drip. drip. . drop: // A Monday Vibe
Sept 1, 2022 17:22:55 GMT -5
phantomstar57 and Captain Americat like this
Post by Brownie on Sept 1, 2022 17:22:55 GMT -5
[[ tw: blood, injury, death ]]
Your paws shook.
It was midday, though you'd never have guessed that with the clouds so thick and grey, shadowing the alleys with a shroud of twilight. Painted brick pasty grey with soot, cracked pavement sticky with oil and cloying humidity.
The storm would break soon, you could feel it.
"I think they're scared." The patched tom's voice was kind but he kept his distance, conferring with a squat calico and a tabby with such large ears you wondered how they didn't fall off his head. "It's alright," he said, crouching.
Your instincts told you to flee--
--but you held your breath and bit your lip and stood your ground.
The tom crept across the ground --stalking? You knew what prey felt like the moment before the leap-- his voice as steady as his pawsteps. "We're here to help. They really hurt you, didn't they?"
Your breath stuck in your chest. Thunder cracked in the distance, a low rumble, growling, warning.
"Look, Elvis over there knows a little healing. Let us help you." The grey patched tom was close enough to smell now: mint and vanilla, with the undertone of asphalt clinging to him that no cat could completely wash off. A kittypet, of course he was.
You knew you should say something--
silently his cats run
eyes flashing
claws slashing
up! above!
patter patter
--but you only wimper, drawing him closer.
The other two cats followed further behind the first and their eyes were kind, their pawsteps gentle. The tabby, Elvis, had a collar with a bell that chimed along with your heartbeat; the dead air carved the monotone pitch hollow. "See? It's alright. BloodClan can't hurt you anymore."
Your blood froze at the word. Your paws stopped shaking, if only because your entire body was frozen, cold and still as death itself. BloodClan.
The clawstrikes down your side ache, the slice over your brow stings, your torn ear sizzles as a gust of wind explodes down the alley. Papers flutter, a metal barrel creaks against the strain, the first raindrops yet to fall as the world holds it's breath.
Stillness comes with the patched tomcat's even pawsteps, closer. "You're so brave," he said, a smile dancing in his eyes, "now let us protect you." He reached forward, slowly, delibrately, enough that you could pull away and run still if you wanted. His nose touched yours and you knew it was over.
You closed your eyes, you saw--
Your paws shook.
It was midday, though you'd never have guessed that with the clouds so thick and grey, shadowing the alleys with a shroud of twilight. Painted brick pasty grey with soot, cracked pavement sticky with oil and cloying humidity.
The storm would break soon, you could feel it.
"I think they're scared." The patched tom's voice was kind but he kept his distance, conferring with a squat calico and a tabby with such large ears you wondered how they didn't fall off his head. "It's alright," he said, crouching.
Your instincts told you to flee--
claws scraping stone
yowls echoing across rooftops
blood thick and red
falling in fat drops
from twisted metal
bars
The tom crept across the ground --stalking? You knew what prey felt like the moment before the leap-- his voice as steady as his pawsteps. "We're here to help. They really hurt you, didn't they?"
Your breath stuck in your chest. Thunder cracked in the distance, a low rumble, growling, warning.
"Look, Elvis over there knows a little healing. Let us help you." The grey patched tom was close enough to smell now: mint and vanilla, with the undertone of asphalt clinging to him that no cat could completely wash off. A kittypet, of course he was.
You knew you should say something--
silently his cats run
eyes flashing
claws slashing
up! above!
patter patter
--but you only wimper, drawing him closer.
The other two cats followed further behind the first and their eyes were kind, their pawsteps gentle. The tabby, Elvis, had a collar with a bell that chimed along with your heartbeat; the dead air carved the monotone pitch hollow. "See? It's alright. BloodClan can't hurt you anymore."
Your blood froze at the word. Your paws stopped shaking, if only because your entire body was frozen, cold and still as death itself. BloodClan.
The clawstrikes down your side ache, the slice over your brow stings, your torn ear sizzles as a gust of wind explodes down the alley. Papers flutter, a metal barrel creaks against the strain, the first raindrops yet to fall as the world holds it's breath.
Stillness comes with the patched tomcat's even pawsteps, closer. "You're so brave," he said, a smile dancing in his eyes, "now let us protect you." He reached forward, slowly, delibrately, enough that you could pull away and run still if you wanted. His nose touched yours and you knew it was over.
You closed your eyes, you saw--
the SilverClan patrol
crosses Elm instead
of Birch
the storm aching in
poor Frozenroot's bones
crosses Elm instead
of Birch
the storm aching in
poor Frozenroot's bones
--and then cats fell from the sky.
"BloodClan! With me!" Boon roared. His voice boomed like a thunderclap directly in front of you, occupying the space where the grey patched tom once stood. They'd expected a fight, a SilverClan patrol of trained warriors.
Three house cats died with the whisper of clouds breaking.
The rains came just in time to wash the blood from the concrete.
"BloodClan! With me!" Boon roared. His voice boomed like a thunderclap directly in front of you, occupying the space where the grey patched tom once stood. They'd expected a fight, a SilverClan patrol of trained warriors.
Three house cats died with the whisper of clouds breaking.
The rains came just in time to wash the blood from the concrete.