camp dear fellow traveler — intro

moonseeker

a poison to erase my existence –
Feb 7, 2024
26
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ੈ ✩‧₊˚ Although they had lived in a group before they'd come to the edge of the pines, that didn't mean they had any real set of expectations for what clan life would be like. Actually, they expected that it would be different—hopefully, very different. All of the stories that they'd heard did not say much about the ways of life of these mysterious clan cats, and murmurs of loners and kittypets seemed to echo words of violence and battle and blood, but those rumors were ones that they were not sure they believed. Not in their entirety, at least, especially not sitting in the SkyClan camp now, watching cats gather in small throngs under the warm mid-afternoon sun in a brief respite from Leafbare's bitter cold grayness, sharing prey and stories. Even in the group that Harmony had once been in, things like this were not commonplace. The lack of tension crackling in the air was a welcome change, as strange as it was. Having spent most of their life always watching, waiting for something to happen—the lack of ever-present anticipation left the cat feeling almost a bit empty. There was a bizarre unease that had drifted in in place of it, and a tiredness now that they could finally in some capacity settle.

Although the weight on their shoulders was not constant, and these new expectations and worries were in part different from the old, they were still well aware that they were still an outsider to these cats. It was a bit unsettling alone to be among a lot of cats that they did not know, overwhelmed by their strange scents and their routines that were entirely different from any that Harmony had ever taken up. They couldn't help but sit at the fringes of the camp alone, eyeing the other cats—their clanmates, now—with an equal measure of curiosity and trepidation that hopefully did not show as they lay with their paws tucked underneath their body.


  • speech, thoughts, actions
  • 77721058_M07Hu3DIqUr2fr7.png
  • HARMONY they/them, loner, 14 moons
    LH blue/black chimera with high white and amber-green heterochromia
    ex-member of a loner group
    speaks with a strange lilt; eyes are without highlights and are dull or even dead-looking
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
    penned by harmoniamessage for discord or find me in the server

 
The deadliness of clan life was not to be underestimated. Even Slate had not been aware of the amount of blood that spilled between the five clans on a normal basis; grief and loss were a factor in every cat's life. No matter how many clanmates perished or never returned to camp, life continued on. It had to.

As a former rogue, Slate knew the ins and outs of survival — the adrenaline rush of narrowly escaping the gaping jaws of a dog, the necessity of defending your turf against opponents. However, life on the streets had never been communal like this. Slate had to get used to sharing a meal — hell, sharing tongues with cats he did not know too well. To this day, he still doesn't find himself comfortable with grooming another cat and vice versa.

There was a constant rotation of faces in SkyClan, seeing as their borders had always been more open as opposed to other clans. Some faces tended to disappear over time; kittypets figuring that the challenge of being a clan cat was too difficult, daylight warriors being shut in by their masters. However, there were a lot more new faces popping up in camp on a regular basis. One new visage of black and white catches Slate's attention, if only because the lead warrior has never seen a face so... split-looking.

The Maine Coon barely furrows a brow, stating the obvious with a rumble, "You're new." It was not unusual for Slate to lack the decency of asking one's name or even how they were settling into things. Slate didn't particularly care, really.

  •  
  • *
    slate
    he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
    a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
    "speech", thoughts, attack
    link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​
 

It could either be advantageous, or disadvantageous, for a newcomer's first experience of SkyClan to be its two prickliest council members. It could not get any worse for a stranger (save for Chrysaliswing), but any who weren't aware of that may have been content to flee instead of committing to their wide-eyed ideals of living amidst the forest. Whilst Slate was overt, Silversmoke was calmer with his caution, moving closer as if checking a random patch of grass on patrol. As he breathed, he could not detect the stench of Twolegs on the other, a small blessing in the period where Daylight Warriors were more likely to join. He moved closer, searching for an explanation without words, tail lashing as if that would give him answers. His peer spoke first, and it took willpower to not admonish him for stating the obvious, a look offered to his... not quite enemy, not quite acquaintance. Slate looked hungry whenever he eyed SkyClan's new Deputy, and Silversmoke couldn't help but wonder if his disposition was a reason why he would stay starved. As little as Silversmoke trusted outsiders, he didn't think he could turn them away without good reason - Slate would do so anyways, SkyClan's values be damned.

His attention fell back onto the black-and-white cat, jaws tense as he offered a nod. It was cautious, more-so than friendly, as if the other's skin would peel back and reveal a Twoleg hiding there all-along. Silversmoke did his best to hide his claws as he frowned, ears tilted vertically. "What's your name, stranger?"

 
invis.png
Sitting beside Slate and Silversmoke, Softpaw found herself offering Harmony a more friendly and welcoming aura than the toms were bringing at the moment. While she knew the toms were usually like this, she wasn't sure if it would scare off their new friend. "How are you liking Skyclan so far?" Hopefully, having at least one positive face around would help them to emerge from their shell and be open with them. If she only spoke her name and that was all, how were they supposed to get to know her, or know if she was settling in well?
"speech"​
 
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Speak of the devil and he shall hear.

"You should get up and do something productive. Unless you're just here to mooch off of Skyclan's prey and herbs." Scorn ripped through the fairly pleasant atmosphere. Like a predicating omen, the thunder's song before the storm, Chrysaliswing made sure to sour every environment that he happened upon. No grace would be spared towards even the newest cats of the clan. Of course, the age-old excuse of working instead of resting had surfaced first. He couldn't help it if it was true, especially because there were so many mouths to feed in Skyclan. Any time spent lazing about could be spent hunting or protecting the clan. Hypocrititcal was what the young man wore as an undercoat, but he saw his anger as a lesson to teach outsiders what it was like to live in the clan.

His ire had dulled somewhat since adolescence, though the fire never extinguished.

Mismatched gaze caught upon Harmony's similarly-patterned pelt, chimaeric pelt cutting through half of the face as though it belonged to two differing felines. And yet, despite their outward similarities, Chrysaliswing saw no solidarity between the two, as if the other had come from a completely different world from his own. Tautological in nature and fraternal in unseen similarities... An eye blind to the greater weavings of the world refused to see it.
 

So much for a quiet corner.

It should've dawned on them sooner that, when noticed, they would attract the attention of the other cats. They're new, like a piece of prey no cat had seen before, or a toy that a kittypet's twoleg had thrown to the floor. Like both of those things, their newness would eventually wane. How long that would take, exactly, was less clear.

Despite Silversmoke having initially tried to be more subtle with his approach, the former loner was observant enough to see the way they were being inched toward, though they hadn't moved at all in response, instead waiting patiently in the corner of the camp they'd holed themself up in. When actually approached, though—by several cats now—they sit up, stiff, but tall, ears pricked. Their silhouette is almost reminiscent of an owl, and their eyes are about as wide and unblinking as those of one, too. Their tail curls tightly around their paws.

An introduction should suffice as an answer to both initial queries. "I am called Harmony," they respond carefully, as if choosing their words despite the simplicity of them. Odd-colored eyes flick quickly to Softpaw as they slightly dip their head. It takes them a moment to consider what to say next, "I am not used to being around so many others at once."

Not a direct answer, and it does not tell much, but it is at least honest. An ear flicks toward Chrysaliswing as he speaks, and their gaze temporarily follows it, only fleetingly before they look away again. If the comment or the attitude of the other warriors bothers them, it does not show. But, they do speak again. They mean what they say only genuinely, "I am afraid I don't know what I'm expected to be doing.. I have only just arrived here. Your leader directs what you do, isn't that correct?"