sensitive topics body cast of glass || starving

[GECKOSCREECH]

tw: very light descriptions of the effects of hunger / starvation + puking

geckoscreech cannot remember the last time she's had a proper meal, anything that's been caught out in their wasteland of a territory is quickly snatched up and devoured within seconds rendering the pile back to its pitiful state decorated only by scraps and crow-food that no one dares to touch unless they're feeling incredibly desperate. there was a point where she had to swallow her disgust and try to stomach whatever was left behind but it hardly lasted before she found herself ducking behind one of the dens to puke it right back up, the feeling of acidic bile burning the back of her throat was enough for the lead warrior to avoid trying it again.

she lay in her nest now, her once pristine and sleek coat is dull and clinging to a thinning frame that's starting to expose the ribs underneath. geckoscreech could hardly think straight anymore with the incessant pounding inside her skull but she needed to work, there was things that had to be done and shadowclan couldn't afford having an able-bodied warrior out of action. especially not their lead warrior.

mustering whatever energy she had left, the rosetted woman forced herself onto shaky limbs to exit the den. when she steps out into the clearing everything suddenly begins to tilt and her body threatens to fall over but she just narrowly avoids doing so and sluggishly straightens herself out once again. there were a few cats out and about already but right now they felt like a distant after thought to the molly who is struggling trying to keep herself upright.

fuck, this was gonna be a tough day.
​

[ BITTERNESS IS LIKE CANCER; IT EATS UPON THE HOST.]​

 

[smogstar]

Something must change. Obviously, this isn't working out for them.

ShadowClan's deprivation of food has shifted from a farcical stereotype to an ugly reality. Be it a factor of imaginary borders or Pitchstar's erroneous pride, the fresh-kill pile isn't living up to its name and everybody that he knows is suffering from severe hunger. He hasn't had a sound night's sleep in many moons now. Where is the line, he wonders. What will the final affront be, the quantitative point where truly desperate measures are set into motion. Will they live long enough to see action taken? Or have they already given up?

It's quite difficult to tell. All he knows is that every passing morning brings him ever closer to his last, and lest a drastic change is made to his clan's lifestyle, his final day might just be laying beyond the horizon.

Fatigue wears on his face like a viscid layer of mud. He has recently awoken too, embarking from the warrior's den for the purpose of another hopeless hunt. The tom does not leave camp, though. It isn't worth it, not when it's this snowy. If he isn't strong-armed onto a patrol later today, then he shall abstain from hunting altogether, and he'll have to pray that he makes it through another night without waking up like one of his clanmates who were dangerously close to the brink.

Speak of which, his eyes flick towards the den when Geckoscreech shambles from its confines. The corners of his maw coil downwards at the mere state of her. The milky-furred molly is practically dead on her feet, teetering and tottering like a kit taking its first steps. Perhaps the slightest nudge will send her off to StarClan, and open up a nifty lead warrior spot for his taking.

"You look appalling," affirms Smogmaw, sparing the pleasantries as he pads through the snow. There's nothing pleasant about her. There never was, but that's besides the point. "I would hope that you had a chance to eat yesterday," he continues, though her current condition clearly suggests otherwise, "pile's emptier than our leader's skull."

Thank the heavens he's blessed with a thicker pelt than she, otherwise he'd look equally frail. ​

 

[RIBBITLEAP]

Ribbitleap is hungry, but the tabby tom fears his mother is more hungry than he could ever know.

He's lived through hunger before; lived through measly kill piles in the era of the Great Battle, when ShadowClan was simply the marsh group and there was one more mouth to feed beside him. But, the days that lay before him offer an empty kill pile and more responsibilities since the last time he'd gone hungry, a sense of stomach-churning panic looming over the camp.

He's about to leave for his assigned hunting patrol, when his mother emerges from the warrior den. Frail, shaky, sick. And though Ribbitleap too is hungry - his scrawny build only further diminished - his hunger is forgotten, is nowhere near as important as his mother's.

"Ma?" The warrior hurries over as best as he can, eyes wide with concern. "Are you... Are you okay?"

She isn't, it's oh so clear to see, but Ribbitleap feels the need to ask anyway, as if to gauge the severity with her answer. He doesn't know the last time the lead warrior ate, but, he'll be sure to ration off his kill from his patrol, save it for her. That is, if he's successful in catching anything.

Ribbitleap can't lose his mother too.
​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

hunger gnaws desperately at their insides, and it makes them uneasy. their face shows nothing, but inside they're frustrated. angry. starclan truly had hated them, they couldn't catch a single fuckint break. they watched dimly geckoscreech and smogmaw spoke, and chilledgaze only rolled their eyes at smogmaw's smart mouthed comment. didn't he have anything better to do? sure, pitchstar wasn't perfect ( they weren't even going to begin to debate that one. pitchstar was losing himself faster than chilledgaze could stop ), but shit talking him was only fucking annoying because it certainly didn't do anything. it didn't put freshkill on the pile, either. but there wasn't shit to hunt in this wasteland. they rubbed their muzzle as their tongue slowly drew across their paw, repeating the action a few times before they grunted uncomfortably with the feeling of emptiness in their stomach. they had wondered how the kits were fairing today... warriors could go a bit but the kits... chilledgaze stood to their paws, standing near ribbitleap. geckoscreech certainly looked worse for wear... but which ones of them didn't? they looked like mangy alley cats.

"try drinking a little water... might help until we can find... something."

they couldnt offer what they didn't have. and they refused to make false promises... cats were going to die, and there wasnt a single thing they could do about it.
​

[ NOBODY ELSE MATTERS, GIRL ]​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

shadowclan is withering away, and pitchstar must watch. condemned by the stars, sentenced to die in a territory as cruel as the cold wind that cuts through his ragged fur. all while the other clans get fat off of more abundant prey. (his resentment blinds him to reality; shadowclan is not the only ones with ribs jutting from their flanks.) all while bonejaw eats fish and laughs with her new clanmates.

pitchstar does not particularly like geckoscreech, not since she'd replaced his- his mother's- nest. but to see the lead warrior in such a state, thinning fur and sharp angles, who could hardly walk from the warriors' den without collapsing from hunger-fueled exhaustion... it twists his own aching gut, claws sinking into the snow-laden earth. pitchstar says that he could only do so much, he could only expend so much of his deteriorating warriors' energy to hunting in a land barren of prey. this is starclan's fault. selfishly, he pins the blame on those above the clouds as if they have any more control over his clan's health than he does.

others rush to geckoscreech's side, hoping to assist her, but pitchstar does not move from where he's crouched in front of clanrock. there is nothing to be done. he could not fill her stomach, he could not breathe strength back into her. and he hates it, being so powerless when he is the one that eyes fall upon to lead.

and pitchstar does not intend to move, believing geckoscreech has enough of an audience already, until he overhears smogmaw. pile's emptier than our leader's skull. it sets his veins ablaze, narrowed eyes widening with pupils constricted into thin slits. in that moment, he doesn't hear smogmaw's voice, but cicadastar's. taunting him, hissing accusations of him not caring enough to try. silver tabby fur turns into that of the smoke chimera, and pitchstar thinks he would prefer if it was painted in crimson. "what did you say-?!" he all but howls, pushing himself to his paws too fast. the world spins, his head pounds, and he teeters. but pitchstar keeps a fiery stare fixated on the smoke- no, the silver tabby.​

 

[hitch]

in character   out of character   character tags   reference

• 
  
  
  ── He never thought he would miss frogs. When he used to bounce between the marsh and the pine groups, he preferred hunting from the latter, and not solely because they were slightly more open-minded about loners. Frogs are slime-slick, twitchy and with terrifying little eyes that stare even when they're dead and— and Rosemire would give a paw to eat one now. There would be more meat on it than there is on two of legs, he feels like.
  
  It wasn't so terrible going hungry a while ago, when he had made of himself a ghost; he'd avoided taking from the pile out of guilt, and now that everyone he sees is on their last legs of starvation, he doesn't bear it quite as well. Easy to go hungry when he didn't have to see the sallow, sunken cheeks of people who deserved better than what they'd gotten.
  
  Weak as he is, he makes an effort to reach Geckoscreech's side, glancing at her son, whose eyes are painfully bright with worry. "If you do fall, you can land on me," he offers with forced cheer. "I have enough left on me to be a nest. A bad one, maybe."
  
  Of course, Pitchstar was within hearing range of Smogmaw's comment, and Rose's withering muscles stiffen at the harsh ring of his voice. He stares at ShadowClan's leader, Briarstar's son and successor, and he swallows hard. "He's hangry," Rosemire reasons, though he realizes there's very little heart in it. "We could try the Carrionplace again. Those of us willing to risk it." He has a feeling his suggestion won't lead anywhere, but— could he maybe make the trek himself? No. No, probably not.
  

  ---

  ​
•  
• n/a​
•  
• ──── surr'oseal'isme (rosemire; formerly roseal). he/him. reluctantly shadowclan.
  ──── approximately thirty-eight months old; not entirely certain of his own age.
  ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
  ──── very tall, scarred albino with sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail.
  ──── ─── currently noticeably thin and haggard. ribs and spine are pronounced.​
•  
• 
  
  

 

[GECKOSCREECH]

it's no surprise that clanmates begin to swarm around her person, the first being smogmaw who hardly shows a lick of pity for anything and instead opts to state the obvious by pointing out how atrocious she looks before going on to insult pitchstar in the same breath. of course, it gets met with offended howling from the tom himself and geckoscreech is left to only roll her eyes in response.

ribbitleap is next to hurry over with concern written all over his face and it wrenches a thorn into her heart, he shouldn't have see her in such a sorry state. shouldn't have to battle with the thought of whether or not she'll succumb to the hunger. "i'm fine, you've got a patrol to be on don't worry about me." geckoscreech mews, she isn't sure how reassuring those words can be in times like these but she wants to ease her son's mind.

chilledgaze and rosemire arrive but at this point any words spoken to her are blending together into indecipherable mush and the headache that throttles her skull only seemed to get worse. "just— give me a second." she grunts out, eyes screwing shut to see if it wouldn't just ease up on it's own.​

[ BITTERNESS IS LIKE CANCER; IT EATS UPON THE HOST.]​

 

[smogstar]

The tabby's observance becomes all the less involved once others start to encircle Geckoscreech, all offering her their empty sympathies and half-hearted advice. Chilledgaze and Rosemire's ideas lack conviction, spoken only to provide a modicum of solace to the emaciated molly. No offence to them, and no offence to her, but the lead warrior looked to be a fox-length away from toppling over. Goodwill and well wishes won't fill her desolate belly. At least he had the grit to be honest about it.

He is snapped back into focus when a chafed voice challenges him. Wearisome eyes would swivel to see Dear Leader himself, all caught up in a tizzy and seeing red in front of the clanrock. Pitchstar, sad to say, did not make for a threatening figure in this state. While Briar's spawn stood upon the supreme authority that his mom had imparted upon him, Smogmaw cannot possibly fear someone so hollow. If he can dish it out, saying that Smogmaw ought to have his pelt flayed from his skin, then comments about his intellect (or an apparent lack thereof) ought to be tolerated.

"Careful on your toes, young buck!" he calls, but refrains from saying anything more. As weak as Pitchstar stood, he had the power to punish him as he saw fit. The only thing worse than a nepotism baby is a powerful one.

His brown gaze returns to Geckoscreech. Echoes of pity reflect from his eyes. Seeing her struggle like this is distressing, not for the worry of her own well-being, but out of concern for his own. Her sorry state is an omen of what's to come, lest immediate action be taken. "Not saying it'll do much, but we've got to get her to Starlingheart's cave," he asserts, stepping forward. "The seclusion'll do her good, even if there aren't any herbs that can... well, keep her alive."​

 

[Starlingheart]

Starlingheart wishes she could do more for her clanmates then offer her partly herbs, she wishes she could hunt them up a whole banquet, a feast. It is the wishful thinking of a child but wasn't that what she was, after all? She daydreams of hoards of mice throwing themselves at their paws, of every cat having full bellies once again, and one look at her clan-mates tells her they are thinking similar thoughts.

Geckoscreech in particular catches her attention. She watches as the scene before her plays out. The lead warrior strumbled from her den, exhausted, hungry, weak. Clan-mates gather around her. Pitchstar screams at Smogmaw. No doubt the gray tom made an offhanded comment about him or someone else in their family. She is not surprised. It feels like another day in Shadow Clan. This has become the new normal but still, she approaches quietly.

Her ears flick as her name is uttered and she pins them against her head. For a moment she is worried Smogmaw is implying there's nothing she can do but offer shelter but there is something she can do, something she can offer other than a warm nest. "I h-haaave I have a-a a couple of uh couple of her-herbs tha-thaaaat that cuh-cuh-could that could help i-iiiiif if you if you wa-wa-waaaant them" she tells her quietly. Watermint for belly aches. Dandelion for any other pain. They were small scraps of knowledge she possessed but at least it was something
​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

rosemire comes to smogmaw's defense, with the claim that the insolent warrior is hangry. it does little to appease the leader, who flexes his claws against the muddy ground as if preparing to sink them into smogmaw's ugly face. when, in reality, its more akin to bracing himself against the swaying of the world. no, he couldn't take on smogmaw... not in this pathetic state he's in. all bones draped in a raggedy coat of matted fur. "we're all hangry- that's no excuse to disrespect his leader," snaps pitchstar. the carrionplace, rosemire suggests... they've been trying the carrionplace. the few rats that they bring back isn't enough to feed an entire clan. but where else could they run to? "right... i'm sure chilledgaze and i haven't thought of that already."

smogmaw's voice is taunting. it tells him to be careful on his toes, likening him to a young buck, and pitchstar's lips curl. is smogmaw mocking him? "watch your tongue, before i cut it out and choke you with it," the rosette tabby snarls, all teeth and gums. he wouldn't allow anyone to get away with such disrespect; a display of weakness would be exploited by all who sniffs it out, like a pack of hounds descending upon their unsuspecting prey.

starlingheart is summoned by suggestions of geckoscreech visiting her, and while pitchstar remains rigid in his fury, his sharp eyes soften ever so slightly at his baby sister's warbling voice. she offers herbs for geckoscreech's... condition, and pitchstar wonders how much herbs would help in the state that the lead warrior's in. if shadowclan continues to deteriorate, he thinks no plant in existence would be of assistance. but what else do they have, now? certainly not any food to offer his starving warriors.​

 

[Magpiepaw]

Magpiekit has not suffered like the rest of the clan, for whatever reason they feed him first and while he wonders if he should ask why he is not too certain he wants to bring attention to what might be a mistake to be corrected. He liked having food, he never had food much before so even with the chill in the air and his struggles to get through the camp alone due to the snow he is well fed and content.
Geckoscreech is not doing well, he gathers that much as he approaches with his awkward gait, legs lifted alarmingly high to try and keep him above the slush and muck of the camps chilling swill.
Why didn't they give her food to help? Did they run out? His chest stirred with strange feelings, he couldn't place a name to the emotions but it made him wish he had not eaten his mouse earlier so enthusiastically-maybe he could have given it to Geckoscreech instead. His ears twitch at Rosemire's use of an odd term that Pitchstar repeats and he finds himself growing more bothered by this expanding vocabulary. What did THAT mean? What was it to feel that?
Another feeling he had no understanding of and could not comprehend. The kitten's head bobbed as he finally reached them, leaning into the side of Pitchstar's leg for support to stop his shaking and trembling form; it was hard to tell what was the world tipping around him or the cold but he didn't like being confined to the nursery even if Bramblesong was so warm.
Starlingheart was singing about her plants again and he wrinkled his nose in memory of the herbal scents that filled her den, too strong and too much, but to know there was something to stop hunger? That held his interest. Was there plants to eat to stop his star shakes? Plants to change your coat color? Would he eat a plant and grow wings? The possibilities were endless, almost overwhelming. Maybe he would go stick his nose in her den later and sniff around, but not eat anything. He wasn't gifted in consuming, he'd probably die if he so much as licked a leaf.
"What is hangry?" The kitten asks finally after mulling it over, peering up wide-eyed to the larger cats around and his voice only just higher than a whisper.

​

 

[GHOSTPAW]

Geckoscreech is not okay.

She hobbles. and she never hobbles. She's as good as they came. A noble warrior and a noble lady. She wasn't meant to shake without cold. She wasn't meant to wobble. She wasn't meant to lean on others. She is not fine. Why is she lying?

"Geckoo..." Ghostpaw drawls. He tries his best to skitter beside her, despite the ensuing chaos. Pitchstar is mad. But that isn't new. As long as he isn't mad at Ghostpaw, that's okay. He manages to nod along with Smogmaw before he's dead and gone. Not long, he thinks, with how Pitchstar is looking at him. But Smogmaw is right. Cats who are right should be spared, he thinks. "See Starlingheart, please." She can die, but he doesn't want her to yet. He doesn't want a new mentor. "Starlingheart, fix her please," he asks with a rare, despairing blink. He doesn't know what he would do...

Ghostpaw can't answer Magpiekit, because he doesn't know either. But he was it... apparently.​