#basically at least

[fireflysdndcorner]

Solas: *gets hit*

Everyone: GASP who hit HIM. Things REALLY gonna go down now.

[sunnymoon-sunshine]

“Good morning.”

The words rang loud and clear, crisp through the mist of the morning, a trill as cheerful as a bird’s song. It broke the silence that had hung in the air like a fog. It drew her out of her own world, where only she and the scuffles of prey existed.

It also startled the prey.

As the smell of her now-gone breakfast grew stale, she turned her eyes to the source. It was a window, a human invention. A gateway to another world entirely. Ever closed, usually, yet on this day it yawned freely, an open invitation to investigate. Bramble crouched, clenching her muscles in anticipation, before her leap allowed her paws to grace the wood by the object of her curiosity. She peered through the gate, covered with a fine screen, yet the world within still visible.

She was greeted by another cat. Soft, much softer than herself, cream in color with a ginger mask and flame-tipped paws. Soft and round, with her belly pouching out and her tail tucked neatly over her paws. Round eyes, filled to the brim with curiosity that threatened to overflow. Her pelt was clean, unmarked, much unlike herself.

With a tip of her head, the housecat spoke again. “Good morning.” And, when Bramble said nothing, she chirped, “And how are you?”

She remained quiet, clenching her teeth together as if chewing on her words. It was a soft, pretty housecat – someone who wasn’t worth a mouse tail, she thought. Someone who couldn’t cut it on her own. It was a shame to cat kind, not to be able to stand on your own four legs.

The housecat’s tail curled, her ears flicked forward. “My, you look tired. Might you rest? For a little while?”

Bramble was about to answer, to firmly tell her that a cat with no humans to fuss over them also has no time to rest. But the questions continued to pour from the housecat’s mouth.

“Who are you? It’s so rare to see anyone in my garden. It gets awfully lonely without conversation. I had so many siblings, but I haven’t been around them in ages, and I just have a penchant for a chat, you know?” And then, seeming to realize she was actually conversing with another, repeated, “Who are you?”

“Bramble.”

“A lovely name! Those are thorns, aren’t they? My grandfather on my mother’s side was a wildcat, you know. He knew all sorts of wild things. According to rumors, at the very least.” The housecat seemed to barely need to pause for breath. “I’m Samona.”

“Samona.” Bramble repeated, tasting the name along her tongue as she spoke. It was a fine name – it certainly marked that of a pet. “Born housecat?”

“Yes, indeed. Though again, my mother’s father was definitely a feral cat! Really wild. So I have wild blood. What of yourself?”

“…Wild cat.”

Samona’s mouth fell open. It seemed to Bramble that it was very likely this fluffy cloud of a cat had only ever had fanciful stories to paint the picture of what a wild cat is. “You’re a wild cat? My, that must be why you look so rough.” She said, with a click of her tongue.

“You look soft.” Bramble muttered back, her ears flicking back, the language of her body speaking louder than her words. Samona caught on – cats could speak however they pleased, but a raised hackle was universal.

“It wasn’t meant to be rude! My mistake. I just haven’t ever seen - I just don’t have many to talk to these days. It’s terribly lonely, you know? Occasionally old fat Pete will come waddling by, for his humans let him roam freely, but all he does is sit and yowl in my window. He’s such a brute.” She sniffed, her distaste clear. “He’s more brutish than any feral, I’d say.”

Those words made Bramble’s whiskers quiver. “I could stop that.” She offered, sheathing and unsheathing her claws. “He won’t be a problem after that.”

Samona gasped, her tail brushing out. Less scared, and more surprised. “Oh, goodness no. But there is something you can do for me.”

“What would that be?”

“Come talk to me again.”

 Bramble did. Time and time again, as the thick leaves of summer bowed to the crisp winds of fall, her paws wove a path to the window. The glass remained raised, the world within only a thin mesh away. She’d looked past Samona many times before, to the unnatural caricatures of nature that she’d called furniture. The soft light so unlike the sun, the plush cushions that littered the floor. Samona favored those, for many times Bramble witnessed her scramble off them to reach the window at the first scent of her feral friend.

Bramble found her fascinating. Odd, soft, perhaps a little cloudy. Yet her eyes were chips of amber stone, and just as sharp.

Samona found her equally as thrilling to see. Tough, scarred, and filled with stories from the outside. Dry, yet charming in a way. Though it left Bramble with several mixed feelings on the subject.

Yet the days grew shorter, the prey grew wiser, and soon they began making their bundles and burrows for the winter. The chill brought the ever-looming danger of starvation, a reality growing sharper each year. Humans did not care for scent markers – they took and took and took some more, until there was no place for either her, or the precious meals that struggled just as hard as she did. So it was with some amount of pride that she carried her catch to the waiting window, the dead mouse hanging limply in her jaws. She dropped it on the windowsill and waited for Samona’s scrambling paws to reach her. It was a gift, a sign of friendship between two souls, even if it couldn’t be shared through the screen.

She was not prepared for the horrified yowl that erupted from the housecat’s mouth. Her fur bristled, and she looked from Bramble to the creature in shock. “Did you kill it?”

“Yes?” Bramble spoke, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“But why?” The question caught Bramble off guard. “But why did you kill it?”

“It’s food.”

“It was a life!”

“So? I’m a life too. The slop they feed you were lives!” Bramble spat, standing up on her toes and glaring through the window. Most housecats would flinch at the sight. Samona did not. She glared back with equal force.

“Maybe, but you just killed that poor thing.”

“It’s survival. Something you’ve never had to experience.” Her pride ran through her, red hot from head to toe. She had survived for years now, on her own. If her friend was dumped the next day, she would be dead the very next.

“Have you never cared for another life?” Samona cried out, looking distraught as ever. “Have you never cared for another soul?”

“Have you never had to struggle?” Bramble roared back, her frustration peaking. They glared a long moment, before Samona sighed a long sigh, deflate into a pile of fat and fur, much like one of the cushions that littered the ground.

“Perhaps not. But I care.”

“And I care to survive.”

And the two parted once again, in a flurry of heated hissing and bristled tails.

It was only after a dozen or so moonlit nights went by, after the leaves fell and crackled underpaw, that Bramble’s steps slowed whenever she came near the place that housed her friend. Their fight left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she couldn’t face that soft face, that inquisitive look, the fire in her eyes that matched her paws.

But she cared. More than she would ever admit. And so her paws made their way to the window. It was still wide open, even this late in the season. Yet the warmth of light was gone inside. She narrowed her eyes, searching, worry creeping up her spine like a cold rain trickling through her fur.

“Samona?”

It was quiet. Horrifically, awfully quiet. A silence that hung, unbidden and unwelcome, when all she wanted to do was yowl to break the silence.

And then scrabbling, soft steps hitting wood, a figure launching itself at the window.

Samona was thin. Gaunt, her fur dull and every rib sticking painfully out into view. They had left her here, she told Bramble. Her human owners had locked up the house and left and never looked back. She watched them leave through the open window. She had been her ever since. Starving yet surviving, if only by a whisker.

“They didn’t care. It was a fanciful dream, to assume they cared.” She spoke softly, exhausted from the effort. “I wish I were you. I wish I could just survive. I wish it wouldn’t hurt, and I wish I didn’t care.”

Bramble stared at her through the window. They were two wildly different cats, from two wildly different worlds, and yet they were both cats. And the only thing separating them was a flimsy film.

She sat on her haunches, then she placed her paws on the screen. She carefully unsheathed claws, well used yet sharp from dedicated sharpening.

And then she tore at the screen. Clawing, plucking, ripping with strength found in years of hunting and fighting and caring for herself, she ripped apart the barrier that kept their worlds separate.

Samona was as soft and dainty out in the grass as she looked in the house. Her eyes were wide as saucers. Thin as she might be, her spine sticking out and her fur clutching her frame, she slowly closed her eyes and took in a few deep breaths. Opened her mouth to taste the air.

And then she turned to Bramble and headbutted her flank.

No words, but a silent thank you.

 “Thank you, mouse.” Her words were soft, as if she didn’t want Bramble to hear them. Bramble always heard them, though. And only made fun of her a few dozen times. “I’m sorry for what I must do.”

“It can’t hear you.” Bramble reminded her, yet again. But Samona paid her no heed, instead tucking into her mid-winter meal. It was the longest night of the year, yet they were huddled out of the snow. Samona had given old fat Pete an equally fat bird that she’d caught herself as a gift, and before Bramble could chew her out for wasting a meal on a fat housecat, he’d offered them a nice shelter in his garden. They sat, huddled in the shed, away from the billowing winds that cut through the thickest fur, and away from the snow that sapped every bit of warmth left in your body. And it was nice, Bramble had to admit, to have someplace to stay. And it was only out of Samona’s kindness that they had even the chance.

Samona, however, insisted it was Bramble’s strict teaching. Her will for not only herself, but for Samona to survive. They toughed out the fall together, and much of the winter too.

And together they would stay, for Samona could never live on her own, and Bramble could never live without the warmth of the housecat tucked neatly beside her. The warmth of her caring, which blazed like fire itself. She cared, cared so much and so hard. It was something Samona teased her about – “I’d never have thought a wild cat could care so much about someone other than herself,” She’d purr, “Especially you.”

Neither did Bramble, to be fair.

The night was long, the wind howled, and yet she felt herself drifting to sleep. Before she did, she was sure to mutter the same words she always did, every night. She could spend an entire day never speaking once, but without fail, the words would always find their way out, soft as a blanket of cloud, a comfort to her friend.

“Goodnight.”

[theoldaeroplane]

printed a stand for my Pyro figure so she can... stand. also, surrounded by magic horses. seems appropriate

[dont-eat-the-algae]

She LOOKS like me! She has hooded eyes!

What an incredible game. The representation is amazing.

[witchplease-freakbitch]

[officialbillhader]

Oh my gosh im done...

[virfujiwara]

Oh god its so funny, even he, a Frenchman, was a francophobe

[the-final-peace]

//Something a bit tame for Lacero too just a wardrobe change.

Although he can’t help but catch himself letting his eyes wander over her thighs and chest, the main thing running through his mind is just how strange this looks compared to what he was used to seeing her in.