SOMEBODY THAT I USED TO KNOW — bobbie

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Being a lead warrior now, Slate was expected to participate in more tasks such as tending to the needs of the nursery residents. He had scarcely even visited the nursery, so naturally he hesitated upon poking his large cranium into the opening of the den. There weren't very many queens, and to his knowledge, the she-cat he's assigned to serve today had only recently given birth. Spotting a lilac tabby with three little dark bundles at her belly, Slate figures that this was her, but mrrows aloud in order to confirm, "You're Bobbie, yeah?" The massive brute lumbers forward, maneuvering the confined space with a squirrel dangling from his jaws. "This is for you." Slate drops the fresh kill off at the queen's side.

His amber gaze now drifted toward the nursing kits. Slate didn't intend to pry nor overstay his welcome, but he found it curious that all of the children practically looked like carbon copies of one another. Bluntly, though not ill-intentioned, Slate mentioned, "... Looks like they didn't get much from you." Being a tom who was not very properly socialized, living with queens is something that's relatively new to him. He was always under the impression that the looks of both parents would pass on to at least one kitten in the litter, but in Bobbie's case, that did not appear to be true. Whoever the father was, his kits definitely looked like him and only him.

// @bobbie ​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

A voice is what catches Bobbie's attention first, pulling her from the half-sleep of caring for newborns and waking her drowsy mind. She looks up, and suddenly her heart turns traitor in her chest, leaping like a cornered rabbit. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. It's him, it must be, because who else looks like that? The towering figure, sloping jaw, the dark long fur that swishes as the cat moves further into the den. Towards her. Bobbie's veins turn to ice and she curls around her kits instinctively, her heart in her throat—why would he come back? Feelings clot like great arterial spurts in her mind, mingling comfortably like a crowded den—regret, nostalgia ...

All of this flashes across her mind in the span of a half-second and Bobbie's sleep-muddied vision clears; of course it's not her ex-mate, the father of her kits, because why would it be? He's gone. He's never coming back. Still, her fur is ruffled and she can't get her treacherous heart to stop thundering away. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. She tries to make her fur lay flat and focus on what the warrior is doing: it's Slate, one of the new promotions, and he's just bringing her some prey. A nice gesture. Her mind calms a bit as her eyes take in the rust-toned fur, the one flopping ear, the scarred eye. She chastises herself for having these thoughts—does she want to spend the rest of her life jumping at old ghosts? Does she?

Slate's last remark stings a bit, reminding her of dashed hopes (she feels guilty for being upset about this at all), and Bobbie turns her pale green eyes towards the ground. Naturally, they fall to the fuzzy bundles curled at her stomach, to their dark fur so unlike her own. She glances back up at the lead warrior, one paw scraping nervously at the ground, and manages a shaky, still-startled mew, "Th ... That's me, thank you. I guess they didn't. They .. they look a lot like their father, yes."
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[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — He would be an ignorant fool if he didn't recognize the face of sheer terror painting the queen's features as soon as he prowled into the nursery. Some cats tended to be more soft-spoken or timid than others, but the protective cradle around her kittens and the bristling of her pelt signaled something deeper than just a mere spook. Bobbie's voice was uneven as she spoke, the subconscious scraping of her paw seeming to be a nervous fidget of sorts, and it was clear that something else may have been at play here.

He slightly cocks a brow though his features don't shift much from their neutral, flat state. "... There a problem?" Even if Slate's intent wasn't to come off as intimidating, it could be hard to believe otherwise with his gruff tone of voice and menacing amber stare. His reputation as a big brute of a former rogue tended to precede him, something that he's come to accept. However, cats usually didn't tremble with fear upon first meeting him (except for some kits, maybe). Was Bobbie fearful of him, or was there something else going on?​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

The long lilac mane finally lays somewhat flat, Bobbie's breath evening out as she forced herself to repeat the thought: It wasn't him. The strange scare has ruffled her feathers, though, made her think even if she has no interest in parsing out the bubbling emotions that had risen like acid in her throat when she'd spotted Slate's hulking frame in the doorway. Why was she afraid? Afraid of him coming back, for no real reason, or afraid of what she'd thought she would say for that half second, those four words her mind refuses to repeat. Bobbie chastises herself again—this poor cat doesn't need her baggage projected onto him.

A gruff mew reaches her ears: ...There a problem? Oh, stars, she worries—Slate thinks her issue is with him. Bobbie feels terrible, even if his flat demeanour and raised brow don't exactly indicate being horribly offended, and she shuffles her paws as she tries to figure out what to say. The queen tries to quiet her shaky heart as she mews quietly, "Um, no. You just, uh, you just r-remind me of someone I used to know. That's all, suh-suh-sorry." The lilac queen mentally curses her stupid and recurring stutter, and glances up at Slate, wincing at the awkwardness that seems to hang in the silence.
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