ALL THIS RINGING IN MY EARS — open

[CLAYFUR]

It’s been happening for days now. It plagued his every waking moment, and sometimes it makes a cameo in his dreams as well. No matter how much he tries to ignore it, it remains, insistently shoving itself into the periphery of his life. It’s the annoyance of a thousand ants crawling across his skin, an ever-present itch he can’t seem to scratch. It’s driving him mad, slowly but surely, eating away at his patience until he feels like some kind of buzzing wasp’s nest, ready to explode on the next clanmate who does something out of line.

But he’s Clay. He’s not harsh, or volatile, or snappy. He’s happy-go-lucky and airheaded and so, so nice. So he doesn’t explode, doesn’t bear his fangs at the slack-off apprentice who somehow messes up his nest beyond repair whilst “cleaning” dens. He smiles—albeit tightly, with a sharp edge—and laughs and tries to shrug it off. Usually he’s good at that. Shrugging off jabs at his intelligence, jokes about his diet, comments about his skills. It’s becoming more difficult to do that, though, when he’s constantly distracted by that buzzing in his skull.

And besides, Clayfur isn’t the type to complain. He’ll take what he’s given; he’s never been one to put himself first. Surely the problems of others outweigh his own, especially when it’s something so small. Why should he complain, when he’s been graciously allowed to stay in RiverClan, of all places? He has everything that he needs.

He doesn’t mention it to anyone for a long time. The high-pitched tone isn’t even that noticeable, at first. But he toughs it out and presses through it and doesn’t say a word until it finally becomes too much for him to bear.

It’s a quiet afternoon when he asks, lying atop a smooth, sun-warmed river rock alongside a few other RiverClanners. The ringing has made itself very clear again, the noise muffling the hearing in his ear until all he can focus on is that sound. "Does anyone else hear that?" He asks the question with one eye squinted, trying to focus on the sound.​

[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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[Snakeblink]

Water rushing beneath them, the wind in the trees, faint birdsong in the distance from reluctant migrators — this is what Snakeblink hears, and not much else. Even the other cats sunning themselves seem reluctant to disturb the quiet atmosphere, exchanging between themselves in soft whispers. He tries to bask in that peacefulness but finds himself unexpectedly restless. The fleeting leaf-fall warmth is not enough to make him drowsy, and Clayfur’s distraction is hard to ignore.

He’s been watching the tom for some time, trying to puzzle out what’s the matter with him. He doesn’t seem wounded, or sick. Matters of the heart, perhaps? No, he doesn’t seem melancholic or flustered, just harassed. Snakeblink narrows his eyes, inching closer as the tip of Clayfur’s tail twitches. What could possible trouble someone as doggedly laid-back as him?

Clayfur is kind enough to hand him part of the answer himself, breaking the silence with his question. Snakeblink’s ears perk up, but he hears nothing more than before. Prey moving through the reeds, maybe, now that he’s paying attention more closely. His hearing is good, but perhaps not as good as the other cat.

”I’m not sure which sounds you’re referring to,” he says, trailing off in a wordless encouragement for Clayfur to elaborate.
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ooc. information.

• 
  
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 34 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[FERNGILL]

It was rare, now, to find Fernpaw willing to go anywhere except the riverbank. Now he'd learned to paddle, he had endeavoured to look for prizes beneath the gossamer veil of the water, rather than merely at its edge! And how successful he had been- something stark-white and something shiny sat in a purposeful pile, settled at the edge. Nearby he knew some warriors sat relaxing, he'd come down here with them (with a hurried promise to be quiet), so his escapades were purposeful in their quietness. It was because of this lull that he could hear the conversation- the question that rose above the rest that Uncle Clayfur spoke.

There- a brown rock, very close to his uncle's fur-colour, right by his paw. As if it had been calling to him- what a brilliant coincidence! Thrilled, Fernpaw took it in his tiny jaws and carried it over, dropping it to his kin's paws with a small clatter. Nodding after Snakeblink's words, Fernpaw settled himself to a seat, bug-eyes wandering. "I don't hear anything," he confirmed. But he'd never been much good at tracking... listening. "Maybe it's- really far away 'n you've got super hearing or somethin'." Words framed with a grin, Fernpaw offered his guess. ​

( penned by pin )​

 

[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw has never seen Clayfur look this on-edge. It's clear something is plaguing him, but she has no idea what he's referring to when he asks the other cats if they can hear what he's listening to. The water is turbulent, ever-rushing, but that's background noise for the RiverClan cats. There are no far-off bird cries; they've flown to warmer nests, presumably.

Iciclepaw tilts her head, vague concern coloring her features. "Or maybe only you can hear it?" She suggests. She doesn't know how likely that is -- surely Clayfur isn't making up sounds in his head?

- ,,​

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[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

there's an invading worry as buck arises from her resting spot, basked in the sun and eyes focused upon the brown tom. he mentions a specific ringing, one that seems lost on the crowd, her included. her attention drifts for a moment, watching the swaying reeds and the ever-still bark upon the trees. no one hears it. "did you hit your head?" it's spoken in her usual cadence; aloof and distant, but there's still something worrying her. she likes the tom, in some way unexplainable. she thinks it's from their first meeting, when she's actually felt heard by a clan cat. when he offered some kindness, instead of trying to kick her off her blood lands. unlike some cats....one she works directly under. she cares for the clan, but she likes to keep an eye on clay. he's something simple and kind, and she thinks that's important enough to keep him in her sights.

something she is currently doing, staring down the questioning tom and silently urging him to continue. he's got their attention, and he shouldn't let it go to waste.
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[CLAYFUR]

Snakeblink perks up at the question, but doesn’t move otherwise. Clayfur hopes that perhaps the other warrior will offer an explanation, an easy way out of this horribly confusing situation he’s found himself in. But Snakeblink seems to have no clue what the sound is, either. Doesn’t even seem to hear it. Comforting. He’s been watching clanmates since it began, hoping to catch one of them also wincing at the sound or wondering where it came from. But this sort of confirms it—at least some of his clanmates can’t hear it.

Clay sighs, a morose expression falling onto his face. "You don’t hear that?" He asks, tipping his head to angle his ear better. There’s no apparent source to the sound, and no direction that it seems to be coming from. It’s annoying and it’s so upsetting. But then his little nephew and niece speak up, and. Wow. Is he about to cry over Fernpaw wordlessly depositing a rock at his paws and Iciclepaw? No. He’s about to cry over this awful buzzing noise—and maybe also a little bit over his niece and nephew.

He schools his face into a warm, nonchalant expression, grinning at Fernpaw’s suggestion that he might have super hearing. "Like some kind of super power? I wish!" He chuckles, shaking his head before sliding his gold-flecked gaze to Iciclepaw. "You’re pretty smart, you know? I probably am the only one, if you can’t hear it either."

Buckgait sounds just as she normally does, no apparent change to her speech. He doesn’t read into that, but he does offer the deputy a twist of a smile. He mills over her question for a moment, unable to conjure any memory of hitting his head. Maybe he’s done it before but has since forgotten. He shrugs, rolling his body to face the she-cat. "Probably. If I did though, it would’ve been a while ago. Maybe I forgot about it." And it certainly seems like something he wouldn’t forget—hitting his head against something hard enough to cause the sudden, incessant ringing in his ear.
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[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

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