private THIS TEMPLE, IT TILTS | cicada

[DogTeeth]

It’s a silly sight, I tell you. A most laughable scene of awkwardness that was this bumbling man on his paws as he writhes in his denial. He’s scooting, on his ribs- sideways like a crab subtly. Because, he’s close to Cicadastar but not close enough to have conversation at a normal tone of voice. It would be ridiculous to yell- ‘ hi, how’s it going’ when they are like- four cats away.

The normal thing to do? get up and walk toward them- initiate small talk. The Dogteeth thing to do, was to- apparently somehow appear already close enough to initiate such conversation without the awkward ’ why is he approaching me’ thing and somehow not being detected for such strange behavioral antics. He’s a sweetheart, mind you, but a fool at times. So he waits every thirty seconds- and scoots.

" hey!- I didn’t see you there " Dogteeth turns his head toward Cicadastar and beams as if he wasn’t side-eyeing and crab scooting toward the tall chimera like some sort of deranged loon. " it’s so pretty today huh? you should see the Pick-weed by the river-… wait, eh there’s a proper word for it… um " he tries to think of the word Pickerelweed, but nicknames had a way of watering down detail. " OH- and the dragonflies, oh- a swarm, I swear…" he adds with nervous ramble.

Dogteeth knew the moment that german accent fell from the leader’s tongue, he would be a mumbling mess again. It’s such an intimidating thing- beautiful, don’t get him wrong, but haunting, on unprepared ears. Like his voice alone, knew everything- and why everything was. " yeah… " he adds, and begs himself to shut up. 'you Dogteeth, a grown man. Talking, to the Riverclan leader. About flowers and dragonflies. ' he tells himself with a scolding internal pained laugh. ' that's not the sort of negativity I need' he tells that scolding voice of his own. @CICADASTAR

BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
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[CICADASTAR]

− ♱ ABOUT : the man is lounging. back behind his ancient willow den, lying alongside the gently babbling river that surrounds their drained island camp. he’s propped up on a shoulder, icy luminaries cast out over where the waters ripple in shades of pale golds and pinks, the last dying light of day casting hues of watercolor over their reflective surface. his reflection is only slightly warped with the shape of river water and where sharp - knuckled paws graze the lazily lapping shore. greenleaf was beginning to peel away, the geese taking flight overhead making route towards where the sun now shone hot. they are a scattering of darkness overhead, blue eyes tracking their ascent in the reflection below, watches how the smattering of feathers shadows his own bicolored features. in a brief thought, he wonders what it must be like, to be able to fly away from here with the passing seasons. he worries about leafbare. it seems he does little else.

it’s then that he notices it. from the corner of his eye, in the reflection of water below. a flash of blond, scooting it’s way closer to him, inch by inch. at first, he does not look up — he merely watches from the peripherals of his eye, tracks the movement that comes closer in little bursts. the man glances over, glances away. looks out over the water. looks back again. the figure is even closer than before.

cicadastar looks firmly out over the waters, eyes a little wider than before, lips pursed. were they coming over here? were they.. okay? with the mingling clan scents around him, the man is nearly close enough to touch when the scent overcomes him. dogteeth. the relief that overcomes him is nearly palpable, slim shoulders relaxing and head lifting finally from ivory paws. the blond felidae is nearly under him at this point, and he looks down his arched muzzle, pallid luminaries gleaming with amusement, even more alight in the indigo glow of sunset. hey, i didn’t see you there, “ no? i certainly seen you, wackelwurm. “ that dark accent comes, sloped vocals brimming with a gentle tease. the tom is bashful, he knew — he couldn’t help but play coy with him, how close he leans towards where dogteeth lie pressed to the ground. the cream feline is talking, babbling, alight with life and he feels his heart lighten fractionally. pick - weed and dragonflies . . he hums, letting his paw stretch, water pooling over his knuckles again, “ my mother used to say dragonflies were a sign of good luck — if you made a wish on one, it would come true. “

he glances back down, pale eyes meeting the cream tom’s own darker blue, “youre very lucky to have seen a swarm of them. you’ll have to show me. “ the trill of a purr, curled tail sweeping up beside him. finally, cicadastar glances towards the sky, watching the way the wind billows the willow branches overhead, “ it is a beautiful day though, yes. “ the breeze pulls at dark curls and he sweeps his tail, aiming to playfully brush feathered curls over his pink nose, “ what’s got you playing in the dirt? have you run out of fish to pluck? “

out of character information translations

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers
  
  
• none.

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[DogTeeth]

wackelwurm, the accent is hungry for vowels and strong against the chatter of the background that was camp’s lively but relatively calm bustle. Dogteeth smiles dumbly at first but it sounds so much like Wiggleworm, his smile fades and his cheeks burn hot. He had watched the entire thing- Dogteeth stewed on this with an agonized pinch of his brows. Silently begging the ground to swallow him whole- it was, time to die. Twenty five moons was enough, it’s all good.

Cicadastar made light of it though, of course he would. The man was in charge of the clan, his duty was them all- if anyone could overlook such a simple and pointless thing, it was the tall stoic being casting those long wispy shadows over him. Dogteeth does what he did best, hid behind the thick lashes that decorated his lids with a downward stare to Cicada’s arm- watched the mottled paw licked by the river’s gentler shallow pull. " your accent … language- it’s… so pretty " for lack of a better word he laughs gently and its honeyed and shy.

Dragonflies, good luck? Dogteeth’s eyes lit like a kitten and dared to flick back up toward the speaking mystery of a feline. " OH-… that’s wonderful… I should tell Peachkit that! " his tone butterflies and cracks and he reachs his own paws out to touch the water, but realizes- while he is the same distance from the shore as Cicadastar- their legs were violently different in length. Dogteeth snorts a bit and scoots closer so his own paws are dipped in the shallow sandy pool.

Nodding carefully but positively terrified of showing Cicada toward the area he had spotted said wish granting flies. Time spent near the king of the reeds was time spent with high blood pressure. Everything about him was long and limber, cheek bones set high and carved by whatever genetics made this artistic being. Dogteeth was stocky and short-legged, while his own face was sculpted well- he was a stark contrast to him.

what’s got you playing in the dirt? have you run out of fish to pluck, " oh no-no, I plan on fishing later… I was just- singing to Peachkit a little so she would nap and I uh- I don’t like going too far when she’s sleeping " he admits with a soft shuffle of his paws. " I … if I’m being honest I just, always have this urge to talk to you but- … I have no idea how to sometimes. " he breathes and hides back under his lashes. " is there anyone else in camp that speaks your original tongue? " he asks politely.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Dogteeth | twenty-five moons | cis-male
  — warrior of Riverclan
  — gay | crushing on n/a
  — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with dazzling blue eyes.
  — very gentle soul / easily upset and sensitive
  — deals a nasty bite | physically medium / mentally easy
  BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  
• 
  
  

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