camp STARSTRUCK [🪩] twoleg accessories

[ANASTASIA.]

[ ✧˖°. ] "yeah, dudes, i can tell you about my stuff." anastasia has only been here in skyclan for a short time, but already she's garnered a small audience upon returning from one of her first patrols. it's not an unfamiliar spotlight, nor is it an unwelcome one—attention has long been a fact of life for the silver-spotted shecat, for a multitude of reasons. for one thing, she caught herself a bit of a reputation in twolegplace for her skill in bloody rogue fights and her ever-growing number of failed romances. for another, when you're as tall as anastasia is, stares are just part of your life—especially here, in the land of the wildcats, even more so when you consider the colorful accessories decorating her frame.

the tag long buried in the flesh of her ear jingles as she speaks, catching the light and reflecting copper or gold depending on how it was looked at. the dirty, glittery collar around her neck's poor condition does little to disguise the foreign beauty of its faded jewel-blue tones and metallic spikes. these are what earned her today's questions; a blonde-furred tom and a patched she-kit have inquired after her accessories, and she offers them a naturally bitchy-looking but genuine grin. it's chill here, away from the ex-lovers and old flames and constant fights of twolegplace, here where food is always stocked and there's always something her large frame can be put to use for. she almost likes it—she certainly still misses twolegplace sometimes, but she can't deny it's nice here.

"it's quite a story, lemme tell ya." she mews, tone dipping and rising with a dramatic beachy flair as she prepares to tell the tale, eyes on her audience as she performs, "so, i used to live in this big-ass twoleg building, you dig me? lots of colorful little suns and sparkly stuff. and so i'm sitting there, minding my own damn business, yeah? and all of a sudden, this twoleg starts coming on over." she pauses, letting suspense stretch out, "and i'm thinking, it's got me some food, because good grub is real scarce in twolegplace. so i didn't run away, and it just up and grabbed me. i was scratching and biting for dear life, but the damn thing held on tight. took out some weird thing from its little twoleg pouch, and next thing i know i got this thing hanging off of my ear for the rest of my damn life."

her tale told, anastasia sits theatrically back with a casual shrug as she glances over the pair of cream and calico pelts, yawning a touch and hunching her overlarge, muscled frame to be heard. she'd told this tale more than once, and it never got old. flaming eyes aim at the two, mewing, "it hurt like hell, but it looks pretty sick. don't you think so, blondie?" this last is aimed at yukio in particular.

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ooc: talking to @YUKIO and @Cherrykit but no need to wait for them to post! :D
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[PIPITKIT]

Anastasia had certainly caught Pipitkit's eye when she first arrived in camp. The newcomer was hard to miss, with her accessories and height, the light sound of something metal crinkling when she walked like how she thinks stars would sound up close. She hoped she wasn't caught staring, that would be embarrassing, but she couldn't help it! She was too sparkly! She sits farther than Yukio and Cherrykit, happy to let them be the audience to Anastasia's story.

The tone of her voice is enough to invest the tabby, dramatic ups and downs that never let her eyes wander or ears stray to birdsong or other forest sounds. Pipitkit had wanted to know the origins of the thing dangling from the other's ear, and had never been confident enough to ask, so seeping in her gratefulness for the duo who did, the idea of something being stuck through the thin flesh of a cat's ear makes her startle, ears twitching harshly under her imagination. Beauty really was pain, wasn't it? Now, the fact that Anastasia had fought the massive twoleg beasts and left with this kind of thing made her the coolest cat ever.

And then she mentions being sick. Pipitkit's head tilts, the second action that betrays the fact she isn't turned to a statue. "It made you sick?" she utters. Eyes scroll upwards to Anastasia's ear, expecting it to suddenly look swollen and infected at a mere speaking it into existence.

ʚɞ it's my problem if I feel the need to hide​

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[CHALK]

⭒✧ Having been one of the cats to greet Anastasia at the border, Chalk was marginaly better aquainted with her unique presentation. That did nothing to dissuade his interest in the accessories she wore however, if anything it deepened it. A collar the colour of oil-slick swell, a scar tapestried pelt and the tag of indeterminate material in her ear. Some sort of metal. It was the tag in question the newcomer was telling the tale of, so the tom sat nearby and listened with polite scrutiny.

The twinkle of metal bit at his senses briefly as the silver molly shook her ear in emphasis. Abrasive. Chalk couldn't imagine a noise like that in his ear constantly, but he knew that creatures had a knack for tuning out repetitive stimulus. Just like how the scratch of paper and rolling chatter of twoleg kits made up only the fringes of his attention, Anastasia no doubt barely heard it.

Pipitkit mewled a question, the meaning taking a moment to click in his mind. Ah, a misunderstanding of 'sick'- easily done. "I believe Anastatia meant it as a positive." It was dryly stated but the slight over-tilt of his head served to soften the correction of the kit's assumption. Chalk assessed the Anastasia's reaction in the corner of his eye, not wanting to misrepresent her testimony. Once more the glint of metal in her ear caught his gaze. "You're a good story teller." He blinked. "Is it challenging to hunt with it? I could see it being a hinderance to both listening and remaining quiet."​

⭒ ———————————— ✧⭒​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

At first, oh he'd been drawn to her. How could his eyes not reflect the stars from her own worn treasure? How could he not offer respects to a form far from wild?

But of course, all that glitters is not gold. All that shines is not intrinsically, something worth listening to. Twolegs will adorn anything they care for with treasure beyond imagination. And, strange, lonely things that they are, they may even attach themselves to mongrels from time to time. Dawnglare would gladly snap necks if it meant she would cease her yapping. The language is nonsensical and crude, words with false meanings slipping from the tongue with little to no care. The story itself phases in an out of Dawnglares ears. His eye is trained on the ear tag glittering in the sunlight.

His fur is alight at the mention of sickness, and lucky her, that Chalk is able to provide an understanding before Dawnglare could leer away from her, jaws cletched. " As a positive? " Dawnglare repeats, despair heavy in his tone. " There is no such thing. Who do you work for that employs such madness from you? " he spits, eyes narrowing. And he would look despairingly at... Chalk, that was what's what– because he'd prefer to think him above this all. " Nonsense, she's confusing you with her witch's speak. " The jewels appeal has gone down significantly, the threat of it being diseased suddenly lingering. But still... but still...

" I should rip it from you, " he says, and his snear snaps shut, upon remembering his mission. That is... that was to say... " K-kindly, that is. It would be a small mercy. " His eyes narrow to slits.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 7.18.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: —

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 54 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  Currently in an era of questioning; upset and uncomfortable by things he should not be.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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