SOME PEOPLE EVEN THINK IT'S FUN TO ... ✦ smashed pumpkins

[DOEBLAZE]

A seasonally appropriate mist has settled over the land. It's of the polite, pleasant sort that usually smolders away with the rising sun, but today has chosen to linger. The evening retains a crisp bite even as the sky darkens and dapples with a muscadine sunset. Between the chill in the air and the occasional burnished leaf that zig-zags past the pristine squirrel clamped in Doeblaze's jaws, leaf-fall feels decidedly upon them, even if it's still technically in its infancy. She tosses the squirrel to readjust her grip on it as her hunting patrol regroups and navigates roughly back towards camp, relying in part on the strength of the spicy pine-scent in the cool air to help her cut through the mist.

Mmf. Her cleanly caught squirrel—she's rather proud of it—muffles her exclamation as a strong scent intrudes on her easy, thoughtless track back to camp. An earthy yet fresh aroma, smelling richly of must leaf litter, she can't help but trail it a few fox-lengths into the pearly mist. The fog dissipates to reveal the bejeweled guts of pumpkins strewn about, stringy insides gleaming in the reddened light of sinking dusk. Seeds and deep orange guts cover the earth over its usual coating of pine, and chunks of the thick, impenetrable (or so she'd thought) rinds are scattered aimlessly around.

" That's ... odd. " Doeblaze sets down her squirrel, careful to keep it away from the crime scene, and prods at one shard of pumpkin with a white paw. It's slick and slightly off-putting underpaw, and she hastily withdraws her paw. Some of the shards have strange wounds gouged into them, or arcane shapes etched into their brilliant orange surfaces. Her brow rumples in confusion, and she tests the pumpkin chunk with a paw again, feeling the unyielding hardness of the rind under her calloused pad. " Well, it certainly wasn't any cats that did this. I can't even make a dent in the thing. "

" Some Twoleg ritual, maybe? " she hypothesizes, tilting her head. " I wonder if they're edible. "

OOC : —

✦

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[Chickbloom]

It was a good thing Chickbloom didn’t know the spooky significance of the season, otherwise he’d be even more freaked out (if such a thing was even possible). The mist around the patrol may have been mild, akin to a light dusting of floating raindrops, but in the coward’s mind that meant precisely one thing. If it wasn’t bad, that meant it could always get worse.

Eternally-wide amber eyes - shade akin to pumpkins themselves - had been eyeing the fog suspiciously, as if a particularly dense cloud would come pouncing out of the underbrush to ambush the patrol. Chickbloom was so preoccupied with the threat of water vapor that he nearly walked straight into Doeblaze, not realizing she’d stopped.

Side-stepping just in time, timid features turned towards the plant-corpses strewn about the territory. Keeping a safe distance (shame he couldn’t do that with the fog), the former kittypet racked his brain for an answer to Doeblaze’s question. There was no prey muffling his speech, so he wanted to try and be somewhat useful.

“Twoleg kits” The baby bird finally squeaked out, recalling lonely days spent staring out the window. “It’s - It’s c-combat practice, I think. I’ve s-seen ‘em, carving these up with shiny sticks. My H-Housefolk were always too busy to get them-“ Or perhaps they were such proficient killers they didn’t need the practice? A shiver ran down the whelp’s jelly spine. “-A-Anyway, yeah, they practice fighting with th-them. When they’re done, they celebrate by s-spilling their insides!”

Like his theory about the easter eggs so many moons ago, it seemed isolation had made the milksop more than a little imaginative when it came to twoleg culture. Still, he was sort of correct…​

 

[Owlheart]

The hunt was fairly successful, she likes to think so anyways. The squirrel she's carrying is soon discarded (well rather gently placed on the ground) and the thoughts of the hunt escapes her mind entirely as she stares at the scene in front of the patrol. Owlheart tried to not hang around Twolegplace, she was anxious enough within the comforts of the pines she would hate to see just how panicked she might be in an unfamiliar place full of Twolegs. The down side is that she's unfamiliar to any happenings of theirs, their rituals or their games, did these decimated pumpkins fall into either category?

She pads carefully towards the strewn insides, nodding at Doeblaze as her paw seems to find the rind. The ginger tabby taps at the stringy insides, grimacing in disgust at the feeling of it against her paw pad. Slimey. Scraping her paw against the dirt she gestures for Hollypaw to try touching it next, curious to know if he has seen these before but doubting so considering her age.

At least Chickblook seems to be towing knowledge, a benefit of being an ex-daylighter. "Combat practice?" She frowns at the thought, what combat practice do Twolegs even need? Against what? Each other maybe? "How do they know when they're done practice fighting with them?" was there some kind of indicator or was it within their gut?

"Twoleg kits sure get into a lot of dangerous activities..." she murmurs to herself outloud in thought, first there were those weird eggs that are apparently meant for them and now they massacre plants as some form of combat practice? She dreaded the idea of knowing what would happen next, especially since that seems to be happening all the time in their forest. Why can't these practices stay within Twolegplace anyways? With a soft exhale she decides to bat a pumpkin shell.

//apprentice tag <33 @HOLLYPAW
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[DROWSYNOSE]

STILL DON'T KNOW MY NAME​

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he hasn't been around. he knows that. he's avoiding a lot of cats, save for his friend who is more than a friend but he can't say that, can he? his paws itch to walk, which is saying a lot for a cat who so preferred to be inside. his tail lashed back and forth as he walked, ears perking up when he realizes everyone else has stopped. he gently bumps against his mom, before turning to look at the smashed up... things. whatever they were, they smelled funny. his sensitive nose wasn't the most grateful for it, so decidedly he steps back, blinking and shaking his head.

"smells funny. wh-what do t-twoleg kits n-need combat pr-practice for?"

that sounded silly to drowsynose. but then again, he doesn't know what's real or not real when it came to twolegs. some cats liked their own personal twolegs, who fed them and gave them warm places to stay during leafbare. but other cats, especially cats outside of skyclan, hated them. they were a threat to them, and drowsynose isn't sure what's true. maybe both is.

"d-do you think there's something out th-there that eats th-this thing?"
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[SILVERSMOKE]

Excitement filled the spotted tabby's steps as he trotted closer toward the hunting patrol, dragging a pheasant by its neck whilst another patrol member helped carry its legs. It had been a team effort to take the large bird down, but with the blood of his favourite prey already tastable on his teeth, there was little shame the tom could feel about needing help. Watching the others congregate around a suspicious object caused him to lash his tail in a 'stop' command, placing his half of the bird on the ground and offering a nod to his teammate. The smell of pumpkin stung the tabby's nostrils the moment he abandoned the pheasant, the tom circling around until he could eye the mess with a mixture of disgust and caution.

Doeblaze questioned if it was a ritual and Chickbloom, whom the tom had not even seen until he made a noise, was quick to answer. Combat practice, his friend said, and an uncharacteristic shudder ran down his spine. "Practising for cats, perhaps?" He huffed, looking towards Chickbloom. He let his stare linger for a moment too long, blinking as he tried to gauge why the other might have reacted strongly to the suggestion. His ears flattened in embarrassment when he realised his tone of voice hadn't changed at all. "I'm sorry, that was a joke." He turned away, glaring daggers at the pumpkin as if it was solely responsible for his blunder. Perhaps now that its walls were compromised, he would smash the Star-damned thing too for having to witness that.

"Those white things... the seeds?" He moved on as quickly as he could, addressing Drowsynose's question like a lifeline. "Squirrels might eat them. Maybe we could lure some out with them."

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[Johnnyflame]

MY WORLDS ON FIRE, HOW 'BOUT YOURS?
THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT AND I NEVER GET BORED."​

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It was Johnnys last outing of the night before he returned to his peoples nest, and as he trotted along at Doeblazes flank, it was with a similar strut of pride in his steps as he carried what could have been the twin to her own catch; a juicy squirrel. It was fine prey, and they wouldn’t have much like it once winter finally hit. It was good to know he hadn't lost his touch in the weeks since his departure from the rank of lead warrior, comforted in the knowledge that retiring the title didn't also mean retiring the skill.

His train of thought was derailed when the patrol came across the remains of a smashed pumpkin, though.

Johnny wasn’t entirely surprised by the presence- he was old and observant enough to have realised by now that the twolegs had a habit of decorating their nests in odd ways come certain times of the year, but he had no idea why or what the apparent’ rules of the tradition were. Still, he placed his catch down to investigate and muse with the rest of the patrol, since it was odd to have found one out here in the woods.

”I dunno about all that.” he chuckled, ’Though you're not wrong about the twoleg kits seeming to enjoy the things. All of twolegplace is covered in the things come this time of year so they must really enjoy them- though I'm not sure why their fascination only seems to last for a moon or so. Maybe they only appear for a short time, like snow in leafbare?"

He could almost imagine the strange, round, orange things rolling into town or sprouting out of the ground like rocks once the leaves began to fall, showing up all over twolegplace and then disapearing just as quickly, rotting away to nothing as the days wore on. Either way, the bobtail didn’t see them to be much of a threat. In fact, the gentle glow from their mouths on the cooler nights was warm and inviting if you didn’t mind curling up next to the gaping maw of an eerily still face.

At Drowsynose and Silversmokes mention of things eating the mess of pumpkin, the bobtail perked up a little, having an actual answer for that. ”They do! Lots of the twolegs leave these things sitting out until they rot, and I know I’ve seen critters gnawing on them in the past. Don’t know how good it is for them, but they definitely seemed to enjoy it.’

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