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Post by Finnick on Aug 23, 2017 8:12:06 GMT -6
Water. Finally, water. Cold and clear and sparkling under the sun, it gushed over his bronze pelt, eliciting a sigh of relief from him as the familiar feeling of water drenching through his fur settled in.
He missed this.
Waves of it rolled over him as he swam strongly through the creek, his paws paddling expertly to keep him afloat. Gleaming, silver fish slipped past him, and he made a mental note to return here later to catch a few. The fish were big and plump and unafraid of him when his shadow fell over them, clearly indicating that not many cats hunted around here.
//short lol sorry Nightingale |
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Post by Nightingale on Aug 23, 2017 8:19:57 GMT -6
two enormous black wings Rose didn't want to walk under the hot, blistering sun of the canyon. She didn't want the feeling of dried succulents under her pawpads. She didn't want silence, which she was walking through right now, because silence meant that she was alone with her wandering thoughts, and she really, really didn't want that right now.
Frankly, Rose didn't want to do anything except sit and scathingly contemplate everything she's done wrong in her life.
Maybe if she'd stayed at home her brother would still be alive. Maybe she would've been able to warn him before the car hit him, before it struck him to the ground, before it took his life.
She was overthinking again.
The sound of bubbling water rolled around her ears, and she glanced up to notice that she was a mouse-length away from the edge of the bank. Her eyes then caught onto a flash of bronze fur; a tom slipping between the ripples.
She didn't say anything, waiting for the stranger to notice her first.
this is so trash im so tired
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Post by Finnick on Aug 25, 2017 4:18:59 GMT -6
The footsteps of another cat alerted him underneath the water, and he flicked his ear as he rose up from the surface. Feeling the stranger's eyes on him, he smirked and tossed his head, flicking the water from his fur in a graceful arch.
"Morning," he glanced over at the cat, who he identified as a slender Siamese perched upon the edge of the bank, and winked. How the wildcats around here reacted to his obvious charms was an utter tossup, and he really hoped that this particular one would fall for his magnetism; such a letdown would really ruin such a gorgeous day.
"I'm Finnick. And what's your name, gorgeous?" |
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Post by Nightingale on Aug 25, 2017 5:46:11 GMT -6
two enormous black wings The flick of the head, the waterdrops scattering all over the place, the wink... it juxtaposed with everything that was happening in her world, and Rose almost laughed, because it was almost funny. Almost.
"You can call me gorgeous, Finnick," she noted dryly. She didn't know this cat; why should he know her name?
i kinda wanna ditch this template and just be simple
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Post by Finnick on Aug 25, 2017 5:52:08 GMT -6
///DO IT////
Finnick grinned; not falling instantly head-over-heels, but not acting as if he was repulsing. Not exactly the best outcome that could've occurred, but he could work with that.
"Alright then, gorgeous. Tell me what's wrong."
He slipped through the water to a place of the bed where his paws could rest a bit easier, laid flat against smooth pebbles, head tipped to the side, waiting for her answer.
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Post by Nightingale on Aug 25, 2017 7:14:50 GMT -6
IT'S DONE
Her eyes followed Finnick as he moved to a more comfortable place, deep blue flashing in the sun. The tom was certainly interesting; very far from the other cats around here, who tended to be cold and standoffish and aggressive - though she was in no place to complain, because then and there it seemed like she was the coldest, most standoffish, most aggressive cat there was. Her eyes narrowed at his next words.
"Everything is great," she meowed with the brightest, driest, most ominous grin she could give. "Just perfect."
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Post by Finnick on Aug 25, 2017 22:29:38 GMT -6
//GO TEA//
His eyes flickered momentarily away from the she-cat as he felt a shadow cross over him, narrowing his eyes slightly at the deep gray cloud above him. He bit his lip, seriously hoping that a storm wasn't to come; it was such a beautiful day, and a thunderstorm would really take away from that. He tore his eyes away from the ominous cloud and pouted.
"It doesn't seem like everything's perfect," he meowed, slipping out of the water like a fish, leaping onto the bank, water still streaming from his bronze fur. His voice, however, was slightly less lighthearted and a bit more terrified.
He didn't like storms.
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Post by Nightingale on Aug 30, 2017 16:27:52 GMT -6
Rose's eyes flickered upwards to the swirling grey clouds, deep blue flashing. Rainstorms were something she genuinely enjoined, however much she hated the mud and water-drenched fur and the frogs that always seemed to appear after them. Rainstorms were powerful and commanding, a tantrum thrown by the skies above. She related. Perhaps she, herself was a tantrum thrown by the Gods. She certainly felt it sometimes.
"You don't like storms," she meowed, not questioning but stating.
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Post by Finnick on Sept 4, 2017 5:33:40 GMT -6
"I don't like storms," he agreed, a flick to the tip of his tail. "I like water, I like seas, I like rivers, I don't like storms."
He shuddered at the thought, completely forgetting his facade as he shook out his fur. Somewhere, far away, the first lightning strike hit its target, and the air shakes with tension. The strength of stormy green eyes waver.
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Post by Nightingale on Sept 20, 2017 8:37:28 GMT -6
Rose grinned. The tom, so confident and charming before, terrified by a storm. It was, quite honestly, adorable.
"Then I don't think being out here in the open's the best thing to do. Shelter?" she offered. "I know a place."
She turned, padding forward lightly for a few steps before she paused, waiting for the tom to catch up.
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