fairytales in my mind [o]

[ASHTAIL]

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ASHTAIL

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[style=width:205px; height:430px; background-color:000000; -webkit-border-top-right-radius:20px; -moz-border-top-right-radius:20px; -webkit-border-bottom-right-radius:20px; -moz-border-bottom-right-radius:20px; margin-top:-20px; padding:10px;][style=width:185px; height:410px;font-family:arial; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:10px; overflow:auto;]The silver warrior sat on the riverbank, looking out at the river and the territory beyond. His tail flicked with annoyance, because the more he stared, the more the world became less beautiful. Those stepping stones especially drove him nuts. Every single time he looked at them, no matter what the angle of view was, the stepping stones were never perfectly straight. No, they formed a crooked line across the river, not a straight one! He didn't know what to expect everyday when he patrolled this area, as if he expected it to one day just be straight. Just like that. But he knew that couldn't happen. It was impossible. And he knew he couldn't do anything about it, because those stones were probably impossible to move. The world was impossible! Frustratedly, Ashtail withdrew his claws from the earth where they had sunken in, and he padded forward only so that his forepaws were inside the water, and still on the shallow end of the bank. He sighed and closed his eyes. Why couldn't the world just be perfect? Perfection was beauty, how can anyone find beauty in this? It was like he was living a nightmare of imperfections, all taunting him, as if they all knew that he couldn't fix them all. Oh, if only he could fix all of the imperfections in this world. That'll show them, that'll show them all! All of those stupid, taunting imperfections. Gone! He imagined that beautiful, perfect world now, as he had done many times before. All of the cats' coat patterns would be perfectly symmetrical, everyone and everything would be clean and pristine, there were the same amount of each type of prey caught, and neatly and carefully placed in the fresh-kill pile, and the stepping stones would be straight.

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[atrb=border,0,true] only for use by wild on cobwebs and catmint. images by a rancid amoeba, backpack foodie, and niklas on flickr

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[POSEIDON]

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another head hangs lowly

[style=border:5px solid #42C0FB; -webkit-border-bottom-left-radius:20px; -moz-border-bottom-left-radius:20px; -webkit-border-bottom-right-radius:20px; -moz-border-bottom-right-radius:20px; font-family:arial; font-size:12px; text-align:justify; padding:10px;]The rush of the river was the background to the brightness of the sunlight in this particular stretch of foreign territory. The musky scents of fish-laced cat-scent was thick along all parts of this area of forest, but Poseidon didn't much care. He was here for the water, not for the feline company. The water was for what he was name, after all. An odd namesake, really, especially considering that he hadn't actually swam before in his long little life. Sure, he'd stood in the shallow koi pond his Twolegs had in their garden, but he'd never been tossed in deeper water, and never particularly wanted to be. He could swim sure enough by pure instinct, but the fear alone of drowning kept him from the thicker parts of the rapids, kept him from sticking his nose where he knew it wouldn't belong. So he kept to the shallow and the safe, merely lapping at the deep blue liquid that his eyes were the same color of.

This area of 'RiverClan' as they called it was deserted, which was all the better. Poseidon didn't have the patience today to deal with the territorial spitting of those stupid felines, so caught up in their own world that they didn't even have the courtesy to share. He hadn't once been attacked in all his years of trespassing over each Clans territory, but there had been plenty of close calls. Each and every time they stumbled upon him hunting or fishing or drinking or simply standing on their land, a gigantic hissy fit was thrown. Spitting mad and fluffed to their max, they had not even ruffled the light tabby tom. He was stone-cold smooth in all he did, and wasn't bothered by the naive antics of feral felines. Especially when they attempted to get in the way of his food or drink of preference. As of now, he had his sights set on this small stretch of river, which in the center it had the notorious Stepping Stones.

The water was a calm swath that cut through this particular Clan's territory, and Poseidon envied them only for the running water. Pipes produced water with an acrid taste, and the koi shit where they swam. Drinking either was distasteful and disgusting, and the tom was looking for something a bit more pristine to adventure. His wandering today had taken him far from home, which he could deal with. He approached the river from the tree-line with naught a slight bit of wariness, simply striding to the water and dropping his head without hesitation. He lapped at the water gratefully, purring at the perfectly watery taste it held. Small fish dashed across the surface of the waves ahead of him, and his eyes trailed the surface to the other side. Where, unfortunately, he spotted the other cat. He paused in his drinking for only a moment before continuing, his ears turning backward and his tail flickering with slight tension, a warning. He didn't want to be disturbed, he merely wanted to drink his water, made clear by the way he continued to stare with penetrating blue eyes across the water at the RiverClan Warrior.

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coding by wild on cobwebs and catmint. image by toby prosser on flickr.
only for use by fallenblood on cobwebs and catmint.