private THE TRUTH IS HIDING IN YOUR EYES ─ primrose

[SLATE]

For whatever reason, Slate of all cats had been instructed to give Primrose a small territory tour. Even though he was one of SkyClan's most vocal kittypet dislikers, Slate was still expected to help newcomers integrate into the group as a lead warrior. He just figured that he would bite the pebble and get it over with. They were not going to take the entire day, of course, but they would at least have time to see some notable places like the Sandy Ravine and the Tall Pine.

As the pair approaches the all-too-familiar fence line, Slate informs the longhaired chimera, "This is our border with Twolegplace, but you knew that already." Or... maybe not, considering she had trespassed upon her first meeting with SkyClan. Hopefully Primrose would respect SkyClan's borders from now on; luckily the patrol had shown her mercy. Should she step over ThunderClan's scent line, well... he could not guarantee that they would be as forgiving. One of their warriors had attacked and injured Lionpaw recently, after all.

The scarred warrior gives an idle swish of his bushy tail, padding forth a few steps and taking a moment to scent the air. No rogue scent ─ good. "Daylight warriors don't typically stay after sundown. Wouldn't want their masters to come lookin' for them out here, after all." Slate snorts the last remark, unafraid to make his distaste for house pets as clear as day. Orangestar had ordered him not to directly name-call his daylight clanmates but, as far as he was concerned, he was still free to have his own opinions on kittypets in general. Primrose, he supposed, didn't seem too insufferable so far. However mousebrained she was for ignoring a scent line, she seemed to have the potential to make a capable warrior given her sense of determination as well as her naturally powerful physique.

"Questions?" Slate grunts.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄

• @PRIMROSE.

• 

• 

  a lead warrior of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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[PRIMROSE.]

˚ .  ❀ 　˚✦　. ✿ 　 Primrose cannot say she understands Slate's appointment any better than the tom. Perhaps it was simply his responsibility as the most vocal of those that had found her — Orangestar, as the molly had introduced herself, seemed busy. Unable, or even unwilling, to show half-strangers around herself. She could hardly blame her for that. Slate talks about all of this as if this is how they spend every waking hour. A strange concept. That he speaks with so much disgust for their 'masters' while looking half-scrawny and tattered is. . . well, she doesn't really understand it. With housefolk like hers, who fed and cared for her yet still allowed her the freedom to wander when she felt the urge (so long as she returned, the way Slate says with bitterness), it seemed silly all the time. Those who couldn't leave these dens had her sympathy, but Slate seemed like he once would have made a wonderful pet. Much like a guard dog.

She can imagine him curled up at the foot of a bed, stretching lazily come morning and tucking into a well-earned breakfast. His fur would be sleeker, his body less ragged with scars.

When he looks to her with a sharp question, that is where her mind is. Clover-green eyes are fixed thoughtfully on his face, her head tilted so that the breeze catches her fur and gently tugs it away. "You have odd ideas of who commands who with housefolk," she purrs, whiskers twitching with a small smile. "They come when they are called and provide what they are told to. You talk as if my days are spent taking care of them." Though she returned their affection with some of her own, and purred for them when the nights got too long, it was hardly some terrible hardship she was burdened with.

"I had a brother named Slate," her mind drifts off much like petals on the breeze that had swept her pelt. "He thought he should be a wild cat too. I hope he's happier than you seem."

perhaps in a different time . ✿  i would have named us hope ╱ 05.29.2024

• ooc: —
• "speech"
• ˚ .  ❀ 　˚✦　. ✿ 　𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓮.  she ╱ they. kittypet and prospective daylight warrior of skyclan. littermate to slate and cloverjaw. purebred maine coon  ——
  ——  a black smoke ╱ silver tabby chimera with soft green eyes despite the boxy breed standard of maine coon cats, the edges of primrose seem invariably soft. her thick, sleek fur is silky to the touch and eternally well-groomed, broken only by the lines of chimerism between her pelt colors and the pale purple collar she always wears. its rose gold bell is often muffled by her fur, but not entirely.

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[SLATE]

The lead warrior suppresses a roll of his eyes when Primrose attempts to make a case for her housefolk, claiming that it was she who commanded them and not vice versa. Maybe she was simply unaware of the horrors that cats and other animals were subjected to under their watch. Her twolegs had the power to lock her away forever if they so pleased. They had the power to deprive her of food and water if they were to be so cruel. Did she even know what a shelter was? They had killed Daisyflight for no apparent reason. Slate was of the firm belief that, in this world, the twolegs ruled over all and that wild cats like them had to navigate it without being caught in their grasp.

Unexpectedly, the chimera casually brings up his name in conversation — well, her brother's name, apparently. This came as a surprise to the black tom as he had never known any other cat to share his moniker. "Huh." Slate noted, furrowing his brows thoughtfully as faded memories crawled out from the crevices of his brain. He was almost willing to brush the remark off entirely as nothing more than a light jab, but the curious coincidence that Primrose shares with him captures his attention for much longer than he expected. Distantly, Slate could see a version of himself living as a pampered house pet. He also sees another version of himself still starving and scrapping in the city, stinking of rubbish and sleeping under an old dumpster. It was probably unlikely that this other Slate had escaped his masters, unless they were the type to allow him outdoor freedom.

He isn't sure why he feels the need to confide in this complete stranger about his personal life; even Orangestar doesn't know much about his story and they've known each other for many seasons. Perhaps voicing thoughts so long buried and forgotten was something akin to therapeutic for the stony lead warrior. Slate had tried to shut everything out for so long but, obviously, confronting his early memories head-on was something that he much needed. "Weird coincidence, I guess, but... my parents always said that they wanted a she-kit named Primrose." Bitterly, he thinks, Maybe they finally got what they wanted. One of the first lessons that young Slate had been taught on the streets was that kittypets, especially those of his particular pedigree, only existed for the purpose of human entertainment and happiness. His parents had multiple litters before his time, with each kitten being given to a new twoleg to live with. It had been their purpose in life, Brook had constantly reminded her brood. It was merely the way things were.

The Maine Coon isn't certain what reality Primrose hailed from, but cynically, he figures that she had an upbringing that was similar to his — torn away from her family as a kitten and brought into a new nest to stare out the window and chow on slop for the rest of her days.

Cloverjaw had introduced Slate to a better life. The lead warrior had all of this—the fresh air, the trees, the bountiful prey, the freedom—thanks to his brother. And to think that, somewhere out there, the Maine Coon had a countless number of siblings imprisoned in a twoleg home.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄

• 

• 

  a lead warrior of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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