Welcome to Bellmoral, tucked away in the furthest creeks and burrowed under damp ground.

Bellmoral is a small community, tightknit, every not-cat knowing eachother quite well.

Here is where the legacy of Bellmoral is written, etched by paw into every surface, buried just as fast; for these are simply the daydreamings of some nameless narrator, untouched by hierarchy and unbound to reality.

Here is where not-cats uncovered tunnels abandoned by others, and repurposed them for home.

Here is where our story begins.

OOC
Welcome, creatures and critters, to the place I will be placing all writing surrounding Bellmoral and it's residents, as well as the occasional Woodlore entry! Please do not expect consistency, as I have school.

posts thus far!

jan 18th[mutillidae, wooden planks]

jan 18th[story by celeste]

jan 19th[actias, paniceum]

jan 20th[actias, cancriformis]

jan 20th[story by diceyeiffel(me!)]

Jan. 18th
Nestor Gift - Wooden Planks
Word Goal - 150+
Cat in Focus - mutillidae
Final Word Count - 155
–

Tilli gives a trill as he works, paws kneading carefully into soft dirt and hard-wood, planks so carefully crafted now going to line the floors of Bellmoral’s tunnels, atop strange spirals engraved into the not-earth like glass paintings are to a chapel. Loose dirt is shuffled into cracks, clay smoothed atop splinters, pawprints inevitably snuck onto the surface. As they dry, they leave a new mark, a new history within Bellmoral’s halls, a new paw to be attributed to whomever may pass by. They leave a notice, a multitude of signs screaming out “I was here”, “i was important”, “do not forget me”, a display of stubbornness and home.

But for now, the only pawprints laid into fresh wood and dirt and clay are that of the craftsman, that of the builder, that of he who spends his energy.

The tunnels. They obstructed the sky, the sea. The only thing for miles was stone and wood.

And Actias felt trapped.

Their gray fur fell to the stone floor. The intricate carvings made them feel helpless. The walls of brown wood, a symbol of perseverance for others- made Actias feel nauseous. There was no one to help them. The other cats smiled and played, had amazing memories to make- and what did Actias do? Actias worked. They worked, and kept working. Maintenance? No, Actias could do it. A dispute? Actias would resolve it, with their gentle nature. A collapsed tunnel? Actias would fix it. Alone.

So alone. So, so alone.

Actias stared at the stone walls. The gray. It was the same color as their fur. Were they both instruments of holding up a higher power?

Actias’s face twisted into an angry snarl. What had they done to deserve this? WHAT HAD THEY DONE?!

Their claws slashed across the wall. They heaved. And heaved. And realized what they had done.

“Oh, no. More work for me.” They sighed.

Actias preferred not to feel anger. They thought it was a meaningless emotion. That it served no purpose other than to increase tension.

The wood, which was once a serene wall of perfect dark brown, now had gaping scars. It almost looked like the wood was frozen in a scream. How pathetic.

Actias wanted to cry. Scream. Shout. Something. Anything. And yet, they never could. It would disturb the others if they screamed. And all those other cats would know. They would know that Actias wasn’t gentle. They weren’t gentle at all. They were a horribly anxious wreck.

They wondered why.

Why had they trapped themself into leadership? To prove a point? To make the other cats smile and laugh?

Actias felt as though everyone deserved to smile.

So why didn’t they?

Jan. 19th
Nestor Gift - paniceum [not-cat]
Word Goal - 400+
Cat in Focus - actias
Final Word Count - 480
–

It seems that once again Actias could not catch themselves a break.

Idolo, ever caring Idolo, had offered to go in the youngers place, but Actias had to go and insist.

Paniceum seemed nice enough, seemed willing enough to go with the customs, seemed awed enough with their(actias’.) hard work, seemed respectful enough of the village they ran(the village I RUN, Actias wanted to scream, but they held their tongue). Yes, Pani would fit in nicely.

A fisher.

A fisher, Actias recalls Pani calling itself, so just its luck to end up in this sweet community(in MY sweet community, Actias wanted to sob, but they held their tongue.). Just its luck that they were in need of a fisher (they weren’t, but when Actias gasped and tapped their paws like that, it wasn’t like anyone was to point it out- they seemed so excited[seemed. Seemed. Forced some toothy show of grins that barely qualified for joy, made the corners of their mouth upturn. Another mouth to feed, though finally a mouth that earned it’s keep]), just its luck that there were openings. (That wasn’t a lie. There were. Meant for Actias to sleep elsewhere, to catch a breather at night at least, but it was fine. [it was not fine, Actias wanted to howl when Idolo mentioned the open bed, it was not fine, that bed was for them and hadn’t they earned that? A nap? Peace? Had they not done enough to finally be put first? But Actias held their tongue.])

And there Actias found themself, leading Paniceum through the myriad of tunnels that made up Bellmoral, all the secret entries and exits, the best places to catch small pieces of sun and warmth(and before they knew it, the info was public, and there was simply nowhere else to hide. Their own fault for trusting a new not-cat, their own fault for thinking they could have something to themselves[it was upsetting. And it hurt. It hurt, so bad, that not once, not ONCE since pani had opened its mouth, not once something went right. And Actias knew they would have to fix it, and they wanted to cry, to sob, to heave, but Actias held their tongue).

And there Actias found themself, explaining once again the way Nestor had been so kind to allow them to thrive(though it never felt it, for if that damned moose was so merciful, then why could they simply not rest? Why could they not bring themselves to pass Bellmoral into steadier paws, that of, perhaps, an adult?), the way to reach home from Gardenhome City, the ways to get lost, the ways to be found.

And they want to scream, sob, heave, “Why did no-one do this for me? Why did I do this to myself? Why am I the backbone?”

But Actias holds their tongue.

Jan 20th.
Nestor Gift - cancriformis [not-cat]
Word Goal - 400+
Cat In Focus - actias
Final Word Count - 413
–
The storm was brutal.
Actias’ anxieties nearly burst through the surface the way water burst into Bellmoral, the way wood was rotting and giving way faster than Actias could manage a desprate plea for their own father, idolo, to “please please for the love of Nestor, I need you to do your job, I need those planks”, manage a plea for his pop, Tilli, “please please I need that clay, you dont understand”, and then came the yowl, high and pleading and scrambling into Bellmoral head first and thoughts second.

Cancriformis, she called herself, fur clinging to her sides, eyes wide and wild, a Mason not unlike Tilli, and Actias recognized the desperation in her eyes, resonated with the tone of “please please please let me in, i can help, i can help, i can pave and work and build” and barely had the last syllable left Formis’ mouth when Actias pulled her inside, fought with the makeshift door, and barely had it swung shut when the two snapped into action.

Rot torn up and out with desperate teeth and claws, patched as quickly as the not-cats could get their hands on resources, and Actias felt.. Nice.

Not happy. No, far from happy, in fact angered that what it took to get some damned help around here was a flood, but anger was a worthless emotion. Served only to instigate, and Actias took a breath. Relieved was the word. Barely, knowing once this was over that Formis would be recognized as their elder and would be given their credit, but relieved that a second pair of paws darted down the twisted tunnels just as rapidly, just as desperately, just as panicked.

And after the work came the hiding, came Actias acting their age by hiding their face under their paws, came Formis laying next to them, came a paw on a head. Came silence, save for the torrents.

The waiting must have been the worst part, Actias thought. The waiting to see if Formis (if Actias.) had patched the floors and walls correctly, the waiting to see if the hard work that Formis (and Actias) did was to pay off, the waiting to see if they would have to move.

Came silence, save for nothing.

Actias wasn’t sure when they woke up, Formis groggy and delighted, and came silence.

No rain, no thunder, no pounding of Actias’ heart in their ears, and they released a breath they did not know they were holding.

Jan 20th.
Not a Woodlore entry.
Final Word Count - 108
-
It was not long that Actias held the idea of a friendship, because it was not long before Multillidae noticed the way Formis seemed almost comfortable, seemed like they were old friends. It was not long before Idolo stood pushing out apologies, eyes wide with worry as he glances at his child, almost caged underneath their other parent.

And it was not long until the camels back broke, Tilli’s yowling being the last straw, and Actias found themself heaving and clawing at stone floors, steadying, grounding, trying not to scream back.

And it was not long until almost everyone seemed to up and forget.

And eventually, Actias did.