pafp vivaldi variation — sunset watching

[CICADASTAR]

− ♱ ABOUT : ever - moving water shines rippling golden in this tired, heavy dusk. barkmoss and hemlock droop along the smooth, towering arches of stone just to the southern edge of their territory — their home, cradled in hanging wisteria and thick, billowing willow. the first touches of indigo streak cool through the heavens above, deepening the pink - orange sky in dripping watercolor as they make their familiar trek. late greenleaf brings a breath of wind along bubbling river, just strong enough to dispel the touch of heat rosing mottled cheeks. their outing here had been spent in lighthearted, familiar company — his chest beamed, flowering with sunflower and chrysanthemum, the ache of laughter bruises too - tender ribs. the smile on his face is riotous ; demure, tired smirk giving way to the ache of a grin that exposes the tips of so - often hidden canines.
template, “ — she’d nearly had my head! mind you, i’d never done it again. “ the man speaks, accented vocals alight along the quiet evening. cicadas sing in the distance, an ever - present scream amidst chirping grasshopper and bellowing frog, “mother had called me kleines reh from then on out. little deer, she’d said. a friendly way of calling me clumsy. “ an amused sigh, a grazing brush against hound on their way. an easy happiness.

the shore opens as they approach, pushing through the curtain of reed and cattail to glittering riverside, the idle beam of fireflies hovering low over the bubbling, corroded rock. they glow in pulses of warm yellow - orange, wisping candlelight against the seething backdrop of dusk. what dying rays of sun beam in shades of rich, blinding golden upon the flat expanse of rock dotting the shore. he pauses, for a moment ; heady, fragrant river flora pools into brimming lungs, breeze rustling the sleek curls. his head lifts, eyes closing, and for a moment — he is back at the riverside moons ago, following the whiplike tom’s pawsteps, following the sound of his voice as it rang clear over the land they would one day make their home. cicadastar releases a slow, deep breath through his nose before blinking pale eyes open once more. here they were, once again. the tom’s wild grin, gilded breeze bringing his chocolate coat to a gentle sway — they were lighter now. not so burdened with starvation, with war. frozen luminaries soften, a deep rainwater in the ambering light, “ thank you for coming out with me. i’ve missed this. “ sloped head dips down towards the tabby at his side, his tone emerging in a breath, words dripping like honey from a reverent tongue.

it had been too long. too long since he was able to venture out, drawing himself free from the confines of a paranoia that had wracked his mind. he’d asked hound to go on a quick swim with him — though as they neared the waters edge, padding out unto the mossy stone, he finds himself drawn to the sun lowering beneath the horizon.

the marshlands had held a certain safety, but this — the flat stone underfoot still sun - warmed, life hidden amongst the rolling riverside . . he belonged here. hound did, too. his gaze drifts towards the tall tom, letting his eyes scope the squared length of his features. his lithe, muscled form gleams midas, a halo of reflection cast from the glimmering surface below and cicada wonders briefly how it feels to be sunkissed. an idea sparks then aside his trusted friend, his warrior — a handsome one, at that. a quick swallow, a glance away, down towards the flora that pools from aged cracks in the moss - laden stone. rubberblack lips settle into a smile set too gentle over his maw, leaning towards the other man just a hair more ; the ever - present scent of thyme and lavender clinging to the curls of his pelt, “ its been too long since i’ve seen you laugh, liebling. “ it’s wistful, almost — riding on the edge of murmur. a single snowy paw rides the edge of blooming lithophyte, “i wish i could see it more, though maybe it’s the rarity of it that makes it so captivating. “

with a twist of his claws, he pulls a vibrant alyssum free from the splitting stone, lifting it towards the chocolate tabby. it’s cool green - yellow resting stark against a single mottled paw, “ matches your eyes. “ his words ride the ends of laughter, throwing in a wink to drive his playful teasing home. while twined with amusement, truth lie stark upon his accented tone.

out of character information translations

• please wait for @HOUND. to respond!!
  
• − 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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[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

( ᴛᴀɢs. )  ❝  It'd been too long since he'd had any time to himself. As much 's Hound had pulled away from others, at times, even then his mind was consumed. He thought of all those he had failed, and all those he would fail too, with time. An unpleasant weight to carry. He was his own Atlas, a burden heavy upon tiring shoulders. Those closest to him had called it out some time ago– it's how I keep myself strong as I am, he'd laugh. What better way to deflect from discomfort than with some sort'f truth? But he was hardly the only soul in this clan that kept themselves busy by its code. And he sure wasn't the only one carrying its burdens, or deflecting from concerns after their own. Cicada is a pleasant memory– a soul just close enough to his own that he finds comfort in it. Simple as that may be, it's the truth. Whatever they're made of is kindred.

He's laughing, uproariously, through the chimera's story, sound yanking brightly at his throat. It's not one he's all too familiar with. The noise or its reasoning, so goddamned– happy. "Flint would've had my hide out to dry," he laughs, though there's something sobered to the words. He'd not known, at the time, the truth of those thoughts that'd called the ashen tom father. Had Cicada's luck been any better? Had his family loved him, had they lived? He'd not thought to ask– or, rather, as much as he'd want to, he'd never managed to pull the words from his rasping tongue. Cicada was beyond him in a way he'd not quite learned to make sense of. One moment he'll think he knows 'im, the next is...this.

His heart seizes up in his throat. Between the brush of fur along his own starved skin and the soft certainty'f all he says, all easy answers've dried up on his tongue. He can taste his own heart there instead, sticky and saccharine sanguine. Had he meant it the way that it sounded? Was there any other way to see the flower held up towards his own jaded maw. Hound swallows. Once, twice, 's'if that'd be enough to choke his heart back down to its place. Was he supposed to take it? Was it an offering, or somethin' held only to mirror his point? When his mouth opens in answer, it drops right shut again, so quick that his teeth clip an' snap noisily. Immediately, they open again. His face's hot beneath the thick ruff of his fur, from his cheeks to the pit of his throat. "The water's clear as yours. Thought we were here to swim, anyway. Not–" The clumsy stumbling of his tongue cuts off once more. Perhaps the river's the only blue he can swim in here, but he's certainly figuring out how to drown in Cada's eyes.

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: pretend i'm not as late as i am ^^;
• ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[flint]

info — When Flint was younger, before Hound had existed in any capacity at all, someone had loved him by choice. Foolishly. Obligation and responsibility and security are too often mistaken for love, and Flint remains...skeptical as to whether Hound would care for Flint at all if he hadn't provided for him following the deaths of his adoptive parents. He is nothing if not aware of his own flaws. He can be abrasive and blunt, or cold and unreachable. And as much as a part of him wishes to question whether Hound does care for him, it is impossible to believe he doesn't. Hound has never learned to protect his vulnerable underbelly.

He bares it when he laughs, or when a child turns their beseeching gaze to him, or when someone needs the support of his shoulder. Flint wants to box his ears and bite his tail and growl until he learns the stars belong in the sky, not in his fucking eyes. There's not enough space to prevent wicked claws from plucking them out.

The urge burns holes in his throat, and so much air escapes he's breathless with an untouchable fury.

The twilight is beautiful and it is the only time the sun does not hurt. It is too easy to forget what it is capable of when it makes of itself an artist, as though it has not just retired from bleaching bones. It is too easy to forget the danger of teeth when they flash in a smile, of a voice when it chuckles, and he watches them both knowing that Hound does not get this from Flint. In this, he reminds Flint more of the fucking idiot who stared at him, who pressed close and ducked his head, clumsy. There's no blood binding them at all, however much Flint might wish that were true.

He grinds his teeth and makes himself known by a dead fish he tosses at the stones between them, its eyes glassy. "Funny. I was thinking of how much these reminded me of your eyes," he says flatly, stepping onto the shore and deliberately shaking the water out of his pelt. His gaze travels between the slack-mouthed fish and Cicadastar pointedly. ​

 

[LAKEMOON]

✵ ღ ☾ IT TOOK ME BY SURPRISE - In all honesty- not that it would ever be admitted by her words- Lakepaw felt herself becoming more and more dependent on Hound as she began to grow comfortable within the ranks of Riverclan.
Dependent in the way that he had grown into her rock, her go-to. She didn’t like it, she never needed anything but herself and her family, but her family was stolen by the oak forest now, and only having herself was more lonely than the stoic apprentice would like to admit.
Her plan was to casually walk up to Hound, flop down beside him, and offer him a fish- not because she wanted company during her meal of course, but because the brown tabby always looked so lonely.
Yeah, that was her reason- nothing else. Yet, when she couldn’t find him her brows had furrowed together in a state of disappointment, but Lakepaw was never one to give up now, was she?
That was how she ended up in the middle of this flirt-fest, holding back an unbecoming chortle. When Flint made his presence known, so did she. Half-tempted to tease Hound, but at the risk of disrespecting Cicadastar she stayed quiet, instead chuckling at Flint’s comment instead as she settled in on Hound’s other side. If the brown tabby were to look at her, sapphire hues would be glimmering with amusement.
You’re so getting made fun of later!
Careful to shy away from the ever lapping water she made a point to greet Cicadastar with a soft flick of her feathered tail. ❝ Swimming? ❞ She aimlessly prompted, just to say something, even if she didn’t have any particular interest in the activity.
❝ Speech. ❞

THE HATRED IN HER EYES​

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