𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚗 .. ᴏᴘᴇɴ

I decided that I would use an old roleplay sample that I used to tryout for a planning page. Once again if you would prefer something else let me know and I will be more than happy to give you another one. 

He surrounded. The sounds of squeaks echo around him. Before long, his ears were ambushed by the sounds of words. The creature looks like they could choke on their words as their oxygen is replaced with their unreadable tongue. Another one places their feet on his side mixing in gray paws with black and white fur. The last one stares at him with their big round eyes. Their neutral expression unnerved him. The extracted fluffballs look like they came from a lion's mane and he couldn't figure out what any of them wanted. He wanted to melt away from existence, but that would be irresponsible.

The black and white tom decided to throw a mossball farther away from him. The item was strange to him. It was created from moss and impacted together to form a tight ball. Balls to him had a rough texture to them. It didn’t feel like fur, but it certainly wasn’t moss. In fact, its’ coat wasn’t natural or at least he hasn’t found such a texture anywhere, but where the twolegs were. He also recalled balls being colorful with the most common being yellow. Regardless the talkative white she-kit and the pudgy gray tom rush after it with glee. Only the grayish-blue tom let out a small yawn in response and absent-mindedly look at his siblings. As the two kits battle to snatch the ball from each other, it reminded him of another dreaded memory.

It was no different from how the twolegs did it. Just like the tom tossed the ball to the kits, they threw the ball to a pair of short legs, brown and black fur, and a wagging tail. The response wasn’t a bunch of a couple of squeaks and purrs, but booming sounds of barking. He could almost smell its hot, smelly breath after it recently raided his food or performing the art of giving off those innocent eyes in the hopes to get food. The worst part was that it loved attempting to cuddle near him or lick him until he finally lashed out. He wasn’t sure how these kits would fair with it. In fact, they would probably learn to hate dogs with the lifestyle they are living.

These kits would grow up in a world where they would stink of the forest just like he did. They would have to go on patrols to scout their territory and hunt (something he still struggles with). They would have to go to war with three other group of cats known as clans and pray to this Starclan. He almost wanted to roll his eyes. Why would cats want to pray to a bunch of deities that probably don’t even exist? There was also their leader that seem to have such as a strong liking to this Starclan that they are the only ones that end their names with star and claim they had nine lives. The cats had a remote naming system to including these kits. The little white she-kit was appointed Lilykit, the gray one was named Boulderkit, and the grayish blue was called Asterkit. Eventually, their kit endings would become paw when they turn into apprentices. The craziest part comes when they are warriors. The leader (known as Stormstar) loves giving out unusual names. One cat—a calico she-cat—he called Poppywing. Another one was named Stagleap. Stormstar wouldn't allow him to get away scot free as he named him Rookpatch. He didn't look like a Rookpatch at all, but the leader seems to think it was a good reputation thanks to the white patches on his pelt. Personally, he would just remain as Augustus and named the kits Lily, Boulder, and Aster, but that was non-clan like. He knows that his clanmates wouldn’t be the only ones that would disapprove. He was reminded of this further in the form of Lilykit.

As she sprouted on about wanting to do something else, he flattens his ears. Her small voice eventually turns into an older she-cat’s excitedly telling him about clan life. She informs him that the wild cats weren’t so bad and that they didn’t eat cats. She said that she has been talking to one of them and that their clan might be willing to let them join. As resisted as he was, she adopted the unique technique that the dog (known as Rocky) did to gain privileges like food. He couldn’t withstand that look. He could already hear the distant voice of his parents telling him to be a good big brother and not make his little sister cry. Now the white she-cat now known as Swanheart was what the clan called a queen, and these three pipsqueaks were his niece and nephews. She once again put him in this position when she wanted to go for a walk and take a break from parenting. He was hoping that the father, Rainpool (a grayish-blue tom) would be around, but he was busy with clan duties. Both eagerly had a lot of faith in the kits’ uncle, but the tom felt completely lost. He wasn’t good with kits as he just well he didn’t know what to do with them. The faster the parents came back the faster his nightmare would end.