camp do you ever feel like a plastic bag &. twoleg trash

[CICADASTAR]

the wind was beginning to die. a slow, steady decline that left the branches still rattling angrily abovehead. their camp, newly renovated and woven taut in repairation of last time the weather had turned. the skies were beginning to brighten again, greenleaf warming with the lack of blistering gusts — but it was not all calm. the breeze comes and goes, he finds. there are moments when the world will be still, and seconds later, tempests erupt ; bicolored curls ruffle, flip over the slim curves of his form and frizz with the battering before setting down once again. sticks and reed pepper the pebbles ground, littering the clearing underfoot in clusters of rubble. true to the warm season, twolegs had started to frequent the area closest to skyclan’s border, leaving debris and trash about the campgrounds to pick up in the wind — and the meadows and riverlands were wrought with it, tatters of twoleg - reeking carrion scaring their fish with idle shadows.

when he sees a scrap drifting through the tall grass, however, he huffs loud. warriors mill about with the same idea as he, and the leader clears his throat, " let’s get this cleaned up before — " it’s at that moment, the feline looks up and..

WHAP!

something strikes him, dead in the face. something like a large leaf, bleached of any color aside from the hint of sheen grey. in seconds the leader is stumbling backwards into awkward semi - circles, pacing rapidly as if it could remove the strange object from where it’s pressed flat over his features. his world is dark suddenly, a strange stench striking his nostrils and fluttering against his nose, panicked breath blowing gusts against the place plastered to his muzzle, bubbling where he pants, confused against the surface. what sort of cruelty was this?!

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀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 stands 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, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

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[Aspenhaze]

The wind dying down was a boon to them all, but especially Aspenhaze. While they weren't going to be falling over any time soon, their fur sure is long enough that it's an annoyance when it makes them unsteady. At least they probably look pretty while it's blowing...or a complete buffoon. They choose to believe the former. Either way, the trash was very unbecoming of twolegs, even more so than before. Was it THAT hard to pick up after yourself? Apparently.

They're all ready to help clean up the mess, when something flies into Cicadastar's face, and they jump a bit. "Umm..." they mumble, but their pupils grow at the sight of plastic. Not the time, they scold themself as they push down the urge to bite on it and play with it, instead trying to help by prying it off. ​

 

[iciclefang]

Cleanup patrols aren’t her favorite, but Iciclefang admittedly hates what the Twolegs do to the river running through their home. The filthy creatures don’t understand that the river is their lifeblood, that it should be respected and honored—they dump shiny bits of rubbish in it, leave half-eaten food on the sand, bloat and kill their fish with carelessness. The tortoiseshell fumes as she lags behind the rest of the cleanup patrol, hooking something cylindrical that bobs in the water; it’s brilliantly-colored, too-shiny, and beams reflected sunlight straight into her eyes.

“Ugh,” she mutters to herself. “This actually reeks. I will never understand Twolegs.” She pulls it onto the riverbank with a white-dipped paw, making a face.

Commotion startles her; she lifts her gaze from her own bit of trash to Cicadastar being assaulted by—by something. Something shapeless and gray, crinkling with every brush of the dying wind, clinging to his features despite its lack of claws or appendages. “What in the name of StarClan!” She gasps, her face showing more emotion than it has in moons. Cicadastar bats uselessly at the object, and Aspenhaze darts over, spotted paws attempting to brush the amorphous thing from their leader’s face.

Iciclefang attacks it from the other side, using unsheathed paws to swat at the material. It’s flimsy, and it almost sticks to her skin and fur, making her hiss in alarm.
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[PIKESPLASH]

( tags ) He is actually nervous being around Cicadastar at the moment, yet he knows he can't hide from their leader forever. He's only ever spoken to Cicadastar once and that was terrifying. It had happened before he became like this. Clean up duty wasn't too bad though, in a strange way it felt nice to be doing this. Twolegs were seen as horrible and their ways were strange to the clan cats, but he had grown up in the world they shunned. He had to give up his collar for this clan, so forgive him if he was put at ease seeing Twoleg stuff even if it was just junk they threw out. What he didn't expect to see at all when Cicadastar is giving an order is for a plastic bad to strike him. It is even more amusing to see their leader struggle to take it off. Pikesplash trembles but it is not fear this time. As Aspen goes to assist Cicadastar, his trembling worsens. He so badly wants to explode at laughter seeing their leader be bested by a simple bag. it doesn't make it any better that Iciclefang joins in helping their leader face the most deadly enemy Riverclan has ever faced. Trash.

It is highly amusing to see his clanmates struggle and hiss at a bag. Oh man, I need to go before I lose it. He opens his maw and a he lets out an awkward gasp from forcing himself not to laugh at the trio. It could be mistaken as him being in shock at what's attacking Cicadastar, so he wouldn't be in too much trouble. He doesn't help them, despite having more knowledge of twoleg items because three's a crowd. If anything, his leader's ego might be wounded.

They'll figure it out. With that, he pads over to the river to see what else is left. It turns out quite a bit of twoleg junk is in their waters. Ugh, this is going to take awhile. I'll have to take a bath before I return to camp, don't want the queens kicking me out for reeking. His eyes come across something tan colored with gunk at the bottom of it, it appears to be a decent size of fur floating in the water. the tom puts his paw in the water, waiting for the fur to come closer. Much like hunting a fish he pulls the fur towards him. Although, because it had been wet the fur requires additional strength to pull out of the water. When he does managed to fish it out of the water, it reeks. Like, really reeks. His nostrils are practically set ablaze. What was on this thing?!​

 

[► Sneezefur.]

IF YOU ONLY LISTEN WITH YOUR EARS I CAN'T GET IN
sneezefur | 29 months | demi-boy | he/him | physically medium | mentally medium | attack in bold #50c878

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The noise that escapes sneezefur startles even himself, a wheezing laugh escaping his throat before he can help it. Pretty seafoam eyes blink in surprise - it's the first time in a while he's been bale to make a noise around others after all. But really, how could he not? Growing up as a loner, he'd roamed the twolegplace more than once (to his own detriment unfortunately, evident by his clipped ear), and he's more than familiar with the strange things twolegs have come up with. And so to see riverclans mighty leader panicked about such an item - well, it's funny, isn't it?

Should he step in? Before he can even decide, others are rushing to their leaders aid, and so the pale furred feline simple stand there, watching - a skeleton brough to life, hunched an awkward. ' Its... not like it's alive, ' he thinks to himself, but the lump in his throat keeps him silent, instead focusing on plucking other scattered garbage from the ground - really, things like these are supposed to be in the strange metal and plastic contraptions within the twolegplace - what are they doing all the way out here? He wonders if he'll find something tasty in the mix. like he used too... but he'd probably get scolded for eating something twolegs have touched, right-?

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