motionless in white /private for nettle/

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    Minka drew her tongue serenely over her long, brown tabby fur. The sunlight beat down on her back, and she sighed happily. She had just had breakfast, so her tummy was full. It was a beautiful, perfect day with no clouds in the sky. Yep, life was pretty good. The young tabby got to her paws and stretched, her luminescent golden eyes glowing as she studied the sky before making a decision...To go out for a walk.


    Minka hopped off her front porch, her dainty paws setting on the cobbled walkway carefully. With a deep breath, she padded forward, her paws unused to the stone cobbles. As she reached the lush grass, however, she relaxed. It always felt so nice and spongy under her paws. As she approached the gate, she felt apprehension growing in her chest. What if something happened? She shook her head fiercely, setting her firm gaze. She wouldn't stray far from her home.


    She poked her head out of the gate, before nudging it open and sliding out onto the paved side-street.

    [fancypost bordercolor= transparent]A dash and a dive between the frying pan and the mop, a cat shot out from the back of a two-leg's den, the stupid oaf yelling at him from behind. But, once out and onto a road, he knew the two-leg wouldn't bother him any more.


    Shaking out his mackerel tabby fur unconcernedly, he padded casually down the middle of the road, with no idea of where he might be heading - only his sense of adventure taking him down into the land of the unknown. Of course, he knew where he was - down in the posh side of town, but he was never really familiar with the classy cats. Too high and mighty for him.


    The ruffian was, despite perhaps the glint of arrogance in his sea-green eyes, was quite handsome. Or at least, he thought so; tall, well-toned, smooth fur and what he considered to be a certain air of 'coolness' around him. Other cats would see him this way, except for the latter remark in the description.


    So, what would a rogue of a cat be doing out here? Well, if fate had it's way, he might find out soon enough.

    Minka was padding down the road when all of a sudden loud crashing and banging was heard on her left. Her fur standing straight up, she gasped and backtracked as quickly as she could, golden eyes trained on the gate it had come from, which was a little bit in front of her. Out from the gate popped a...surprisingly handsome mackerel tabby with sea-green eyes.


    She could see, though {it was quite obvious}, that he was a stray. A street cat. A ruffian. Her eyes widened and she swung her head around trying desperately to search for some kind of place to hide behind or an exit to escape out of. She wasn't a fast runner, she could never make it back to her house in time. Terror welled in her chest as she was caught, seen by him.


    She had been told stories by her nanny-cat, Pearl, about how bad these ruffians were. What they did in their free time, how they had no disregard for rules or consequences, how they sharpened their claws on the bones of their victims. Gulping nervously, Minka began backing away, eyes wide, Pearl's words reverberating in her mind. It had been a bad idea to go out for a walk, now she realized that.

    [fancypost bordercolor= transparent]The mackerel tabby's head turned as he heard faint pawsteps, and he found his gaze finding another. A pair of wide golden eyes peered at him through a gate, belonging to a pretty little she-cat.


    For a moment, he stared at her unblinking, taking in the cat before him. However after a heartbeat he moved into action and shot her a smile, something halfway between a smirk and a comforting upturn of the lips. He raised his eyebrows at her, sea-green eyes curious.


    "Hey, precious," He called over to her, and wandered up to the gate with a casual stroll, "What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here?" His tone was... again, mixed like his smile. He wasn't really sure what angle he should take with this one. He would either go with flirty handsome tom or threatening street cat.


    Either way, whatever he decided it would work. Because, well, he was so great wasn't he? ... Self-confidence is a good thing.

    The young tabby continued backing away, picking up her pace with terror pounding in her chest. "S-Stay away, ruffian." She stammered, attempting to sound threatening, but instead sounding like a pathetic kit. Her voice shook as she continued, "I-I'm not afraid to hurt you." That was a complete lie. She could never hurt a fly, but at least she was trying to be confident.


    She got a better look of the tom as he approached her. It was weird...she didn't expect street cats to be so handsome. But this one was, and rightly so. His shoulders were proud and strong, his chest broad, his fur smooth, his eyes sparkling. She expected them to look like trash. This one sure didn't.

    [fancypost bordercolor= transparent]The tom laughed lightly at the she-cat, shaking his head a little in amusement. Poor thing, she sounded nothing like the menacing character she was trying to be, she sounded more... fragile. His gaze softened slightly, though retaining most of it's hardness. He would never go completely soft; he was tough all the way through, and no one could change that.


    However, he found the need to try and raise the mood - he wasn't going to go around scaring she-cats. "Ruffian?" He mewed indignantly, in a joking sort of fashion (though in reality his pride had been dented a little, but he wasn't going to let her know that) "The name's Pigeon," He winked at her slyly, "And what's yours, precious?"


    The more he knew about her the better. Suspicion was a part of him, and even though this dainty daisy wasn't going to do anything to him he couldn't help but want to know more about her. But that was probably just his suspicion, wasn't it?


    Never-the-less, he walked right up to the gate, the mackerel tabby face close to the gate that separated him and this scared she-cat.

    Minka still felt cautiousness racing through her veins, but his softened gaze told her volumes more than his cocky front. Tilting her head, she stopped backing up, but stayed still instead. Pigeon...."Minka." She supplied after a moment's hesitation. Curiosity welled inside of her, unbiddingly wanting to spill forth into questions from her mouth.


    "What is life like out on the streets?" She asked abruptly, almost seeming to blurt the question out. A strange sensation was beginning to spark in her heart...the feeling of freedom, of adventure. After seeing a street cat like Pigeon, still handsome and intact, she wondered if the street life wasn't all Pearl had told her. What if it was actually fun? What if there was adventure around every corner, and thrilling freedom? She had to know, all of a sudden.

    [fancypost bordercolor= transparent]The light tan mackerel tabby's mouth turned up at one corner in a half smile. Minka, it was... a sweet name. It reminded him mildly of honey and nectar, but that might be because those amber eyes were glowing with curiosity in front of him.


    Pigeon found the she-cat's sudden abrupt thirst for knowledge a little... off putting, and he stepped back a pace with his eyebrows raised. Well, it was good that she was eager, he guessed. Shrugging off the shock he leant mostly on one side and flicked his tail tip broodingly.


    "Life on the streets... it ain't pretty." His sea-green eyes looked poetically into the distance. Perhaps she'd buy it, but he was going for the 'rugged, misunderstood, brave hero' look. "I mean, every day you don't fight for food or shelter, you fight for survival," He gave a heavy dramatic sigh as he paused and turn his head back to look at Minka, "Nobody out there gives a damn. Out on the streets you ain't got nobody; it's a cat eat cat world... no justice or any of that stuff."


    He did another half smile as he continued: "But I ain't like the others, precious, 'cause they don't give any care, mercy or justice..." Pigeon gave the she-cat one of his best smoulders, "... I do. Get no credit for it, but what do you expect on the streets? I wouldn't trade it for anything though." He straightened himself up, and a faint breeze ruffled through his fur and slipped over his broad shoulders, "Because every moment you are living. Living like no other moment; everything is on the edge. It's... perfect. So imperfectly perfect."


    Pigeon almost found himself lost in his own act, because his words were the truth, even if he didn't mean them to be.