[ writing junkyard ]

[zoocyte]

[kalon adopts] [#295]
[prompt: the flowers]

Where there once resounded a constant, wistful aching is now a depthless void. The rush of emotions that stabbed like hundreds of tiny needles had dwindled and dulled over the past few weeks. Now you feel nothing.
You aren't quite sure which is worse.

You've been sitting here in silence for quite a while now. Your eyes trace the letters engraving the slab of stone, committing the words to memory and repeating them in your head in an endless mantra.

Your unfocused gaze drifts away to settle on a puff of dandelions quivering in the breeze. You reach out and let the pale fuzz graze your fingertips.
A voice coming from the thickets snaps you back to reality. It's so soft and mellow that it's nearly drowned out by the wind.
"Good morning."

You weren't expecting company.
"I hope you don't mind if I sit here?"
You weren't one to deny it either, so you scooted aside to give them some space.

Everything about this kalon appeared fragile. They had a very dainty, petite build. Their voice was gentle and whispery, though you could still detect the faintest hint of masculinity in it. There's an inquisitive, childlike glint in his eyes. Pastel roses adorned his coat (They appear to be of the same wild variety that grow throughout the graveyard). Something about this kalon makes him exude a soothing aura of tranquility and innocence. Toting a woven basket containing bunches of flowers, he settled down beside you.

"I'm sorry if this seems uncalled for. You looked like you needed some company."
Pausing for a moment, his gaze sweeped the vicinity.
"The groundskeeper doesn't like it when I talk to strangers. I can't really help it, I guess. You don't look like a stranger to me. He's always telling me to stop dilly-dallying and do my job. I know I should be thankful to him for taking me in when nobody else would do it, I know that we need the money, but...Sorry, I ramble a lot."

He trailed off from there. Absentmindedly he began fiddling with the flowers he brought along with him. His nimble paws acted like they had a mind of their own, weaving the delicate buds in to a garland with a practiced precision.

"I can teach you how to make one, if you'd like to?"
You try your hand at it several times, but even with their guidance, you fail miserably. You don't mind at all, however. By the end of the crafting session the two of you are giggling at the mess you've made. He sets the disheveled flower crown atop your head.
"It takes a lot of practice. I'm the self-proclaimed king of flower crowns. You can be my servant-"
"Loren! Get back to work!"

Perking up at the sound of the raspy voice, the cheer in his eyes fades away, replaced by an unreadable expression.
"Looks like I have to go. Really sorry about that. I'll take my leave now, please...Please forgive me."

Loren wraps you into an embrace as a farewell. Your eyes flutter to a close as you absorb the warmth emanating from him. A gentle, pulsing light chasing away the shadows. He flashed an apologetic smile. Swift as a mouse, he retreated back in to the thickets.

Brimming with a newfound optimism, the jovial encounter with the graveyard garland-seller fills up the void that's been eating away at you.

You're so full of cheer that a whole day passes until you realize that your wallet is missing.

[zoocyte]

[kalon adopts] [#756]
[prompt: their job] [word limit: 300/300]

Pain seared my flank, a red hot brand blazing into my flesh. Though the chase had concluded, my hocks still quivered and my heart hammered swifter than a thundering torrent.
I had escaped the potentially fatal encounter unscathed, save for the arrow buried in my side. My ebony coat was stained a rich crimson.
Crimson brought forth no pleasant memories. It was the color of blood, and with blood came injury. With injury, death inevitably followed. It too was the color of the flags the hunters bore, proudly declaring their allegiance against the mythics inhabiting these woods.
I thanked the gods that I had not joined the countless victims they claimed in their conquest. Not today at least.
I mustered up the strength to tap my prized horn against the ugly wound. The blood flow ceased. The pain lessened in its intensity. However, the action drained me. My thoughts blurred and I was hit with a bout of dizziness.
My mind focused on a pale, pulsing light.
Instinct guided me towards it, gaze fixated on the celestial glow. A fairy light lantern.
"You are hurt."
A soothing voice, smoother than honey.
The maiden seated at the base of a willow beckoned to me, eyes soft with concern.
Seeing no reason to flee, I lay my weary head on her lap, indulging in the velvety fur.
Stroking my neck, she muttered words in some foreign dialect.
My eyes grew heavy and my body was hit by rolling waves of relaxation. There was no use fighting whatever enchantment she had cast on me.
"Sleep well, my sweet. I'll see to it that you will suffer no more."
Trusting the maiden's words, I allowed myself to drift away in her arms, carried off to the realm of dreams.
I did not wake again.

[zoocyte]

[kalon adopts] [#883]
[prompt: haiku about their personality]

silver-tongued spider
weave faux smiles and hollow words
caught in its own web

[zoocyte]

[kalon adopts] [#1299]
[prompt: personality] [word limit: 50/50]

"here, darling..."
the colt wobbled away from the mare's unmoving body.
leona stroked him tenderly.
"sad about momma?"
she felt the silver nub of its growing horn.
a soft chuckle.
"she'll fetch me a pretty penny."
withdrawing her bloodied dagger, she brought it across its throat.
"and so will you."

[zoocyte]

[kalon adopts] [nb #1481]
[prompt: reaction to her beauty attracting attention] [word limit: 596/600]

fly, little seagull
see the world with clear sight and wit
fly, little seagull
fly at the crack of dawn
fly back home
and rest in your nest
lined with the softest down
fly back home

melodious was the mother's voice, soothing as the lapping of the waves against the shoreline. still small, still fragile she was, still curled up against the velvet of mother’s white fur.

the first color she knew. white.

white, the color of bones. the color of bleached coral, sucked of their tropical hues. the color of the cold-storm that rarely plagued the island, sudden, chilling, a taker of life.

white is the color of death. it is the color that brands her underside, splashing her face in a ghastly shade. the color that turns eyes away from her and burdens the other islanders with unease.

they are superstitious folk - alert for every omen, every vision that hinted misfortune. they declared her bloodline cursed. her mother, and her mother's mother, both bore the colors of spirits, of demons.

thus her family lived on the outskirts of the tribe, coming into contact only to trade supplies and generally looked down upon by the populace. they didn't have to say it - everyone knew. that family...their existence was wrong. it was written all over their stark, pale pelts.

these were her people. she was one of them, yet, she was not.




one day, she wandered from mother's watch, chasing after her namesake. the irritated seagull often pecked her, but even then, she was undeterred. she wanted to catch the bird, ride it away from the island. beyond the oceans, beyond the palm trees. there was something out there - she could feel it. she wanted it.

and, with the sound of unfamiliar footsteps and the swinging of a net, she got what she wanted.

everything was bright. the flashing lights, the flying banners, the pinstriped tent. blooms of colors danced in dizzying flurries.

the eyes. once shying from the sight of her, now, they were consumed in her, consumed her. wide, curious, bulging, staring, shameless eyes. the eyes of strangers, coming and going but never leaving.

all she knew now was the gilded metal of her cage. attached was a plaque written in foreign tongue, reading constancia the merkalon, a lost beauty of the forbidden isles.

beautiful. what did it mean? she heard it again and again, slithering out of their lips like a two-headed snake. beautiful, to her, meant an oddity. a possession. an object, only to be used to beguile and captivate seas of onlookers.

beauty once meant the vibrant reds and yellows of a flickering bonfire, of flourishing coral. now, beauty changed: curled locks of lavender hair, a sweeping mertail, a melodic accent, a sleek coat.




each day was the same: sing for the crowds, say practiced lines, eat, go to sleep. she felt hollow without the silk of sand underfoot, the calling of gulls, the scent of seawater. the only light in her birdcage was her.

she was not of this place, either. they treated her the same, stared at her the same. they were so different, yet so alike.

two strangers, talking through bars, sharing stories of places that were now distant dreams. two strangers, slipping through those bars, through the tents, and into the unknown. two strangers, who thought each other beautiful, a different kind of beautiful.

they had been taught what beauty was, all their lives. that beauty shifted, changed with the times, the places. now, she would give it a name. that name, she whispered, was ikali.

[zoocyte]

“Roseheart.”
The normally warm-hearted resonance of the old tom’s voice had taken on a more solemn tone.

Roseheart took no heed to his call and determinedly trudged through the rain-beaten mud, gaze fixed firmly on the swaying pines in the distance.

“Roseheart, by my command, I order you to stay where you are.”
The hint of a deep growl starting to rumble in Goldenstar’s throat did nothing to dissuade the stubborn tom, who continued trekking forward without the slightest hesitation holding him back.

The slick squelching of heavy footsteps plunging into the wet soil behind him made Roseheart quicken his gait.

“Goldenstar, I’ve already told you that I’m not changing my mind.” Roseheart spoke calmly, refusing to betray the bubbling panic that was starting to rise in the pit of his stomach. Despite the leader’s age beginning to catch up with him, Roseheart knew for a fact that Goldenstar would be more than a handful to deal with if the situation escalated to a fight. If he were to be attacked, right here and right now, the plan would be rendered useless.

Roseheart stole a quick glance behind him. Goldenstar’s hulking form was drenched from paws to the chest in mud, and his face was scrunched into an irritated expression, muzzle wrinkled into a half-snarl. The thick fur along his back was raised, bristling in a rather unfriendly manner.

This at last brought Roseheart to a stop, as he then turned to face the ginger titan.

Goldenstar paused in his tracks as well, lowering his head to level it with Roseheart’s gaze as he began to speak with the thinnest veil of a threat to his words.

“I’ve had enough of you and your antics, boy. Your position as deputy does not give you the power to undermine my authority, nor does it mean you can make decisions on my behalf without my knowing. I appointed you only six moons ago, and you’re already running your mouth like you own the place, like you’re the madman who's been keepin’ this clan in one piece for all these years."

“You are the perfect example of a young, reckless cat who thinks he knows the world like the back of his paw, when he hasn’t lived long enough to see beyond his own nose. All stubbornness and juvenile arrogance.”

Goldenstar punctuated his sentence with an indignant huff. Roseheart shook his head and straightened his stance, speaking up in the most confident voice he could muster, “Well, maybe the world needs cats like that, cats like me. The clan’s wasted enough time groveling at the feet of some old cod who’s too afraid to come out of his own den. Fieldclan needs vision, someone with fresh ideals, new perspective, somebody who can bring change! Something that you avoid like the damned plague! I don’t know if it’s because you’re too rooted in that ancient mindset of yours to even consider it, or because the very idea, the very mention of it still makes you quiver and quake like a kit afraid of its own shadow."

Roseheart met Goldenstar’s hard amber gaze with steadfast resoluteness, raising his chin in a gesture of proud defiance. The leader’s eyes narrowed as he began to respond, to which Roseheart cut him off as he continued,

“The times are changing, Goldenstar, and we have to change as well! I don’t know if you know it, so I’m telling you now. Your way might’ve been the right one, back then in a different time when Fieldclan could afford to submit to the demands of a higher power just to appease, and make ‘peace,’” Roseheart spat the word like venom, “But we’ve moved past that time now. You’re blind, Goldenstar, too blind to see that everything you’ve ever believed to be the right thing to do is now void. You’ve been blinded by ghosts that don’t walk the earth anymore, and while you’re still busy being upset over that, the cats that do still walk the earth suffer! I’m not standing for that, and I never will. Fieldclan doesn’t need a scared old man with not a strong heart nor bone in his body left. Fieldclan needs me.”