WELCOME TO SOLARITE. Cats representing the four elements fight to survive and take all they can from the others. Pollution and mysterious events is what keeps everyone down, sometimes it proves to even be fatal. It's 'fend for yourself', everybody against everybody. Who will win? Who's side are you on?
test
open | bleed out on the lovely streets
Apr 3, 2015 23:40:59 GMT -5
Post by Wakesfield on Apr 3, 2015 23:40:59 GMT -5
He would tiptoe up the volcano and leave tiny paw prints in his wake, giving dead details of where he was going and allowing anyone to follow him through on his miniature journey. But he was only going up inside the earth's pimple, going to walk inside the dormant and rocky depression of earth; it would take awhile, admittedly, and his ears would most likely pop-- but Larkstar was ready for it. After all, the weather seemed to be just right for a little climbing right about now, and he had enough poppy seeds to numb his emotional obstacles (yet, not enough to knock him into slumber). The addiction that the red tabby was facing was a secret yet overwhelming one, but the calmness that came with it was too soothing to stop.
As time went on, the striated tomcat found that the sun was growing as tired as he, and it was dipping well past the volcano's side; by soon it would be dark, and he would have to roll down to find a den to sneak into-- after all, if a search party was sent out after him, it would be embarrassing to tell that the ginger man was just trying to climb into the belly of the beast. They might laugh and scoff at his leadership skills and personality, ditsy-ness, but he was used to it by now. Compared to Oraclekeeper, the leader before himself, he was not as great-- in his own ways, yes, but not as great as the alleged fire breather. But he would try his best, even if drugging himself in the process was needed.
Larkstar found himself settling down and resting on a smooth slope, and his copper gaze had been lifted to meet the fat clouds in the sky. The atmosphere's color no longer retained it's deep blue shade, but it now turned to a pinkish-orange hue, which would eventually fade into a cool obsidian. Milky white dots would scatter across it like speckles of paint flung off an artist's brush, though he was not poetic enough to recognize the nature of it all in it's full beauty. He was not an artist, so he could not see the fine strokes and lines in this. He was just a poor, aging bastard.
