don’t want no other shade of blue but you | brookstorm

[robinheart]

Robinheart curls into a tighter ball as leafbare chill settles around her like a wintry blanket. Her nest, fortified with extra moss from Foxtail, offers some warmth from the cold of the den walls - the chill is uncomfortable but it will not last long as Hazecloud had said. One day the location will yield a comfortable breeze during greenleaf and Robinheart will be glad to have listened to the queen.

Sleep eludes the newly named warrior and not just because of the cold. Brookstorm’s nest remains empty. Robinheart has kept a close eye on it, watching and waiting for stone hued fur to occupy the mass of moss and reeds. Even if the molly does not sleep she should still surround herself with other RiverClanners, right? After all she has suffered a terrible loss and finds herself very much alone.

Alone.

Robinheart knows the feeling. Perhaps not in the same capacity - her family still lives - but she had spent nights alone trapped within a twoleg house wondering if she would never see her loved ones again. It was an awful feeling and one that pangs her heart knowing Brookstorm feels worse than that. The two may not be close, hell they’ve only just begun to be civil to each other, but Robinheart decides then and there to go find Brookstorm.

Her multicolored pelt fluffs against the night air as she ventures from the den. Citrine eyes adjust to the inky camp laid before her and before long they befall a silvery pelt aglow in the moonlight. Had the occasion not been so somber she’d almost think Brookstorm to look… beautiful. Enrobed in ribbons of moon and star shimmer. But the thought is pushed from her mind as she pads over to the stony molly and sits beside her. She gingerly leans against Brookstorm and aims to wrap her tail around her, should the other allow it, to share her body heat as she assumes Brookstorm to be chilled to the bone after sitting outside for so long.

“I…” Robinheart whispers, her breath clouding the midnight air, “I am sorry for your loss, Brookstorm.” She doesn’t think it’ll heal the gaping wound in Brookstorm’s heart, but it’s something. “If there’s anything I can do… anything at all, I’ll do it. I want to be here for you. To be a friend… so you aren’t alone.”

@brookstorm

 

[brookstorm]

She breathes, for she must.

Days ago the act of inhaling and exhaling was autonomous. Not once did she spare a thought to her expanding lungs, never did she worry that one day they'd stop their rhythm, nor did she have to focus on every drop of oxygen inflating them. But tonight she stares into the sky. In, she tells herself, and she counts the stars. Ten, eleven, twelve - out, when holding her breath becomes painful enough and she can count no longer. And then repeat, all in a useless game to see how many blips in the sky she can name before her body reminds her of its enraging existence.

The reeds rustle and part and she turns her fern gaze over her shoulder, the mottled black and red pelt of Robinheart approaching her slowly. Brookstorm stares at her, and her eyes unfocus for a moment - she sees the other as she is, and as she fears the other could be. Throat torn, spilling colors brighter than her chest. She tears her gaze away and looks to the stars again. In, one, two, three -

Her breath hitches. Warm soot colored fur presses against her - four? Five, - and her tail curls around her body in a gentle embrace - six, seven... She exhales, grinding her teeth together but saying nothing to the other warrior. She shifts her weight, slightly, to accept the motion, ears craned back as she listens to the heartful apology. Her chest hurts more now and she looks back to her... friend? (When did that happen?) She opens her mouth but sits there, like a fish gasping in the air, for far too long.

"Robinheart," she starts. She swallows, shaking her head ever so slightly. "He - he told me to live. His life spilled out onto my paws, and with his last breaths, he told me to live. But how... how am I supposed to live, when - when everyone I love dies? Can you answer me that?" Her aggression doubles, triples, and dies pitifully. Her eyes sting with tears but she refuses to let them shed, murmuring a soft, "I can't lose anyone else. I can't -" lose you. She pulls back, pulls away almost entirely. She looks at Robinheart, then stubbornly presses her lips together.

"Never mind," she says, quickly, too quickly, "Never mind. Forget that I - ugh." Brookstorm roughly shoves a paw towards her own eyes, swiping away stubborn tears.​

 

[robinheart]

She knows not the need to manually breathe - for she has never experienced such despair that her body forgets to do as it has always done. But she must admit to herself that her breath hitches ever so slightly as Brookstorm accepts her gentle embrace. Of course it had been freely offered but Robinheart wasn’t sure if it would be accepted. Brookstorm was as her name implies - a storm. And one can rarely calm a storm and hold its contents within their hands. Yet Robinheart has managed to do so… if only for a moment.

Brookstorm speaks after Robinheart’s sentiments conclude, though she gapes a moment long beforehand (for which the tortie does not question). Her heart, for which she is named, aches at the fury and sorrow of the stone hued molly’s words. A question, rhetorical or not, is posited and Robinheart can only manage a slight shake of her head. How could Brookstorm live when everyone she loves has gone from her? She opens her maw to try to answer the other only to be interrupted by a softer plea…

‘I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t -‘

Robinheart hangs on to each word, heart unknowingly hopeful that Brookstorm would say ‘lose you’ only for the blue molly to cut herself off and pull away suddenly.

Suddenly.

Suddenly she is trying to take it all back. The tempest Robinheart had quelled in her palms rages once more. And with it comes a sense of despair unique to the tortoiseshell. She has been rejected before by her peers, but this feels… different. Sharper. It stings more than being called a kittypet and Robinheart doesn’t want to take the time to think why. Not while tears threaten to fall from her friend’s (???) eyes.

“I may not know why Lightningstone urged you to live while he was dying… but I can only imagine it is a command any parent would give their child,” Robinheart whispers, her voice low and gentle. “It is a command borne of love. Even when it hurts; when it feels impossible to keep going, he would want you to live because he gave you life itself.” Or something like that… she is entirely unsure of her words, letting them flow of their own accord from the depths of her own limited wisdom.

“It may not mean much but,” the multicolored molly adds as she gently aims to brush away a stubborn tear Brookstorm had missed, “moons ago you told me the next time I disappeared I should stay gone. And I assured you that there would be no next time… that I was here to stay.” The memory is etched deeply in her brain. It was their first one-on-one encounter and while it didn’t go well, it played a role in getting them to where they are today. “I’m holding firm to that promise. You won’t lose me.” Whether or not that eases Brookstorm’s pain is unknown to Robinheart but she hopes the sentiment means something. Deep down she wants it to mean something.

 

[brookstorm]

She doesn’t look at Robinheart as the other speaks. The world is too dimly lit, too obtusely romantic and she cannot fathom experiencing the tortoiseshell molly in a kindly, favorable scene. She cannot open her heart like that - frankly she hopes she never will. Her chest feels cleaved open, as if its weeping even when no scythe had been taken through her flesh. Robinheart could so easily stitch her up once more, cleanly too. And so, she won't look. She won't.

"You've not met my father," Brookstorm says, and the bleeding emotions she'd displayed before dry up. They leave a tacky feeling on her tongue, a crisp reminder in the air. "Not as he was. No - Lightningstone wasn't a man of hopes and emotion, Robinheart. He was a man of... of carefully crafted cynicism. He taught me to be wary of the cat unyielding to their heartfelt thoughts, that they're unpredictable, dangerous. He cared for me - for us -" Oxbowpaw, Meadowheart, Buckgait, "in the same way a river cares for its bends. They greet in passing, but drift away soon after. And yet, a mark is made..." she trails off, grinding her teeth together. Her brow furrows, "My mother was unpredictable. She was dangerous."

And she looks.

To think Robinheart once pitiful despite her bravery upon return - to escape twoleg paws and find home once again. To think the warrior beside her stupid when she is so insanely wise and kind and forgiving. To think her, unpredictable, dangerous. Dangerous, indeed, for her thoughts halt helplessly before the mottled feline, and she stares desperately into golden hues, waiting for her breathing to return on its own. She counts the freckles the other bears, her whiskers as they reach skyward, the nervous twitches by her hopeful smile. She counts, and counts, and counts -

Brookstorm exhales, and the world around them is inaudible to her. All she hears, is their breathing. Together.

No. No.

She looks away again, "Good," she musters in response. Brookstorm stands and shakes out her pelt, "You're next to fight the rogues, yeah? Give them something worse than hell for me," the blue furred moggy steps away, for distance may protect her heart. "I'll be waiting here for you. Don't disappoint me," she says, finally, before tilting and walking away.​

 

[robinheart]

To be entirely fair, Robinheart didn’t know what it was like to have a father. She had never met her own, never questioned her parentage, never asked for life lessons from anyone. It puts her at a disadvantage now as triangular ears tilt back while Brookstorm speaks again. She speaks of a father of cynicism and wariness. It makes sense given Brookstorm’s own walls assembled around her bleeding heart. A learned protective measure. A shield against emotional harm.

‘He taught me to be wary of the cat unyielding to their heartfelt thoughts, that they're unpredictable, dangerous.’ Robinheart blinks and glances afar off for a moment. Was she unyielding to her own heartfelt thoughts? Was she unpredictable and dangerous? Did… Did Brookstorm see Buckgait reflected in mottled fur and golden gaze? Did Brookstorm see herself as a reflection of Lightningstone?

Their eyes meet and the tortie finds herself drowning in pools of emerald. The world is silent as it is just two souls circling one another tentatively. Uncertainly. If the quickened thrumming of Robinheart’s own heart assigned itself to the stony molly before her were they then destined for history to repeat itself? Could cynicism yield truth in the end? And if so…

Would it be worth it?

She wants to say yes, wants to be dangerous and unpredictable just to see what may happen, but the moment is lost. Time moves on and so Robinheart must as well. She tears her gaze away and stares forward at nothing as Brookstorm stands. “I will give them something worse than hell for you,” she breathes, tamping down her fear of facing the rogues next. “You won’t be disappointed.” Perhaps speaking it aloud will make it true. Robinheart hopes so.

Brookstorm takes her leave and Robinheart remains for a while longer. Citrine eyes raise to the sky and she wants to curse Lightningstone for hardening his daughter’s heart. But she can’t. So she will curse herself for not being enough to soften it.