camp EVERY TIME I SEE YOU FALLING, I GET DOWN ON MY KNEES AND PRAY ─ worrying

[SLATE]

// brief gore mention

"She should be back by now, shouldn't she?" Questions Slate aloud to those around him. They all know exactly who he's referring to ─ Orangestar had abruptly left for the Moonstone a few sunrises ago with the hopes of clarifying her cryptic and strange dreams with StarClan themselves. Much to his dismay, as he had implored her to let the medicine cats deal with it instead, the stubborn leader did not let anything prevent her from making the journey.

Back and forth the hulking male strides near the camp entrance like a caged beast. Slate struggles to keep himself calm under pressure as his mind races with dreadful possibilities and clawing anxiety. "We need to send out a patrol. Something could've happened to her." He never should have let her go alone. Orangestar was one of the best warriors SkyClan had to offer, but even a mousebrain knew that a single cat could not face a gang of rogues─or even a stray fox─alone. What if she was lying in an open field somewhere, bleeding out as wounds so deep took life after life from her? What if crows and hounds were feasting on her broken form, tearing her from limb to limb as she suffered helplessly without the aid of her clan?

It was all too much for Slate to even fathom. The Maine Coon knew that there was a chance that he was simply overreacting, but he does not know Ora to be one to delay her travels. He shakes his head, his pacing intensifying. "Fuck," The lead warrior sharply swears under his breath with a frustrated shake of his head.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄

• 

• 

  a lead warrior of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

​

 

[Batscreech]

Bat lingered some ways away, sitting off to the side concealed by the shade emitted by whatever object towered high enough to snuff out the sun. He had been watching Slate for some time now- those piercing, endlessly judgemental verdant hued eyes slicing into his form. The whole phenomenon unfolding before him was infinitely fascinating- to watch such a formidable being teeter on the verge of a complete breakdown in front of the entire SkyClan camp was- for lack of a better term- embarrassing. Was this tom to be the face of his fellow warriors- of Bat himself? He winced at the thought.

Righting himself with a leisurely stretch and a hefty exhale, he turned towards the area in which the ebony maine coon had condemned himself to for the past- hell- who knows how long. Too long, Bat figured. He paused momentarily before approaching, stopping just some paw lengths away from the larger of the two. He patiently waited with a half-lidded stare for the string of incomprehensible, anxiety riddled mumbling to finally cease before offering his input with a scoff."A patrol? Please...Yer so quick 't take the piss ya forgot 't use yer head."His gaze hardened as he closed in. "Yer lots in fer a proper beatin' if yer the nutter what's givin' the orders."

Once again, Bat had unintentionally begun to raise his voice- his head instinctively careening closer and closer towards Slate's as he pressed on. With great effort to control himself, he took a step back and allowed his taught expression to soften- though only slightly. If you lacked a keen eye, it would appear as though the intensity present upon his face hadn't lessened at all. "Look-" A more gentle tone, though still clearly exasperated and laced with a sarcastic edge. "Yer bonnie-lass- Orangestar, innit? She didn't get 'er bees n' honey up on an ivory pedestal fer 'er looks. Takes a certain somethin' fer a cat 't climb their way 't the top- the bird can hold 'er own."His attempt at providing solace was never the best, and yet he figured he should attempt it regardless. It wasn't a good look for the rest of them for one of their strongest members to be airing out their emotional mess- but beyond that, it rendered him useless- a liability- unable to take charge and command with a level head. With Orangestar gone, the clan would need his support more than ever, and that would not come with the older warrior in such a sporadic state.​

​

 

[Howlfire]

Orangestar's abrupt flight to the Moonstone had come as a shock to Howlfire when it was revealed some sunrises ago. They hadn't known the reasons for such, but Howlfire assumed it must have been serious for the leader to go. Like her former mentor, she does begin to worry when there has still been no sign of the orange and white she-cat. True, the journey was long, but Orangestar should have surely been back by now.

Howlfire could certainly share Salte's opinion, though she did not think full on panicking would do him or anyone else any favours in the situation, nor were Bat's words helping the situation. "That's not helpful," Howlfire mewed sternly, looking at Bat as if to warn him from saying anything further. Slate could be a testy cat at the best of times, and Howlfire doubted being in a particularly emotional state would make him any better in that regard. "Orangestar is a gifted fighter and could more than handle herself in any fight. However, Slate's concerns are not misplaced, even with the journey to and from, Orangestar should have been back now. The fact that there have been no signs of her yet is more than a little troubling." Howlfire could only hope that the leader was taking a long, steady walk home, and that nothing sinister had befallen her, though as she thought about that all she could think about was Silversmoke's recent disappearance too. What if Orangestar vanished equally as mysteriously? Stars, they would be in desperate trouble if they lost their leader on top of that.

To take her mind off worrying, Howlfire turned her mind back to the moment in front of her. "I'm sure if Cherryblossom gets worried, she will send out some patrols to try and find her scent."​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

Rare is the day where Doeblaze finds herself in full and vocal agreement with Slate, and yet—well, it's been strange times as of late. Muscle flutters unchecked in her grimly set jaw, a perpetual twitch of worry - slash - irritation thrumming in time with the hummingbird - beats of her heart. The carrion bird's shadow bathes all their backs as of late—deaths, disappearances, sicknesses—and their leader's extended absence is cause for concern . . . though she'd rather Slate found more productive outlets for it.

The warrior stands before where he paces about camp's entrance, her sturdy forelimbs set steady on the pine - carpeted earth, her apprentices flanking her, their planned exit from camp somewhat delayed by Slate's display of worry for an absent Orangestar. " She should, " the warrior begrudgingly voices in agreement, her heavy crescent claws flexing in and out of the needle - lined ground beneath them. Torn ears feather back, twitching, her shadowed brow crumpling into a furrowed line as her muzzle falls into a gritted - teeth set. " It's been longer than it should. "

She's only passed by the Moonstone, on the Journey—Magpiepaw the only one among them willing to venture into Mothermouth's jagged jaws—but it has been more than the smattering of sunrises Orangestar had promised. Irritation at Slate's reaction mingles with her own concern to set her jaw to further twitching, an effect exacerbated by Bat's rambling. Yes, sending a patrol might be a good idea, as Slate had suggested—but also, if it's been this long . . . she doesn't want to mourn prematurely, but if Orangestar had set off to her doom that night, wouldn't its frothing jaws have already closed over her? Would it be worth it, sending a patrol across the territories to retrieve nothing more than a body, risking their lives? The leader's a capable cat, and she'd find her way back if her heart still beat—of that, Doeblaze is comfortingly certain.

" If something's happened, it'd have, well, happened by now, no? " she rasps, jumping in on the tail end of Howlfire's words, the younger warrior a blessed voice of relative reason. Really, for such a " tough " cat, Slate seemed well on his way to incoherence—jade eye sharpens into seaglass as she squints piercingly at the lead warrior . . . he did sleep in Orangestar's den . . . whatever, we have bigger problems! she all but scolds herself—really, this was no time to be gossiping like an apprentice.

" Is it . . . worth sending a patrol? The journey's not an insignificant one, " the warrior rasps after hurriedly clearing her throat. She elects not to waste words on Bat—normally she thinks herself the understanding sort, but his words were nothing helpful in the current situation, which seemed increasingly dire. Cherryblossom was a lovely warrior, but she was young and inexperienced—she couldn't preside over camp forever . . . Doeblaze realizes abruptly that'd be exactly what the tortoiseshell'd have to do if the worst had come true for Orangestar.

Cherryblossom is more than competent, she assures herself privately, or Orangestar wouldn't have chosen her. It's just the aftereffects of watching the deputy grow up, she decides—she's ever - fixed in her mind, in part, as that brazen apprentice who'd insisted on joining the Journey, as the little kit who'd triumphantly conquered the Sunning - stump.

Clearing her throat once more, and hopefully her thoughts with it, she nods in agreement with Howlfire, moving to stand near the chocolate torbie and properly join the discussion at paw. " Cherryblossom can handle it, " she says, even as she wonders a little: can she?

OOC : —

♥︎

​

 

[BLOOMFUR]

❀ politics encasing the pine-dwellers camp currently evades her subconscious. it’s barley been a moon since the lilac molly’s arrival, and much less time has gone on with her training. there is, supposedly, a council of warriors that look over the clan’s inner-workings, but two of them are gone which leaves… a number left. crochet assumes that orangestar is a capable leader, with a side of flakiness, if the verbal anxiety of the large guy shows her that.

everyone’s words float in the air, she hears them but it doesn’t really register. a leader being gone this long doesn’t sit like a pit in her stomach, a moonstone sounds important but duskpool hasn’t gone that far yet. her curious blue eyes glance around the growing crowd. "why should we wait for someone else to do something?" she ignorantly chimes in, "if she’s been gone for so long… what’s the harm in looking ourselves?" it’s tacked on like she will be expected to do something, when crochet knows her newbie training doesn’t qualify for such a mission.​

 

[SLATE]

Admittedly, Slate had not been paying attention to how he came across to any observing eyes — anxious, worrisome, and about as fretful as Chickbloom on a typical day. However, he believed his reaction to be justified. Why didn't it seem like anyone else was as concerned as he was for Orangestar's delayed return?

Eyes narrowed like a maddened tiger's, blade-thin irises fixing onto Batscreech who sought to quell his fretting with sarcastic remarks, but not before accusing him of overreacting and acting a fool ( at least he thinks so... he's not even sure what the hell this guy is saying half the time ). It's not as if Slate disagrees with the dark brown-hued tom's sentiment that Orangestar was fierce and capable, but hearing his voice and his nonchalant, half-assed attempts at reassurance was only aggravating the Maine Coon even more. "Shut up." A snarl jumps up from the male's throat, jaw clenching ever so tightly as he willed himself not to completely explode on the newer SkyClanner. "Just- be quiet." If Batscreech knew what was good for him, then he would oblige. If not, then he would certainly learn not to poke the bear.

A clanmate much more tolerable, one of his former apprentices, offered input that was far more agreeable. Still, it was not satisfactory to him, especially knowing that the clan was expected to look to their young and inexperienced deputy for next steps. Slate scoffs at what Howlfire says afterward. If she got worried? "Cherryblossom should be worried. Orangestar is her mother and she could be in trouble at this very moment." His tone does not originate from a place of malice despite how testy he appears. Slate knows that the she-cat means well and executes a more level-headed approach to things when possible, but his patience in general was running thin.

Up until now, Slate had hardly paid any mind to Doeblaze as she merely chimed in with quieted agreement and nothing much of else. However, the next words to leave her maw were so bold that his attention was yanked immediately. Amber's eyes widened in utter disbelief at what he was hearing, and a scowl deepened on his broad maw. "How could you say that?" He confronts Doeblaze. "Orangestar would sacrifice herself for any cat here without a second thought, and you're wonderin' if she's even worth lookin' for? She's our leader, Doeblaze." Her name tastes like crowfood on his tongue. Slate had never thought the former kittypet worthy of her new name and this nonsense that she's spewing today only further proves his point. Blazestar did not give up hope when his warriors had been taken away to the Shelter. He had sent a patrol after them, one that would risk their very hides by sneaking into the twoleg establishment to save their clanmates. She dishonored his memory by giving in so easily.

After a few moments of stewing in anger, Slate curls his lip and stares daggers at Doeblaze through fiery hues. The muscular Maine Coon steps forward, issuing a challenge through sharp fangs, "Would you say differently if it were one of your own kits out there instead? If it were Blazestar?" Surely yes, the lead warrior supposes as he gauges the lilac tabby's features for a reaction. Had the death of her mate made her apathetic to his deputy? Orangestar would never replace Blazestar, but she was a strong and loyal warrior; she always had been. The lack of worry over potentially losing her to the dangers of the unclaimed lands was practically an insult to the lead warrior.

The name of the young deputy is brought up again. Believe it or not, a part of Slate was tempted to agree with Doeblaze's sibling's sentiment—the idea of simply taking charge for themselves instead of sitting here and wasting time. Slate would give his former apprentice a chance to get her tail over here and instruct them all; either way, he would be marching to ThunderClan's border himself to seek passage to Fourtrees and beyond. "We're losing time. @Cherryblossom !" Yowls from the lead warrior's lips, bushy tail thrashing impatiently as he scanned camp for a sign of the calico.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐄

• 

• 

  a lead warrior of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

​

 

[EMBERFALL]

Emberpaw had been striding by and was tending to her duties and drops a squirrel on the fresh-kill pile, an abrupt growl from the leader warrior catching her attention. A fiery gaze glares towards Slate and she's paying attention to the conversation fully. He makes a comment about Cherryblossom and she feels her lips curl into a snarl, How dare he assume what Cherryblossom feels? Cherryblossom was a sister to her, someone that she had a rare bond with and she felt connected to. Ember refuses to say anything and instead he turns his ire onto Doeblaze, and she's under his wrath. Everyone knew the loss of Blazestar had destroyed the lilac tabby mentally and physically, yet he dare mention it? A loud scoff comes from Emberpaw and the rare emotionless apprentice has a disgusted expression riddling her face. ”Hypocritical coming from you, Slate.” Emberpaw spits venomously as she strides forward with a narrowed gaze, a tufted tail whipping. ”You believe that something happened to Orangestar, and act so concerned for her: yet why didn't you go? It seems you have forgotten Dawnglare and Fireflyglow is with her.” Her claws curve into the dirt as she steps near Doeblaze, protectively defending her from the obsidian tom's words.

”Do not insult Cherryblossom. You think she's not worried? If something had happened to Orangestar, then one of our medicine cats would be back by now as fast as they could.” As he yowls for the deputy, Emberpaw can feel a fire sparking in her chest. Her lips instinctively reveal fangs in her rare moments of anger at the possibility that Slate would even insult Doeblaze, place an ill omen in her sister's mind and their clanmates. ”Watch your fucking mouth, Slate.” She hisses as she resists the urge to drag his head to the ground and eat dirt for how he acted. A flaming gaze representing those who devoured the moors watches his every moment. There was a reason why Silversmoke was better than Slate. Her mentor had a level head and reacted accordingly when needed. Slate? Only unexpressed emotions occupied his thoughts, falsely asserting his role as a 'bodyguard' while his behavior around Orangestar indicated otherwise. ”Clearly you're not important enough to Orangestar if she didn't tell you anything before she left. You're just a bodyguard. Fulfill your role as Orangestar's council.”

You'll never compare to Ashenclaw. Ember wishes to spit, yet she refuses to stoop to his levels, and she shoots him a glare once more. ”Play your role properly, little guard dog.”
​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

Normally, she would appreciate her sister's presence, even if her feather - soft voice was lined in downy ignorance Doeblaze could hardly begrudge her. Normally, she would chastise Emberpaw for the filthy words she spits at her superior, and have the cinnamon - smoked apprentice picking ticks faster than you can say where the hell is Orangestar? Normally, she would have the sense to just walk away.

At the moment, though, she has bigger issues at paw. Namely, Slate.

Tension curls through her limbs like choking vines, increasing with each venomously spat word—it's obvious to any onlooker, the way her ever - sturdy limbs tighten into lines of tension, heavy moon - white claws curling into the needle - lined floor beneath her paws. Her fangs slip unbidden from her muzzle, sinking into the dove - white of her lip so tightly it's a shock blood doesn't bubble up beneath them as the tabby - stained bridge of her nose rumples into a furrow that nears a snarl, molars sliding together with a pearly click low in the back of her mouth. The heavy wolf - tufts of fur that line her spine rise into spires not unlike those that surround Mothermouth, her shoulders pulling tightly together as her head lowers and her tail lashes behind her so hard it seems apt to crack the air.

But, for all this, her anger goes unspoken as she says his piece—for all the while she is thinking that her splinter - locked fangs will ground her as they always have, that she will hold her tongue in check until she can blessedly escape the lead warrior's presence. As she does many things, she will bury this moment and let it fester untouched in the ground . . .

. . . but then he says it. If it were Blazestar?

" Don't you dare— " she says, and her hoarse voice breaks into a snarl. How dare he? Her paws carry her forward, unbidden, until she's nearly nose to nose with the taller warrior, black lips pulling back into a hard - bitten grimace. How dare he? How dare he act as though she had anything but the Clan's best interests in mind, just as Orangestar would doubtlessly want? How dare he imply that she didn't care about their leader—that she thought her not worth looking for, only because her loyalty didn't go so far as sharing a den with the ginger - and - white she - cat? Didn't go so far as wasting warm bodies doubtlessly needed elsewhere on retrieving what very well may be a cold one? But most of all—

" Don't you dare treat his name like a bargaining chip, " she bites out, her voice a lashing tongue of flame so hot it's a wonder it doesn't scorch her whiskers. A tightness is gathering in her chest, a live - wire thrum that spreads into her veins until she wants nothing more than to sink her claws into his scowling maw, though her higher mind tempers it—but barely. The energy seeping into her bones is the dangerous buzz that had seized her limbs and sent Harrierstripe's viscera onto the forest floor, and her vision stains black at the edges, Emberpaw's own vicious retorts fading to nothing more than birdsong in torn ears.

" I am trying— " she snaps, and her voice is a line pulled taut enough to snap, " —to make the practical considerations, like Orangestar would want, but all you can think of is yourself, it seems, " Doeblaze bites the words out, sending them forth from her snapping jaws frost - forged and bladed. " Would she want us to waste warm bodies when she's perfectly capable of getting herself home? Do I need to put it more plainly for you? " Her voice twists with a rare cruelty, tongue lined in thorns. " If she's been attacked, it's too late for us to do anything. And what I think Orangestar would want is for us to think about this logically—but by all means, correct me, since I don't, you know, sleep in her den. "

" Go ahead, correct me. Order me around. Insult me if you must, " and she gestures sweepingly with one paw, taking another step closer, lip curling. " But don't you ever—don't you ever— " Her voice trembles, hoarfrost coating a blaze, her composure clinging with bloodied claws. How dare he treat her mate's hallowed memory like something he can throw around? Like Blazestar's legacy is a kitten - toy to be tossed at a disagreeing playmate? There is nobody in this camp more painfully aware of all that he'd left behind than her, and Slate wants to act like his name is nothing more than another chunk of ammunition. " —mention his name like that again. Don't you ever. "

Her jaw locks tight and she takes a step back, trembling tension infusing every inch of tabby - marbled limbs with the controlled blaze of her temper. Already guilt, regret, shame has begun to seep in—but her vision is still lined in a crimson stain, her pulse still thumping thickly in her neck in time with the twitch of her jaw.

" Fuck you, " she snaps, and then spits on the ground at his paws.

" I'm leaving. I'll be happy to join a patrol, if there is one, " she growls as she turns clawed paws away. The heat of her anger still singes her eyes and licks tongues of fire up her chest, and she begs her composure to hold for these few moments where it hangs desperately in the balance. " Tell Cherryblossom I'll be at the RiverClan border if she needs me for it, thanks. "

OOC : IC opinions only </3. Out, and I'd rather she wasn't permanently stopped ( I have a follow - up thread planned ) – Emberpaw is out as well ( Yeo asked me to note this ).

♥︎

​

 

[ThistleBack]

Camp was full of hushed mutters, words full of what-ifs and should-haves. Thistleback did not entertain it verbally yet, his eyes flit about but where he lays across a low hanging pine branch he can hear Slate’s voice as he raises his concerns. Clearly unable to keep it locked away any longer, nerves twisted and demanding answer. Anxieties suddenly laid bare, the clan gathers round to lend ear and words.

Bat’s accented words pressed extravagantly, clearly with the intent to satiate nerves but only earning an unsurprising lash-back. Kicked a proverbial hornet nest with that one. Thistleback’s tail hangs off the treelimb and flicks. He listens to each take their turn.

Howlfire reassuringly reminds Slate of Orangstar’s ability to handle her own, Doeblaze touches on the worth of a patrol. Thistleback stays silent, his moons spent on Blazestar’s council had taught him to listen to all voices- even as Crochet chimes in, with conviction despite her shallow grasp of clan-life especially within the realm she touches upon currently.

Again, he stews in the quiet upon his branch. Until Slate’s ire is shifted to the one-eyed widow, an outlet for the building pressure, faint accusation in his outraged choice of words. Blazestar's name, is a lit match fallen into a pool of gasoline " lay off, Slate " he barks out from above in her defense, but the lead warrior is already calling out for Cherryblossom. Thistleback finally moves, slithers down belly brushing the camp wall as he lands with a thud. Emberpaw is spitting her venom first, each word like a nail hammered into the raw skin of the moment.

He suspects a thread of patience had kept him from leaving his dutiful station and setting out to look for Orangestar himself, love was a damnable thing and it made sensible warriors to senseless things. Only, he does the correct thing by seeking out the young deputy, who Thistleback suspects will formulate the patrol Slate desires. He wouldn’t be shocked to hear of Slate’s disappearance on the morrow neither, should Cherryblossom decide against it.

Doeblaze's words are thick with emotion but reach a finality, her and Emberpaw leave for the Riverclan border. Thistleback closes his eyes for a moment, reaches to rub his temple. What a mess. " the harm is the risk…the reason to wait is our duty as warriors, we wait for orders. " he directs his words to Crochet, but softens them if but to keep a level of calm within the sudden explosion of nerves shot through camp. He sits retaining his silence, waiting for orders and their deputy. His jaws clenching, as he briefly considers going after Doeblaze and Emberpaw himself.

⛤ OOC INFORMATION REFERENCE ⛤

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  forty-eight mns. EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Former Lead warrior of Skyclan 12.22.22 - 06.2023
  — Father of Coyotecrest, Eveningsun and Scorpionpaw
  — mentoring Teeveepaw formerly Snowpath & Quillstrike
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[oakrumble]

ᯓ⚘ The volume of the dispute had beckoned Oakrumble over, but at first she had hesitated to meander over for fear of being implicated in Orangestar's absence. Should she had done more to prevent their leader from leaving without so much as a warning to any other other than Slate? Not even Slate had prevented their leader from setting off, and there was no way Oakrumble could have got a word in where Slate had not. All the same, foot soldier is all. She only rises when the fiery apprentice interjects. Emberpaw has all the right to be involved in the matters of the clan, considering she is so near warriorhood... but there was no tact in the way she'd conducted herself.

Oakrumble proceeds forward and lingers by the apprentice, maw contorted in judgement in the way Emberpaw spoke to Slate. Sure, what Emberpaw voiced were thoughts on all their minds but delivered and amplified by the mind of a juvenile, immature and inexperienced fiery spirit. These are thoughts better to be kept inside, not spoken outright.

"...'stead of arguing... y'all coulda found Cherryblossom?" Oakrumble snaps this as she pads forward, swinging her rotund head towards Slate-- lip upturning in obvious displeasure towards his behavior. Mentioning blazestar was a low blow. Doeblaze's parting words linger, although echoing between the remaining few. Slitted eyes dart to Thistleback, she's nervous that he may rile up Slate once more... but instead he brings a level of sensibility that is overdue. "Your concerns, they are valid... but you ought to know your delivery, it's poor," Her gravelly voice is laden with agitation and disdain, not towards entirely Slate but the handling of their predicament.

"Had you consider going straight to Cherryblossom, the real authority--" The she-cat's maintains harsh eye contact with Slate as she bellows, "--then your brilliant idea of a patrol could have already been arranged. Some things... are meant to be done with more... civility." She settles down on her haunches, shoulders rolled back and prepared for the arrival of Cherryblossom. "I volunteer to be sent on a patrol to 'find' Orangestar. If that is the plan of action."

ᯓ⚘ ‘cause i could lose it all

• ooc–
  
• OAKRUMBLE —— skyclan warrior, she/her or they/them, 56 moons
  
  

  ​

​

​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

He returned from hunting to carnage- the smile dropped off his face, a bird forgotten in the camp entrance to be swept up by some fretting apprentice later. Slate whirled on Doeblaze, fury written in depths, little quills sticking out of his pelt- Bat hung ominously nearby, and Slate was stood like he'd turned from him. Orangestar, he was worried about Orangestar - and weren't they all? And- yes, Slate's brand of worrying about Orangestar was different than many others- a patrol, he'd suggested. A search. That was it?

Blazestar's name struck the air, a flint-strike. Twitchbolt's blood went cold.

And- and Emberpaw weighed in, the gall on her- Silversmoke's apprentice choosing not to listen to authority was a stinging-eyes surprise, but many, many things in this world decided not to make sense, sometimes. Emberpaw did not stick around long, saying his piece and leaving- Twitchbolt's face dropped slack-jawed at the way the apprentice was speaking. Tick duty for a nearly-warrior was deeply humiliating, but she might just have earned it.

Now wasn't the time, though- Doeblaze predictably reacted terribly to Blazestar's name flicking out of Slate's maw, accusing her of bias, not wanting to send a patrol out for Orangestar. Again, his face twisted into a grimace, and he began to pick up the pace, trying to hurry over and stop this, for StarClan's sake ... but Doeblaze turned on her heel, spitting, swearing at Slate. A deep sigh was knocked out of the scruffy tom, and an irritated look set in usually-wide, now-narrowed eyes.

Oakrumble and Thistleback spoke, too. Twitchbolt looked between them, but- but his eyes settled on Oakrumble most of all. She brought up a good point, a wonderful point. If they'd all just shut up and waited ... Twitchbolt seized violently, tail jerking left and right, eyelids stuttering. At last, he rose his voice above the din. His heart thumped in his chest, for the general anxiety surrounding Orangestar and the act of speaking itself. "Everyone stop! All of this over the suggestion of a patrol?"

Anxiety was a whirling thing, difficult to wait in the face of, Stars did he know it! But- but- if he'd ever acted like this ... and he hoped he hadn't, truly. He shook his head, lashed a kinked tail. "No matter who said what, this- this is embarrassing! You should all be ashamed of yourselves." Every one of them had said something incredibly emotionally charged. If they shut their mouths for more than a moment, they'd hopefully feel a bit of shame for this display.

Without a mind that he could no longer give certain orders, Twichbolt's raking tone spoke clearly and loudly, and though he tried his best not to yell at them like they were disobedient kittens, there was still a fragment of exasperation etched into his voice. "There will be no more discussion on this. If I hear another word out of anyone until we get our orders, you'll be on- on tick duty, no matter how old you are." ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[Batscreech]

The entire situation escalated into uncontrollable lunacy- Bat was shut down almost immediately by all those surrounding him, and he didn't see it fit to press on given the increasingly heightened emotional state displayed by Slate. He was ready to blow, and Bat didn't intend to be the one to endure its inevitable eruption.

His ear twitched in annoyance as Howlfire scolded him as though he were a misbehaved kit, Doeblaze's jaw visibly grinding beneath taught jaws,. He could begrudgingly admit he had done nothing to remedy the situation at hand regardless of his good natured intentions. He would instead retreat to a more secluded area, far enough away as to not be caught in the crossfire between his newfound clanmates- but close enough to miss nothing that would unfold thereafter- and what an incomprehensible blur it proved to be.

The speed in which the upcoming events would unfold was mind numbing- Crochet's unconstructive and rather pitiful attempt at advice, Amberpaw's choice set of words sending daggers flying directly into Slate- something that brought forth a rumbling cackle from the base of Bat's throat- Thistleback's futile attempt at quelling the wrath of Doeblaze and Slate alike, their incessant yowling causing Bat's own fur to stand on end.

As soon as it had begun, it had ended- Doeblaze and Emberpaw pressing forward with indignant strides towards the camp exit, not a shred of hesitation displayed between either of them before their bodies were engulfed entirely by the surrounding brush. Oakrumble and Twitchbolt had took their places on the now dissipating scene then, relaying words of similar motives, but with different delivery. Bat couldn't stand the string of words clearly meant to instill some sense of discipline within the remaining cats from Twitchbolt- and with a heavy groan and the rolling of deep set eyes, Bat began to follow suit in removing himself from this insufferable circus display behind the two she-cats.

Before ducking beneath the foliage concealing the SkyClan camp on all sides, however, he turned to relay a final piece of cruel commentary to anyone still around to hear it."Y'know- I ain't got no blame 't put 't 'er fer keepin' 'er distance. Bein' stuck with you blighters would 'ave anyone with a right head on 'em goin' balmy."And with a final flick of his lengthy, feathered tail, he was gone.​

​

OOC: Hover over Bat's dialogue if you need a translation! I noticed a lot of people mentioning they can't understand him and I'm not sure if thats IC exclusive or applies to OOC as well, but either way I think it might be helpful regardless, so I'll be implementing the feature for every post from here on out so long as I remember. :)

 

[FIGFEATHER]

Figfeather is mortified by the outbursts of her clan-mates. Twitchbolt gives them all a good and proper scolding, Figfeather huffs an agreement and shakes her head disapprovingly at them all. As the cream and brown lead warrior had told them, this was embarrassing. Could Slate and Doeblaze not manage to get along for a single heart-beat? Figfeather was fed up with the constant quarreling.

”The next cat who sees Emberpaw can tell her she’s on tick-duty.” Figfeather chimes up after Twitchbolt’s words festered in the air. Emberpaw was an eleven moon old apprentice, an assessment away from earning her warrior name! In Figfeather’s eyes she’s already failed it. ”Apprentices have no place speaking to warriors, a lead warrior at that, in the way she did regardless of the situation.” A loud reminder for all listening ears.

Twitchbolt was too kind to only threaten the rest of them with tick duty. A whole lot of them deserved it.

​

 

[Howlfire]

After Howlfire's input, things had been growing tenser. Doeblaze initially speaks calmly, adding on her own input to Howlfire's words, as does Crochet. However, the words seem to fall on deaf ears for Slate, and he wheels on them, Doeblaze in particular, asking if she would be acting differently if it were one of her kits or Blazestar. Even though the words were not spoken to her, Howlfire's tail lashed in disapproval, and she was of half a mind to snap at him herself for saying such a thing. Doeblaze has it covered though, giving the tom a piece of her mind before understandably stalking off.

Other cats weigh in afterwards as well, Thistleback and Oakrumble surprisingly mellow in their responses, though Howlfire isn't sure she appreciates Oakrumble's tone. Emberpaw is perhaps the most surprising to chime in, with a surprising amount of passion for one so young. A small part of Howlfire admired her for speaking up, though also quietly chastised her for speaking to a lead warrior in such a manner. Finally, it is Twitchbolt who breaks things apart, before announcing there would be no more discussion on the matter. Howlfire gives him a curt nod in his direction, having no reason to argue with him, nor having no desire to try and get Slate to calm down.

"At least one cat on the council still has some wits about him," Howlfire grumbled to herself, padding away from the scene, lest another argument break out.​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Cherryblossom is no better than Slate. Her mother; Orangestar: an infallible being, yes, star-veined and heavensent; but it's been too long. The journey to Mothermouth should've taken till the next sunrise at most, maybe two sunrises accounting for bad weather. But the Greenleaf skies remain resolutely bold, a blue brighter than even StarClan's freshest stars, and in their mouse hearts the frailest of the clan pray her mother is not among them.

It feels like she's dawdling. She stagnates, rots in the growing pool of her mother's blood, flies droning in her ear about patrols and where's Orangestar? and she must've told you something. StarClan, she needs to get out.

SkyClan's deputy is supposed to be hunting right now, a patrol well away from the Twolegplace with no one under her command but her, but Cherryblossom is decidedly not hunting. The closest her teeth come to flesh is when she cranes her neck to lick at her chest. Over and over again, her tongue recites a physical mantra against chafing skin. The spot's more than untangled now—she could count every silken strand as they part beneath her fangs, if she wanted to—but she continues. She's a hound, her own pelt a rabbit trail; as long as she keeps her nose to the earth, nothing else matters.

"Cherryblossom!"

She pauses. Her chest, pink seeping through the white now, feels like an itch left mid-scratch. Irritation blazes in her chest, in the set of her eyes back towards camp. What now? The compulsive, taut peace of the moment alone has been severed. The weight of her mother's body comes bearing down on her again, ghostly limbs draping over her back, heavy umber eyes opening up behind hers. To look into a puddle and see scruffy in place of silken, ugly tears in the porcelain fold of her lip, age crisscrossing beneath her lovely lashes: she would have to be dragged back to it.

She drags herself back, in the end. The calico eases herself into a standing position upon the branch and takes a moment to stretch out her numbed thighs. She plummets back to earth like a stone, startling a pawful of needles off the forest floor. With wooden limbs and creaking joints beneath cygnet skin, Cherryblossom drives the worn track back to camp.

The young deputy emerges from the bramble tunnel to the throaty yowl of Twitchbolt. Of all cats, she'd normally think, but in the jarring set of his face all she can remember is how he used to be deputy too. Her breath seethes from between clenched teeth as the scruffy tomcat waggles his head at them all—Slate, Bat, Howlfire, Crochet, Thistleback, Oakrumble, Figfeather, even the disappearing backs of Doeblaze and Emberpaw—and while they don't immediately cease, they quiet some.

"StarClan's kits," she mutters. "This is a mess." All of them, their frazzled pelts and fraying ties, like a hopelessly knotted bundle of moss. Or a disgusting mat in her fur, easier sliced through than painstakingly dealt with. The taller calico lingers by Twitchbolt, tail lashing uncontrollably behind her. She wants to turn to him and ask, "Should I send out a patrol?"

Instead, she levels a hard stare at her former mentor. Maybe she'd be more intimidating if her eyes were ochre instead of citrine. Maybe if she didn't have a trace of Ashenclaw on her pelt, he would've seen something more in her from the start. "Slate, what in the name of StarClan happened here? Twitchbolt...ugh." She should thank him, but she doesn't. "Like, what's going on?" she asks, trying her best to sound more like she wants a debrief than a gossip session.​