sensitive topics Curtain Call | Intro, nightmare

[>Scorchedpaw]

— //CW/TW: Involves emotional abuse, and burn injuries
Nearly every night, since he was 5 moons old, was always the same. The fire lapped hungrily at his hiding spot amongst dry shrubbery. Like a beast made of flames, it drew up limbs of its firey ferocity, licking up the withered blades of grass in its advances. He shouldn't be out on his own. He knew that but he just wanted one minute away from his four other brothers and an ever-neglectful mother. This was a moment he'd regret but not the worst to come in his life. There was no mercy to this creature in its approach, embers taunting him with a taste of the pain soon to come as they sprinkled his pelt. He didn't want to perish, there was so much undone. He had so much to prove. With these thoughts provoking him he'd look for a gap in the wall of fire, and he found one.. He'd trace a few steps back before rushing forward with a great leap. He jumped with all his might, summoning up the power that Skyclanner's had within them all. But he fell short.. His short limbs were only able to carry him so far. The next thing the young tom knew he was face-first into the greedy jaws of the flames. Then she would save him from this torment of a memory. Her curly brown fur looked as soft as ever, and her amber eyes glowing with such sadness. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to tell her that he was sorry, that he should've done something but he'd only ever get a glimpse of her before being thrown into the waking world.
--- Awake
Scorchedpaw would stifle a cry, he knew he was awake now. He knew she was never coming back. The flame-point would grip up the moss of his nest in his claws. It wasn't fair. If he hadn't acted as a stupid kit and went out on his own then the lightning wouldn't have sparked up the fire, he wouldn't have been burned, and his mother.. The tom would angrily thrust his face into his moss. He wanted to scream but withheld. He was Nettlekit until she saw him, she thought he needed to be punished for it and renamed him Scorchedkit. Like he needed a reminder! He couldn't see out of his right eye due to his injury. It was bad enough how she treated him because he was a runt but this had only added more to the emotional abuse, not only that but all his brothers took part in bullying him. Then they all just up in left not long after what happened to Briarpaw- Orange ears would pin against his skull as he thought of the molly.

His best friend. After she went 'missing' the tom became reserved. Carrying on with his duties without pleasantries to others. He made no effort to make new friends. He had become such a recluse, never mean to anyone just quiet. No one would compare to her.. Scorchedpaw's shoulders would seize as he struggled to hold back from crying. It wasn't fair...— tags​

 

[SHADOWFIRE]

.fight it, or accept it —————————

————————— fear it, or control it.

▵ ———————— ◮ ———————— ▵

THE BLACK-AND-WHITE BRUTE HAD BEEN RETURNING FROM A NIGHT patrol when he smelt the bitter scent of distress, blinking. Nightmare, eh? He thought with a sympathetic rumble, knowing how awful they could be. Shadowfire was familiar with them, not as much as his older brother, but enough to wonder what was real and what wasn’t. Always so annoying.

The warrior poked his head into the den, brow raised. “Heard something and thought I’d check.” He whispered amongst the sea of younger felines, tail twitching, scanning the lot with an observant hue. “Oi!” His gaze landing on Scorchedpaw. “You good, buddy?” He’d whisper-yelled. Aww, shit. He hoped he hadn’t woken up anyone with his voice. That’d suck. Not that he cared all that much, but sleep was a precious thing. Can’t deny the younger ones a well-deserved rest. He mused with a twitch of his whiskers.

He’d never been privy to sleeping throughout the night, even if he was sleeping with his brother, sharing a too-small nest resulting in one of them suffocating into the mesh of moss and brambles. Y’know—Better get a bigger nest. He thought, not wanting to suffocate for yet another night. You’d think Smokefang was trying to kill me. He thought, pouting.

thoughts speech​

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[>Scorchedpaw]

— His ears would swivel forward at the sound of a voice before he lifted his head from where he had buried it into his nest. A valid question spouted from the older tom cat and the younger wasn't sure how to answer. Physically he was fine, all save for his old wound. Mentally was where he would have to lie on behalf of. Memories recked havoc on his mind, he knew he had good ones but they never visited him at night. "I.." The flame point would start but then would no sooner trail off. His blue eye would drop down to his paws as they started to anxiously knead at his nest, what did he want to say? He felt horrible as always after such a night.

"It's just another night." Scorchedpaw would whisper and as soon as he did his eyes would prickle with tears. The weight of his words finally drove stakes into his back. The apprentice was only 8 moons old and had already experienced pain, betrayal, and abandonment. His face crumbled in despair, everything he tries to hold in was so much for someone of his age or for anyone. Knowing that he'd never see a shred of closure and that the tom was just expected to move on but.. How? "I.. I don't want to wake an-anyone.." He'd sniffle quietly. The floodgates had already been broken and he felt shameful of his current display. He wanted a kind mother to turn to in these times like others should have but he'd left him.— tags​

 

[spiderpaw ✧]

A bleary pale gaze, clotted with sleepy confusion, glows into life in the apprentice's den like an angry firefly. Spiderpaw stares around; an apprentice whose name escapes her for a moment of sleep-struck idiocy and then arrives—Scorchedpaw—is quivering in his nest, looking near tears, while a black-and-white warrior looks at him. She groans quietly and squishes her head into her nest; the warrior's mew was the sound that she now realized had pulled her from sleep. Now that the smoke was trying to actually train more often than not, sleep was harder-earned, and her gaze flares with irritation as she looks at the tableau.

It softens slightly at the sight; the den had been the setting of her own ... (breakdown?) ... event recently, and that unfortunate ginger-and-white apprentice with the nasty scar looks equally as despairing as she likely had, if not tending closer to sad than angry. Still, her mew is instinctively barbed and smeared with sleepy annoyance despite its good intentions, "What the big lug said. You alright? Have a nightmare or something ... ?"

Sleep and sympathy dilute her remaining venom, and Spiderpaw squints tiredly, debating whether she should just go back to sleep. She kind of feels bad for Scorchedpaw, though. Can't be fun living with that big-ass scar.
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