pafp BLACKOUT THEATRICS | argument (private for now)

[CHRYSALISWING]

Chrysalispaw could feel how tension buzzed at the tousles of fur and the ends of whiskers, like a peckish breeze that tugged at the stomach, a sort of yawning emptiness that could not be fulfilled by any mortal sustenance. It was like a constant bellyache, a thrumming heart, an annoyance that could not be deterred. Spitting at the pool of the gut, this dread only ruminated as it awaited what the days might hold. Chrysalispaw didn't want to wait. Whispers of his clanmates rang dissonant instead of rife with vernal joy, as even the coming of newleaf was not enough to stave off the fear of the unknown, as it encroached even upon the daylight's stead. The shadows grew deeper, sharper, stronger... The tom looked in the distance, to the clouds that cast deathly gloom below them. His clanmates were out there, surely. He didn't know where the Twolegs had taken them, but they must be there. The discord had only curdled the venomous boy's heart further, souring into a stone-faced distaste, and poisoning what little kindness bloomed in his garth. The flowers had wilted, but he cared not to care for them. Not when he found no water to.

The chimaera had come back from an arduous hunting session, and he quickly separated from the other patrol-goers, a rogue speck departing from the flock. He didn't want to be near those cats for more than he had to be, not when he could help it. He plopped a plump vole into the fresh-kill pile that only grew larger as the days grew longer, which was good to see among the terrible news. He was about to head out when another body callously bumped into his, and he reeled back as though the impact had almost sent him flying, though it was truly his frayed nerves that electrified his erratic motions. "Watch it, you dumbass! You almost knocked me over!" He spun around to face the molly who looked so much like him, daggers-for-eyes practically searing into Butterflytuft.

@butterflytuft
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[butterflytuft]

She had not been placed on a patrol today, and no one had asked her to join their hunting patrol. She's become used to it; she's no one's first pick for a reason. She's a pitiful warrior, she can't hunt, and she grows nervous meeting new cats at the borders. It doesn't bother her; she's much more useful around camp! Like today, she gets to babysit the clan's kits. She's padding backwards through camp, for after a long day of play it's time to get them back to the nursery for a nap-time. "This way, little ones!" She trills in her sing-song voice, smile on her face but she's not looking where she's going. Her rump backs into a clanmate's side and she flinches in surprise, whirling to see her former denmate. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I-"

Watch it, you dumbass! You almost knocked me over!

The words sting like a thousand brambles for the overly sensitive she-cat. She recoils and crouches to be smaller, ears pinned flat against her skull. Tears already prick at her eyes; it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who knows her. She's always been incredibly emotional, more-so than any average cat. "I...I..." She stammers, but words won't come as she begins to tremble with tears.​