Ptarmiganquill's Replies

=== Introduction, 9/19/22 ===
Ptarmiganquill: 
Ptarmiganquill made his way through the fog toward the marigold-tread, careful not to let his paws touch the murky dirt that lined different trails where moor-runners have run. He hated being out the camp, watching all the cats come back with mud and dirt all in their coats. It was disgusting to see that. Nature's gift rummaged across a careless cat's mane. Yuck. He held a standing posture, careful to not break it. 
He was a rather formal tom anyways, no other cats seemed to have that way of life stuck with them. Being a former kittypet was rubbing off on his attitude after all. He'd only been accepted maybe, what, less then a week ago? That's not how the clan talked but he refused to call anything a "moon" as it sounded ridiculous. 
Slipping through the fog, his fluffy long fur dragged. He finally made it up toward an area where marigold's grew, and stiffened a bit, seeing two silhouettes off in the distance. They looked almost raggedy, and when he saw them, he made a disgusted expression and turned right back around. 
Might as well give the tread to the ragged cats who live hopeless lives today, it was useless to try and speak to their foul minds anyway.
Nepenthe:
Nepenthe’s large triangular ears pricked upwards as the sound of fur brushing the grass from a distance emanated from the milky air. Immediately, the curly-furred feline bristled, on edge as she nestled in deeper against Ragamuffin. Tourists were supposed to be kept safe within Clan territory during the Festival, weren’t they? Nothing should happen to to them out here. No one- She let out a squeak of fright as her adopted sibling let out a rather much too loud, and much too location-giving, “Hello?” Her cold glare shot around to her other shoulder, no longer searching the fog with her set of peircing eyes. “Shshhhushshush! Shush! what are you doing?” She hissed at Ragamuffin’s surprised green glance, blinking back at her. “I thought you heard something,” they supplied with a shrug, a leaf dislodging itself from his littered pelt with the movement and drifting to the ground. “There’s no need to be spooked by a lil’ rustle in the woods,” they continued, eyes roving back into the fog over Nepenthe’s ears.
Ragamuffin:
“Anyone there? No need to be shy,” She called once more after a few moments of silence, earning themselves another blazing blue glare and a prod. “What if it’s an owl, I’ve heard those things are out hereee,” Nepenthe turned back to the fog, her fearful whining getting the best of Ragamuffin as well. The marigold flowered grasslands suddenly seemed eerie covered in the cloudy gray silence of morning, with the sun still nowhere in sight. “Stop! Now you’re scaring me!” He mewed, a worried smile splayed across their features, trying to play the idea off with wide eyes casting about the fog for any sign of a plausible explanation to hook onto. “Why would an owl be out here so early in the- or rather, I suppose for them, late in the morning?” they reasoned, with Nepenthe as much as with themselves. “They’re nocturnal, the little fellows should be holed back up in their trees by now,” at this realization, his black and white pelt began to deflate again, fur having fluffed up in fear to make her look twice their actaul size.
Ptarmiganquill:
The tom-cat paused, lifting his paw and batting at his left ear.
These kits are too loud.
He thought to himself, putting his paw down and swaying his tail a bit.
Rude to spoil the dew like this.
He did a quick check to make sure no dirt had climbed its way into his beautiful fur then nodded to himself and turned back around. Though he couldn't see well through the fog, he could still smell the tourists. Even though the tom-cat didn't know what Tourists were, so he just thought dirty loners were there. He made his way up, knocking over a flower as he did. He paused, putting his paw against it's stem to push it back upward. Though he wasn't that much of a nature guy, he did love the smell the marigold's gave off when they were fresh. And for that, they were good in his book. Ptarmiganquill finally made it within view range of the two, which meant he was quite close as the fog strolled in. Once he got a good look, his disgustful expression subsided.
At least they're not ruffians.
The toms thought silently as he took time to analyze their pelts and attributes based off looks.
Nepenthe:
The dainty she-cat was just about ready to give up peering into the wall of clouds, ready to accept Ragamuffin’s reassurances when a faint silhouette appeared along the dirt path they’d just gotten off. Icy eyes watched warily until the stranger finally uncloaked themselves from the mist, her eyes darting over the newcomer once before pulling away with a disinterested sigh, all her nerves calming. He didn’t look like a Wild cat, that was for sure. He reminded her too much of her neighbors, his posture for one thing. In fact, Nepenthe was surpirsed at the lack of a collar or other some such tag around his neck. But then again, she didn’t particularly care either. What’s a girl got to do to be left alone out here? Can’t these Clan toms keep to themselves for a single night? Her white frame was half-hidden by Ragamuffin’s fluff, her wavy fur curling into the folds of the mist. Only her bright blue eyes and pink bow gave her away out of the fog, though she hoped the visitor would be just that, and pass by them quickly enough for as short a visit as possible. Nepenthe knew this was asking too much however, with Ragamuffin at her side.
Ragamuffin: 
At the sight of a shape emerging from the mist, Ragamuffin gave a delighted chirp when it morphed into a cat and stopped right before them, eyes widening even further. “Top of the morning, it’s a pleasant surpirse to see anyone else out here so early up!” They greeted warmly, a smile dipping into their round features as his head tilted a smigde to the right. The jingle of the bell on her collar echoed through the fog at their movement, a freindly dip of the head. They decidedly ignored Nepenthe’s willful silence, knowing she wasn’t one for small talk, but she couldn’t expect them to let this newcomer just slip back into the mist! The stranger piqued his interest immediately. Owl-like eyes examined what he presumed to be a Clan cat, judging by the lack of a collar, though she didn’t remember him from their previous visits either, and they would have: The stranger’s markings were quite handsome. He could well be a Tourist like them. “Come out here to watch the sunrise as well?”
Ptarmiganquill:
"Good morrow, dear cats."
The tom replied. He didnt exactly care too much now since the cats were are least formal in some sense. He dipped his head in respect to the tom in front of him. Though gave a look to the she behind, giving her almost a look of disgust. He tipped his tail forward.
"What are you two non-clans doing here?"
He asked politely, barely acknowledging the she behind him as he thought it wad stupid to try.
Ragamuffin: 
Her smile wavered just the slightest, but it took much more than that to put them off so quickly. “Just,” their fuzzy black tail flicked out towards the scene in front of them, where the sun had by now begun to peek it’s rosy face over the rim of the world, obscured just enough by the fog to be able to look at, “enjoying the morning. Sunrises are always beautiful in this area, no?” She turned his face for a moment to the sun, a deep breath settling into their lungs as they enjoyed the tranquility. “Oh, pardon me, how rude, my name is Ragamuffin,” they swiveled their owlish face back to the stranger, “and this is Nepenthe,” she gave the other kittypet a nudge, but the ghostly figure didn’t budge so they returned their spring gaze back to the other cat again with a jingle of the bell, “and you are,,?”
Ptarmiganquill:
"Salutations, friend." 
His tail tipped a bit as the tomcat looked behind the cat in front of him. He looked at she-cat, his expression skeptical, yet silent. Then he glanced toward the feline in front of him.
"My name is Ptarmigan."
He paused.
"Quill. Ptarmiganquill."
The tom said, correcting his response. He still had to get used to clan names, even though they were ridiculous to him, he still just went with it. How much he envied that dear leader whom took him in. What a fool. He didn't really like the idea of a cat being in greater power then him, but it wasn't about her right now, so none the less, he put his focus back onto the two whom stood in front of him.
Nepenthe:
At the sound of the stranger’s name, Nepenthe let out a snort of laughter, not bothering to smother or hide it, or even to explain it. Did every Clan cat have to have the weirdest name possible? Was that some sort of competition out here? What in the sweet world was a Ptarmigan? Something with quills, apparently! No sooner was the question out of her mind than it was out of Ragamuffin’s jaws, though it sounded much more genuine and interested. “Oh, you’re a Clan cat then! Hm, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that one before. What’s a Ptarmigan?” They questioned, that familiar green gleam of curiosity shining from Ragamuffin’s eyes. Nepenthe had better things to do right now than pay Ptarmiganquill here any mind. If that was even his name, because he seemed to come to it quite slowly, if someone were to ask her. Wild cats, she rolled her crystal blue eyes, too slow to even remember their own overly convoluted names. She was watching the sunrise, which was actually as beautiful as Ragamuffin had said it would be. Soft yellow skies contrasted against marigold grasslands with a slight pink tint to the surronding fog and to the clouds drifting lazily by overhead in the ever-bringhteningly blue heavens. Sort of peaceful, if you didn’t mind the wild animals waiting to eat you around every corner or the weather hoping to freeze you to death.
Ptarmiganquill:
The tom's tail twitched slightly, his ears pricking at the question. What a dumb question it was to ask.
oMg WhAt's A PtArMiGaN?
Ptarmiganquill mocked in his mind, peering his eyes at the feline.
What a imbécile.
His eyes narrowed a bit more, a part of him wished to ask what a ragamuffin is just to be rude. Since it was such a stupid question to ask. Yet, he shook his head and sighed. At least he'd be able to educate these crétins about the bird whom was so magnificent that it was suitable for a name. Though it was ruined by the surname "quill", he didn't care in the moment.
"It's a type of bird, in which looks sheepish and makes it's heritage near UK grounds."
The tom replied, simply.
If these cats are not in the clan, they should at least know what the kingdom is. My folk wouldn't shut up about it after all.
His tail twitched a bit, as he waited for their response. He itched for it, waiting and waiting. They were so slow to him, it was starting to aggravate the tom. Of course he's not mad at the fact they're kittypets, at best guess of course, but it's the fact they're so niais was bothering him. His whiskers started to twitch as he waited for them to respond.
=== Interaction with Slothsneeze and Smokestone ===
Slothsneeze: 
The pale pink tendrils of dawn were overshadowed by the curtain of clouds sweeping over the gentle sky in rolling waves, snubbing out the sun’s light with a mutiny that was irrefutable. Though morning had set in — small songbirds were warbling sleepily from their perches in the distant treetops to signal the start of a new day — the land was still submerged in darkness, the lingering remnants of night. Slothsneeze had gotten a fitful night of rest. He’d tossed and turned in his nest trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, only to find a persistent ache in his lower back that would shake him awake after periodic moments of respite. A fatigue still lingered in his joints and clouded his mind, though upon hearing a couple other early birds stir awake around him, the young moor-runner decided to give up on the notion of sleep, fluttering open weary eyes to peek out at the mouth of the den he currently resided in. With an internal countdown, the tan furred tom pushed himself up into a sit, honeyed gaze half slitted and thick fur jutting out in all sorts of odd directions from a restless night. Heaving a quiet sigh to himself, the tom began to wrestle down the rebellious locks of tousled fur with his raspy tongue, forcing them to smooth down presentably by his side before peering out into the hazy forest with a squinty expression. A low fog hung over the entirety of Sunlit Prairies, and the air was sticky with humidity. For a moment, the dreary weather nearly deterred Slothsneeze from properly getting up, and the tom briefly contemplated on going back to laying idle in his nest, though a glance at the rather pitiful looking fresh kill pile and the pins and needles that were beginning to prick at his forearms were enough to urge him out of the warmth of his den.
Padding out into the clearing, Slothsneeze’s keen optics perused the area one last time, before he settled on a prompt exit out of the barriers of camp. He would do some hunting to plump up the prey pile.   The walk to the Wildflower Thicket was a serene one, despite the rather foul weather. Aside from a couple bird calls from the faraway treetops, the forests were relatively quiet. Moisture gathered heavily in the air like an invisible blanket, and the strong scent of petrichor invaded Slothsneeze’s senses every time he opened his maw to draw in nearby smells. His mind still seemed to lag behind his actions, though, no matter how much he tried to blink himself awake, and he hoped that once he began hunting such a thing would dissipate and he would feel more like himself again. Pushing past a thick swath of dense foliage, the path he was taking slowly became dotted with violet wildflowers that swished along his ankles, and before he knew it the vast meadow — brimming with vibrant flowers — filled his vision. A gentle smile curled upon his soft features, gaze glowing appreciatively as they took a quick catalogue of the beauty the land had to offer. He was proud, to say the least, that Sunlit Prairies was home to such expansive territories, each more beautiful than the last. Wrinkling his nose, a faint pang of regret poked at his chest. It was too bad he hadn’t been able to show Nepenthe around before she left for the Twoleg place once more. She had seemed so enamored by the fireflies that he had been intent on showing her the nightly beauties of his home, though it had been late and they had settled on sleeping instead. “A pity,” he mumbled out to the gentle hum of the insects and the lofty breeze, before a sharpness overtook his expression, and he prepared for a hunt. 
A young rabbit stood in the forefront of his vision, its long brown ears flopping by its side as it hopped forth and nibbled on the tender shoots of grass between the violet blooms.
While it was more difficult to enter a chase alone, Slothsneeze figured that if he got close enough, his speed would be able to compensate for his lack of company and he would be able to secure the kill. Stalking forward, the dusty tom’s sunflower optics locked onto his target, the young moor-runner hardly making a sound as he crept through the tall grasses, and just as the leveret raised its head to glance at its surroundings Slothsneeze suddenly surged forward, giving the rabbit merely a split second to react and begin running. The chase was on, and with lean muscles pumping Slothsneeze followed closely behind his prey, trying to herd it into an unfavorable position as he slowly began to gain leverage. The rabbit took a sharp turn to run towards the bushes, darting to the side, and Slothsneeze quickly followed suit, his tail flailing wildly to support the sudden change in direction as his claws dug up bits of mud and dirt. He was right on its trail, and he would be able to pounce any second until —
— “Woah!” The sound of a foreign voice startled Slothsneeze from his close pursuit, enough for him to slow down and look up, enough for the leveret to speed up and barrel into safety. In front of him, two feline figures suddenly appeared before him, and the dusty tom let out a small cry of surprise as momentum urged him forward and he skidded to a jarring stop. The tom winced slightly as the force of the action put pressure upon his back legs, though at this point his entire body was aching from exertion and he looked at the ones who had interrupted his hunt with chest heaving. Despite feeling faintly disappointed that he had exerted himself only to allow his prey to slip away, Slothsneeze forced such a thought aside and focused on the cats standing before him, gilded optics amiable as he tipped his head to them cordially in the midst of his panting.
“Sorry, didn’t see you guys there” he breathed, winded, before glancing to where the rabbit had shot away into the hedges. Without letting his gaze linger, he peered once again at his feline company, eyes flitting between the two. “Hmm… Smokestone and… Ptarmiganquill, if I got that correctly? Apologies if not, it’s nice to meet you guys” The tan-furred youth shot both cats a light grin, tail swishing lightly by his ankles.
Smokestone:
Smokestone sniffed the fragrant blooms around her, lifting her head, glancing from Ptarmiganquill as he exclaimed, then in the direction of the racing moor-runner. She froze, ears pinning back, tail low. She took a couple paw steps back just before the young cat came to a stop. She lowered her chin, narrowing them at the moor-runner. She didn’t necessarily “respond” to Slothsneeze as the tom mentioned her name. She glanced between the two toms, her tail swayed slowly from side to side, her ears still pinned. She didn’t seem pleased to be charged at, portrayed well by her seemingly unamused expression.
Ptarmiganquill:
The tom stumbled, not much, but his back paw hit a small rock hidden amongst the flowers and toppled the Tom backward onto his back, his belly exposed. 
He fell right onto some mud that was coughed up by the stream not too far away. His gorgeous cream-white and dark browns got corrupted by the awful look of dark, thick, musty-brown mud. He lifted to his paws and shook his fur, but the mud stuck to it like a kit to its mother's foreleg. He lifted one of his paws, the ugly sludge dripping from it down into more of it. 
There wasn't a huge amount present since the stream was smaller, but just a spot made him furious. He glared at Slothsneeze, his pupils dilated into icy slits as the Tom's expression was clear to read of rage.
"How dare you? Don't you know how impolite it is to not only knock a cat down, but to dirty their luscious coat!"
The tom snapped at him. Completely disregarding Smokestone's appearance in the conversation there.