private ART NOUVEAU ☆ SANDPELT

[CICADAFLIGHT]

Now that he's affirmed that Beefang is, in fact, going to be okay—or as okay as a cat can be in her situation—he's started to worry. What's she going to do without her eye? Will she be able to adjust okay? Will she still be good at fishing and fighting like she's always been? Is she going to need help? Will she want help? Smokestar had gotten around more than fine, of course, but he had lost his eye long before they were even a dream in his head—Beefang just lost hers.

Restless and unsure, he finds two - toned paws leading him towards the only cat he feels comfortable asking for answers. Barely comfortable, that is—he has no idea how to treat Sandpelt, feels like talking to the tan - furred tom brings him back to being a wobbly - footed kit, and the feeling appears overwhelmingly mutual. A bottlebrush tail drags long on the ground, that distinctive bend laid to rest, animosity draining away for awkwardness as he approaches a stocky figure with that distinctive silken cream pelt.

" Sandpelt? Um, got a minute? " He waits for an affirmation before taking an awkward seat a good tail-length or two from the other tom, tucking his crooked feather of a tail over paws that still bear scabs from his freak - out. Cicadaflight has no idea how to act around him—should he apologize? Continue their apprenticehood animosity? Just treat him like any other Clanmate? He doesn't know. He inhales sharply before he asks, " Was it . . . difficult to adjust, when you lost your eye? " A pause, and he appends, " Sorry, I'm not trying to pry, but, you know, Beefang—and all— "

Feathery ears twitch attentively as he listens to Sandpelt's answer, mind running down a thousand trails of thought as per usual, half of him listening and the other half considering. Sandpelt was always asking how he looked, fluttering worriedly about the scar on his face. Would Beefang feel the same? Would his sister think she was ugly? Or that he thought she was ugly? Perhaps it's the dregs of emotion from his conversation with his sister, or these thoughts as they slither around his head, but he blurts out, " Why do you act like you hate how you look? You've always been— " Everything I'm not. " —pretty. "

// @SANDPELT !!

" speech "

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[SANDPELT]

ꕀꕀ Seeing Beefang returned to camp with one less eye than she’d left with, and bearing scars from what must have been a brutal attack… Sandpelt feels smaller, after seeing such a strong warrior brought so low by injury. And then, seeing the meltdown that had ensued from her brother—Sandpelt had wanted to do something, to say something, but what had there been to do? He isn’t friends with any of them. He feels sympathy for Beefang, but he can’t just show that. The only thing they have in common is their eyes… or lack thereof, now. Maybe he should try and talk to her and give her some advice on getting back to her duties with only one eye, but would she even want that? Sandpelt isn’t anyone special, he’s just a warrior who lost an eye. He sits as the water’s edge, paws arranging flowers he’d gathered earlier in the day. They would look nice against his fur—but would fish scales match his eye better? He’s mulling over the choice when he hears pawsteps that have become familiar.

He looks up, and there he is. Cicadaflight looks out of place, uncomfortable. Still rattled, surely. Sandpelt almost feels sorry for him as the other tom asks if he’s got a minute. "Uh… I guess?" His eye glitters with suspicion—what is this about? Cicadaflight seems uncharacteristically uncertain, and the cream-furred tom refuses to meet his eyes. The gap between them seems to have been bridged somewhat, but it’s understandably shaky. Their clashing through kithood and into apprenticeship still hasn’t faded—Sandpelt doesn’t trust him, doesn’t like him—but there’s something there besides hostility, now.

His questions as to why Cicadaflight has settled beside him are answered quickly, as the warrior asks him about his eye. The question is immediately followed by an apology and an explanation. Sandpelt sighs. Before he responds, though, a simple observation follows. Pretty smacks him in the face, and the tom doesn’t hold back the expression of disbelief that crosses his face. "I’m not actin’. And I’m not… pretty," he snaps. "Look at my face—it’s ruined. Not that… not that Beefang’s face is ruined or anythin’. I’m sure she’ll still look good. Uh." His head tips up, a bit sheepish now as he looks the other tom in the face. "It was hard adjustin’, yeah. But… it’s Beefang. She’ll be fine."

𓇢𓆸 you get on my nerves

• ooc: —
• 
  SANDPELT ❯❯ he/him, warrior of riverclan
  ❀ pretty, silky-furred tan tortoiseshell with one yellow eye. calm and hardworking, but can become snappy if angered.
  ❀ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ❀ penned by foxlore

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