a tout le monde + nest materials

[smogstar]

Every passing day gave rise to colder winds and shorter spans of sunlight. Leaf-bare approached with all-possible haste, and Smogmaw scorns the thought of it. No amount of fur could stave off the coming season's cold. The list of preventative measures against inclement weather is narrow - but not empty, as he's recently discovered.

A couple days back, the tom glimpsed @GECKOSCREECH carrying out some sort of task inside one of the dens in camp. In particular terms, the off-white she-cat had been patching up the nests inside, using soft materials such as fur and feathers to fill in the gaps. At first, he perceived it as a peculiar art project, though as he pondered on the concept a little more, it became apparent how practical this was. It wasn't something that the warrior had previously considered, as he eats where he sleeps and puts little care into his overall bedding situation. A good night's sleep hasn't come to him in a long while; perhaps a fix-up to his personal nest is precisely what he needs.

"Hail, Geckoscreech," says Smogmaw, having tracked down his target to the edge of camp. He glances briefly back towards the warriors' den, envisioning the varying quality of nests that lay inside. The other dens must be facing a similar situation, he reckons. "I want you to fix my nest." ​

[ AND THE BASTARD WALKS BY ]​

 

[GECKOSCREECH]

❝ holding it together with one loose string. ❝

"hail, geckoscreech."

a low, gruff voice would break through her thoughts, the mostly eaten snipe that lay between alabaster-touched paws briefly abandoned in favor of looking upon the individual who had approached. without needing to prompt the tom with what he wants she is told in quite a straightforward manner to fix his nest. she allowed silence to pool around the two for a heartbeat, whiskers quivering in a miffed manner with how smogmaw had asked.

it was about a few sunrises ago that the lead warrior took up the task of going through the dens to replace all the nests with something much more fresh and layered with fur and feathers now that the tempertures were starting to drop. of course she did this out of her own volition but that didn't mean it wasn't a tedious task, especially with going through all that material.

pushing away her meal and sitting up, the woman gave the tom a more pointed look before speaking. "first of all, you sound demanding. do you speak to every she-cat like that? it wouldn't kill you to say please." aqua eyes would roll briefly, its like he wanted her to put pebbles and prickes in his bedding instead. "second, if you want me to fix it then you're going to come with me to gather more materials for it. maybe you can even help me replace some other nests." ​

 

[smogstar]

The deadpan demeanour he carried does not change as the lead warrior speaks her mind. At Geckoscreech's insistence of using manners, however, he exhales sharply through the nose. He can't recall such being the case, but Smogmaw must have given her the impression that he complied with social formalities. If so, then it'd been a mistake on his end.

Unwavering muddy eyes zero in on the she-cat's own hues when it is explained to him that he'd have to help out with the task. "As you wish," he simply mews in response, giving his tail a little flick. Feathers, pine needles, moss - everything they required lay within a fox-leap of camp. Gathering the necessary components couldn't come as too lengthy a task, he figures.

"Apart from me, d'you know who else needs new bedding?" Smogmaw asks, nudging his noggin towards the camp's exit. "Or should we just grab more than enough stuff for everyone?"

​

[ AND THE BASTARD WALKS BY ]​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

when geckoscreech had cleared out his old bedding while he wasn't looking, pitchstar had initially been pissed. he'd refused to change it, after moving into the den once briarstar had died. it'd been one of the pieces of her left behind, and pitchstar had clung desperately to anything he could of his departed mother. even when his own claws had shredded it in bouts of fury, even when the moss had grown stale and brittle and scratchy, even when his den began to stink of the decomposing remnants of his nest. he'd refused to rid himself of it, because it's one of the only things left of her and he'd be damned if he was going to throw it out.

and then geckoscreech had tossed it out in favor of fresh moss fluffed with feathers. and pitchstar had lost it, overtaken by a fresh bout of grief and anger. admittedly, he couldn't even remember what he'd said. what he'd done. he'd definitely screamed at the heavens until his voice went hoarse and his lungs ached. and he certainly sobbed in his new nest, not his mother's old one, that night.

pitchstar has managed to recover his composure, more or less, a few sunrises later. (and he would never admit it, but the fresh bedding does feel better than that of his previously stale one. he still would have preferred to keep his mother's nest, though. damned geckoscreech.)

an ear flicks towards smogmaw as he demands that geckoscreech fixes his nest, and pitchstar snorts as his lead warrior's response. (maybe geckoscreech should've poured her energy into fixing the nests of the cats who'd wanted them to be fixed, instead of tossing out his mother's nest. asshole.) "you know, geckoscreech, you do have the authority to skin anyone who doesn't show you due respect now," rasps the leader in a vaguely sing-song voice, albeit one soured by lingering bitterness towards the she-cat. he's joking, of course. but his expression wouldn't give that away.​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Like Pitchstar, Flickerfire had not been happy to return from a patrol only to find her bedding had been replaced. It smelled so new, so unfamiliar and uncomfortable, not like her at all. Her old one had been formed to her body shape, smelled deeply and repulsively like her, and even had little bones and bits of rubbish stashed within it. This new one... it had no character.

She'd huffed and puffed and maybe gotten cuffed, but she is more or less over it now. She gives Pitchstar a cautious look as he approaches Smogmaw and Geckoscreech, remembering all too well the wails and fits of rage he'd inflicted upon her co-lead warrior after she'd changed his bedding out.

She supposes she gets it. It'd been all that he'd had left of Briarstar, though... that thing had reeked. (She doesn't consider her own bedding to have been infiltrating the warrior's den with filth.)

She turns a sharp grin on Pitchstar at his strange singsong remark. "Wait, really? Smogmaw, tell me off right now so I can show you who's boss!" She doubts Geckoscreech will. She's boring as all hell. Might cuff him, though... her ear flicks with the memory.

- ,,​

​

 

[GECKOSCREECH]

❝ holding it together with one loose string. ❝

a brow would twitch at such a dull response but decided it'd be best to just brush it off considering there are worse felines to deal with in the clan than one singular tom who has the personality of a literal rock, atleast he was willing to help collect the necessities needed for new nests that's more than she can ask for from anyone else. "i'd rather have an abundance of materials than too little of it, what's not used can be stored away for future tasks." geckoscreech replies, audits immediately twitching at the sound of shuffling paws approaching their direction and oh goody it was the people she'd like to see the least.

a vague steely gaze would find themselves falling upon pitchstar first and the way he crooned out how there was power at her paws to strike down those who showed disrespect, how laughable. geckoscreech could feel venom seeping onto the tip of her tongue with the dangerous urge to snap back if said rule applied to the chocolate tabby himself because that childish earful she got earlier for fixing his nest was almost enough for her to do something she'd regret. what pitchstar was sleeping on was hardly even a nest anymore, he couldn't cling onto the rotting scraps of his mother's nest like he was a kit forever.

the lead warrior would swallow down the poison, jaw relaxing from it's sudden subconcious tensing. next it was flickerfire who spoke, excited over being able to thwack others without suffering consequence due to her title. don't even get geckoscreech started on that tortie. "how about you put that energy in being useful, maybe you'll learn a thing or two helping us collect." she muttered, finally gathering herself up to all fours and heading towards the entrance without sparing them a second glance. "be my guest if you wanna get smacked smogmaw. i'll just get a headstart on things if that's the case." ​

 

[smogstar]

A stiffness takes hold of his shoulders as Dear Leader himself makes a grand appearance, pompous disposition and all. Smogmaw displays minimal due regard towards Pitchstar during his approach and the crude suggestion he made afterwards. Not even a scoff, let alone a gander. What went on internally is a whole other matter, though. Beyond the younger tom's sarcastic slight against him, the fact he held power over him and went as far as rubbing it all up in his face sets his teeth on edge. It's almost as if this flea-brain of a ruler recognises just how intensely Smogmaw thirsts for that power - StarClan knows how he'd use it better.

But he bites his tongue for now. So long as Pitchstar continued to dawdle around, pissing off other clans as he so pleased, it'll be his hide flayed from his own body. And Smogmaw will use it to decorate his nest.

A familiar voice enters the fray, and the grey tabby swivels his head and lays his eyes on Flickerfire. Great. Another pest to distract him from what he and Geckoscreech intended on doing. "I think your head's still spinning, Flick," he sneers, harking back to the tortie's little trip in the monster's foot. He responds in spite of the other lead warrior's cautionary advice, for he wants to see her attempt to smack him. Putting her face-first into the muck beneath his paws is something he wouldn't mind doing.

Finally, at long last, his attention returns to Geckoscreech. He watches the slender she-cat take off to the camp's edge, and sets off himself by the time a decent gap forms between them. "Come on," he says, giving the other two a brief glance as he starts, "might as well do something productive today."

By the time he gains ground on her, they're just outside the camp's entrance. Brown-toned eyes scan the wooded expanse before them, envisioning the swathes of materials to be collected. Moss, pine needles - perhaps some bile, for Flickerfire's nest in particular. "We splitting up, or tackling this shit head-on?" he asks his temporary companion, coming to a halt on the wet soil.​