private Tell me who I'm meant to be {Weasel}


𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃𝓈 & 𝒱𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓃𝒹𝓈
Jun 14, 2022

The world was quiet the night Lunaria found herself before a large structure. The moon was high in the sky, making her appear as though a dark spirit who had materialized from the shadows themselves. Eyes of smoldering sapphire would blink slowly as they took in the sight before them, her jaw opening slightly to catch the scents of others who lived here. Her ear would twitch as the sound of pawsteps came near and she would step back into the shadows, her former training in stalking kicking in as she waited to see who it was that was approaching.

She knew that she would not be passed by, after all, she had done nothing to mask her scent from those who lived here, but she wanted to make sure she saw them before they saw her.


╰☆☆ It's a quiet night. The Twolegs have long since retired to their nests, and the farm creatures are all penned, put away as neatly as objects. Though he's spent the day wandering about the farm, Weasel finds his white paws itching, restless again, and he pokes his whiskered pink nose out of the barn to take in the sight. The dark sky is blazing with stars, and the world seems moondrunk.

He begins to pad towards the pasture, where he'll divert, perhaps go back where he's been before, back into the marsh or perhaps another part of the forest. But pale blue eyes catch a glimpse of movement stowed against the shadows, and he pauses, flicks his ears once alerted. There's a strange feline here, he can scent her, but that's nothing too out of the ordinary. Cats come and go, travelers who rest weary paws and fill empty bellies on the mice in the haystacks.

Weasel narrows his eyes regardless. Though he's used to the comings and goings of the felines who live here, he hasn't seen a stranger in a while, and there's some part of him that can't help but burn with suspicion. "Who's there?" He is tense, but the fur on his neck remains flat. He waits to see if she'll approach.
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She would watch for a moment, taking in the figure that now stood before her. Her head would tilt lightly as a glow of curiosity entered her gaze and when he called out she would step forward, her head dipped as a sign of respect and humility. "Please, I mean you no harm."

She would raise her head once again, her deep blue meeting his cerulean gaze. "My name is Lunaria, and I'm a traveler. My apologies for trespassing into your home." Her tail would lay calmly behind her as she tilted her head once more in a questioning gesture, "If I may ask, are you the only cat who lives in this place?"

╰☆☆ Weasel peers into the dark and waits for one of the shadows to become flesh and fur. Black-pelted, with a single white paw and eyes glowing with the starlight. She bows her head and speaks to him with a formality he finds strange.

Lunaria. Weasel blinks. "I don't really... I don't own this place," he confesses. His territorial tendencies seem foolish to him now. The horseplace is as much a home to him as it is to any of the bizarre farm animals the Twolegs keep penned up, as much as it is to any traveling cat needing a place to rest.

He shakes his head. "Not by a long shot. There are other cats here. Travelers, too." He gestures to the inside of the barn with his tail. "There are a lot of mice inside. If you're hungry from traveling."

Weasel studies her for a moment. With the formal speech and the suggestion he might own the land, Weasel has to wonder where she's from. She doesn't carry the same scent Soot had, the smoke-colored queen from the marsh. This one's is entirely unfamiliar to him, unplaceable. "Where exactly do you come from?"

Lunaria would listen with patience as he explained that he didn't claim this area and that there were others who lived here as well. She would nod softly, offering a small ghost of a smile as the tom mentioned the presence of mice that she was open to taking if she so wanted.

His question would cause her to hesitate, however, a chink in her normally reserved armor. Taking a moment to compose herself, Lunaria would meow gently, "My birthplace is far away from here. I've been traveling for almost a full season now, just trying to find somewhere to call home." Her dark blue gaze would move over his form for a quiet moment, her tail flicking ever so slightly before speaking again, "What may I call you?"

╰☆☆ The tabby quirks his head slightly at Lunaria's hesitation. Weasel himself is not a mysterious cat; what one sees with Weasel is what one gets. There are no secrets; his essence is laid bare to the world, to any who bothers to know him. He does not understand the need for mystery, and so Lunaria's disposition puzzles him. Far away is abstract, intangible, and he's prepared to ask her further questions when she asks for his name instead.

"Nothing as glamorous as Lunaria," he snorts, flicking his tail. "I'm Weasel." He dips his head to her, still feeling embarrassed by his earlier territorial show of power. He supposes he owes her that, at least. "Hungry? Like I said, there are plenty of mice in the barn. That's what this red nest is called." He touches the side with a paw. Its wood is rough and scratchy under his pads. "Nest for horses, really. The Twolegs only come in here to take care of them. They don't bother us much."

He has to admit he's thankful for this. Weasel is not fond of Twolegs. He knows there are other nests, places where the hairless creatures keep cats inside and don't let them out. The thought of being confined in such a way sets a deep, terrible itch under his pelt.

"Weasel..." She tested the name on her tongue and the faintest smile would grace her maw as she nodded softly, "A fierce creature, it's a strong name." The praise would be genuine, and she would listen attentively as he explained that the nest beside him was called a barn, and then once again offered her a chance to hunt.

She had never really been around two-legs before, and she preferred to keep it that way. But she would dip her head in humble gratitude, "Your offer is very kind. I will take you up on your offer. As a sign of my gratitude, please allow me to catch you something tonight." She would smile softly, this one not as practiced or simply polite. Lunaria hoped that most cats here were like Weasel, perhaps she could make a home here. The thought alone brought her a sense of comfort, "Could you direct me to where the best spot for hunting would be?"