Post by lynxfire on Jul 24, 2009 8:31:30 GMT -5
This is something I typed up for my friend Amanda's birthday. =D Petalpaw's from here, Shardpool's from SCRv2, and the rest are from WCARPG... I thought it would be funny if they all met each other. What do you think about it? Criticism appreciated! ^^
Petalpaw bounded into the garden, holding a pink flower in her jaw and looking as dreamy as ever. Her fur was covered in what looked like Twoleg shiny stuff, and she looked like she’d just been through another one of her feather rituals. “Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow – tomorrow’s the day!” she mewed excitedly, and did a funny jump on the spot. She began an odd dance.
After a few seconds, another cat appeared, trotting out from the flowery shrubs. He looked brilliant, with silvery fur marbled with black and piercing gray-blue eyes; and he wore a bright red collar. In great bounds, he got over to where Petalpaw was, and joined her in her dance. “Yes! Tomorrow is the day!” he agreed fervently, and ran around in circles, chasing butterflies and tripping over Petalpaw’s tail. The chestnut-patched white she-cat finally noticed him. “Oh, hey, Quebec!” she meowed absent-mindedly. “How’re the Bengals?”
“All right,” the silver tom began to say, but he was interrupted by an irritated hiss. Shardpool had just appeared, slinking under the hole in the fence. “Stupid City Warriors and kittypets,” she said disdainfully, glaring through narrowed eyes at Petalpaw and Quebec, and wrinkling her black nose.
“You needn’t look at them like they’re rotting crow-food,” said a voice. “Though, I suppose, you ShadowClan cats probably like the stuff.”
“Sunkit!” said Petalpaw, meowing the name around her flower stalk. Sunkit, a pretty ThunderClan she-cat, had just appeared. Petalpaw greeted her by placing the flower at Sunkit’s tiny white paws. Shardpool spun around to curl her lip at the newcomer. “And what do ThunderClan cats eat?” she retorted. “Don’t talk to a ShadowClan cat like that if you don’t want your ears clawed off, kit.” The black warrior liked kits, but she didn’t like any Clan but her own. “So what is all this birthday foxdung you keep caterwauling about?”
“It’s Amanda’s birthday, and it’s not foxdung,” Quebec told Shardpool. “She turns fifty-six seasons old tomorrow! That’s old.” His eyes stretched wide and round with awe. “Fifty-six seasons!”
Shardpool merely snorted.
A gray head poked itself around the rosebush at the corner of the garden, and a handsome golden-russet head appeared right after. “Oh, hi, Lynxfire and Aspenbark!” Quebec said, just as Aspenbark mewed to Sunkit and Shardpool, “Keep your claws in! We need to make preparations for the big day ahead, and you’re going to put your stupid hostilities aside just this once or Lynxfire will explode at you.” He meant this threat, but his whiskers twitched at the thought of what his short-tempered Clanmate would do to the others if she was provoked.
Shardpool and Sunkit were not quite as amused. “You SnowClan cats are no match for me,” Shardpool answered. “Your lot aren’t even a real Clan, just like CrowClan.” She threw another dirty look at Petalpaw, who responded by purring. Sunkit laid her ears back, though she looked ridiculous trying to intimidate Aspenbark, a strong, full-grown warrior. “I can take care of myself, thanks,” she growled.
Lynxfire rolled her eyes and just gave Sunkit’s dainty head a good blow with her gray paw. Sunkit leaped onto Lynxfire with surprising force – the ThunderClan cat was destined to be a great warrior, albeit an extremely stuck-up one. Lynxfire rolled over, squashing Sunkit, and sat up again.
Before anyone could get more annoyed, Aspenbark, who was the natural leader, spoke up loudly. “All right, stop your bickering!” he yowled. “And flower-picking,” he added, making Petalpaw drop the rose in her jaw and shuffle her paws, embarrassed.
“Now,” he began. “We all know that tomorrow is the twenty-fourth day of this second month of Greenleaf. It is a most important day, as important as our Gatherings and ceremonies.” (Here Sunkit snorted, and curled her lip.) “So,” he went on, giving the kit a glare, “we must all work together in order to make this Big Birthday Bash work.” He turned to Quebec, addressing the kittypet now. “Quebec, you live with Twolegs. What do they do for this sort of thing?”
Quebec could hardly contain his excitement at speaking in front of all these Clan cats. He started talking at once. “They have loads of these puffy floaty things,” he said, “like colored moons.” He began to gesture with his paw. “The Twolegs hang them all over the place. Scamp and I had a blast popping them!”
“Yes,” Lynxfire interrupted, “but the point here is for Amanda to have as much fun as possible, not us. Be practical, mouse-brain.”
Quebec appeared hardly wounded by Lynxfire’s words. “All right,” he answered eagerly. “Anyway, they also have this creamy lump thing, which is delicious to eat and even nicer to jump in. They stick little sticks into it, and then light it up with fire.”
“Fire?” This time it was Shardpool who interrupted, glaring at Quebec. “We can’t have a fire, you stupid hare-brained furball,” she told him. “Why not?” Petalpaw asked curiously, looking fascinated. “The Twolegs could do it.” “Yes, but they’re Twolegs!” Shardpool hissed impatiently. “Those things are even worse than badgers.”
“What’s a fire?” Lynxfire asked, confused.
“Something even worse than a ShadowClan cat,” Sunkit put in, helpfully.
“I don’t think we should have a fire,” Aspenbark said thoughtfully. He looked at Quebec. “Are you really sure about this?”
“Well, we won’t have fire, then,” Quebec agreed cheerfully. “And we won’t have the yowling that comes where all the Twolegs stand around the cake, either,” he added with a shudder. “The yowling sounds terrible.”
“Alright,” Aspenbark agreed, whiskers twitching with amusement. “So we have poofy moons, and we have a cream lump. What else?”
“We could have flowers!” Petalpaw chirped, bouncing on her paws. “And shiny Twoleg things! And feathers!”
Quebec tilted his head, looking pleased. “You know,” he said, “Petalpaw’s feathers might come into useful for once, after all. All right, Petalpaw, you’re in charge of making the Twoleg den pretty!”
Petalpaw squealed, and started sprinting around the garden in joy, then sat down under the rosebush, lost in thought. That absent-minded look was perpetually etched onto her face, so nobody minded her.
The rest of the meeting continued in this hullabaloo manner without much trouble, and the cats all went back to their Mausoleums and pine forests and woodlands to sleep. Quebec could hardly wait for Amanda’s birthday party. “Bring on tomorrow,” he yowled on his way back to his cattery. “Let it shine!” answered Petalpaw dreamily. “Like the sun coming up on a beautiful day...” Sunkit was contemplating how wonderful she was, as usual, and Lynxfire gave her another cuff on her head. “It’s yours and mine,” she continued.
On the next morning, all of them woke up bright and early, and headed straight toward the garden. They silently took up their posts and waited.
Up in her bedroom, Amanda woke up and smiled. She was fourteen! Making her way downstairs, she was met with a huge shock. Her house appeared to have been invaded by a motley lot of wildcats and one strikingly exotic cat with a red collar.
The previous day, Quebec had suggested that in replacement of the Twoleg’s horrendous yowling, the cats do it instead, so they all broke into a chorus of “Happy birthday to you!” Except, of course, that to the Twoleg it looked and sounded like ferocious battle-cries.
“Can I come out yet?” Petalpaw screeched from on top of the ceiling fan, and Quebec yowled back, “Sure! Be quick, too, I think she’s about to run away.” So Petalpaw launched into action. She worked her hindlegs furiously, and the blades of the fan started to move. A mass of black feathers, borrowed from the crows from her Clan, fell from the ceiling. “Whee! It’s so pretty!” Petalpaw meowed gleefully. And she launched herself onto Amanda’s head.
“BIRD!!” Amanda screeched; Petalpaw was knocked off by wildly thrashing limbs, and Amanda escaped, leaving her meticulously prepared ‘mud-cake’ in the sink.
“Well, that didn’t work out,” Quebec said, sober for once.
Shardpool, looking disgusted, mewed rather rudely, “I told you so.”
Petalpaw bounded into the garden, holding a pink flower in her jaw and looking as dreamy as ever. Her fur was covered in what looked like Twoleg shiny stuff, and she looked like she’d just been through another one of her feather rituals. “Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow – tomorrow’s the day!” she mewed excitedly, and did a funny jump on the spot. She began an odd dance.
After a few seconds, another cat appeared, trotting out from the flowery shrubs. He looked brilliant, with silvery fur marbled with black and piercing gray-blue eyes; and he wore a bright red collar. In great bounds, he got over to where Petalpaw was, and joined her in her dance. “Yes! Tomorrow is the day!” he agreed fervently, and ran around in circles, chasing butterflies and tripping over Petalpaw’s tail. The chestnut-patched white she-cat finally noticed him. “Oh, hey, Quebec!” she meowed absent-mindedly. “How’re the Bengals?”
“All right,” the silver tom began to say, but he was interrupted by an irritated hiss. Shardpool had just appeared, slinking under the hole in the fence. “Stupid City Warriors and kittypets,” she said disdainfully, glaring through narrowed eyes at Petalpaw and Quebec, and wrinkling her black nose.
“You needn’t look at them like they’re rotting crow-food,” said a voice. “Though, I suppose, you ShadowClan cats probably like the stuff.”
“Sunkit!” said Petalpaw, meowing the name around her flower stalk. Sunkit, a pretty ThunderClan she-cat, had just appeared. Petalpaw greeted her by placing the flower at Sunkit’s tiny white paws. Shardpool spun around to curl her lip at the newcomer. “And what do ThunderClan cats eat?” she retorted. “Don’t talk to a ShadowClan cat like that if you don’t want your ears clawed off, kit.” The black warrior liked kits, but she didn’t like any Clan but her own. “So what is all this birthday foxdung you keep caterwauling about?”
“It’s Amanda’s birthday, and it’s not foxdung,” Quebec told Shardpool. “She turns fifty-six seasons old tomorrow! That’s old.” His eyes stretched wide and round with awe. “Fifty-six seasons!”
Shardpool merely snorted.
A gray head poked itself around the rosebush at the corner of the garden, and a handsome golden-russet head appeared right after. “Oh, hi, Lynxfire and Aspenbark!” Quebec said, just as Aspenbark mewed to Sunkit and Shardpool, “Keep your claws in! We need to make preparations for the big day ahead, and you’re going to put your stupid hostilities aside just this once or Lynxfire will explode at you.” He meant this threat, but his whiskers twitched at the thought of what his short-tempered Clanmate would do to the others if she was provoked.
Shardpool and Sunkit were not quite as amused. “You SnowClan cats are no match for me,” Shardpool answered. “Your lot aren’t even a real Clan, just like CrowClan.” She threw another dirty look at Petalpaw, who responded by purring. Sunkit laid her ears back, though she looked ridiculous trying to intimidate Aspenbark, a strong, full-grown warrior. “I can take care of myself, thanks,” she growled.
Lynxfire rolled her eyes and just gave Sunkit’s dainty head a good blow with her gray paw. Sunkit leaped onto Lynxfire with surprising force – the ThunderClan cat was destined to be a great warrior, albeit an extremely stuck-up one. Lynxfire rolled over, squashing Sunkit, and sat up again.
Before anyone could get more annoyed, Aspenbark, who was the natural leader, spoke up loudly. “All right, stop your bickering!” he yowled. “And flower-picking,” he added, making Petalpaw drop the rose in her jaw and shuffle her paws, embarrassed.
“Now,” he began. “We all know that tomorrow is the twenty-fourth day of this second month of Greenleaf. It is a most important day, as important as our Gatherings and ceremonies.” (Here Sunkit snorted, and curled her lip.) “So,” he went on, giving the kit a glare, “we must all work together in order to make this Big Birthday Bash work.” He turned to Quebec, addressing the kittypet now. “Quebec, you live with Twolegs. What do they do for this sort of thing?”
Quebec could hardly contain his excitement at speaking in front of all these Clan cats. He started talking at once. “They have loads of these puffy floaty things,” he said, “like colored moons.” He began to gesture with his paw. “The Twolegs hang them all over the place. Scamp and I had a blast popping them!”
“Yes,” Lynxfire interrupted, “but the point here is for Amanda to have as much fun as possible, not us. Be practical, mouse-brain.”
Quebec appeared hardly wounded by Lynxfire’s words. “All right,” he answered eagerly. “Anyway, they also have this creamy lump thing, which is delicious to eat and even nicer to jump in. They stick little sticks into it, and then light it up with fire.”
“Fire?” This time it was Shardpool who interrupted, glaring at Quebec. “We can’t have a fire, you stupid hare-brained furball,” she told him. “Why not?” Petalpaw asked curiously, looking fascinated. “The Twolegs could do it.” “Yes, but they’re Twolegs!” Shardpool hissed impatiently. “Those things are even worse than badgers.”
“What’s a fire?” Lynxfire asked, confused.
“Something even worse than a ShadowClan cat,” Sunkit put in, helpfully.
“I don’t think we should have a fire,” Aspenbark said thoughtfully. He looked at Quebec. “Are you really sure about this?”
“Well, we won’t have fire, then,” Quebec agreed cheerfully. “And we won’t have the yowling that comes where all the Twolegs stand around the cake, either,” he added with a shudder. “The yowling sounds terrible.”
“Alright,” Aspenbark agreed, whiskers twitching with amusement. “So we have poofy moons, and we have a cream lump. What else?”
“We could have flowers!” Petalpaw chirped, bouncing on her paws. “And shiny Twoleg things! And feathers!”
Quebec tilted his head, looking pleased. “You know,” he said, “Petalpaw’s feathers might come into useful for once, after all. All right, Petalpaw, you’re in charge of making the Twoleg den pretty!”
Petalpaw squealed, and started sprinting around the garden in joy, then sat down under the rosebush, lost in thought. That absent-minded look was perpetually etched onto her face, so nobody minded her.
The rest of the meeting continued in this hullabaloo manner without much trouble, and the cats all went back to their Mausoleums and pine forests and woodlands to sleep. Quebec could hardly wait for Amanda’s birthday party. “Bring on tomorrow,” he yowled on his way back to his cattery. “Let it shine!” answered Petalpaw dreamily. “Like the sun coming up on a beautiful day...” Sunkit was contemplating how wonderful she was, as usual, and Lynxfire gave her another cuff on her head. “It’s yours and mine,” she continued.
On the next morning, all of them woke up bright and early, and headed straight toward the garden. They silently took up their posts and waited.
Up in her bedroom, Amanda woke up and smiled. She was fourteen! Making her way downstairs, she was met with a huge shock. Her house appeared to have been invaded by a motley lot of wildcats and one strikingly exotic cat with a red collar.
The previous day, Quebec had suggested that in replacement of the Twoleg’s horrendous yowling, the cats do it instead, so they all broke into a chorus of “Happy birthday to you!” Except, of course, that to the Twoleg it looked and sounded like ferocious battle-cries.
“Can I come out yet?” Petalpaw screeched from on top of the ceiling fan, and Quebec yowled back, “Sure! Be quick, too, I think she’s about to run away.” So Petalpaw launched into action. She worked her hindlegs furiously, and the blades of the fan started to move. A mass of black feathers, borrowed from the crows from her Clan, fell from the ceiling. “Whee! It’s so pretty!” Petalpaw meowed gleefully. And she launched herself onto Amanda’s head.
“BIRD!!” Amanda screeched; Petalpaw was knocked off by wildly thrashing limbs, and Amanda escaped, leaving her meticulously prepared ‘mud-cake’ in the sink.
“Well, that didn’t work out,” Quebec said, sober for once.
Shardpool, looking disgusted, mewed rather rudely, “I told you so.”