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achromatic 》set after the attack and before the kitnapping
It had been a few days since she'd awoken from her coma, and Matilde had risen as a new cat. She was angry now, stiff with caution, and almost unbearable to be around at times. The charming baby princess her parents knew had been replaced by a little menace. She was practically never alone these days, constantly accompanying at least one of her family members on their day to day business. Deep down she was scared they would leave, as Laertes had left, and she thought keeping tabs on them would stop that from happening. But they also served as her shield — she’d always used her family name as a weapon, but now she was more cautious with the knowledge that her family’s enemies were still out there; she knew she was vulnerable. Unfortunately, this left her rather overbearing, even controlling; new Tilly had a tendency of cutting off anything and anyone from interacting with her family without her say so. Her trust had been utterly shot.
Today the princess trotted side by side with Bermondsey, having convinced her father that she needed to accompany him on his leadership duties. It had been surprisingly easy; she suspected he had been even more shaken about her near-death than she had, and didn’t mind keeping a close eye on her. She was his little princess, after all. But time would tell how much he’d mind everyday being take your daughter to work day.
Post by achromatic on Jun 13, 2022 14:50:39 GMT -5
Bermondsey's demeanor had shifted back to the soldier he had practiced being all his life. There was no softness left, the kinder side of him had all but disappeared. He always saw this happening, the way his life would fracture like a mirror on the ground, reflecting his own shape in an abstraction of all that was real and true. He hadn't seen his sisters in a while, and now NightClan had shattered the illusion, that things were going fine. That his kits would grow up with a childhood wholly unlike his.
He had lost his mother at a young age, and now his kits would lose their brother in a different way. He couldn't help but think that perhaps there was a link–there had been hushed stories of his father and how he had betrayed their family to join the league, and his own brother had been the reason why his mother had died–to the fact that all the firstborn sons had a chip on their shoulder. The tom was lost in his own thoughts, his head in the clouds, only interrupted when he noticed Matilde next to him, trotting alongside his back paws.
His chest warmed a little at the sight of her. He had been so scared that she would be lost that night; his protectiveness was heightened more than ever. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he asked with a soft smile reserved only for his closest ones.
My head hurts, I’ve been nauseous since I woke up, I have an irritating rash climbing up my chest, and my throat feels like its swollen shut, but other than that I’m great. She wanted to gripe, but she didn’t. Perhaps she would’ve before; her siblings knew her irritating tendency to milk sympathy from her father. Her ability to make a mountain out of a molehill, to turn a scratch into a maiming. But Tilly was older now; yes she was still a step or two behind her peers in the size department, but her baby fluff was a little less fluffy, her eyes were a little less oversized, and she FELT older too. Being a baby meant being weak and helpless. She was glued to her father’s side presently, but she didn’t want to admit weakness anymore. A part of her wanted to be equals with him — his enemies were her enemies too, and she wanted to display that she could be brave in the face of them, and that they could defeat them together.
“I’m well enough to accompany you on your duties today,” she replied sweetly, though there was an undercurrent of a demand in her words. “You’ll let me come, won’t you?”
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
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Post by achromatic on Jun 19, 2022 18:34:32 GMT -5
He had known for a while, that all of his kits had a chip on their shoulder. It was a family thing really, something he had passed on just like his father had passed to him; he was brought to life from the culmination of his father's sins. His sister had been wrath, his brother had been greed, and he himself held the green eye of envy. It had taken him too long to realize that Laertes surely had something too, some expectation Bermondsey had held too high, or perhaps some fear he had shown too close to his skin...he wasn't all so sure.
In a way, he was terrified of his kits. Terrified only a father could be, that they'd somehow all find a reason for their rage. He didn't describe himself as having a heart but surely even that would break if his kits all found themselves destined for tragedy the way he had set his own path to be. He feared so much that Matilde, his sweet little Tilly, would find some inner rage, some demon of hurt inside her after what had happened.
He nodded stiffly, slowing his steps only slightly for her to keep up with her shorter legs. "Only if you listen and not throw yourself into danger like your sisters do," he spoke, his tone wry. He had lost one kit already, he wasn't about to lose another. There was a nagging in his chest, a need to protect her–no, a need to make sure she knew how to protect herself.
"What about a little training session?" he asked softly, "only if you're up for it."
