winds of change | cherrykit

[Plaguepaw]

I've been trying not to

Dirt and grit are kicked up from the hairpin turns of the patchy kittens black paws. Zipping this way and that his mouth careens backwards as his plays pretend, acting out another stormy scenario with billowing winds and thunderous rumbles booming on the horizon. "Watch out, the winds are getting stronger!" He bellows, mimicking the strong accented voice of Johnnyflame. Appointing cats to different stations and shouting orders. With the turn of a switch he skids to a stop, placing a dark paw upon his brow while the other rests across his chest. "Oh noooo~! What ever shall we doooo?" Plaguekit wails in a feminine, sing songy voice, clearly meant to be one of the queens panicking over the situation. Suddenly his long limbs snap into action, racing in the direction of a fallen branch. "Look out, that tree is coming down! Boom! Crashhhh!" The wild tom announces, grabbing the stick and chucking it over his shoulder, sending it flying in Cherrykit's direction unknowingly. (@Cherrykit) ​

Go off the deep end​

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[Cherryblossom]

The stick hurtles through leaf-strewn space and thwacks Cherrykit on the side of the head. "Hey!" she exclaims, bolting upright. A single white paw hovers where she'd been grooming herself, still slightly sticky with her spit. The culprit is found immediately; she sends her usual yellow glare his way. She'd been on the sidelines of his little game the entire time, too preoccupied with her appearance after a brief tussle with another kitten to care all that much, but she's involved now whether Plaguekit likes it or not. "Watch it," she growls, but nothing more. She's a little too worn out from earlier to instigate another fight with the patch-pelted tom, though she'd sorely like to take the stick and cuff his ears with it.

He'd been replaying the events of Snowpath And The Tree. Cherrykit knows the sequence well, having slipped into daydreams about it more than once these past few sunrises. These couldn't be called nightmares. Recurrant, but not terrifying, only instilling within her an uneasy sense, like watching a bad future unfold with her paws tied. Rituals roll up and rewind in her head, not theatrics and plays. She isn't quite sad about the events, but she isn't happy either. "Why are you doing that?" the little tortoiseshell meows, head tilting. Kitten tongue can't quite catch the words she wants, which buzz about her brain like flies upon the fresh-kill pile. It feels like he's making fun of the whole thing, and it's not like Cherrykit disapproves—really, she wants to be able to make light of it too, but she can't. For some reason.

ooc: sorry for the late reply! i was ehhh on what she was gonna say for this
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