Ask to Join A Lute is a Loot

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Whitehart never failed to surprise him, it was quite a cat friendly neighborhood, he appreciated that, but he did hear the odd barking or yapping of a dog every now and again when he visited. Never for very long, and never slept there, he preferred the wilderness, no matter how many feisty clan cats he ran into, the thrill was half of it!

Fox's ears perked at the sound of chirping and noticed a bird pecking at a bit of grass, likely seeds that were placed there. The bird wasn't facing him, good. He fell quietly into a hunting crouch, his form fluid and smooth from repeated action as he crept forward.

He narrowed his lime eyes and leapt forward, teeth bared and claws unsheathed as he hooked the sparrow's wing, pulling it to him before it could flap away and dispatching it with a swift bite to the next, but it wasn't without a terrified screech that send the others fluttering away to hide, even if it was temporary.

Fox shook out his ginger striped fur his massive size catching a shadow of the dead bird when he stood before he picked up his catch and turned to trot away to eat his fill.

Ring around the rosy.
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Lute’s ears flicked sharply at the screech, their tail tip lashing as the garden chorus shattered into silence. The sparrows that had filled the air moments before were now nothing but fading wings and frightened shadows. "Really?" They called out, their voice lilting with mock offense as they leaned forward over the fence rail. Blue eyes narrowed, but there was more pout than anger in their expression. "I was enjoying that show! You can’t just go stomping in, claws first, and scatter my entertainment. Some of us like to savor the build up, you know."

They gave an exaggerated sigh, flopping down along the fence with one paw dangling, chin resting atop it. Their whiskers twitched, eyes fixed on the ginger striped tom as he shook out his pelt. "Don’t get me wrong, nice leap and all - " They added with a teasing grin, voice sing song. "But couldn’t you have waited just a little? I hadn’t even picked my favorite yet." Their tail gave a lazy flick as if punctuating their point, though curiosity tugged at their gaze as they licked at their white toes.

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Fox had the sparrow neatly held up in his jaw, its last flutters already stilled. He dropped the bird and bent down to pull at the feathers, ready to savor his prize before the silence of the garden made him pause. The only sound now was the rustle of leaves and the faint creak of the fence, then came a voice, playful and sing-song, drifting down like birdsong itself.

He straightened, ears flicking and lime eyes found a chocolate tortoiseshell sprawled across the fence. For a heartbeat he considered just walking on, but the mock offence in their tone pulled a wry chuckle from his throat. With an easy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, he turned back, the sparrow, missing a few feathers, was moved in front of him, he placed a paw against it to stop anyone or anything from stealing it.

"Well, excuse me for ruining the performance." Fox said warmly, amusement thick in his voice. "I must've missed the sign saying 'No Hunting Until The Tortoiseshell's Done Picking Favorites.' You'll have to forgive me, rogues like me don't get the luxury of curtain calls." His tail flicked in light-hearted rhythm as he tilted his head, studying them with unabashed curiosity.

"But hey," he added, sharp with glinting behind his easy tone, "if it helps, you can call this one your favorite." He nudged the sparrow toward the fence with his paw, generosity slipping in as naturally as his humor. "Consider it my apology for cutting the show short. You can watch me chase butterflies next if you're still craving entertainment." His eyes shone with mischief as he waited to see if they'd take the bait, either the bird or the joke.

Ring around the rosy.
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Lute’s whiskers twitched as the tom nudged the limp sparrow closer, their head tilting in mock consideration. For a moment they tapped the fence with one paw like they were truly weighing his offer, then wrinkled their nose with a soft laugh.

"Mmm, nah." They mused, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. "I wasn’t exactly starving. I only wanted the drama." Their paw flicked dismissively toward the sparrow, as though it were no more than a dropped leaf. "The moment’s gone now, all thanks to you."

Still curiosity sparkled in their eyes as they rose from their perch. With a brief stretch, they pushed up onto their toes before springing down from the fence, landing light as a feather just a few fox length away. Their tail curled behind them in a slow deliberate sway, confidence written in every movement.

"Your performance wasn't bad." Lute loosed a throaty purr, padding closer. "Most cats skulk off with their prize, but you’ve got jokes, hm? And here I thought rogues were all brooding and scars." They paused, crouching low to peer at him with an echoed mischievous grin. "Nah, butterflies are too easy. Plus...they don't even make sounds when you catch them. Nice to look at, though, especially those big orange ones..."

Blue eyes crinkled with mirth, leaving the tom to wonder if they meant the butterflies or himself of which they wouldn't reveal. "I'm Lute."

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Fox's grin widened into an amused smirk as he sat, cling his tail over hit white front paws, watching her exaggerated movements, confident as one of those young warriors in the clans, part of it amused him and the other part was rather... alluring, but not to the point of pursuit, her hadn't truly met this cat yet. We'll see, he thought to himself before meeting her mirthful gaze.

"Well I'm not most cats am I?" he teased, clawing at the sparrow he'd caught in hopes that the feathers would clear away quicker like it did with mouse fluff, birds weren't his main source of food... he didn't really hunt around Whitehart since he had that little 'dance' with the self proclaimed princess. Regardless the scraping seemed to have worked and he took a bite of the bird, licking the blood from his whiskers after he swallowed the chunk of meat.

Fox raised a brow at Lute's vagueness but he didn't ponder for long, instead, decided to retort back with a similar response, "I don't know, I'm quite fond of the pretty dappled ones" he mused, twitching the tip of his tail, his focus shifting to their name, Lute. He released an amused breath before answering "Fox."

Storytelling reveals meaning

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Loot had decided to catch up with her sister, leaving the safety of their home and roaming into the streets of Whitehart. Not that the peacerful little village was much for danger. Not the easiest place to find truely exciting adventures.

And that was why she leaned on the radio for some of her preformance pieces. As she walked in the sunshine she hummed for a bit, and then began quietly singing.

”I think I’m gonna call him out, She says.” The rythem of her paws changed, matching the song’s beat with stalking steps. ”I think he did it but I just can’t prove it. I think he did it…”

She came upon Lute and Fox. She’d hardly gotten into her song, but this stood to be far more interesting. With a ripple of her dappled pelt she slid up behind her sister in time to just catch the tom’s name. ”I’m also Loot.”

Ring around the rosy.
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Lute’s ears pricked at his answer, their purr deepening into a low hum. Pretty dappled ones, hm? Their whiskers twitched, blue eyes glittering with curiosity. They leaned back on their haunches with a dramatic little sway of their shoulders, as though he’d just paid them the highest compliment in the world.

"Well." They purred, voice lilting with mock grandeur. "A charmer too! Careful, Fox - flattery will get you far!"

Their gaze flicked briefly to the sparrow between his paws, wrinkling their nose before returning to him with renewed brightness. "Shame, though. You’re wasting good lines while chewing feathers. You got bird stuff on your chin."

Before the tom could answer another voice drifted in, soft and sing song, just behind them. Lute blinked, whiskers twitching, as the familiar rhythm of their sister’s voice slid into the scene. They turned just in time to see Loot padding up, humming her little tune with the most dramatic stalk steps this side of Whitehart.

"Oh for Byron's sake." Lute groaned theatrically, though their eyes winked amusement. "Fox, this is Loot. Loot, Fox. Yes, that’s right... Our human mother really thought she was clever."

Yet Lute betrayed a toothy grin. "Whitehart's own comedy act."

They padded a step closer. "So whatcha doin' on this side of town, hm? You from anywhere in particular?"

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Storytelling reveals meaning

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”You’re thinking of our brother Burgle.” Loot sniped back at the orange and white tom after his introduction. Her sister was right about this one. He did make a decent go of being charming.

Too bad she knew what sorts of ends that character led the way to.

But, if Lute wished to parlay, then so did Loot. This one seemed like he might have stories worth telling if she found his way to one of the Tom’s more interesting adventures.

”I’m not sure you’ve seen enough of Whitehart to know the most interesting things about it.” She told him, taking a seat next to her sister so she could better observe the stranger. ”But at least I know what the fox says, now…”

Ring around the rosy.
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Lute snorted at Loot’s quick quip about Burgle, their laugh spilling out bright and unrestrained. "Let's keep some secrets for ourselves." They shook their head, whiskers twitching with mirth, before leaning lightly against Loot’s shoulder as each seemed a mirrored, yet oddly opposite sort of way.

Their gaze slid back to Fox, sharp but sparkling, as they tipped their chin. "So. A wanderer who leaves smiles behind, is that it?" Their tail flicked lazily, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "Sounds like someone who talks as much as I do. And that’s saying something."

They stretched long and slow, paws flexing against the soft earth before settling again with an expectant purr. Their voice sing songed as though coaxing a kit into a game. "Alright, Fox. If you’re as memorable as you claim, prove it. Tell us one of your stories."

They leaned forward just a touch, head cocked, whiskers quivering in anticipation. A grin split across their muzzle, equal parts challenge and delight. "Come on, traveler. What’s the wildest thing you’ve seen? Follow us to our stage." With a turn, they began to pad towards their backyard, hopping back onto the fence.

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Fox let out a laugh at Loot's jab, the sound rich and easy, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Burgle, eh?" Stars above, if you'd told me that with a straight face I'd have believed you. Fox, Lute, Loot and Burgle, sounds like the of troupe that could either charm a village into giving up its supper or rob them blind." his whiskers twitched with humor, tail curling loosely by his side.

He tipped his head in mock solemnity, but there was a warm spark behind his eyes as he followed them toward the fence. "Alright then, a story. Since you've asked so sweetly, I'll give you one of my favorites."

The tom sat back on his haunches, his tone dipping into that low, lilting cadence of a born storyteller. "There's a town a few days journey south of here, all cobblestones and ivy, and in the middle of it, this enormous clocktower. Thing's so tall you can see it before you even catch scent of the town. Anyway, the cats there believe it's haunted. They say if you linger too long at the base, you'll hear whispers in the walls, some claim it's the voices of cats who never left, others say it's the tower itself, keeping time with every life that passes."

Fox leaned forward, eyes narrowing with theatrical seriousness before breaking into a grin. "Truth is, it's just the pigeons. Hundreds of them roost up in the gears, and when the wind hits just right, their cooing echoes like voices. Terrified half the youngins in that town, but I'll tell you, makes a fine story if you don't spoil the ending too soon, builds suspense."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I had a whole crowd of kits hanging on my every word that day, wide-eyed and quivering. Never saw a group run so fast when the bell tolled. Nearly bowled me over in their hurry. But I'm pretty certain it was mixed with laughter." Fox's grin softened into something warm and knowing as his gaze flicked between the sisters. "And that, friends, is why you wait for the build up before the leap. Otherwise you might bowl the big orange tabby over in the shenanigans" he laughed, shaking out his thick, lion-like neck fur like he was proud of it.

Storytelling reveals meaning

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The legend of Burgle the Catburgler was honestly something Loot felt like she might have to pursue in the future. But that would be for a time when she wasn’t in about to hear a stranger tell her a story she didn’t have to make up. Or experience first hand.

As Fox began she pricked her ears and watched his delivery. He clearly had some practice at tale-spinning. It was a rather pedestrian ghost story with a sherlockian reveal, but honestly a bit banal with a bright character like Sherlock Holmes himself to carry the narrative thread. Maybe she could use the stories seeds to grow an escape for her newly invented darling Burgle.

Loot only took a few seconds before she was able to respond to Fox, however, despite her mind spinning with possibilities.The loom of ideas was warped and she would weave the tale properly soon enough.

”The young rather enjoy being scared when it’s in a safe space.” She wasn’t sure that the orange and white tom would much appreciate her expectation of a more nuanced story. His delivery was good enough, but she was sure she could do the idea better justice with some thought.

Ring around the rosy.
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Lute’s whiskers twitched at Loot’s measured response, a low purr bubbling in their throat as they sprawled across the fence rail, stretching one paw out like they were the judge in some grand court.

"True!" They agreed, tail curling lazily in time with their words. "Kits love to be scared when they know someone’s gonna be there to laugh it off after. Half the thrill is having a big strong storyteller to run to when the bell tolls." Their grin widened, sly and unrepentant as they angled a glance down at Fox like he could have played the part well enough. 

They flicked their ears toward Loot, mirroring her tone but spinning it lighter, teasing. "But my sister’s right, y’know. A little suspense is nice, but if the ending’s too neat. It’s like a sparrow without feathers. The fun’s already picked clean."

Their blue eyes glimmered as they leaned their head to swipe at their neat little white toes, unsheathing her claws as they delicately picked at them with a musical hum that bend and lifted with each swipe of their tongue. They gave their sister a side long glance. "How would you spin this tale, Loot?"

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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Fox raised a brow at the sisters' thoughts on his story, it wasn't much for feedback, it wasn't as if he would tell lies about what had actually happened, but nevertheless, it was interesting to see the she-cats bicker about how the story could be shifted differently and Fox didn't mind that at all. After all, the only thing better than telling a story was hearing one.

"Oh please!" He purred, voice low but lilted with intrigue and indulgent with whatever Loot could brew up in that head of hers. "I'd be interested to see a fictional twist to this" he cheered, twitching the tip of his ginger tail as he leapt the fence with ease, meeting Lute on the rail, tail curling to keep his balance as he glanced at the newly met storyteller.

He gave Lute a sideward glance as well as a toothy smirk, he was interested in weather they would add their own twist with their sister or if they would let Loot take the stage. Either way, this was going to be good.

"Two stories in one day is better than none at all, show me what you have, o' pale-bellied one!"

Storytelling reveals meaning

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**”A tale off the cuff… I can do that!” Loot’s face went thoughtful, and she took just a bit to think on the matter.

”In the far south lies a city wrapped around the foot of a clocktower that rises like an endless spire from the center of a grassy knoll.” With the setting lightly laid, she was finding the stride of the tale as she wove it. ”This tower was the terror of all cats from the youngest kit to the eldest of the old-timers. The walls itself echoed with the purrs of long lost cats who had braved their way into the spire to be lost evermore.”

Another pause for dramatic effect. ”The temptation of the pigeons at the top of the tower were too much for many a cat to refuse. The temptation to hunt amongst the gears and beams brought the bravest forward to climb it, the sun glinting on his pale fur, even with the tales of the vanished already left behind.” The image of a cocky gray cat climbing up caught in her mind.

”When the most recent of the spire’s victims ascended his friends gathered around the foot, listening to the soft, mournful noise from above, purring in sorrow and pain. When the bell tolled and the pigeons flew they murmured in fear for the lost member of their clowder. When the moon rose they gathered themselves to leave, for they had waited hours as the sun sank below the horizon.” Another pause for effect. ”Then it was gray furred Burgle who cried out: ’He will not be lost! I’m going up!’”

”And so Burgle slid into the crack next to the door, and the rest peeked through behind him, watching his shadowed body vanish into the darkness and up into the spire.” Let’s see, an end… Always the hardest part. ”The clowder waited below, aching to know what would befall them both. The purring of the ghosts continued, echoing slightly in the open stairwell that they each took a turn watching the darkness within.

Before long the volume of the purr rose, then, the sound of the bell tore through the night above them. The drumming of wings on the air and the screaming coos of the pigeons above” She took a moment to dart her tongue to her paw and swipe it over her ear. ”This would be best having been timed to the bell, so that it rings out through your description of the pigeons flight.” She directed the instruction to the storyteller tom. Maybe he could make sure of the idea the next time he had both a bell tower and an audience to paw. ”The birds swirled around the spire, drawing attention upwards. These pigeons were not the soft creatures we know from city streets. Their eyes glowed red in the darkness as they swirled in a mass like crows around the side of the tower. At the center of the mass, clinging to the windowsill above was a dark, feline shape.

”In desperation the cat swung, clawed and climbed his way down the tower. Some of the moments the swirling mass of birds forced him to stop and bat them away. Just halfway down the spire and then, a flash of white from the foot of the door. A ghostly figure streaked in blood streamed from the gap with a wail:” Her voice raised in a sudden shriek! ”’RUN FOR YOUR LIFE’”

”Burgle leapt from the side of the spire, hitting the ground running to join the fleeing clowder! They all took cover under the porch of the house, far enough back that even the mad pigeons couldn’t follow. Mystery, the blood covered cat who had first gone into the tower told of being beset by pigeons as soon as he had reached the top. He’d hidden desperately amongst the clock gears, struggling to stay clear of the ripping beaks. When Burgle had reached the top, they had turned on him, and Burgle had drawn the attention of the flock, then fled out the window, giving Mystery a moment to flee town the stairs.”

And thus the first of Burgle’s tales came to be.

Ring around the rosy.
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Lute had gone still at the first notes of Loot’s tale, ears pricked, whiskers quivering, their bright eyes following every carefully placed pause like they were a kit again, being coaxed into a dream.

As the story swelled, their claws flexed against the fence rail, tail flicking sharply in time with the drama. At the shriek, they nearly toppled backwards with a startled laugh, fur puffing along their shoulders before smoothing down again. Their eyes were fixed in a knowing glower.

Their purr rose low and bubbling, and they leaned against their sister with a theatrical sigh. "Well, Fox, looks like you’ve got competition. My dear sister just spun your pigeon tale into a tragedy, a horror, and a heroic ballad for our darling Burgle." They tipped their chin, blue eyes dancing with amusement. "You’ll have to sharpen those stories if you want to keep up with us Whitehart cats."

They hopped lightly along the fence rail, tail sweeping like a conductor’s baton as they announced, "Still, I’ll give it to you both. If we’re forming a troupe, you two can weave the words. I’ll provide the flair." Lute struck a ridiculously dramatic pose chest puffed, paw raised, whiskers flared before dropping back into an easy grin.

Turning back to Fox, their voice softened, teasing but edged with a challenge. "Now...should we declare Burgle the true hero of the hour?"

The world's too big to stay in one place.

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At the weaving and suspenseful pauses of Loot's story, Fox grew more and more enthralled with each word, his ear flicking at her shriek and he let out a dry but deep chuckle, finding the story engaging while finding the added flair all the more amusing.

Fox stood, placing his paws in front of him and dipping his head an upper body into a theatrical bow towards Loot before looking up at her from the fence rail "Bravo!" He cheered, rising back to his unusually large size and letting out a hearty laugh, even if he had been outshined, he still enjoyed himself. "If that was a story off the cuff then I better shape up my skills!" he replied, curling his tail for balance as he took a step forward.

"You'll provide the flair?" He sniffed, glancing over to Lute, looking at her as if she had told him that the grass were purple, utter disbelief underlined with amusement "Why, I think the loots have flair enough for all of Whitehart!" he purred, one of his characteristic smirks appearing on his maw.

Fox raised a brow but his smile remained, he glanced over the fence at the sparrow that still held its place by the fence. "You know, I'd love to stay and swap stories, but that will need to be another time." He murmured, his voice holding a certain mirth to it.

Be jumped down from the fence and took a final glance up at the twins before casting a departing grin to them "Until next time ladies! Don't forget to update me on Burgle next time we meet!" and with that, he picked up his partially eaten sparrow and disappeared into the foliage.