private Call it morbid curiosity ⸙ Thriftfeather

[Brackenpaw]

Thriftfeather was back, Brackenpaw truthfully didn’t really care enough to feel any particular way about this. She was still in the nursery when he left to join DuskClan, she was aware of him but the only warriors she paid attention to back then (and even now to an extent) were the ones they disliked. Depending on how one looked at this it would be deemed fortunate that he wasn’t on her radar because that meant that her attitude was at least neutral. Now that he was back, he held her interest and not just because he was… mates? With her previous mentor. It did relate to the fact that he was back from DuskClan but not in the way that some of their clanmates cared about him being from DuskClan. In her mind the golden tom wasn’t necessarily a traitor, she figured second chances were a common thing within WindClan. While he was one when he joined Sootstar’s loyalists she assumed there was a desire to right those wrongs, this could be chalked up the naivety that she clearly carried while insisting that she didn’t.

Conversations with Privetfrost had made her curious, they were well aware that the newly named warrior wouldn’t just give away anything about DuskClan. Things as mundane as the surroundings are skirted around to an extent, their conversations held something from one another. This may not be the case with the tom, if he wanted to be part of WindClan then maybe she could barrage him with questions, they figured they couldn’t ask anything of actual importance. There was an assumption that there may be reluctant to share that with anyone other than Sunstar.

“Thiftfeather, can I ask you something?” They manage to catch him by the entrance of the nursery, why she doesn’t see him just wandering around camp she doesn’t know. Once again she finds that she doesn’t really have interest in that either. “It’s DuskClan related” curiously she eyes him for a reaction, for him to decline her questioning before it even began. When that didn’t immediately happen the hungry curiosity returned, allowing herself to actually show how interested she was in the topic.

“So is it ugly out there? Is there much to look at? Do you get much prey?” They’re unremarkable questions really. They didn’t want to indicate that she was interested in joining or anything, really she couldn’t think of anything worse. Their thoughts drift to their unlikely friend and they just desire to know how bad it really must be for him out there.

---

‎‎ ‎┌── Im just a dog ⸙ with no bite ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  ooc. @Thriftfeather sorry that she's like this
  
•  
• Brackenpaw
  ✩ they/she, tunneler apprentice of Windclan, 11 moons (ages on the 22nd)
  ⭃ a lithe and fragile looking calico that looks like they still need to grow into her ears
  ⭃ Speech, thoughts, attacking
  ⭃ NPC x NPC, mentored by Scorchstreak | Formally mentored by Bluefrost
  ⭃ easy to befriend other kits, gradually harder to befriend every rank after that
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Juice ↛ @/ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  ⭃ All opinions are IC!! Bracken is a little hater
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

The face that approaches Thriftfeather is one he doesn't immediately recognize, even after she calls him by name. Young, Thriftfeather notes, and small enough to be a tunneler. He tips his head to her initial question in a gentle acquiescence—better for her to be asking questions than making assumptions. When they start, it is a string of things that fall from their mouth. Thriftfeather bristles along his spine as she continues and gestures, perhaps uselessly, for her to slow down.

"One at a time," His tone is chiding, but without heat—how many times had he done the very same thing while an apprentice?

It is then that recognition comes to Thriftfeather: this is Brackenkit. Now Brackenpaw, doubtlessly. Another reminder of just how much time has passed Thriftfeather keeps the surprise from his expression and instead gestures for Brackenpaw—and now that Thriftfeather has realized, he finds himself wondering how he could have ever not recognized her—to sit.

"Ugly isn't—I wouldn't call it ugly," Empty, he thinks, but he has always been hesitant to call anything ugly, "It hadn't had—it wasn't prey-filled, like the moors are. Mostly briars and ground birds."

Thriftfeather imagines that, were he to be put back on the moor, he could fall into hunting rabbits as if he had never left the stride. Part of the struggle of DuskClan was that it hadn't had prey enough for all the mouths that arrived and, for Thriftfeather personally, he hadn't known in the first crucial moons the best ways to hunt the prey that was present.

"So, um, no, not much to look at and not much prey." Enough to eat for half the days Thriftfeather had hunted, but Thriftfeather keeps such grim details to himself. ​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Brackenpaw]

They huff at his chiding tone, able to register that lack of heat in his tone but still annoyed in the way that any spirited child is at the slightest hint of criticism or judgement. They still sit, eager that she hasn't been shooed away by the tom at all, and repeat her questioning but one at a time and slower. They try to hide it but it's clear that she's pretty excited to hear what he has to say, though it must have been pretty obvious by the sheer amount of questions she prattled off.

The excitement is in the tone, rather that it's curiosity, their expression is still painfully neutral. She nods slowly as she tucks her paws together, compressing herself to sit primly as the tabby speaks with her. He wouldn't call it ugly, though he didn't really expand from that "well if it's not ugly then what's it like?" She doubted that it would be rather exciting to look at. Since it wasn't prey filled and only covered with briars and ground birds she thought the answer would have been yes that it is rather ugly.

Hm, not much to eat and not much to look at. She can't help but wonder if anyone else in DuskClan regrets going there now that they're stuck somewhere so dreary with little food. Would there be an increase of others trying to come back with their tail between their legs? Probably not, not everyone could admit that they were wrong and that they had harmed their formal clan in such a manner. "Do you think that DuskClan will be in trouble in leaf-bare then?" She had a feeling that the answer would be yes but maybe they're wrong in that assumption.

After a moment of contemplative silence she looks back to the golden tom "is it weird being back?" Her question deviating from their original purpose, curiosity fixating on Thriftfeather himself.

---

‎‎ ‎┌── Im just a dog ⸙ with no bite ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  ooc.
  
•  
• Brackenpaw
  ✩ they/she, tunneler apprentice of Windclan, 11 moons (ages on the 22nd)
  ⭃ a lithe and fragile looking calico that looks like they still need to grow into her ears
  ⭃ Speech, thoughts, attacking
  ⭃ NPC x NPC, mentored by Scorchstreak | Formally mentored by Bluefrost
  ⭃ easy to befriend other kits, gradually harder to befriend every rank after that
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Juice ↛ @/ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  ⭃ All opinions are IC!! Bracken is a little hater
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Brackenpaw seeks details that Thriftfeather would rather forget. He tries to imagine forcing definitions and dimensions onto DuskClan, searches for a way to summarize it in a way that will be satisfactory to Brackenpaw without setting his own heart into any kind of speed. Thought quiets him—a moment spent inward is a moment spent back then,—and then at once Thriftfeather knows what to say.

"It's lonely," The call of a bird seeking a voice that never replies, the empty space between bodies as they had slept, "That's what DuskClan is like. Open space and—and nothing to fill it. Everyone—everything—is isolated. I imagine everyone just—they just spread out to make it look a little more full." That's what it does to everyone who finds a life there, "Other than that, you can see highstones easily from it and you could—when there was the fire, we could see the smoke."

He doesn't need to think to know the answer to Brackenpaw's next question: it had been a concern that had sprung upon him as soon as he had noticed the first encroachments of Leaf-fall. It was the end of Leafbare when Thriftfeather had arrived in the scrublands—he had however brief of a taste of what life would be like there during the harshest season.

"It'll be a struggle. The rogues—anyone who wasn't WindClan or ShadowClan before coming to DuskClan will likely leave for elsewhere," He can only help that they will have enough self interest to not let themselves starve—he can only hope that DuskClan gutters from dissolution and not death.

And then the final question; Thriftfeather fixes Brackenpaw with a surprised look. No one has asked him this yet. For a moment he is caught in baffled silence.

"Weird?" He echoes and then, after a pause, continues, "I—actually—actually yes. It's..." Everything looks just as he had left it. Everyone is different in ways Thriftfeather could never articulate. "Weird but good. What about—is it weird for you? For me to be back?"​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Brackenpaw]

"Lonely" Brackenpaw repeats to herself, there's a look of deep thought to her and something a little troubled as she tries to think about the tom she meets at the border occasionally as lonely. They feel sorry for him, in turn feeling sorry for Thriftfeather too, wondering what it's like to experience that deep rooted loneliness. The one that's all consuming and threatens to drive someone mad, craving interaction so bad that even the prey one will eat will suffice as some kind of comfort. She's never experienced that, and she hopes to continue to never experience it.

"Did you think the fire was going to reach you?" She doesn't know just how far their camp is, no doubt they all assumed they'd be fine but she can't help but ask anyways. A knee jerk reaction of sorts to ask for elaborations and to prod with more questions. "Was there anything nice at all about it?" She doubts it but they find it hard to imagine that pride and beliefs are the sole things keeping so many cats going. Eventually that drive has to fizzle out right? Unless there's something to fight for, it seems that Thriftfeather left that group easily so truly was there any conflict behind his choice in favour of staying there?

The harshness of leafbare will be a true testiment to their ideals though she supposes. Nodding carefully as Thriftfeather spoke they find that they hope the group disbands, rathering that then more death be wrecked upon WindClan. They can't keep this up forever can they? Spite can be a powerful motivator though she supposes. "Maybe... others might join you here then?" There's doubt in her tone but she can't help wondering just how far Sunstar's good graces will be stretched by those who once trampled them on the battle field and even more recently.

Of course it's weird for him to be back, weird but good, a funny way to put it but they think they can understand that perspective somewhat. "I mean... I guess? I didn't know you very well from before so this is our first time meeting in my eyes" she can't cling to nostalgia like the older clan members might. They think it works in her favour, or against her? "Weird but good, for me too. You're smaller now" not by much, he's still got height on her but she has grown too since when they were a kit. "So you're staying then, right?" she can't say that she thinks poorly of him, anyone able to endure her ceaseless questions and blunt nature is a decent enough clanmate to her standards.

---

‎‎ ‎┌── Im just a dog ⸙ with no bite ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  ooc.
  
•  
• Brackenpaw
  ✩ they/she, tunneler apprentice of Windclan, 11 moons (ages on the 22nd)
  ⭃ a lithe and fragile looking calico that looks like they still need to grow into her ears
  ⭃ Speech, thoughts, attacking
  ⭃ NPC x NPC, mentored by Scorchstreak | Formally mentored by Bluefrost
  ⭃ easy to befriend other kits, gradually harder to befriend every rank after that
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Juice ↛ @/ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  ⭃ All opinions are IC!! Bracken is a little hater
  

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

A ponderous expression takes Brackenpaw's young face. Thriftfeather remains silent—watches Brackenpaw with something akin to curiosity. He doesn't know of what Brackenpaw thinks of, but the near-somber way they repeat lonely holds Thriftfeather's own tongue. He doesn't speak again, not until Brackenpaw raises her voice once more in another question.

"It wasn't a worry I had, no," Whether or not one of his former peers had feared that the fire would stretch its limbs into DuskClan's space was a question Thriftfeather had not thought to ask; he had been too occupied in his own thoughts at the time.

As for anything nice—Thriftfeather sucks in a breath around his teeth. He had liked to search for the good in DuskClan, just as he had done for WindClan. There wasn't a thing he could find that didn't feel like a paltry comfort; an inferior copy of the undeniable better that WindClan housed, if even that. There wasn't a gentle cradle to be found in briars. Now here, now in WindClan's camp, Thriftfeather has yet to shake the homesickness that has rooted into his heart.

"It has the same sky as WindClan," He says as answer, and aches all the while. It's as close to nice as his tired mind can find.

Brackenpaw wonders about the remaining DuskClanners—wonders if they would be joining Thriftfeather here. He cannot stop his immediate reactions: a recoil and the start of disdain curling around his mouth. Thriftfeather smothers it before it can bloom into anything more severe, hides the intensity of his emotion beneath a dismissive snort.

"Pray they don't," It's easy to recall Gravelpaw, to recall Hungerpaw, and to wish for more for them. It's easy for Thriftfeather to feel like a hypocrite when some old fear shakes his chest: WindClan will swallow them, just as DuskClan has. Their more couldn't be WindClan—and wasn't Thriftfeather himself testament enough to that? His mood sobers, "The other—I'm not like the other DuskClanners, and they aren't like WindClan. They are dangerous. I heard about what happened with Lilypaw."

If Brackenpaw takes nothing else from what Thriftfeather has told them, he prays that this is what they remember.

So you're staying then, right? Brackenpaw asks, and Thriftfeather wishes he never learned how to hope.

"For as long as I'm allowed," It's a shaky smile that Thriftfeather offers to Brackenpaw. It isn't his choice—and isn't that a familiar feeling?​

DUSKCLAN DEPUTY ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 19 MOONS ✦ TAGS​