TURN THE LIGHTS OFF, TURN THE LIGHTS ❅ pumpkin prey

[Winterwink]

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RAINBOW WITH NO COLOURS, A PALE WHITE GLOW❆❅​

In a garden, strides from the border, a barbed profile flit betwixt saffron globes, props that housed slim suns. Shadows fell like ink-spill along the grass, the dew-dipped blades blurring- soaking- up the dark. Blooms of light bubbled from false maws, slant eyes and a mockery of noses. Macabre masks twisted in undying fits of terror and glee. Allowing his trim body to pass before a flicker-full pumpkin, Winterwink watched his pelt roll in a beaten copper hue. It was caught up in the damp of his paws, silver flank electrified to platinum, taunted his periphery with the gold whip of his tail. They were rows of perfect, haunting, luminaires.

A few sloughed into a sour paste, their innards pooling at their chins. Disgusting. Tilted back, tastefully, his nose tapped into the cool currents the night offered. Amongst the debauch of the twolegplace, the curious taste of prey met him. Unusual to find critters with such blatant disregard for their lives... Out here, in the open?

With a static shiver, near percussive, Winterwink reorganised his posture. In a languid snap, the feline was in a hunting crouch. Feet placed with deliberation and reticence, it was a pose of more exaggerated measures than most. He never wanted to be caught unawares and improper-he just had to look good. It was a shame the smaller prey was so- helpless. It made for a set of parabolic hunts instead of the grander affair he wanted. He resolved to ask after the likelihood of encountering a greater foe, a stoat perhaps- or even a fox. Now that would be exciting.

The rude crumble of foliage drew his attention suddenly, alongside the ire of a payne’s grey ear. Irritation befell the tom, marring his countenance with stiff lines. Catching the scent of another cat, assumed to be a Skyclanner, Winterwink tightened his expression into a handsome look of intrigue.

"Ah, fabulous. Come friend, share in the prey nearby. The critters are enjoying the twoleg’s lanterns" Tone obsequious, he gestured the other forward. To have to such make allowances into his evening was~ disappointing but the act must go on.

//tdlr past the pompous ass' thoughts - grumpy guy is inviting cats to hunt with him amongst the pumpkins.
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[FIGFEATHER]

Uhh... ignore the prey! Why were the pumpkins glowing?! Why- was that FIRE inside of them?! Figpaw has only seen a couple of pumpkins in her lifetime, the big, orange spheres were already a sight to behold to begin with... but now they glowed? Why was Winterwink not acknowledging this?!

Figpaw nears one of the pumpkins, feeling the warmth of the fire inside against her face. She doesn't see the potential danger in the so called "twoleg lanterns", doesn't understand if she got too close it would burn. Her eyes dialate wide as she stares into the flames. "Its so cool!" She gasps in awe, "Why do twolegs do this...? How... do they do this?" Surely the daylight warrior would have the answers... though he was likely wanting to hunt. Not answer a million of Figpaw's questions, because they were endless.

Tallulahwing would know.​

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Spoiler: TAGS ★ 10/20

( primary character / "speech" / ic opinions )​

╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· FIGPAW, AMAB — she / her
╰ ‣ 4 moons .
╰ ‣ skyclan apprentice . believes in starclan, doesn't fully understand

╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smells like pine nettles & sap, status — 100%
╰ ‣ A red tabby she-cat with orange eyes.

╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
· ENFP-A ❝ CAMPAIGNER❞ , Gryfindor, Lawful Good
╰ ‣ Excitable, generous, caring, quick-to-act, daft, naive
╰ ‣ finds relative ease relating to others . kind-hearted, will show mercy

╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· NPC X DAISYFLIGHT, sister to Greenpaw, Violetpaw, Snowpaw & Butterflypaw
╰ ‣ homosexual . mistakes admiration for romantic feelings
╰ ‣ poor fighter . okay hunter .
╰ ‣ unlikely to start fights . will flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.

 

[HUCKLEBERRY]

( ☼ ) from behind the treelines that made up a sort of border between the forest and twolegplace appeared the rugged form of huckleberry who seemed to have been following behind figpaw and others to this very spot where the scent of pumpkin and prey twined together. what a scene it was, groups of pumpkins laid out before them with some giving off a orange glow on the inside and others having been torn into by critters who feasted on stringy insides without a care in the world.

winterwink had extended his offer to them to partake in hunting seeing as there was plenty to go around while figpaw seemed far more enraptures with how the pumpkins were producing flames from inside. it caused a small laugh of amusement to spill out of his maw. "dunno how they do it but it sure is interestin'! ah 'member seein' these fancy things all over tha barn when ah was younger. it sure attracted alot of critters just like this!" he says with a light grin.

well, they shouldn't let this moment go to waste! huckleberry was eager to start scoopin' up as many pieces of prey as he could before they all skittered to their dens.
​

( i hear the wandering streams and the song of the birds )

 

[watson]

wait around, i'll smile again​

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"They stick pointy things into the pumpkins to give them faces. I think they just like watching the faces become strange looking as it rots. It's juvenile. My upwalker's kits used to make these grotesque things." And wasteful. He's sure they'll all be stinky and rotting soon and he curls his nose at the thought before noticing just how close Figpaw is sticking her face to the flame. "Keep that up and you'll lose more than your whiskers!" Watson stretches his neck forward and attempts to grab Figpaw by her scruff, wanting to pull her back from the flames before letting go.

"Any luck so far, gentlemen?" He addresses Winter and Huckle then, trying not to make a rude face about Huckleberry's accent. He's sure he'll sound pompous if he comments but really it's just because he's never heard another cat speak like that before. One thing does stand out however, "Barn? What on earth is a "barn?" He's a city cat from an apartment complex- he knows little about farm life, much less the wilds he must adapt to now. He's only interested in making conversation anyway, rather than trying to grab any of these mice. His hunting is abysmal and he'd rather now give anyone anything to tease him about.
​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

They always appeared during this season, when greenleaf would loop back into leaf-fall. Housefolk plucked them from the ground in the same way squirrels cracked open their nuts and the night grew longer. It was merely... another seasonal change, coming and going just as the very leaves did. It's been this way as long as he could remember, as did the resurfacing feelings of envy.

The housefolk took out their fury on these things, cut them up with daggers, gutted them entirely in an enviable display of strength, and the skill of a practiced butcher. There was no end to the art they would create, no end to the twistedness they carved into their victims. It was such a vile thing, a blasphemy, nothing less than sacrilege, honey-sweet on the edges of their blades. And such a power, fresh carnage you could bring to anything you pleased, was it not enviable? Oh, he could relish in the thought, to turn simple prey into a cruel tapestry, scatter it with runes, deep-seeded— permanent. It has him burning with rage and distant admiration. If housefolk were good for nothing else, massacre was where they were proficient (That and... procuring meals).

It was strange, strange to have someone so little here, who had no experience with such a thing. But yes, like her, he was much more concerned with the grinning faces, the fire in their eyes, the sun so close he could touch It... Unconsciously, he follows suit, leaning into the flame with pupils wide in his fervor. The dark one, midnight silver, is far too concerned with trivial matters such as prey. Dawnglare barely registers the question; not until... until the other spits out his lackluster answer. "Each and— and every leaf-fall... the housefolk pluck them from the Mother and brandish them for sport, they disrespect her so..." it's uttered dream-like, though with a dip into irritance as the last bit is uttered.

The other warrior is a killjoy, tries to rip the child away from the twisted jaws. Juvenile, he says. Bleached paws scuff the ground, unsheathed. "They— they rip into their skin just to... to show that they can... blasphemy. They make precious art of her dear ones... I- I think—" What does he... think? It's wretched, entracing... He stares with fuzzy mind and upturned lips at the fire that dances within. Such a brand of torture... What's it like, to hold fire betwixt your jaws? Does it burn, burn? Or does one simply... get used to it? Desire claws at his throat. To make his own carving, taste his own fire. He reaches to the sweet orange flesh, starts ripping into it as if it were his worst enemy. Score after score, it's not enough, "We're not talking a-about... 'barns,' we're talking about—" With a hiss, he cranes to gnaw on the cursed things. The skin doesn't give. How, oh how, did the housefolk weave through them as they did? Spit dribbles from his mouth in his struggle. He would, make a dent, break the skin...​

 

[Winterwink]

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RAINBOW WITH NO COLOURS, A PALE WHITE GLOW❆❅​

Other’s bafflement was vast, unending source of enjoyment for him. Awash, his tart placation crept into a sly smile. Uninterested in informing the kit, Winterwink continued his shadow swirling, turning through the night’s gauze. Small as she was, the apprentice did have a certain~ sunniness to her coat. Enviable to some, he was sure. However, when an explanation fell, clunking and thoughtless, from those that joined him the tom couldn’t help but soothe their queries.

"Crude, but correct" A shard of verdelite was cast across the ensemble, an amber core illuminating his whisker barbs as he curled around yet another pumpkin. ‘Pointy things’. He wanted to scoff, twolegs were gangly creatures but they welded all manner of material to their side. Steel claws that carved bones were a little more than pointy.

Then the comely one speaks, and Winterwink finds himself listening. A burnish red, Venetian even, settled on that one’s back. It battled with the softest of cotton-white, an inspired combination. A flicker, brandy burnt in the hearth, the daylight warrior peeked back at his own mackerel-scratch flank. Better- he looked better…

"Disrespect? Blasphemy?" Winterwink chirped. How reductive, narrow-minded. "They’re fun! Whomsoever ‘she’ is, I’m sure she can spare a few." An unhurried paw fell on the brow of one of the lanterns, only to recoil at the sudden bout of violence Dawnglare indulged in. A chortle pitched high with surprise signed off his attempts to sway the medicine cat.
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[GREENEYES]

'The Mother' this, 'The Mother' that. Couldn't Dawnglare just, have fun?

The pumpkins before them were cool as is - they were pumpkins, after all! How often did Greenpaw get to see those? Once. Exactly. Who knows when he'll get to see them again, especially as many as there are before him right now! And, the twolegs, the twolegs made them even cooler! Cut out shapes in some of them, put fire within them, made them glow.

So cool, and yet, Dawnglare had to find a reason to make it... less cool.

Greenpaw drones out the speech, opting to look around at all the pumpkins instead. And, there. A squirrel, enjoying the lights just as much as he is. They were here to hunt, weren't they? Greenpaw blinks at it before straying away from the group, dipped down in a hunter's crouch. He creeps towards it slowly, carefully. As soon as he's close enough...

"Gotcha!" He pounces. Pounces right at it, and yet.

And yet the squirrel gets away, white paws landing against orange, a clumsy landing following. Greenpaw frowns as he sits up, watching in disappointment as the squirrel scurries off into a nearby tree.
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