camp DRY HANDS & † Musings

[SHARPSHADOW]

† The exhilaration that comes with her catch gives way to quiet contemplation on her trek home. She looks to the sky for once, rather than burrying her eyes into the dirt. Though she cannot see the hefty catch between her teeth, its weight is comforting, and for once, she can quietly carry the knowledge of her ability with her. He imagines this is how it feels to have nothing to prove, though he knows it won’t last.

ShadowClan’s camp looms like an encroaching storm. The kind you know would make your pelt stick to you uncomfortable, but that you still had to tread through on someone else’s whims. It’s a dramatic way to say he didn’t want to be there. What did he have to fear though, when he knows that he brings more than nothing – something, even. Something that may be able to feed more than half a cat. In a way, his mind sings, look at me. At the same time, he’d rather not have any attention paid to him at all.

He’d like to be noticed. I could be with the rest of you, couldn't I? But looking for too long would be weird. Swooning is not something that happened in ShadowClan. But maybe he would rather be... one of them. It’s impossible to articulate. It’s best he doesn’t think about anything at all.

She deposits her catch. Perhaps in a bid to be social, he opens his mouth, words half - heartedly tumbling forward. " The rats. They’re - they’re really… " What’s something easy to say? " The sickness. And this. Do you think one – one thing brings the other? " The superstitious part of him leans warily toward the correlation. At least they've been told the cure to one, but the other...

OOC † IN THE MIRROR 08.30.2023

•  
•  

• SHARPPAW: brother to Rookpaw. Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 14 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw is a creature living in constant fear. Most thoughts are irrational, but consistent in that they are borne from pessimism and generalized anxieties.
  — In an era of assessing what has set him back and figuring out what he wants.

​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

†—— quietly, ghostkit itches for the day she is apprenticed and released from the supposed safety of camp. the rules state that she must remain in its boundary, and she has learned quickly to obey the rules, but she is loath to do it. every day that she watches warriors and new apprentices parade in from the freedom of patrols with mud-dripping fur and catches held proud in their jaws, hate finds its comfortable home in her heart—hate and longing. ghostkit likes to think she longs for little, really, not exactly the type to whinily beg for a game or a treat or a story, but if there's one thing she covets right now it's to be apprenticed and away from camp. she does not like camp much. she has never liked camp much. camp is full of loud cats, stupid cats, useless cats without so much as a break from the constant downpour of idiocy.

and what an example stands before her now, dumping some pathetic piece of flesh onto the fresh-kill pile. ghostkit sometimes lurks near the pile, watching with hungry eyes as the patrols and apprentices cycle through with catches and gossip and mucky paws as a testament to their freedom. this creature, though, is a disservice to the suffix of -paw; ghostkit should like to steal it from him for herself, but she doesn't, merely regards sharppaw with carefully concealed judgement. his build is scrawny like a cat wracked with starvation, and her fur is spiky and ugly; if the masked she-kit was one to favor pity, she might dispense it for this sorry beast. instead she barely manages to keep her lip from curling as she steps closer in a pitter-patter of small paws to listen in.

"what's a rat? what's the sickness?" she questions curiously, loath to meet his eyes but shooting the apprentice the appraising gaze of a cat beyond her few moons. she asks partly out of curiosity, partly out of an urge to watch how she answers, see if she squirms.

I WILL CARVE MY WAY OUT (†) 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯

• ooc: she is so awful i'm sorry </3 all ic
  
• disclaimer: it is extremely important to note that ghostkit is an exceptionally cruel and immoral cat and her actions and thoughts do not reflect my own opinions as a writer. the way she behaves and thinks is morally reprehensible, and i do not condone these actions outside of roleplay in any way. she may refer to other cats in demeaning ways, including as "things", and this is not an attempt to oocly dehumanize anyone's character, but a reflection of her unfortunate outlook on the world.
  
  ghostkit is also a budding skilled manipulator who is already very good at concealing her true feelings. as such, other characters will generally not be able to detect the fact that she's falsifying her behavior unless it's specifically noted in the post to be visible. this includes "gut feelings", "intuition", or suspicion with no ic basis.
  
  again, all opinions & thoughts are ic only and do not reflect my thoughts and opinions as a writer.
• 
  — ghostkit
  — she/her ; kit of shadowclan ; 3 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[Wheattail]

Had it been ten minutes, or an hour? It felt like the latter, but was likely closer to the former. Wheatpaw had been standing stock-still next to the fresh-kill pile, light punishment by her mentor in response to another bout of the wanderer’s insubordination. She’d been told to stay still and silent until retrieved before her enemy had exited camp on business, but that meant he wasn’t here to enforce those edicts.

Amber eyes flicked to Sharppaw, pity glazing them as she watched her peer stumble over his words. Deciding to break the terms of her imprisonment for the greater good (which, conveniently, what whatever Wheatpaw deemed it to be), she spoke. “I do not hold rats in high esteem, but to blame them for this-” she gestured broadly with a wheaten tail, as if encompassing the entire forest “-seems misguided. Are the other clans not sick? I do not pretend to know their culture, but I cannot imagine all of them have these things as part of their diet.” A kind smile spread across autumn features as she glanced at the other’s catch. “What you have brought is lovely, though. Good job.”

For one who loved to talk, Wheatpaw stayed silent at Ghostkit’s question. Half because she didn’t want the tiny thing to worry about what was beyond her control, and half because she felt Sharppaw could use the practice.​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Unlike his sister, Nettlekit's impatience was not finding to burst from his flesh in a display of loathing... but, he equally could not sit still nowadays. A never-ending thirst for knowledge, an insatiable want to be prepared, propelled him forward... perhaps Sharppaw was an example of why. She was warrior-age, wasn't she? Or something close... he thought he'd heard that somewhere while bound in a bout of eavesdropping. Genuinely he hoped she was finding more success... though for now he'd refrain from voting his well wishes. It wasn't the proper thing to do when you'd only just met someone, was it? Hello, I'm Nettlekit... hope you're not as bad as I've heard you are, anymore...

Ghostkit found her way over first, asking a question that Nettlekit rather judged her for. Or... instead, it more fuelled a sense of accomplishment that cast a bright smile onto his cloud-puff features. Catching not onto any social nuance, he was simply concerned with being helpful. "Rats are those big things with the bald tails in the freshkill pile, sometimes," he attempted to illustrate to her, curious eyes soon finding their path back to Sharppaw. The illness he spoke of... Nettlekit could not provide any information about. Though their mother was the medicine cat, she did quite a good job of keeping the specifics between her and Magpiepaw. Inevitably, Nettlekit knew what sickness was... but The Sickness, he could not define. "I hope rats don't make you sick..." he said, casting a suspicious blue gaze to the freshkill pile. Terrible choice of diet, if they did... ​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Her uneeded chatter seems to only attract toddling kits – and those similar enough, she guesses. The unfortunately named Ghostkit tracks her with an abnormally deep blue gaze. The typical watchfulness of a kit, maybe. Sharppaw can’t help but feel like the child is judging her. He rounds her with probably too aggressive of a look before blinking away the waves of shame. …It was only a stupid kitten, would could they possibly have to think about, besides what inanimate object to chew on next? She’s not that far off, really. What’s a rat? What’s the sickness?

" This, " Sharppaw says mildly, lightly nudging her catch with a paw. Who – if Sharppaw remember correctly – is the kit’s sibling buts in with probably a more helpful description, to which Sharppaw would dryly add, " You’ll know plenty about them in the coming moons. " The self - reminder sure isn’t exciting.

Wheatpaw is someone he does not have much of an opinion on. At least, not until the copper molly opens her mouth. Sharppaw catches the screwing up of her face a notch too late, his habit of wrinkling his snout like a picky quick slow as all hell to disappear. It seemed misguided, did it? Sharppaw is sure Wheatpaw thought themselves the sophisticated sort, for taking on that kind of tongue. " Dont – I didn’t say that, " the voice is strained, face pulling oddly like it did not know what to do with itself – and really, that was true. " Maybe the sickness convinced them to leave carrionplace or – or something. "

I hope rats don't make you sick... Nettlekit’s gaze makes her pelt prickle irrationally. Probably, irrationally. Sharppaw grimaces, suddenly tired. " With a bite, they can. " A scornful gaze struggles to keep from Wheatpaw’s direction. As if carrionplace rats were somehow above bringing plague. " …It’s a different kind, though, " he adds in a mumble. Off - put, he can’t really find it in himself to take the praise seriously.

OOC † IN THE MIRROR 07.07.2023

• OOC: sorry he loves thinking the worst of everyone live laugh love
  
•  

• SHARPPAW: brother to Rookpaw. Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 13 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw is a creature living in constant fear. Most thoughts are irrational, but consistent in that they are borne from pessimism and generalized anxieties.
  — In an era of assessing what has set him back and figuring out what he wants.

​

 

[honeymoon]

sweet like honey
———— ( ☀ ) ————

A congregation of faces around the freshkill pile drew Honeypaw's feet forward. The striped molly chirps a greeting as she approaches, tufted ears flicking back idly as she absorbs the conversation from afar. Honeypaw had ventured to the carrionplace before - it was her absolute favorite place to scavenge, after all! It had the shiniest, strangest stones she'd ever seen and sometimes some even weirder bits and bobbles to fit in her mouth and sneak home with. She was incredibly less impressed by the rats that crawled between the black heaps and occasionally burst out like an overdue kit. Ferndance had warned her that she might die if she was bit by one, or that it would at the very least be incredibly painful. Even taking the Lead Warrior's dramatics in to consideration, Honeypaw knew better than to try her luck against one. Honeypaw would rather pounce birds, where even though they were much more likely to slip from her paws before she could even brush their feathers, their small bones would break under the weight of her landing on them to instantly pin them. And, well, being pecked probably hurt a whole lot less than the teeth rats had in store. She could see them from here! Ugh, how awful.

The golden apprentice comes up alongside Nettlekit, dropping herself into a seat and sweeping her tail dramatically around herself to tuck her paws away. With no warriors present (yet, if they were unlucky), Honeypaw would gladly take the opportunity to gossip. "I heard the sickness came from a kittypet," she chimes in, turning her copper eyes to Sharppaw who had suggested otherwise. "I wasn't at the gathering, but I heard it started in SkyClan from the cats who were." It was complete hearsay, but of course Honeypaw wasn't going to admit to any of that. Her attention flicks off of Sharppaw to Ghostkit as Honeypaw mulls an answer briefly. The strange little she-kit had been told what a rat was, shown even, but the sickness had not been explained to her yet. "The sickness is a real bad, well, sickness that apparently the other clans have too. Makes cats delusional 'n cough up blood, apparently. Makes them ill and then..." Honeypaw can see her mother in her mind, curled in the nursery with Chervilkit. Honeypaw thinks of the last conversation she had with her mom, when she had a cough she couldn't control. "It'll kill you, if you're unlucky. Don't think Starlingheart or Magpiepaw can help." Honeypaw fidgets, shuffling her paws behind her tail. "I'm sure your mom will get everyone feeling better, though!"


​

 

[Maggotfur.]

🕱 NO I DON'T MIND YOU ARE A BEAUTY 🕱

---

maggotpaw & 10 moons & female & she/her & shadowclan apprentice​

---

They are speaking of the sickness again - of this newly dubbed yellowcough, of this ailment she fears will kill them. Magpie's omens, his warning flashes through her mind, and claws gouge the earth as she flexes them nervously. But she won't let it bother her - not here, where others are watching, where any sign of weakness will leave her preyed upon by the others just as ambitious as she. "Perhaps sharppaw is right - I've heard there are some sicknesses that travel from one kind to another, from prey to hunter and back again," she does not know the name for these illnesses, but they do exist - perhaps this is one of them. In truth, she only says such idle thoughts aloud because she wants to partake in the discussion, wants to play with the 'whys' of it all, making stabs in the dark with her musings. But she doesn't really believe her own words - no, she doubts the rats have anything to do with the sickness, in any way really. The strange sounds coming from the carrionplace are a much more likely cause "Have none of the patrols found anything there yet?"

— not temptation, you&#039;re my creation ♛

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a massive tabby she-cat with striking turquoise eyes, there has always been something not-right about her. cold and apathetic, and more than a bit unhinged, the monster that is maggotpaw is a volitile presence within shadowclan. she seems strangely taken by magpiepaw, putting herself in role of both tormentor and protector.
  
  — physically medium && mentally hard
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not-allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=mediumpurple]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[pinekit]

↟↟↟ . He approached the fresh kill pile seeing that two other kits were present. He thought he could join in.

Pinekit knew little of rats and sickness. A rat was a scruffy black-eyed prey which his only mental image of was hanging limply in death. Sickness or the sickness was unknown to him with the subtle signs of its existence revealed only by the busy medicine cat and the coughs and sneezes echoing from her den. The thought of both in conjunction brought a tight feeling to his small chest.

The rats laying in the kill pile began to look like less than appealing meals. Nettlekit's comment of hoping a rat didn't make them sick put him off rats for now. "Then I don't think I want to eat rats.." His voice drones in a half whine, half thoughtful tone. His dark brown ears flickered backwards as he glanced at Sharppaw's kill. Though he was the same age as them, he didn't share the other kits' eagerness to fly from the safety of camp. It was more than intrusive thoughts of scary diseased rats that held him.

As Honeypaw sauntered over to share her gossip and knowledge with them, he thought he started to feel his paws shake. All the clans have a sickness and it made warriors delirious and cough blood? Worse, it could kill you and even Starlingheart couldn't fix it. His wide green eyes blinked in disbelief. "But.. Starlingheart can fix everything," he whimpered to the golden furred apprentice.

Spoiler: ◣ tags ◥

◸ general info ▵ appearance ▵ persona ▵ relationships ▵ interaction ▵ background ◹

• 
  name ▹ pinekit
  

  ↳ named pine- for his brown pelt & -kit for the usual suffix for cat's under 4 moons of age​

  gender ▹ male + he/him
  age ▹ 3 months
  

  ↳ ages real time on the 1st of every month ​

  sexuality ▹ heteroexual
  
  clan ▹ shadowclan
  rank ▹ kit
  
  created on ▹ august 31st, 2023
  penned by ▹ sheep
  ​
• 
  short description ▹ tall long-haired chocolate tom with a fluffy white chest and white forepaws; pale green eyes
  
  physique ▹ tall, lanky & thin
  notable features ▹ deep brown fur, white fluffy chest, green eyes, tall build
  eye details ▹ pale green eyes with dark liner
  
  scent ▹ smells of damp, rotting pine needles
  voice ▹ a softspoken, trembling tenor voice
  
  demeanor ▹ well mannered, often stumbles on his lanky legs, despite his tall frame he attempts to not draw attention to himself
  injuries/scars ▹ none
  
  ​
• 
  personality traits ▹ a mild and well mannered kitten
  
  alignment ▹ neutral good
  mbti type ▹ INFJ-T, 'the advocate'
  hogwarts house ▹ hufflepuff
  
  likes ▹ nature, quiet places, exploring
  dislikes ▹ training, large crowds, meetings
  
  ​
• 
  generation ▹ gen 1
  status ▹ single / crushing on - no one
  
  partner(s)/mate ▹ n/a
  parents ▹ minktail (npc) x rookpelt (npc)
  siblings ▹ none
  offspring ▹ none
  
  mentor ▹ n/a
  apprentice(s) ▹ n/a
  
  friends ▹ none; wip
  enemies▹ none; wip
  
  ​
• 
  interaction notes ▹ he is generally timid / will not start fights / will flee / will show mercy / @tag account is needed or wanted / powerplay of peaceful and non-violent actions allowed / all character posts & opinions are IC and not OOC
  
  adept at ▹ agreeable and easy to get along with, follows rules
  inept at ▹ poor hunter, unskilled in combat, dislikes speaking in crowds
  
  stats ▹
  

  strength ◆◇◇◇◇​

  stamina ◆◇◇◇◇​

  speed ◆◇◇◇◇​

  charisma ◆◇◇◇◇​

  intellect ◆◇◇◇◇​

  
  

  hunting ◆◇◇◇◇​

  swimming ◆◇◇◇◇​

  climbing ◆◇◇◇◇​

  fighting ◆◇◇◇◇​

  
  ​
• 
  ▹ born to minktail (npc) and rookpelt (npc) in shadowclan in late summer of 2023.
  
  ​

​

 

[Ptarmiganpaw]

Ptarmigankit doesn't fully understand the sickness going around. It's strange, just like everything is to him. He is not one for many words, so he doesnt answer Sharppaw initially, simply sits and listens as more chime in. A rat.... So thats what those things in the pile are called with the naked tails. He goes over to investigate the creature more thoroughly. Beady little eyes, unkept pelt... Little...Funny shaped paws.... And why are their teeth like that??? He scrunches his face in judgement.

And the tail...Didn't they get cold with no fur on it? What poor unfortunate creatures. He wonders what they're like alive.

Having passed his judgement on this inferior being, he tunes back into the conversation. He looks to and from cats as they speak, taking in their words into his brain like a little sponge. Rats seemed to be worse than he thought, they can make you sick, too!! Horrible!! They aren't the culprit for the sickness going around though, it seems. Honeypaw describes something very scary to him. He doesn't know what delusional means, but coughing up blood sounds terrible. And then on top of that, it will kill you.... His pelt prickles with unease. He was learning a lot about sickness today.

Maggotpaw explains that sometimes sicknesses can be passed on from prey to hunters, which would be them..... You can get sick by eating, too?

Is nothing safe?

He agrees with Pinekit. No rats for him. Terrible creatures.​