envy green & smogmaw

[Halfshade]

It takes her quite some time to get her fur back in order, her tongue feels raw and torn from the effort to crack hardening ice and smooth her pelt back into something more akin to its usual luxurious plume but it still looks stiff and lifeless in the cold air and she finally gives up. Good enough. She was no longer wet and most the mud had been cleaned from her which was already leagues above the appearance of her unkempt and ruffled pelts of her clanmates, she supposed now she looked more like a ShadowClanner with her fur hanging in strings by her tail and her paws lacking their usual pristine whiteness; it was humbling in a way but she wished she didn't have to get drenched for it to happen. The Thunderpath had given her the deer at least, but the rest of the entire ordeal had not been worth the effort. Greedy mouths wanting more and more and so many kittens in the nursery; she longed for her own one day but putting more weight on the clans already fractured back would have been selfish.

Her offering is nowhere near as impressive as an entire hare-something freshly caught and fit for kings; but it is certainly a lot more pleasant than whatever is withering away on the freshkill pile right now and she had gone through hell to bring it to camp. Most of it had been dispensed to those in need; the many queens and kits and elders hacking up lungs in their dens but the rest of the clan had managed to enjoy a mouthful or more at most and her own prize for her duties was a long strip of it thick fat-ladden meat from her deer haunch she had painstakingly dragged from the thunderpath back to camp. It had been pure luck she got there without attracting any predators or passing rogues with her prize, but fate often rewarded its more clever students.

She finds him sleeping, whether it is one of his particular moods or he was genuinely tired she could not say but she does not waste time in taking advantage of the empty warrior den to clamber over and practically step onto him as a pedastal so she can get around him and drag the strip of meat across his sleeping head, "Shaky Wakey, Smoggy Woggy!"
There was no delicacy as she tugged on her meal, or rather their meal, as she intended to share it as a thank you but she finally got it into the den without too much of a struggle and with only a few bits of bedding caught in its red web of stringy bits before she dropped it on the hard ground. "I got us a feast!"

@smogmaw
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[smogstar]

His slumber is hollow. Feigned, if anything. Without nourishment through food or pleasure, he is rendered restless, made to languish away until surviving any longer fills no purpose. His eyes are shut, his chin rests soundly upon folded paws, but he does not sleep. Not like he used to, anyways.

Smogmaw is nonetheless jolted conscious as a paw steps onto his side. His first instinct is to yelp and hiss, yet he is silenced before he can do either—a narrow, fleshy something draws across his face, up his muzzle and between his eyes. Although Smogmaw uses StarClan's name to express disgust, he isn't really a religious guy. At that moment, however, he prays it hadn't been a body part of some sort.

A sugary voice beckons him moments afterwards, and the horror washes away from his face when he fingers it as Halfshade's. "Oh, mornin'," he musters, pushing himself from the ground in a shaky stretch. The tension in his shoulders wanes as quickly as it came, and then he yawns. Heavy-ish eyes zero in on the colourful molly, though for a moment, they flick about the den to see if the two of them are alone. It seems they are.

"Wha'ssat?" then asks the tom, fatigue weighing on his words like the thickest of muds. He refers to the strip of tissue laid out before him. A feast, she'd called it. "Huh," he goes, truly baffled by this display. Brows knit together while the corners of his maw contort into a frown, for he found it hard to swallow the fact that someone genuinely troubled themselves over him like this. That someone being Halfshade is the cherry on top of it all.

A paw reaches out to nudge the meat. It's soft, tender, and would surely get all caught up between his teeth should he eat it. Mouth-watering, too. "The mere act of you doing this," he utters, tone neutral as if in disbelief, "thank you, Halfshade."

Even prior to Leaf-bare, food happened to be scarce in these parts. The hare he'd caught so many moons ago existed as an outlier among the amphibians his people survived on. For her to share her catch with him, during the worst parts of the vilest season, he regards it as a pure gesture of compassion. It's a sickeningly wonderful feeling.

He gives her a look different to the one typically smeared across his mug. His eyes are appreciative, as though he wants to keep looking. "You ought to take the first bite," he says, smiling meekly. "I dunno how to eat something like that."​

 

[Halfshade]

She's kneading her paws on the edge of the nesting, waiting patiently for the blue tom to waken and orient himself into a more functional cat; not that many of ShadowClan were capable of such when even given moons at a time to get their act together but what he lacked in enthusiasm he made up for in stubborn integrity which was all the more admirable if you asked her.

Halfshade settled down to tuck her paws under her once he woke up more proper, seeming sincere in his appreciation and its warming to hear given her previous efforts of socializing were often bogged down by the struggles of being in a clan full of absolute heathens with bees for brains (or whatever the hell Betonyfrost's deal was.) Sometimes she thought of leaving, but a small vain part of her liked being the pretty socialite in the miserable and dreary clan of homely bastards. A burst of color amid the dark pelts and a smile rising above grouches and grumblings. The marsh territory didn't suit her and she knew more and more each day it was not meant for her but she continued to stick it out regardless. It was not comraderie that kept her clinging to this place but perhaps more morbid curiousity. When the going got tough and the tough died she'd probably find herself a new clan or maybe mewl and purr against a nice lavish two-leg nest's entrance to be taken in by them; she had never really been fond of the idea but it'd certainly beat starving.

"Well, of course! Don't I owe you a treat? It's not as nice as a rabbit, but its food!" She found the deer to be stringy and not entirely unappetizing but it still was not exactly what she'd call a proper feast given its roadside existence prior to her literally stumbling across it. At his insistence she dipped her head down, one paw placed on the edge of the strip of meat to hold it in place as she tore a thin sliver off of it to chew on, a swipe of her tongue drew the entire morsel into her mouth; cheeks puffed up and whiskers quivering as she chewed in a very unlady like manner.
"It's not so bad really! I guess the cold keeps things from going too bad! Found it by the thunderpath-entire leg of a deer, rest of the clan is handling the rest but this is my prize." Her payment for being so disheveled in the process of claiming it. Stupid monster, it had doused her in gross muddy snow on purpose and she ws sure of it.


​

 

[smogstar]

More noteworthy than her act of sharing is the enthusiasm which Halfshade conveyed in doing so. Her words carry an outward eagerness to them, blithely insistent on him stuffing his face with her prize. Beyond the gratitude he'd already passed on to her, he doesn't quite know how to react. It isn't often that he's presented with any kind of gift, nor is it something he generally expects. Gingerly, he eyes the strip of meat when the molly gives her little demonstration, and a shallow gasp parts from his maw when she begins wolfing it down her throat.

As much as he'd like to lecture her on chewing so quickly, this window of opportunity passes at short notice. Halfshade promptly gulps down whatever's inside her mouth, and without giving herself so much as a moment to properly digest, she breaks off into a tangent regarding the cold and food preservation. Smogmaw, in return, simply gawps at the display that he's just witnessed. Talk about a choking hazard. Someone like her really ought to know better than to eat so recklessly, because she's too pretty to asphyxiate.

"I see," replies the tom, conjuring a mental image of her bi-coloured form tearing apart this carcass she speaks of. It's a humorous conception, the dark crimson staining her prim and proper pelt, and the putrid stench bonding to her like mud during her defacement of the corpse. Even if she didn't fell the beast herself, just getting the piece of tendon here is surely a hard-fought victory; Smogmaw retches at the mere thought of licking rotten gunk out of his fur.

Although the tabby lied about being unfamiliar with fresh-kill of this variety, he is thankful Halfshade had yielded to his request. Whether it's a quirk, a force of habit, or an odd superstition, Smogmaw simply refuses to eat first. It's his turn to go, however, and in a similar manner to his dinner date, he prepares to snap a piece off for himself. Paw pressed down on one end, mouth clamped around the other, the tom jerks his neck back and severs the meaty strip in two.

It's astoundingly gristly, and immediately he understands why the moggy struggled the way she did. The piece of meat neither bends nor breaks regardless of how hard he chews. His efforts result in a funny-sounding vocalisation.

A relieved sigh comes out when he ultimately overcomes his morsel. "Fu-uh-ck!" he spits, a heave interrupting his curse, before returning his noggin to her eye level. As unpleasant an experience as that was, food is food, and complimentary food ought to be savoured. "I'll be taking my time with that, thank you very much," musters Smogmaw, who demonstrates his appreciation through a shaky grin. "It's... it's good."

He sighs again, now planting his rump on the den's floor to gain some semblance of stability. Surviving until the next gathering has been made possible thanks to her. If anybody owes anything now, it's him. An apprehensive gaze latches onto her own, finding solace in their inconsistent disposition. Until this moment, he hasn't noticed how each eye coalesces with her perfectly-slit fur coloration. Even down to factors she could not control, the she-cat was simply exquisite.

"As precarious as that was, I think I enjoy deer more than the swamp life that ends up on the pile," rambles Smogmaw, now in a more relaxed state. "But, I suppose I'll eat anything at this point. Thank you, again, Halfshade. It may not have looked like it, but I truly cherish this." ​

 

[Halfshade]

She wasn't fond of the condition of the meat either and the effort to chew was a lot that her gnawing stomach pains could barely tolerate, but watching him wheeze and sputter trying to swallow it was almost a gift on its own and earned a rising chime of a laugh as she set about grooming one of her paws to help clean her face.
"Oh, no need to lie, darling-it's this or death you know~" Was cute that he thought to make light of it though and even stared at her in vague concern as she forced the morsel down herself. Imagine choking to death on food when you were starving. Some might find that sort of irony amusing and she would too if it was not her doing the dying part. Some jokes were really only funny if she wasn't the butt of it. There was no use in feigning compliments for grisly meat but it had been solid and unspoiled, free for the taking. There was not much more one could ask for given ShadowClan's dire circumstances. The silly comments about eating other cats was beginning to look more and more concerning and serious with each passing moon.

"I prefer birds myself, used to line my nests with their feathers once plucked and eaten back in two-leg place." Pretty but also helped indicate her spot and not many were willing to risk usurping that particular throne less they end up on the recieving end of claws, she was more than accomodating so long as she was left her space but toms were foolhardy sorts and she'd had no end of grievances with them in the past. Smogmaw, however, seemed a different breed from the many cats she'd tolerated before-even when it came to comparisons with other ShadowClanners. There was a very distinct desire to not just live but live and it was one she too held but perhaps a bit differently. Of their clanmates he had quickly become a personal favorite, conversation wasn't so easy when all she got were grunts and grumbles or even sheepish eye avoidance; the crude and dry humor was a welcome relief.
"I look forward to getting to see more birds later, they shouldn't be too long now." The snow had started to gradually melt into a thick slush and with that came warmth, the torbie did not intend to die this leaf-bare. Very adamant she would see her birds again and pluck a nice fat one for herself when the time came. As she's thinking wistfully of sinking her teeth into a round thrush her ears flick lightly to the ticked tom speaking once more and the genuine thanks and a smile widens gradually across her maw in reply.
"Of course, no need to thank me~! I like to pay back good deeds and it would be a shame to lose a member of the list so soon."
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[smogstar]

Halfshade is hopeful for the future, speaking of better days with better prey as though her rosy expectations are preordained. To the molly's credit, that utopian outlook of hers is more attractive than the ones harboured by the majority of this clan. Smogmaw, however, considers himself to be more of a realist than an optimist. His gaze drifts away from her own for a passing moment, biting the tip of his tongue between his front teeth as he ponders the den's bramble walls. He doesn't share her enthusiasm toward the future, nor can he pretend to.

She resumes her address, and when she makes a remark about a 'list' of some sort, a dry chuckle comes from his throat. "Well," says Smogmaw, meeting her mismatched eyes once more, "I'm grateful to be kept in your thoughts." It's a mutual feeling. He thinks about her all the time. Halfshade stands amongst the small percentage of his contemporaries who tolerate his presence, and unless the tabby is misreading her conviction here, she's the only one to actively enjoy it. Which, again, is a mutual feeling.

He chuckles anew, this time softer, trying to buy himself some time. There's an internal battle playing out in his mind. He cannot tell if there's a way to properly express the fondness he felt, or if it was even the correct time. Not to mention, doing so would be so out of character for someone as dreary as him, would it not? Hell, he can't remember the last time he felt so unsure about something.

"Hmmm," he begins, corners of his maw curling up ever-so-slightly. "Now that we've treated each other to meals, I- uh, guess that means I'll be returning the favour in a new way." This is a good way to gauge her interest, he reckons. Be playful. Don't unload. "Are shiny things up your alley?" asks the tom, "Or, are long walks more your thing? StarClan knows it's hard to beat the scenery around here."​

 

[Halfshade]

ShadowClan was, well, essentially she struggled to wonder why she stayed here at all anymore. Most of the cats were unbearably annoying or droll, their leader was a testament to the foolishness of letting traumatized men have power and their deputy was no better frankly. She had to listen to Poppypaw's incessant chatter all day, Betonyfrost's mere existence was a thorn in her side she had tried to pluck only to be met with indifference and silence from those of authority and the few cats she had the time or patience for were faltering in their paths forward themselves. Her joking list of adequate toms was more a means to pick and tease others than anything of real sincerity because as much as she clung to the hopefulness of beautiful things it was also a constant reminder that the world could use some humor. Smogmaw was funny. Simply put, every word out of his mouth was either something highly obscene or sarcastic and dry reply to something foolish he'd come across or even toward himself. He carried himself like a wet paper towel, miserably, but with a strange assuredness of himself that most cats lost when they wallowed in their own pitiful existence. It was refreshing in a way.
"One of few~" She muses in reply to his sincerity, touching as it was, she either gave her share of her prize to someone tolerable or she let it sit on the pile for whimpering little leeches like Betonyfrost to nibble at and sustain themselves. If only her mouth would fall off alongside her ears.
The meat, as stringy and unpleasant as it was, was slowly picked to pieces and slivers in idleness until she had found her stomach surprisingly full for the first time since leaf-bare touched their territory. A tongue swiped around her maw thoughtfully as he spoke further, catching her attention quite fast with the almost coy queries to the things she liked outside of not starving to death. Halfshade's whiskers quivered in amusement, she was not stupid and he probably didn't think she was, but it was not a very subtle courtship he was attempting to tread into; it was cute really. Carefully asked questions, nothing expected of her. She could dismiss him entirely and laugh, move on or she could actually indulge and she found herself strangely leaning more to the latter. Would he run off if she was direct? Some cats found that forwardness a bit too much but she was willing to risk it, at most he'd be less chatty with her in the future; a shame but not the worst thing.
"Why, Smogmaw, if I didn't know any better it sounds as though you're pursing more than a friendship~?" She lingered on the playful response for a moment or two before giving a laugh that rose like bells, "Moonlit walks through the mud are very romantic, of course they are, but I've always been more partial to less wet places."

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[smogstar]

It is only after the words flow from his mouth that he grasps their implications. They are bold, daring even, but in an instant, the inflated confidence wavers and he regrets saying anything.

His breath caught as he spoke, leaving his chest bereft of air until her reply. During this time, a myriad of contingencies and what-if scenarios swirl fiercely in his mind. Speaking so openly has left him exposed, vulnerable to the molly's judgement. And while her initial reaction indicates amusement, he cannot deduce whether it is from delight or ridicule. Halfshade is captivating like that, where a lone expression can carry a multitude of meanings. This intriguing side to her is what coaxed his interest in the first place, but now that they are a mere breath away from each other, isolated from the rest of their clan, it only amplifies the unrest in his psyche.

Whatever importance the feast bore has fallen between the cracks. His mind, eyes, and heart are now locked solely on Halfshade, and with bated breath, he both fears and thirsts for her reaction.

The woman he'd addressed with pleasantries dissects his words, exposing the true admiration - and intent - behind them. All he can give her in the moment is a loose shrug and a dumb smile, as though he had been caught in the act. Welp, the fact she's aware of it provides a short lull in his apprehension. He breathes now, though the moments which follow her reciprocal question feel unnaturally long. The molly, it seems, is deliberately maintaining the suspense.

And she laughs. Not a laugh of ridicule, but a delightful one. She then plays along to his queries, and at once, the self-imposed weight lifts from his form.

"If that's the case, then let's get out of here," says Smogmaw, a reinvigorated smile slapped to his jaw. "Somewhere where the ground isn't as grimy and the air smells a little less awful." He has lived in this marsh for as long as he can remember; never has he seen it as an optimal place to reside, let alone a location for romantic opportunities. For one of those things to occur... hell, why not make the most of it? Even someone as estranged as him needs a little bit of love, and right now, he'd rather have no one other than her.

He steps closer to her, closing the gap between them by a minute amount. "No point in beating around the bush no more," he professes, "I love your company, Halfshade, and I want to enjoy it as much as I can. When I'm out and about, I find things are more tolerable with you around. Do you feel the same?"​

 

[Halfshade]

He does not bolt in shame nor deflect and it is more admirable than he would probably expect it to be. Halfshade was pleased about it, that he simply accepted what she said with a goodnatured shrug and didn't make excuses or try to continue on in his subtly pressing of the matter.
Immediately an invitation is offered, abandon the marshland and its miserable souls for a brief respite from the nonsense of politics and inner clan relations; get away from the fact that the snow was melting yet ShadowClan continued to struggle and flounder in the muck left behind.
She had not been to the two-leg place in a long time, had actively avoided it at first due to all too fresh wounds still stinging but any concerns she had over the cats she'd left behind were all but loose memories now. They were either dead or had wandered far, left that desolute place for the carrion birds and rats as was to be expected. Some places were meant to be desolate, decayed, she wondered what it might look like now and her ears flatten briefly before flicking back upward; a more blunt declaration and query offered her way.

Smogmaw had never really crossed her as a hesitant sort of cat, he'd always spoken what he felt without much restraint so it was refreshing to see him drop the beating around the bush to be a little more straight forward with her; it was preferred and she smiled brightly-white teeth only slightly stained red still in places where she had been a little less delicate in cleaning after a meal. The torbie shifts in place slightly, paws kneading the ground as the blue ticked tom stood and leaned in ever closer and she responded with a sudden dip of her own head that forced their noses to briefly touch before just as quickly withdrawing with a laugh, gauging a reaction before responding, "You know, perhaps I do. Perhaps I'm rather fond of you as well." It was almost laughable actually, her previous forays into relationships had been messy and dreadful-handsome toms but either they were horrid brutes or had the personality and charisma of a wet cardboard box. Smogmaw was not bad looking, very plain and dreary colored but very distinctly not her usual type; perhaps that was what she wanted in life more though, all vanity aside and a little more focus on company she enjoyed speaking to over looking at.
The queen stood, plume of a tail lifted to rise up above the matted nesting of the den and she canted her head to the side in idle delight, "ShadowClan is more appealing at a distance, is it not? Let's go then~"
​

 

[smogstar]

A typical smile from Smogmaw is a contrived effort, complemented with unnaturally upraised brows and a glare that implies a more sinister intent.

When Halfshade brings her head close to his, allowing their noses to make contact before swiftly pulling back, an expression of genuine glee wreaks havoc across his features. His muddy eyes turn dilated. They then close in a slow blink, while the corners of his maw coil up into his cheeks. Before his gaze can reawaken, her sultry tone returns the confession, and it feels as though the inside of his chest has been freed from a restrictive force. Breathing a little deeper, a little easier, the tom opens his eyes to see his new sweetheart.

She's so beautiful. It is safe to say from this moment onward, he is absolutely smitten with her. The patch of pallid fur between her mismatched hues becomes the object of his focus; the tom is so nauseatingly happy at this moment, he cannot bear to meet her observance head-on. How come anyone hasn't informed him about how good this feeling is?

"Good," Smogmaw says, chuckling meekly, "that's good. I'm glad you do, Halfy. I wouldn't want anyone else." He watches as her head tilts somewhat, and laughs once more as she accedes to the invitation. It had been rhetorical, a dramatic expansion on a prior remark made by the molly. If she wants to go on a date, though, then why the hell not?

His tail, which slings low behind his rump, would flick playfully. "Right on," replies the tabby. He stretches outward, tensing up the leg muscles he expects to use very soon. "I'm honoured, truly am. It's been some time since I last took a trip."

Surely, both of them bore the same destination in mind? The only spot they could vacation to without getting their pelts flayed from their backs or being bitten by a trillion rats; twolegplace.

"You've got me excited, I've been wanting to leave for too long," he says through his grin, before giving a brief nod to the den's exit.​