── So far, Roseal thinks he's managed to be fairly nonconfrontational. He might have offered the occasional unwanted commentary from the sidelines, but he hasn't interjected himself directly between arguing parties, hasn't thrown himself straight into the fray or aligned with one group over the other. He doesn't particularly care to. The problem is that he knows he can't rely on neutrality forever; for his mistake of offering a reasonable explanation for the marsh cats' presence, his own was questioned. Not as thoroughly, and it was little more than a throwaway comment, but he won't lie to himself and pretend that it will end there, that this group of former kittypets and rejected loners will always be so magnanimous as to turn a blind eye to him.
They've already claimed this land as theirs. They will dictate who can and can't be here, and he's sure he'll be the latter as soon as they lose more prey.
Naturally, instead of simply bowing out and attempting a life in twoleg streets, he's decided to burn a bridge before they can do it first— and not even in a spectacular fashion, despite the temptation to leave a gift of rat shit.
Four birds, all caught by his own claws. Nothing remarkable; they're bony as birds tend to be, and not as plump as others he's seen. He takes two for the marsh and leaves the other pair for the pine cats in the name of a malnourished decency. He doubts they'll even recognize it for the au revoir it is.
──── surr'oseal'isme (roseal). he/him pronouns. roamer; goes where he pleases.
──── approximately thirty-eight months old; not entirely certain of his own age.
──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
──── very tall, scarred albino with sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail.