BADFISH 𖦹 sharpshadow

[ASHENFALL]

˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 Ashenpaw's predecessor had cast a pretty short shadow in the wake of her delayed and dreary warrior ceremony. He recalled the bitter haze of late leaf-fall, the wound of his mother's traumatic death reopening as he had to bear witness to Smogmaw being told the news a moon after it happened. And he remembered Snakefoot, unwillingly valiant, saving Ashenpaw from being torn apart fighting for Thunderclan territory by rogues. Snakefoot's only repayment for his heroics being getting his throat ripped inside out.

So, he didn't really remember the moment when Sharppaw became Sharpshadow. He figured it was one of those 'Well, kid, you paid your dues and you walked to that stupid mountain and back so I guess you can have a warrior name now' situations, cause it wasn't like they could force him to be an apprentice for her entire life even if she did make a trash warrior. Ashenpaw was more concerned with what came after—namely, Chilledstar handing him off to Smogmaw to finish his apprenticeship. Ashenpaw wilted beneath the scrutinous gaze of Shadowclan during that meeting, all too aware that everyone was betting on him being yet another chronic underperforming Smogmaw-Apprentice, this one doubly humiliating as his own flesh and blood. And they were right, of course, there was nothing astounding about Ashenpaw or his lethargically presented skillset at all.

However.

He was passing. At least, he was pretty sure he was. Apparently Sharpshadow had set the bar low enough that Ashenpaw looked like a star student in comparison. Perhaps he should thank her for saving his life.

But it was not gratitude that led Ashenpaw to approach the edgy-looking feline that day, rather he was being carried by the winds of his whims and compulsions as he so often was. "Hey, Sharpshadow," he said, slinking toward her with a gleaming two-toned gaze, "Smogmaw told me it's looking like I'm on track to getting my warrior name within a couple moons... But I was just wondering if you had any advice for me...?" Ashenpaw wore the beginnings of a smirk, widening smugly by the moment, "Oh, you know, since you had the same mentor as me and you, uh, just graduated and all..."

YOULL ASK WHAT CAN I DO? ˚⊹₊‧ 𖦹 AND THERE WILL BE NO ANSWER

• OOC: @SHARPSHADOW
• 
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  — ashenkit . ashenpaw
  — ftm transmasc. he/him. 10mo apprentice of shadowclan. mentored by smogmaw
  — muted blue torbie w/ pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells of rainsoaked fern and swamp milkweed
  — all ic opinions!
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — sig by nya, fullbody by antiigone, sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  

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[SHARPSHADOW]

Hey, Sharpshadow.

Bad, bad, bad news. Her eyes are on him much the way a rabbit watches its hunter; sudden and scared, ready to bolt if need be. Because no one ever called his name for a good reason. Except Forestshade... sometimes. ( Not even that could be a guarantee) But – she was an enigma in more ways than one. Ashenpaw was one of Smogmaw's brood. Sharpshadow expects no different from him. She keeps silent, for now, wearing a twisted face th at awaits his continuing, more than it asks him to go on.

He's smiling, which is not good. Even less good is what is essentially drivel spilling from his maw. Annoying for the sake of being annoying. Just like his father. Sharpshadow turns on him with lips pulled in a not - really - smile. " Wow, aren't you f - funny? I sure wish your sister was half as funny as you are... " he grits. They were pulled from the same pelt, really. Sharpshadow is quickly realizing he can't stand either of them. " My Advice? Make some friends. If you try really hard, you might have one or two by the time you're a warrior. "

And that would be one or two more than he had, but — but he wouldn't lie about that. If Smogmaw's kits want to spend so much time telling Sharpshadow how miserable he is, the scariest thing he can do to them is tell them they're just as miserable. Not that it was a reality he liked, but he had nothing else, really.

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

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  SHARPSHADOW: he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms ; 19 moons old as of 2.2.24
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

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