11-11-2018, 08:00 AM
[align=center][div style=" background-color: transparent; border: 0px solid black; width: 550px; min-height: 9px; font-family: georgia; line-height: 105%; text-align: justify; padding: 10px"][font=georgia]They sured hated this Pitt society, and Hobbitfoot was still clueless as to what it was. From his plumpish figure and sleek, well-groomed fur, his appearance should resemble more of a housecat than anything else. It wasn't far from the truth. He had been born on a farm and officially took over his mother's job to eat the mice that tried to penetrate the precious grains that the housefolk wanted to keep safe.
The brown cat noticeably frowned, tensing his shoulders at the mention of a joining ritual. Not being familiar with group life, he found it odd and troublesome to put a prospective new member through trial. From what he could tell, this group could need all the help they could get, what with rebuilding their tavern and taking their revenge on the Hitt ... or whatever it was called. "Doesn't seem like a problem." He murmured, so used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. His previous occupation was given to him by fortune. And he had grown fat on it and respected ... he really wished he hadn't been forced to leave.
Hobbitfoot's black-tipped ears laid flat against his head as Bakugou seemed to suddenly realize a missing part of the puzzle. The short feline took a step back, warily. Those were good accusations, but there were multiple ways to figure out that a fire happened without seeing the burnt buildings themselves. It was only a lucky guess that he was right in thinking that there were things that could be rebuilt. Hobbitfoot suddenly snapped from his previously relaxed posture to something stiff and defensive. He wasn't about to let someone degrade his personality like that. "Can't you smell the burnt wood? It's an awful smell, I hate it. I know it because my own home was destroyed in a fire. And the little trails of smoke rising in the air don't do much to help cover what has happened. Don't use my sharp observation skills to blame me for something I would never do!"
The brown cat noticeably frowned, tensing his shoulders at the mention of a joining ritual. Not being familiar with group life, he found it odd and troublesome to put a prospective new member through trial. From what he could tell, this group could need all the help they could get, what with rebuilding their tavern and taking their revenge on the Hitt ... or whatever it was called. "Doesn't seem like a problem." He murmured, so used to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. His previous occupation was given to him by fortune. And he had grown fat on it and respected ... he really wished he hadn't been forced to leave.
Hobbitfoot's black-tipped ears laid flat against his head as Bakugou seemed to suddenly realize a missing part of the puzzle. The short feline took a step back, warily. Those were good accusations, but there were multiple ways to figure out that a fire happened without seeing the burnt buildings themselves. It was only a lucky guess that he was right in thinking that there were things that could be rebuilt. Hobbitfoot suddenly snapped from his previously relaxed posture to something stiff and defensive. He wasn't about to let someone degrade his personality like that. "Can't you smell the burnt wood? It's an awful smell, I hate it. I know it because my own home was destroyed in a fire. And the little trails of smoke rising in the air don't do much to help cover what has happened. Don't use my sharp observation skills to blame me for something I would never do!"