pafp * ✰. — boys will be bugs ❞ / open

[SLATESNARL]

It's strange, not hearing the revving of monster engines or the footsteps of bustling two-leggeds on their way to... wherever they went during their days. It was different to not have to wake up under the shelter of a pungent scrapcan, with cold droplets formed from the previous night's rainfall beading at the metal rim and bouncing off his nose. Not having to keep his guard up for aggressive strays, for rabies-infested dogs, for two-leggeds who sought to capture him and drag him back into their lair... Slate finally felt like he could relax.

Privately, Slate had finalized the decision to stay. Reuniting with Dusk—no, Duskmane—had made him realize how important his brother was to him. Slate had always told himself that he was independent and would look out for himself and his own needs first, but Duskmane was the only family he had left ( to his knowledge, anyway ). What if his brother got seriously wounded or even killed out here? Not only were the conditions tough but there were beastly, feral cats who raided and fought other clans for territory and resources. Slate had to look out for his littermate. He'd never sleep at night knowing he left him behind and would potentially never see him again.

However, to his discomfort, becoming a fully integrated SkyClanner meant that Slate had to learn a plethora of things. Living as a rogue had been so simple — watch your back, secure a safe place to rest away from the hungering jaws of dogs, and fight off any competitor for scraps and turf. Here, there were rules to follow. There were hunting and border patrols day and night, training, duties to other clanmates, chores. Slate even had to share a den with one of the most despicable toms he knew. It was exhausting, quite frankly.

The long-furred tom had just returned from a long session of hunting to little avail. One small bird is all he had managed. Bringing back food sure was tougher when there weren't any twolegs around to take meat scraps from. Ah well, he had contributed his share and hadn't eaten since yesterday; he damn well deserved a meal.

Slate settled in a corner of the camp, the snow crinkling under his paws as he dropped a squirrel in front of him. There seemed to be no escape to the cold; his pads were almost constantly numb. He started tearing into the kill, eager to refuel his energy, when he noticed a pair of eyes lingering on him from nearby. Huh, it was one of the young ones. Apprentices they were called, right? "What're you lookin' at?" Snorted the former rogue, unafraid to confront anyone who appeared to be sizing him up.

​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• @CHRYSALISPAW and also obligatory @SUNPAW. tag
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• 
  

​

 

[CHRYSALISWING]

Did Skyclan have to let in every poor sap and bumbling fool that happened to traipse on their land? It made them no better than Windclan at times, he figured. Chrysalispaw at least thought it would be imperative to verify if they had good intentions for the clan, make them go through some sort of test that proved that they had a heart that only belonged to the clan that they so-claimed to pledge their allegiance to. Perhaps it would be akin to staying in the thick of the snowstorm for a night or feeding the entire clan for a whole week. He'd make sure that they didn't just join to mooch off of the hard-working Skyclanners, as he had seen those disgusting slobs do time and time again, as if Skyclan's clemency were a reward to be hoarded rather than a privilege of kindness itself. Personally, he found mercy to be a grace than a right in itself, deserving only of those he deemed deserving of it.

Chrys spotted a coal-colored cat from afar, for his pelt caught harshly upon the softer chalk-hues of the winter, as though a wan shower of flame upon the whiteness of despair. He recognized him as another rogue that had recently joined the clan, another mouth to feed, and another cat to bear the brunt of his own ire. The apprentice trotted up to him with an elegant gait, almost swanlike in movement, with a sanguine swagger and lilting lifts to his movements. It was as if he had wings to carry him away from blame, and arrogance as the wind underneath preened feathers.

He stopped in front of Slate, draping his standing shadow upon the warrior's outline, despite Slate's more polished and muscular form. The squirrel was still ripe from the fresh-kill pile, torn into by a hungry maw, as its belly yawned openly for the cold to enter. Heterochromatic glare flooded with an ambrosia that could only be characterized as disdain, an expression that came as tried as his own four paws, an emotion that he had walked hand-in-hand with for his short-lived time. For him, the best display was one of a marbled apathy, a waxed exterior that hid a tumultuous interior.

"Oh, nothing. Just that you happen to be eating prey that could easily have gone to the kits or elders. Did they not feed you enough in whatever rogue hole you crawled out of or something?" His tongue brandished his signature scoff, as derision dripped from his practiced tongue, and laced the ends of each word. If the other had any sense, he wouldn't attack Chrys back. It'd look bad on Slate to be abusing a clanmate, after all. He wouldn't want to get kicked out days after being accepted.​

 

[HOUND]

This was why he didn't like rogues since every single one of them seemed to be just as self-centered as this one was. How could he just pick a squirrel in the freshkill pile like this when there still was kits and elders who was starving right now. Tch. It wouldn't take long before he had come up beside Chrysalispaw to side with them to stare the former rogue down with a disapproved frown. You better give that prey back. It's not your time to eat yet you dumbass!." he would hiss, not usually disrespecting someone older then him but from the way he saw it Slate was not a warrior yet standing on the same rank as him until then so it was okay for him to call them a dumbass. He was right after all. He hoped a warrior or even better one of their leader warriors would see this and punish this rogue for this. He could go with an empty belly for the rest of the day!. This selfish asshole needed to learn a lesson. If anything he and Chrysalispaw should eat before he even thought about putting anything in his mouth.



​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Rogue life had been lawless for Slate, but even in a state of anarchy, Silversmoke had found arbitrary, unspoken rules within the way others acted. It prevented unnecessary bloodshed and saved most cats down on their luck from death, until of course, one of the newest SkyClanners had wandered too close to his former home. Each mistake the tom made in his new one felt like karma, adding up one by one until the tabby's desire for revenge had been satiated. Bicoloured eyes had clocked the feline eating unearned prey earlier, Silversmoke had kept his mouth shut, letting his frustration with the act slowly stew until clanmates intervened and gave him an excuse to let it out. His ears were up as Chrys, then Fierypaw, moved towards the former rogue, frowns and hisses brandishing their words and letting the dark-furred foxheart know that he had done something wrong. Large paws moved the cat through the snow, close enough to address the three but far enough away to indicate to his enemy that his next words weren't ones meant to initiate a fight. Silversmoke wouldn't risk his place in SkyClan for someone like Slate, he wasn't sure if the other would say the same... yet.

A cruel smile appeared on the blue tabby all the same, their chest puffed out from the satisfaction of seeing someone they didn't like fail. Slate's actions harmed the clan, the fact left his tail lashing and ears flat beneath the haughty facade, but they tried to keep it together long enough to verbally jab at him. "Slate's never been very good at hunting... always had to steal what wasn't yours, didn't you?" Food... land... sight... He glared at the hungry tom, daring him to claim it wasn't true. Silversmoke likely remembered the day very differently from Slate, what they saw when they stared him down was a rat that had broken the aforementioned, unspoken rules, but had left the spotted moggy to pay the price. But, the tabby was no saint either, and he was sure that StarClan would question his right to run around the starry fields when battle eventually took his life. There had been creatures he'd hurt that didn't deserve it, fights he'd caused that he didn't need to start, it had just been the easiest option. Yet, it was a past he was so disconnected from that when he watched Slate, he did not see the same side of the coin.

All he saw was a leech who'd take up whatever good name SkyClan had left.



​

 

[SLATESNARL]

It wasn't as if Slate didn't expect any suspicion roused towards him, any wariness with regard to his shady background. That was the reason why Slate never sought to tag along with a colony or another group of rogues; there was an unspoken initiation involved with joining a community. It was so much simpler to be a lone wolf, and today that mindset was only being proven correct as a young tom approached him with hostility lacing his tone.

This one was feisty. Slate had seen him around before, though none of his venomous words had been directed toward him... until now. The idea that the old harebrains or the waddling kittens always got priority was ridiculous to Slate. The healthy, young cats had to keep themselves fed... especially in the middle of leaf-bare! If the warriors starved, then who would be left to feed the clan? "Kid, everyone needs to eat. Deal with it." The dark tom narrows his eyes, shooting an icy retort back at Chrysalispaw, " 'n I had to hunt for myself. No prey pile, no help from other cats. You wouldn't last a day where I came from." Even the most plentiful season of prey for a clan cat was just another season of scavenging and foraging for a rogue. From Slate's point of view, clan cats were mighty entitled, even if food was hard to come by. Eventually, the forests would be brimming with life again come greenleaf.

Lo and behold, another apprentice comes marching over to publicly berate him. The young ones here obviously didn't get their ears cuffed enough as kits; they were just allowed to run their mouths as they pleased. Were warriors expected to starve for days on end while the cats who couldn't contribute anything to the clan whatsoever got to chow down? How was that fair? "Watch your fuckin' mouth, pipsqueak. I did my part, didn't I? Can't do any more huntin' on an empty stomach." Miraculously, Slate's voice remains leveled throughout this entire interaction. That isn't to say that his words aren't chockful of snark, but he's not in the mood to waste time arguing with a bunch of snotty brats.

The next voice that cuts into the exchange is none other than Silversmoke.... also known as the last cat Slate wanted to lay his eyes upon at the moment. His ugly maw wouldn't be helping any matters, that was for sure. "At least I was the one eating in the end." Slate shoots back, the thrill of a potential challenge listening in amber hues. Did Silversmoke really want to open up that can of worms, in front of his beloved clanmates whose trust and respect he had worked oh-so-hard to earn? Surely he didn't believe that his clanmates would forget where he came from. No, he had been a rogue just like him once upon a time. Perhaps bringing up their shared "past" would stir the pot and make the pedestal he stood on tremble beneath his paws.​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• 
  

​