The Colony every morning... // relaxing, casual thread

[serpentberry serpentberry]

The feathering of her tail graces her growing midsection, the filtering sunlight leaving patches of warm yellows and golds across her pelt. Serpent wakes from her nap with a slight grimace, discomfort ringing in her limbs as she stretches. She's still early on in her pregnancy, she thinks, though the rounding of her flanks may prove her otherwise. The nausea had worn away, at least...

Hunger gnaws at her instead, and green eyes blink a few times whilst she searches the hollow for familiar faces; either her brother, or her mate, or anyone willing to take pity on a pregnant molly. She does not yet move from her patch of warm light, her tail resting curled on her haunch. "Has anyone gone hunting recently?" Serpent asks, a glimmer of hope and greed in her verdant gaze.

 

[GROTTOWATCHER.]

Sights, sounds, and sensations alike vie for his focus. The colony is alive. Ailing, but alive. So long as prey remains available to their most vulnerable, the worst can be held at bay a while longer yet. Pondering, he tilts his head at the she-cat. Her scent is familiar to his nose, and as she sprawls out in the sunlit patch, his whiskers flare in recollection. A clutch of the most peculiar sort stewed inside her belly, progeny of the apparent leader-to-be. The connection is hasty and blunt, not at all a subtle epiphany, and his ears angle outward as the implication strikes. But a molly is not defined by her maternal status. Nor is she defined by her litter's sire. Karst's unspoken scorn fades, giving way to a blithe look about him, punctuated by the fangs that flash in his grin. "Hunters have." The response is plain, howbeit delivered in a chipper manner. Questions of the silly, frivolous sort are the best kind to have, per his opinion. "I can sniff around, see what's up for grabs."

 

[Hum]

"We just came back with a fat mouse and some other morsels," Hum intruded on the conversation with ease, flicking an ear as he gestured back towards where the prey that he and his fellows had caught. "I suppose there's no better candidate for the mouse to go to, all things considered." He dipped his head respectfully towards Serpent, mindful of her belly as he approached and set the rodent down before her. There was a moment where Hum seemed to consider saying something more, but didn't, and stepped back, sitting a few tail-lengths away.

"It's not exactly the most desirable time to be having kits, is it?" Hum finally says, and although the words are loaded, he means no ill will by them. It's an observation, of the Leafbare to come, and the fact that the colony is already facing a lack of prey. Hum wouldn't consider having kits at a time like this, but love knows no bounds, as they say. He certainly wasn't going to judge Serpent harshly for her decisions.

despiertan hermanos! ᓚ₍ ^. ̫ .^₎ que la mensajera ha llegado.

• OOC .ᐟ
• HUM .ᐟ HE/SHE, COLONY
  .ᐟ peaceful + healing powerplay permitted.
  .ᐟ penned by Archivist - .archivist Discord.

​

 

[SABLESTAR]

The corners of the tuxedo's lips twitch overhearing the question Hum gave, laden with the opportunity to find a queens claws to her face. Sable was originally tidying the spot he and Juniper normally slept in to surprise them on their return. The spotted tabby hadn't left too long after Hum and his volunteers, he hoped she had found just as much success.

His eyes glance sideways at the three before turning his head, making sure his smile wiped clean before making his approach.

"Doesn't look it." Sable looked over Serpent briefly, making little assess over white spotted fur. "It'll be leafbare before we know it. Has Hawthorne been stuffing feathers in your nest for you, to keep warm?" It's a mild check-in, even if she were to have some kitten-cough litter, the place of a queen still deserved the comforts available to them.

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

 

[serpentberry serpentberry]

Claws gnarl against dying grass at Harst's initial response, his clipped grin giving Serpent the little she needs in order to understand his jest in its entirety. Her tail rests against the ground as she tries to settle into a seated position, grateful that she has not yet lost her sense of balance. "Watch out, Karst. Come new leaf, I'll be hunting your tail out of the forest," a return poke, with a nod for his following comment. She ignores how the woodland withers without promise of regrowth, even should the seasons shift. It is not her business, not when she grows tiny lives. Her prioties are elsewhere.

Hum provides her a healthy meal and she returns him with a wide grin, her once settled tail now lashing. "Well, thank you. I'll owe you somethin' better, once I'm back on my legs." Serpent makes the promise with little care if its true or not. Once she's able to move, she'll be darting amongst the undergrowth with no reprieve; for when those days come, she will have little mouths to feed. She will not have a choice. Offering the kind tom a chance at catch of her own... is something she can do, regardless if she can hold to it. His following comment, however, earns him a scornful glance, and the mouse is trapped beneath a clawed paw.

Sable tries to diffuse the spark between them, and Serpent holds her tongue as he speaks. Upset still plagues her sharp features as she mutters a quiet, "Nothing to do about it now." Nothing to do about it ever, she decides in silence. If Hawthorne wished her to bear children every day of the rest of their lives, then she would give him hundreds regardless of the weather. Luckily, he respects her more than that. She tapers her glower to properly address Sable with a slight incline of her head, offering him a, "If not him, then my brother is hunting the foliage as if it's prey itself. I'm drowning in squirrel pelts, really," she commiserates in her wealth, as if being well cared for is a tale of woe.

 

[WOLFPACK]

AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN​

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Under the soft crunching and popping of mouse bones, Wolf watches the exchange with more interest than he usually cared to take in social situations. He didn't care to recall the exact details of how he'd come to live with the colony, but he was a newer face and his practices as a street cat had not faded in the least– a statement farther proven by the unshared prey he was casually tearing into while the pregnant shecat went begging for scraps.

Her mate was either inattentive or lazy, but he wasn't surprised by that given their poor choice to have kits on the brink of winter. They'd be lucky not to lose them to the cold, or sickness, or some starving predator– though he supposed the last one was a smaller threat given the size of the colony. It was much easier to fight off a stray dog, or badger, or fox when there was a dozen other cats helping out.

Assuming they didn't all run like cowards first– not that he'd blame them, considering they had no real reason to risk their necks for some stranger.

He probably wouldn't, though his lack of action would have less to do with fear of the fray than it would the desire to not die an utterly pointless death.

"Well, if your mate and kin miss another meal, you can always start bargaining with that surplus of pelts you've got." he noted, mismatched eyes bored as they watched the group, but tone holding a note of amusement, not sounding against the idea. It was better than expecting cats to just give you something for free– though to be fair the expecting caregiver didn't seem to be having much issue finding mousebrains to do just that.
​

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loner/future shadowclan - male - a large, monochrome chimera with mismatched eyes and several scars​

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