The Colony brat summer recession pop tuesday // jokin

[SABLE]

A pair of snickering, hushed jokesters sit huddled close to one another in what is becoming the most unlikely time to share a laugh. These two couldn't look more different sitting side by side, a wide set of shoulders rest at the height of the other's chin. Melting swirls of @hazel's chocolate hues clash against the white streaks that stretched from Sable's neck to his underbelly, a burning glow of amber meeting a cinnamon stare, alight in his good mood.

"Don't let her hear you say that!" He hissed between quick gasps for air. "You might find yourself picking claws out of your tongue. Not with any of my help, either." The fur along his hackles spiked in the excitement of his laughter, looking around to see if the mismatched molly in question would materialize behind them. He is lucky today, Halfy was absent in his search.

"You remember when we found that angry chipmunk? Never seen prey bite back before- my nose hurt for weeks!"

this heart beats cold like the devil his own

• "mew"
• 

  SABLE— he/him ･sixty-two moons ･colonist ; no clan ･penned by gonkpilled

  a black and white tuxedo with dark amber eyes

 

[Smoky.]

Good fortune holds for the wisecracking pair. Were Smoky not oblivious to the humour these two draw from the droll lampooning about his mate, the sharp lances of their laughter would have had him lumbering in their direction with aggression ripe and snapping in his step. Only, he is ignorant. Blind to the subtle sting woven into Sable's turn of phrase and ensuing peal of laughter. Hazel loiters alongside him, no more than a footnote in his now-stolen attention, no less of an instigator in the entertainment they derive from misfortunes and struggles alike.

Bewilderment grows, and then subsides. Once again, the silver, shadow-streaked tabby hasn't the faintest inkling as to what they are getting at. Still, there's a genuine concern that shows itself as a lowered brow and lips ever-so-slightly curled apart. They're laughing about something, or someone. Perhaps the joke is on him. And he does not have a good feeling about that.

To cut all speculation short, Smoky concludes to go over to them. Bumbling over in large, heavy strides, his tail lashes as a flurry of coiled motion in the air. "You're an angry chipmunk, Sable," he chimes in with a husky timbre that toes a sardonic line. A jibe. Taking an oblique route at the pair, the silver tom chances himself a smug smile. "Who're we makin' fun of, eh? Don't spare me the details." There's a gut feeling gnawing within his stomach that the joke will soon turn on him. Of course, wandering right up to the offending source is a brilliant way of inviting ridicule to shower down on him. But he hadn't thought that far ahead.