that thing. It's green and has no fur. He learns this thing is called a frog. And that Poppykit made Smogmaw drop it. Was she in trouble??? The deputy didn't SEEM mad, even though he says he is not okay. But he looks okay!

Ptarmigankit bounces over to the frog. He wants to examine this new creature. Why's it like that.

"Fww...Fwwgg..."

He pats the frog with a paw. Cold and squishy. That's weird. The knowledge that there are creatures out there with no fur is mind blowing.

But Smogmaw has dropped his frog, and Ptarmigankit decided the nice thing to do is give it back to him. So he gives it a nudge.... And then tugs it by the leg... He manages to get it the short distance to Smogmaw. He is proud of himself.

"Fwwgg!"

He'll work on pronunciation another time.​