Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
It was a dark 'n stormy night—least it was for the first little bit. By the time Leroy saw to tuck in 'til the sun came back up, things had tapered into a gentler weep of rain. A hazy drizzle that hung over the sleepy sprawl of twoleg nests, the alleys, and the dingy street corners. All this is to say: it's late, it's dreary, but not too dreary, and he's got the best seat in the house for any entertainment that might roll around.
Sleeping arrangements in their snug alleyway shuffled around on a nightly basis. Junk piled up and junk disappeared with every day that passed, meaning the riff-raff 'round here had to stake impermanent claims on whatever soft thing they could curl up against. There were a couple of soggy cardboard boxes, one that was relatively dry, a bunch of newspaper, and a raggedy blanket that could fit two. Or three, if they liked being wedged against each other like a tin of sardines.
Leroy wasted no time commandeering the driest of the boxes, and to pamper his throne further, he'd nicked the blanket to pad up the inside. Oh, it was a lovely spot to lie on. Had a bit of room to stretch, and a few scraps strewn about in the event of a rumblin' tummy. Real luxurious stuff.
Right now, the lout had his jaw cracked open in a mighty yawn. Wide, gaping and entirely shameless, his ears perk and twist in tune to soft strides on damp concrete. Eyes open to find fine cream-coloured strands just past the box's opening, before that sight melts into a svelte figure in his view. That's Selma walking on by, he's sure of it.
Pushing his noggin from its cosy confines, the dark-splotched bruiser hummed out a cordial, "Evenin', pretty kitty." Despite his tongue, and the crude connotation of that, Leroy's intent is friendly and lacking in sleaze. Mostly. He's in a cheery mood, can't help if that's coming across wrong. "Where're you headed?" He's already climbed halfway out of his bed, tail swishing eagerly to-and-fro, an invitation. "Got some grub if yer hungry, too. Yer always welcome t' share a bit of dry space." His head cocks at the blanket-laden carton. "No catch. I promise."
// @selma