THE KNIFE — talking to self

[PANTHERPELT]

"AM I YOUR DREAM GIRL?"​

Long limbs cross, then un-cross. Then they cross again, dangling over the edge of a shallow pool of water that's filled in a small dip in the earth. The blue, blue sky reflects in the puddle, as does the figure of a very pretty lady. Pantherpelt stares at the reflection, cocking her head too far to one side. Her neck stretches, stretches, crackles as she tips her head at a slightly concerning angle. There's no one around, so the dark she-cat rasps out, "Heya, good lookin', how ye feelin' this fine eve?"

There's no response, of course, but Pantherpelt takes a moment to look surprised, brows shooting up exaggeratedly. "Ah, searchin' for a soft-pawed darlin' are ye?" She lets loose a feral grin, striking a paw into the water. It ripples, distorting her face, and the feline throws her head back in a long laugh. "Yeh, me 's well, but ye ain't gon' find nothin' like that 'round these parts." No soft-pawed cat-things in SkyClan, that's for certain. These cats she's found a half-home with are something odd, somewhere between feral and domestic, but definitely not soft.
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[BLAZESTAR]

So much of Blazestar envies the life that some of his warriors have carved out for themselves in SkyClan. They still have the companionship of their housefolk, the security and warmth of their family, while still getting to cross over into feral territory during the day to be one with their Clanmates. Had his life turned out differently -- had he not left to find Little Wolf, become stranded in the pine forest, abandoned by his housefolk entirely -- he would have wanted the same for himself.

Pantherpelt is one of them, though he doesn't know her as well as he likes to think he does Harpyfall or Churrodream. A dark-pelted she-cat, a little rough around the edges, but he doesn't know how much of that is genuine.

The flame point regards her curiously. She stares at herself in a shallow pool of water, talking to her reflection as though it's someone else entirely.

Frankly, even Dawnglare wouldn't do something like this. He shakes the uneasy feeling clinging to his pelt like spiderwebs. "Uh... hi, Pantherpelt," he says, eyes darting side to side nervously. Was she talking to someone else? Wouldn't he look stupid! "Were you, um... it's... it's a nice day out, isn't it?" He's lost all idea of what he'd intended to say to her.
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PENNED BY MARQUETTE​

 

[PANTHERPELT]

"AM I YOUR DREAM GIRL?"​

The sound of a stuttered greeting draws her attention, and the she-cat tosses her head to sweep a golden gaze over Blazestar. He looks—almost stricken, really. Not looking her in the eye. Seemingly unable to focus on one place. Pantherpelt wheezes out a laugh, untangling long limbs to climb to her paws. The poor pointed tom begins a question, then stops, then begins another question, noticeably different. "Ah, yer a hoot, really. Don' think too hard 'bout what to say there, toots. 'm not gon' bite ye, or anythin'."

And it's funny, really, because he's the leader and she's used to others being unsettled in her presence, but he can't even get a coherent sentence out. "Ye didn't interrupt nothin', if that's what's got yer tail in knots. Was jus' havin' a chitchat with meself there." Because he's the epitome of normal, she wonders if Blazestar has never spoken to himself behind the privacy of the occasional bush before. It tracks that he isn't the sort, but then again Pantherpelt thinks it's pretty damn normal to talk to oneself every so often. "Have ye ever talked to yerself? Even jus' a little? Cathartic, I tell ye. Anywho, to answer yer question, it's a fair day, yeh."
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[DAWNGLARE]

Wayward soul, chatting with herself. Low vocals are tinged with a strange sort of twang, rough and unkempt. The air shakes with the burst of undeserved compliments, the sort that only she would dole out to herself, it seemed. Pity, raw and true. She's all blurred twilight, unruly thing in the dead of night. Such tone, that rattled the air, enraptured sunset hues, she couldn't— she couldn't— no, no, no. He's missing something here. So he stares. Were she to turn around, she would see the eyes of a sky-blue morn, staring straight at her, deciphering, contemplating.

Blaise, sunshine that he is, makes a grand effort to push it aside. Bright flame pelt is a stark contrast to dark stripes. The poor thing stutters in his confusion, meek words come out like a kittens mewl or.... or something akin.

She tries to pass it off, speaks to Blaise as if nothing is afoot, her tone and grin vaguely friendly— the flash of white teeth. With narrowed eyes, this one creeps forward, his expression remains staid: thin-pressed lips and wide eyes, pupils thin. He peers into the mirror pool, spies nothing out of the ordinary. A frown weighs heavy upon his lips. He squints an eye closed, opens the other wide as it can go as he peers into its depths. Mother nature played a trick on him. There's nothing here. His voice comes out in a low hiss. "Ss...speak, ff... wretched glare..."

[ 'who is she talking to,,,,,, *slide whistle sound as he leans over the puddle* COME OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' ]​

 

[PANTHERPELT]

"AM I YOUR DREAM GIRL?"​

The medicine cat of SkyClan is one cat who Pantherpelt can't say she's familiar with. He appears not long after Blazestar, all straight-faced and serious. He's quiet, seems to be sure of himself, unlike the leader. Amber eyes track his movements, tongue swiping out to run across a long fang. She watches the tom stride over to the pool, to stare into its depths. Watches one blue eye squint while the other stands open so wide it's nearly concerning. Amusement is clear in her gaze, expecting some sort of admonishment—but instead, Dawnglare just stares like someone who has just happened upon the most complicated puzzle of all time. Looks constipated, she thinks. And laughs aloud at her own unspoken joke.

"Yer an odd duck, y'know that? I like ye. Yeh, yer not a normie like yer guy over there," they mumble with a flick of their tail toward Blazestar, before leaning over to mirror Dawnglare's position from the other side of the puddle. Staring down at the reflection of their own smiling face, the dark-furred cat gives a rough shake of their mane. "What're ye lookin' for, darl?" Nothing's actually in there, right? This medicine cat—he can see through time and space, can't he? Is he seeing something they aren't? "Tell me ye ain't seein' some kind'f ghoul or somethin' in there."
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