pafp catch my breath • conspiring?

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : he’d called him simply. snakeblink, come. we must speak. it was low, it was regal, it was before warriors who do not dare meet his icy gaze as his long, thick tail had flicked towards the opposite side of his ancient willow. water laps lazily at the pebbled shore and cicadastar squints at it, at the frozen edges. did it seem . . higher than usual? he thinks on it as he stares over the rivers, tucked into the dip of a gnarled root where few could see — though they were similarity lanky, long - limbed and gaunt. he does not attempt to hide ; no, it would be too difficult, stark white - black marring his pale surroundings. instead he simply looms close to the tabby, head low and eyes flitting. half - mad and vitriolic since their return from that disastrous gathering, and he does not look any less tense, muscles drawn and twitchy with the ebb of hunger. today, however, he is tired — and snakeblink, his dear friend, bears witness to it. his poise slips just slightly, out of eye of his warriors and tucked safely into their spot, he clears his throat.

“ do you think . . “ he begins slowly, carefully, a single ear swiveling towards where clanmates voices still ring, boisterous and busy. his gaze slides over, as if nervous of who would round the tree and find them nestled close, muttering, “ do you think stonebreath has been spending an awful lot of time with minnowfur? “ he says it quick, quirks a brow, looks back towards the scarred warrior at his side. though his expression remains ever steely, ringed with exhaustion and eyes narrowed against the blinding brightness of sun against the frosted river, his whiskers twitch just slightly with mischief, “swantuft’s littermate. not that i’m all too surprised, he has always been a bit of a zwielicht kerl. “ his chin tucks, moving to lick absently at the curls along his slim chest, keeping the movement of his mouth hidden — starclan forbid someone hear him spilling what were surely secrets, “ he’d convinced her to let him go on solo hunts with her near daily now, jah? and while in the medicine den. what swine. “ a scoff, “ i would have smokethroat by the ear, but that’s just me. “

smokethroat. he thinks of him, as he often does, and the chill feels suddenly colder. but the dark warrior is moving about now, possibly even awake — perhaps he could bring him something, should their waning freshkill pile provide, “ he is doing well by the way, thank the stars — i’ll have more white hairs than even him by the end of the season. “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−−−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar is unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
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• two cryptids gossiping like aunties ,,,, suspiciously
  please wait for @Snakeblink !!
  
  
• none.

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[Snakeblink]

This past moon has been… eventful. And exhausting. Then again, when has it not been the case with their newly-founded clan? When was the last time Snakeblink felt peaceful and at ease for a whole turn of the moon? Their whole lives are just one thing after the other — they should be so lucky for the things to not overlap. But every event that has left him more tired and stressed out than before weighs twice as heavy on Cicadastar’s shoulders, and it shows in the tom’s attitude. When their border were breached by a Windclan patrol, it’s Cicadastar’s home that was attacked. When Smokethroat was wounded in the skirmish, it’s his closest friend (if not more) that had a paw held to the stars for some time. And when their clan goes hungry, it’s his family that he sees thinning out, in part because of his choice to let two groups of exiles join them in the lean moons of the year.

Suffice to say Snakeblink has been worried about him for some time now. So when Cicadastar calls him over, curt and serious, he follows without a thought. His friend needs him; how could he do anything else?

His paws know the path to their usual spot innately. He lets them carry him along and focuses his attention wholly on the tom walking besides him. Cicadastar carries tension in every limb like a hunter on the prowl, ready to pounce at every shadow, the slightest hint of threat. His eyes have a wildness to them that, although not wholly unfamiliar, speaks of a mind in turmoil. He longs to ease the burden, smooth Cicadastar’s raised hackles, and is only slightly mollified by the way a little of that tension seems to slip away as they settle side by side. Close enough to touch — though Snakeblink, uncertain of how welcome physical comfort from him would be, keeps himself from breaching that gap.

He’s further gratified by the lightheartedness of the conversation. Although he enjoys advising Cicadastar when he can and is always eager to give his opinion on any subject, he enjoys these talks best: those where it feels like he’s doing some tangible good just getting Cicadastar out of his head for a bit, allowing him to be just another warrior for a moment. And he does enjoy his gossip.

Having seen some of these interactions play out but not enough of them to have a full picture of the mess, he is fully sincere as he hums and haws and gasps at all the right parts. He brings his head closer so as to not miss a bit of his leader’s half-whispered recounting, eyes narrowed in delighted schadenfreude.

”I have half a mind to go up to Swantuft myself,” he says, and snorts derisively. ”I wonder how he’d get out of that confrontation.”

The mention of Smokethroat gives him pause, and has his whiskers lifting in a grin he doesn’t bother to suppress. He’s far from the only one to have seen Cicadastar sharing Smokethroat’s nest during the latter’s convalescence, but few have heard their leader gush about the lead warrior (in his own way) as much as he has. This development is a long time coming. It’s a shame that it took Smokethroat losing an eye for Cicadastar to finally realize he deserves to have this one good thing in his life while it lasts, but… Stars, there’s a warmth in his hoarfrost-eyes when he speaks of the dark tom that softens his whole face. It doesn’t matter how they’ve reached that point: now that they have, Snakeblink will do anything to keep that look on his friend’s face as long as possible.

”I’m glad,” he purrs, sincerely relieved to hear of Smokethroat’s recovery. He’s not out of the woods yet… but anything is better than the feverish, bloody mess that was brought back to camp from that patrol. Smirking, he catches Cicadastar’s eyes and adds, playful, ”You would know his state of health best, seeing how closely you’ve been monitoring it. Thank the Stars he has you to keep him warm in these cold moons, hm?” Glancing around quickly to check for anyone eavesdropping, he adds, ”Would you like to tell me about it?”

It’s a titanic show of restraint on his part: if he wasn’t so worried about accidentally hitting a tender spot while prodding for more information, he’d all but but scream Tell me everything about it.

Screw Stonebreath’s poor relationship decisions: this is the love story he’s really interested in.

ooc. information.

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• — Snakeblink • he / him. 36 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[HARTSPRING]

── 《INFO》 He'd be a sore liar if he claimed to be as disinterested in gossip as a fool is good sense. Their illustrious leader's not fit for slinking with a head so high, and he'll confess to being curious about what has his ear bent to Snakeblink. Now, in Hartspring's defense, he hadn't set out to be their fly on the wall; it's hardly his fault their conversation's not far enough under the boughs he's stretched on to escape his hearing. He can't eavesdrop all of it given the volume of their conversation, but there are snippets he strings together. Enough names pass between them that he can only assume they're jawing away in the willow's roots, and Hartspring regrets he's not closer.

"...his state...best...closely you've been monitoring...Stars he has you...these cold moons." It's easiest to discern the hissing S than it is the breathier consonants, which he despairs. Even so, Hartspring doesn't have to make any wide leaps to his conclusions.

"A word of advice from one skulker to two," he calls down as he slides smoothly onto a closer branch, "Always mind your head." He's not certain they can see him yet, ensconced as they are, but they can certainly hear him. He has lungs the size of a horse's ass, so his mother used to say. "Best you find a better yammering hidey-hole."
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[CRAPPIEPATCH]

Through the pressure in their ears, the tortoiseshell-patched apprentice catches a couple snippets of conversation. Like Hartspring, they don’t manage to hear anything in its entirety, but they catch enough. The voices are easy to peg—it’s Cicadastar and Snakeblink, the river king and the serpent.

They scrunch up their nose, rubbing a paw over their snout. "Loud," the child echoes Hartspring’s sentiment, snippy and blunt. Their eyes are narrowed to slits, unsure what to think of the older toms’ chattering. It’s suspicious, Crappiepaw thinks, that those two are talking in hushed voices like they’re trying to hide soemthing. And the way that Snakeblink mentioned the clan’s snow-speckled lead warrior…

They must be plotting to kill Smokethroat. Because surely the leader isn’t getting cozy with his lead warrior for any other reason? Cicadastar doesn’t seem the type to be all disgusting and in love. It just doesn’t quite connect in Crappiepaw’s head. "What are you hiding?" Narrowed green eyes flicker back and forth between the faces of the three older cats, caught between wanting an answer and hoping none of them question why they’re here in the first place.
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[ FORTUNE LOVES THE BOLD ]​

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