11-12-2018, 06:08 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]Hobbitfoot had just only begun to settle in his new Typhoon home. He didn’t even have a specific house for himself yet, he would resort to sleeping under rocks or driftwood. He constantly missed the warmth of his old home - the barn. Everything had been perfect there, but the fire had driven him away to a cold new world and he honestly felt like a kit that had just been born - wet, cold, confused.
So it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to find himself in this sort of situation. Hobbitfoot’s pale eyes widened as a harsh paw delievered a hit to his flank. He rolled over and jumped up to his paws, fur bristling. The short little cat made a defensive hissing and spitting noise at the Roseblood. ”I don’t know what a pina cal - caldron — whatever that is you’re talking about.” And unfortunately, he really didn’t. In his farm life, he wouldn’t have had exposure to alchohol. It was always stored far above reach in the house.
Too bad he couldn’t forsee Bugsy’s second statement, although he severely doubted the honesty of someone who has kidnapped him from his new home. Hobbitfoot only glared in response, muttering ”Wow, everyone was right back home, the Pitt are a bunch of assholes. Now let me go back.” Being ignorant of the reputations of other Clans, he mistakenly assumed that this was the Pitt. It had been the only other clan he was aware of, and the Typhooners hated them with a passion. Hobbitfoot himself had been nearly accused of being affliated with them.
So it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to find himself in this sort of situation. Hobbitfoot’s pale eyes widened as a harsh paw delievered a hit to his flank. He rolled over and jumped up to his paws, fur bristling. The short little cat made a defensive hissing and spitting noise at the Roseblood. ”I don’t know what a pina cal - caldron — whatever that is you’re talking about.” And unfortunately, he really didn’t. In his farm life, he wouldn’t have had exposure to alchohol. It was always stored far above reach in the house.
Too bad he couldn’t forsee Bugsy’s second statement, although he severely doubted the honesty of someone who has kidnapped him from his new home. Hobbitfoot only glared in response, muttering ”Wow, everyone was right back home, the Pitt are a bunch of assholes. Now let me go back.” Being ignorant of the reputations of other Clans, he mistakenly assumed that this was the Pitt. It had been the only other clan he was aware of, and the Typhooners hated them with a passion. Hobbitfoot himself had been nearly accused of being affliated with them.