dear_mun | Yes, the mun HAD to make an account for this little guy.

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game: homeless

Yes, the mun HAD to make an account for this little guy.

A little black cat – sort of undersized and scrawny – with a cropped and bent tail sits, looking annoyed, as cats will.

[I have no idea what possessed you to do this. You're just infatuated with the song, right? It's a momentary thing – you'll get bored of me soon enough and leave me be.]

He flicks his ears and looks off into the distance, as unhappy as any proud cat can be with his present situation.

[If you're not taking me back to my friend, I'm not interested.]

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[Clearly, the best person to cross paths with this cat is a ten-foot-tall green mutant-man. He makes no sudden moves upon seeing the cat, but slowly crouches down, resting his elbows on his knees. Fawkes is normally a rather loud fellow, but he's restraining his booming voice for once.]

Hello there, little cat. It's been a very long time since I've seen any of your kind.

[You look… different.]

He gets to his feet but doesn't back away.

Different is certain one of the more polite ways of putting it.

After a minute or so, Fawkes ventures to hold an open hand out as an invitation.

His ears lay back briefly – surprise, not fear. No-one extends a hand to a hated black cat. No-one except the painter.

[…What's wrong with you?]

Have a demonic-looking woman leaning down to look at you.

"You is cat that can speak. This is strange." She was a master of the obvious, sadly not subtle.

All his life, he has been called a servant of the Devil, a messenger of demons. He's never seen the likes of one outside paintings and statues and he isn't sure he likes seeing one now.

"Mrrrrrr," is all he can say, ears tilting back.

[I don't think I've ever been accused of talking before.]

She would hiss right back but talked calmly.

"Maybe because you are smarter than most cats. Abians can understand all kinds of talking. You have eyes like preacher, do you know preacher?"

To Fawkes, a cat is a cat - and this cat isn't being openly hostile, so it's worth a shot. Besides, he hasn't seen one since be was fully human.

"I mean no harm, little cat."

He has no idea what an Abian is. He tilts his head, however; she can really understand him as he hears himself?

[No. I know the painter.]

"I do not know painter. Is he angel or cat?" She can, abians can hear intentions and it is what they really hear instead of words. So anything with a human level of intelligence that could communicate in some way could be understood by an abian.

Of course the giant means no harm. Those who mean harm simply jeer and throw rocks without hesitation. Holy Night knows the face of hatred well, and this odd man's face, however strange, is not that face. He flicks his tail and considers. That hand is as large as his whole body.

The painter taught him what kindness and love and trust look like. He can see this stranger is willing to trust him. Maybe… maybe he can try showing a little trust in kind.

[I still think there might be something wrong with you.]

Nevertheless, he stretches his neck for a cautious sniff.

[The painter is… my friend.]

Holy Night once hated that word and wanted nothing to do with it. He treasures it now, and the warmth that fills his heart knowing he has such a friend. A human unlike any other; a human who doesn't despise him for his appearance. He purrs.

You mean that. Painter must be really nice. Lava and Roxanne are my two best friends. Lava protects me and Roxanne teaches me about angels.

The thought of two friends is unimaginable to the little cat. He just stares.

Do you want to be my friend cat? Roxanne and others would love to give you treats. They like cute things like you and you can't be hurt in the lounge. Lounge has blessing so no one can hurt you intentionally.

…More friends? That's an overwhelming thought. He's only ever had the painter.

It's actually a little frightening if he tries to think about it too much.

[I would like friends, but I don't want to leave the painter.]

Even though the painter isn't here, thanks to his mun. He's unhappy all over again.

"You can have more than one friend."

She would reach out her hand to let the cat sniff it.

"You can just visit the lounge too or bring the painter."

"Hello there, kitty. Is your mun bullying you?" Ayanna kneeled down and held a hand out to the cat, looking curious.

A large hand it is indeed, but Fawkes knows to be cautious with things smaller than he is.

He doesn't move as the cat sniffs at him. There's probably not anything pleasant on him in terms of scents, given the post-apocalyptic world he hails from. Though, if the feline looks up, that odd face of Fawkes' is pulled into some approximation of a smile.

Holy Night wouldn't call what his mun is doing bullying; there's a distinct lack of insults and injury, things he expects. Still, he considers the question while eyeing her hand.

[Why does no-one care about how I look?]

Ayanna was a bit unusual herself. A scruffy black cat wasn't something she would shy away from. She couldn't hear his words, but she could sense the bewilderment.

"What's that face for? Has no one pet you before?"

[Black cats are servants of the Devil.] He heard it often enough. But he knows that he is more than what people say, that his appearance isn't everything. He is Holy Night.

It's still odd to find so many who have no care for the tone of his fur. He leans forward a little, just close enough for his whiskers to brush her fingertips as he sniffs.

She smells odd, not entirely human. If Holy Night had ever sniffed a monkey before, there are faint traces of that scent coming from her (admittedly, Ayanna bathes considerably more than monkeys tend to). She smiled and kept holding her hand out, glancing back at his cropped tail.

"Poor kitty. Looks like the only one you brought bad luck to is yourself."

Sniff he does, curiosity overcoming wariness. After all, she has been quite friendly and nice.

[I… think I might like that.] Somewhat shyly, he butts his head into her hand.

As a matter of fact, Holy Night has no idea what a monkey smells like, but he decides she smells normal enough. He's warming to this notion that like as not, his fur doesn't matter. People have been quite nice to him so far.

Though he is less than amused at the reminder of his misfortunes, and he puts on a magnificent sulk.

[I suppose that's true.]

Gently she would pet him being careful of her own claws. "Is good then. What's your name cat?"

"Woah, that's... strange." Usually speaking in a sympathetic tone made animals happy, but it was almost as if this one understood her words. "Can you understand me?" she asked tentatively.

[He named me Holy Night.] For he had no name until the painter gave it to him. [Do you have a name?] he wonders, rubbing his jaw against the side of her hand if she'll let him.

The question earns a tilt of the head and a flick of his tail. If a cat can look matter-of-fact, he is that cat.

[Of course I can.]

There's a tense pause. "That's so..."

"COOL!" She grinned, sitting down on the ground and patting her lap happily. "C'mere! I like cats. Oh, or are you hungry? I can totally get something!"

No, indeed, the big man doesn't smell very pleasant. But that doesn't mean an automatic rejection, because he has shown the cat only good will.

Fawkes earns a tiny feline headbutt to his hand for his patience.

A proud little cat he may be, but he isn't so proud as to turn down the offer of a snack from someone who seems as pleasant and kind as this girl.

[I am a little hungry…] He cocks his ears forward and sits, watching her expectantly.

That smile widens at the headbutt, and Fawkes' hand turns over - one finger goes to pet the cat's head. It's a little clumsy in doing so, as this form doesn't quite allow for precision movements with small things, but he's trying his best to not threaten or cause harm.

Cats are nimble things; Holy Night startles a little at the unexpected motion, as he's given to do, but it doesn't seem that the big man is shifting to hit him and his brief flinch saves him an accidental tap. He doesn't seem to move terribly well; Holy Night supposes it must have something to do with the odd hue of his skin and the peculiar way he smells.

It's now that he sees them, the scars – big and small, clean and ragged – on that great slab of a hand. Some of them look like they must have been quite painful.

[Did they hurt you for looking different, too?] But the big man can't hear him, so he simply purrs as loudly as he can and leans into the petting.

A number of wasteland residents had done so, despite his peaceful nature and the fact that he traveled with a well-known hero to the area. As had a number of his own kind, though that was more due to his nature than his appearance.

The purring got a pleased, rumbling chuckle out of Fawkes, and he carried on with the petting. "Good kitty..."

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Yes, the mun HAD to make an account for this little guy.

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And switching to prose to make things a little less confusing.

Yeah, Holy Night doesn't lend himself well to action tags.

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T-that video ; ;

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It is an epic yet sad video. So epic it made me make a journal for the cat.

App the poor baby in somewhere so he can get all the kitty cuddles ; ;

Man, I wouldn't know where to app epic determinator non-talking kitty.

Somewhere with pokemon/animal speakers/telepaths to talk to him, I suppose!

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Yes, yes, that is a grand idea. It would help if this mun were smarter. xD;

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We have an Amaterasu, a talking mouse, an animal commune guy and others at Vatheon <3

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I'll have to look into it!

Kitty gon' get taken home.

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Really liking the looks of Vatheon so far, and the mod I spoke to is so nice!

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