private EAT MY BRAIN 𓆟 snake

[FISHFACE]

Some of his peers fetishize this lifestyle, and Fishface cannot even begin to fathom why. This is in the sense of their strict devotion to rules, traditions, and their intense personalities. What happened to simply enjoying life as a cat? He can hardly ever relax and unwind without some mouse-brained weasel telling him off for not contributing to the fresh-kill pile. Pardon him for yielding to his natural behaviours! Arching out on the ground and taking in the sun's warmth isn't causing anyone harm, and yet that isn't what the control freaks around here would have you believe. Tyrants, the lot of them.

Of course, this doesn't apply to everyone in RiverClan; some cats, like Clayfur, continue to eat sand to their hearts' content, unburdened by others' judgement. And good on him for that! Still, there'll always be those who talk behind backs, running their mouth off because so-and-so is acting aloof or behaving like a kittypet, or some other non-issue—and he prays, oh he prays, that one day those people will learn to love the easy life.

Maybe, it's just that Fishface hasn't outgrown his apprentice frame of mind. Maybe. If such is the case, he isn't sure if he ever wants to outgrow it. There's too much fun to be had in chasing his own tail and, say, pinecone fights!

His thoughts wander as he traverses the territory, pussyfooting through belly-high snow. With all the tension, war, political intrigue, and foul weather looming over the tabby, he opts to daydream about more pleasant avenues; games he can play with the younger warriors and apprentices, and pranks he can pull on the older ones. With his head in the clouds, Fishface doesn't even register the brown blob off yonder until he's almost given his position away.

It's Snakeblink! That fiend! Thank goodness he'd halted in his tracks, otherwise he'd have revealed himself to the cone-throwing cur. Whatever the other tom is up to is difficult to discern. He may be hunting, possibly gathering - but all that matters is he's alone.

Pupils dilate, indicating he has switched into hunting mode. Fishface huddles against the snow, the greys of his pelt coalescing with his surroundings. He moves stealthily, discreetly, as covertly as his scrawny legs would allow. His heart rate increases in tandem with his approach. He can practically taste vengeance on his tongue.

The fleeting moment he comes within attacking distance, he makes his move. Paws outstretched, he kicks off the ground and casts forth a tsunami of snow towards his rival. "Have at thee!" cries the noble tom. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, and Snakeblink might just find that out the hard way. ​

 

[Snakeblink]

Snakeblink, that fiend, didn’t have high hopes of success when he set out to hunt earlier this day. Somehow he’s still disappointed to find the sun higher in the sky and his paws still as empty as they were at dawn. He tries to will himself to keep looking — but to what end? There isn’t a single vole to be found, not a mouse or a mole either. Not even slugs or pillbugs to be found under upturned rocks. Every living creature in these parts went to ground during the blizzard and has stayed there since, kept insulated from the leaf-bare bite by snow packed up to head height. He would be wiser to do the same. As it is, he’s tired, drenched up to his chin and shivering from the snow he’s been wading through all morning, and just as hungry as when he started.

He should head back to camp and curl up in the warriors’ den, wait for the weather to warm up and the snow to melt. But even as the thought crosses his mind, it brings another in lock-step: the clan is going hungry. How can he consider rest when there are still mouths to feed? An increasing number of them at that, with the recent refugees they’ve accepted, the new litters that were born.

The river’s edges are frozen, its depth too cold for him to dive after lethargic fish and hibernating frogs. But… perhaps the turns in the riverbed where the current is fastest will have thinner ice at the edge. He might be able to break it and find something to fish. Sighing, he rises to his paws—

Only to find himself submerged in a tide of powdery snow.

Spluttering, Snakeblink staggers back a step, batting clumps of snow off his head with a clumsy paw and nearly falling over as he goes. He shakes himself and faces this new challenger that has ambushed him so treacherously. As expected: the perfidious Fishface has come for revenge. The foolhardy, impudent little sculpin will get what’s coming for him. A reckoning of titanic proportion — if only Snakeblink can figure a way to trip him face-first into the thick layer of untouched snow surrounding them.

”Are you so eager to taste defeat again, then?” he taunts through chattering teeth. ”You shall not find me so easily—” he sneezes, ”so easily defeated!”

He throws himself forward in the wake of those words, scooping up sticky snow in his paw and aiming to throw it directly into Fishface’s long nose.

ooc. information.

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• — Snakeblink • he / him. 36 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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