pafp FACE TO THE FLOOR — fight

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — SkyClan was in limbo. Two clanmates were missing with one possibly dead, as confirmed by her attempted murderer himself. Blazestar was nowhere to be seen, held up in his den as he was likely processing the traumatic news of his daughter's fate. The criminal, the one who had slain children and even a leader, now rotted in the ground thanks to Thistleback. A static tension wracked the camp; uncertainty, shock, and grief filled the air. Were their clanmates truly gone forever?

Does Slate truly care?

Even after moons of residing in a clan, he still isn't certain about where his loyalties lie. There was no true sense of loyalty to Blazestar and he knows this in his heart. He is still a street cat on the inside, a tom who put his best interest first, and yet he finds himself actually giving somewhat of a damn about the wellbeing of the other SkyClanners. Ashenclaw was someone who was well-liked and pulled his weight around camp; the man who Ora had chosen as a mate — now he was gone. Young Howlpaw was Blazestar's child, possibly left to die by that scum of the earth. Was SkyClan expected to never see them again, dead or alive?

Slate had been lingering by the twolegplace all morning, pacing back and forth upon the border like a prowling tiger in its cage. Temptation rattled his paws; he could cross over and enter his old stomping grounds again to try and look for any sign of Ashenclaw or Howlpaw. The rogues and kittypets were no help whatsoever, so why not look for himself? Maybe Orangeblossom would allow him to venture out there on his own; he knew the rugged streets better than most SkyClanners, and more cats tagging along would only hold him back. The other option, sitting around and doing nothing, would only waste precious time and allow the scent trails to fade.

He doesn't know why he feels that he needs Ora's confirmation for a journey like this, ever an independent soul and an advocate for free will, but Slate finds himself turning around and making his way toward camp to seek her out. It just so happened that a familiar silver tabby was quickly making his way within view, scathing and icy gaze locked onto him. Urgh, great. Figuring that Silversmoke wanted something as he wasn't going out of his way to avoid him as per usual, Slate came to a stop and grunted, "What?"

// @SILVERSMOKE
spectators are welcome after silver posts!! this takes place after the trial​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

It was unfair that a cat worth thousands of the one before him could go missing. When all the greats had left, it was only the rats that remained, feasting on their legacies and pretending that their actions could ever match those that came before them. Clan society was not destined to crumble, but for each cat like Slate allowed to fester within its hierarchy, its very foundation weakened. His paw steps towards the twolegplace were like claps of thunder, his eyes weary as they settled upon the cat before him. The gazes of others had always been difficult for Silversmoke to settle on, but with Slate, he found that he didn't need to look into the reflection of his soul to know exactly what he was feeling. Stony, seething hatred. Where borders and dens could not unite the pair, that emotion did. He had promised Blazestar that he would not hurt Slate, but he had never promised not to wish the worst upon the former rogue. As the other's pacing slowed, all Silversmoke could pray was that Slate would be taken next, that in exchange for an untamed hound, StarClan would be kind enough to deliver two true SkyClanners back.

Prayer hadn't worked for the spotted tabby before though. The nights he'd spent pleading to whatever unspoken gods to rid him of the agony in his eye, the days spent asking for food and coming up empty-pawed, StarClan was not as powerful as they thought they were. It was his will that would have to drive the devils from their borders, and it bothered him to no end to have to link tails with the one opposite him. Orangeblossom had done a good job of separating them, but fate had brought the two sides of the same coin together once more. His chest was tight as he predicted Slate's next words to him, complaints, disrespecting an authority Silversmoke wielded not to feel good but because his clan demanded it of him. It made him want to hit the two-toned tom already, despite his bristled fur and snake-like pupils, the Lead Warrior's legs came to a perfect still. "Well? Did you search the Twolegplace? Or are you too busy walking about hoping they'll show up?" Trust the former rogue to be lazy, the day he'd met Slate he doubted he'd ever learned to hunt for himself. Now, he doubted he'd ever do anything for another.

"Try harder. That's our clanmate that's missing, our friend. You may have liked to disgrace those bonds a lifetime ago, but while you're staying in this clan, you look out for this clan - understood?" He sneered, his head tilted upwards. After all this time, he was still at eye level with the other maine coon. Neither had truly surpassed the other and yet it didn't stop the fury lashing like fire whenever he thought about running from Slate all those moons ago. Those orange eyes always seemed frigid, dead almost, and Slate wore that indifference with pride. He only hoped that, for a second, the former rogue would put on a mask and do as he was asked - and save the both of them from continuing this painful discussion.

​

 

[ThistleBack]

Red rimmed eyes burn under metal stare. Hes been camping out in the forest, it showed in his stiff movements and deeper scowl. A sparrow is clasped in his jaws as he had caught it, feathers and wings twisted up in the cage of his maw. He pours from the brambles with a thudding slow gait that takes him straight to the elders den. He drops it in Earthsoul's nest and hopes the old boy is back in time before its cold.

Silversmoke's antagonistic tone ticks in his resting ears from just outside of camp as he plants his paws on the threshold of the den weilding their eldest. Slate is on the other end of this it seems as he makes his way back out into the forest.

He passes the two as they glare at eachother. Abuse of power seems to be the latest budding theme for the newest lead, just in time for spring. Thistleback is too tired for their shit, too raw on the inside.

" like a couple of old crows that have been mates for several moons too long " he mutters to himself and dissappears. Not his problem, Silversmoke was a memeber of the council and his babysitting job ended when his kits became 'paws.


​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) 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
  
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​

 

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Leave it to Silversmoke to squander any sentiments of being adequate, being enough for the clan that had taken him in. It seemed that whenever Slate began to want to pull his weight and contribute to something greater than himself, Silversmoke seized any opportunity to diminish him and make him feel like his presence was a burden. And for what, a scrap that took place before either of them had stepped paw into clan territory? The lead warrior was determined to make his life a living hell; each wobbly step forward into clan culture dampened by a muddy puddle, each stretch of his wings blustered by a forceful gale, each plunge into unfamiliar waters sucked down into a vortex. There was no pleasing this asshole, and to make matters worse, he now outranked him. His bossing around other cats was validated by his newfound power alone! What did Blazestar possibly see in him?

The Maine Coon definitely liked things better when they avoided each other completely, so what had inspired the sudden influx of orders? Slate lets out a snort. As if this bastard has done anything to earn his respect! He would not even bow before Blazestar if commanded to, so what made Silversmoke think that he was even worth listening to at all? "Why don't you do it? Be the hero. Hey, maybe they'll make you the leader!" In all honesty, it wasn't that Slate didn't want to try and help in some way, but pushing Silversmoke's buttons was too irresistible.

"Our friend", he says. Ha! Slate wanted to laugh. Silversmoke, loathsome Silversmoke, was one to talk about having friends. He could have swallowed his pride and accepted the reality of the situation, focused on the issue at hand, but his pent-up frustrations toward the lead warrior heavily outweighed his ability to do so. Sheer arrogance—an innate desire to put others in their place—was what stood in the way between Slate and being the bigger person. "Huh. Didn't realize you actually gave a damn about anybody here when all you do is treat everybody like worker ants." The charcoal male jeered, fiery amber eyes boring into icy cold blues.

In the grand scheme of things, none of this even mattered. Why Slate was trying to crawl under Silversmoke's skin during a dire time like this was only a passion understood by him alone. If he was the only one who wanted to humble the bastard, then so be it. "And I don't need you to lecture me. Y'think I sit around all day like some incompetent kit?" Defense manifests in a sharp tone like a blade readied to swing, tail beginning to lash and the nape of his mane beginning to bristle. Not quite primed to lunge, but visually assuming a confident and domineering stance, the burly former rogue dares to take a step forward and grunt, "Pull that giant stick outta' your ass, pal. I'm not the lowlife you take me for. Just because you got a fancy new title doesn't mean you get to be the boss a' me." His lip curls, revealing rows of bared teeth like a snarling wolf.​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Not even for an afternoon could Slate try to be anything but a nuisance. At first, the lead warrior did not rise to the protest, it did not take a medicine cat to prophecise that the black tom would be awkward. He wanted to remain calm, to let those bloodied paws dig themself a hole so deep that the rest of SkyClan would have no problem burying him alive in it. But then Slate talked and talked and talked, so much that the maine coon was half-expecting the other's tongue to start dripping a familiar scarlet from overuse. Silversmoke was only doing what was expected of him: maintaining order, and providing discipline where expected - it was a coincidence that one such animal in need of it happened to be the same one that made the tabby's blood burn like wildfire, he promised. Peach nostrils snorted with a cruel amusement knowing that all it took for Slate to call someone a hero was for them to display an ounce of loyalty. Perhaps he considered himself a hero for fighting off WindClanners and foxes, what a masquerade of loyalty that was. He knew why Slate had actually plunged himself into affairs he didn't care for, the tom could've deluded his clanmates, but he would not delude Silver.

Silversmoke bared his teeth at the former rogue, The veins in his claws felt warm, and went he felt Thistleback's presence diminish into nothingness, they were practically set ablaze. He thought about clanmates lost to skirmishes and sickness, clanmates he'd laughed with, clanmates he'd scolded for threatening the stability of his clan. He tried to imagine a world without them all and couldn't, it was just empty. It made Slate's words sting all the more, knowing that he believed him to hate the ones he cherished most. "You're jealous." He decided in a sneer. "Jealous that I was able to make something for myself while you were stuck scrounging and scrapping with whoever you could to try and feel something." He let out a laugh, a calm, cruel thing, like a predator who'd just found its prey's weakness. Silversmoke did not know if it was an honest assessment, did he even need to find the truth? "Do you even love your brother? Or are you just using him for an easier life?" Rogues never changed, they would only ever be fond of themselves.

Silversmoke was the exception, he was the exception because he'd known all his life what it meant to fight for something greater. At first it'd been for freedom, then, survival. Now... for his home.

Blazestar's conversation played out in the spotted tabby's head, ringing in his ears like the bells of death itself. Silversmoke was seeing red, but some of that was the leader's fur, the last remnants of guidance he had when the others had given up on trying to fix this feud. Do. Not. Engage. His paws itched, his haunches ached, his tail coiled and stilled as if it were a snake moments before a strike, but such a leap never came. No physical violence, he'd promised, again, little had been said about emotional pain. "Then prove to me you're not a lowlife! Stop wasting time and start searching for our clanmates. You know those streets better than any other cat and instead, you're sitting around moping because... what? 'Oh, I'm Slate and I don't want to be treated like a worker ant?'" He mocked the other's voice, a permanent hiss etched into his voice. "You deserve to be treated far worse than that, coward. I'm owed an eye, the day you stop pretending to be one of us, I will get that debt from you." His voice was calmer than even he'd expected. A promise, etched in fighting words.

"Don't make today that day. Piss off and make yourself useful."

​

 

[Auburnflame]

The typical cheery and sunlit expression that usually adorns red features upon the tom had diminished as of late. With so much calamity that SkyClan had to endure, it was quite difficult to remain so laid back and optimistic all the time. It was exhausting, even. Auburnflame's flaring personality was slowly being snuffed out, smoldering and suffocated by the frustration and helplessness he felt. Days continued to pass with no sign of Howlpaw nor Ashenclaw, both vanished into thin air it felt like. No scent to lead them, all abruptly stopping right around the fence line of Two-Leg Place. His only kindling of a flame left within his chest was thst maybe they'd catch wind of something more, another clue. But for now, all he could do was work himself. Occupy his mind and focus on the task he was given; whether it be regular warrior duties or participating in another search party—each coming up with the same result.

Voices pressed mismatched ears just from outside of the foliage of bramble and thorns, argumentative and scorching against cool skin. Icy hues pinch and narrow, pupils pinpointing to crescent slits. It didn't take a clairvoyant to recognize the hostility erupting off their tones, the way they belittled each other. Auburnflame clenched his jaw and grinded his teeth, standing rigid just as Thistleback had wandered in with a bird trapped between powerful jaws. Like a couple of old crows that have been mates for several moons too long, the bramble warrior muttered low and he couldn't agree more. It needed to stop, all this senseless aggression had to be put elsewhere. Patched paws stomped forth, shoving widened shoulders through the bramble with a hardened expression stoning his features. There the two of them were, stanced and coiled—both awaiting to strike. Both waiting on the other to engage before unleashing hellish fury. His mind traced back to his previous conversation with Silversmoke, when he had told him about what Slate did and how much he hated him for it. Auburnflame could understand the fury, could understand the reasoning behind it. But did no one deserve a second chance? Not with the wound Slate left on Silversmoke, nearly blinding him and marring his ghostly features. He made that abundantly clear.
The warrior stands tall, his own plumed tail lashing whilst the curled hair along his nape lifted. His own rage smoldering within his chest cavity, red hot fire burning his veins. But his face was still like stone with pink lips pursed together into a straight line. He wants to scream at them, to even swat the both of them with a heavy paw in hopes that they'd just shut up for once. One who resides in the past can not prosper in the future. That's what Auburnflame had told Silversmoke. He had thought that maybe a small part of him would get through the layers that guarded his heart and soul. But it seems that he was wrong. Slate resided in his mind like a virus, wreaking havoc upon his psyche. There was no room for Auburnflame there, despite how Silversmoke tried to instinctively protect him while Thistleback tortured Kuiper for all to see. He was just a face in the crowd to Silversmoke in the end, blinded by his own hatred for the smoked man that stood before him.
His heart wanted to get involved, to stop them. But it'd never stop. It was inevitable in the end. Apart of him just wanted them to fight and get it over with, to get it out of their systems. That would be no mere tussle, it'd end in death. They'd kill each other. So he stands there, on the sidelines—watching and waiting for the next move. If it came to blows, he'd intervene and he couldn't promise that each one wouldn't come out with bleeding wounds from his own claws.
​

[ SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY ]​

 

[cloverjaw -]

TAGS — Cloverjaw is late to this show. He'd been busy helping Orangeblossom dispose of the leftover ribbons of that rogue Thistleback had so effortlessly executed; but now that he heads back into camp, a smattering of vile blood still staining the silver fur on his chest, he hears the unmistakable sound of squabbling. His ears twitch; his whiskers flicker; he zeroes in on the voices of his friend and his brother, belittling one another as if they'd been born to do it. It draws him over without allowing him the chance to clean the waste off his pelt. It draws him over with an ire expanding in his chest like hot gas-- and Cloverjaw does not like to be angry often.

But he can't help himself. The way Silversmoke spits at Slate, using Cloverjaw as a scalpel with which to dissect him; maybe revolting is too strong a word, but there is certainly a disgust that turns his mouth bitter and mars his muzzle with a deep frown. The coal-striped tabby's fur prickles at his shoulders as he brushes past Auburnflame and comes to stand at his brother's side (and his defense). He fixes the lead warrior with a hard, fiery amber stare. "I don't like being used for this," he tells Silversmoke, direct and simmering in a way that he rarely is. His head tilts slightly when he speaks next: "Not real friend-like, you know?" And he means it-- he didn't think Silversmoke, a cat he calls a friend, would weaponize him against his own littermate. Especially not for a fight this petty. And yet, here they are. And maybe he's projecting, or maybe he just wants to be on his littermate's side, but he doesn't like the way that Silversmoke is speaking beyond that, either.

A time-wasting lowlife rogue who can't get used to clan life. Hadn't Cloverjaw been that, once? Albeit as a kittypet, of course. He lacks Slate's... roughness, he thinks, but he wasn't perfect when SkyClan had taken him in-- it had been an arduous journey, learning the ropes here. And he'd done it! He'd done it, and he can tell that Slate is doing it, too, making progress in small steps; why doesn't Silversmoke see that? And then the words come: I'm owed an eye, the day you stop pretending to be one of us, I will get that debt from you. Cloverjaw blinks, though his stony frown doesn't waver. He glances at Slate, looking for a reaction. Had his brother been the one to half-blind the lead warrior? That's certainly what it sounds like: but in the interest of de-escalation (if such a thing is possible), he ignores the information.

The large tom's tail lashes behind him despite the calmness he tries to maintain. The blood on his chest is slowly drying. "This 's stupid, anyway. You guys can hash it out when there aren't any cats missing, yeah? This whole thing seems like the real time-waster." Maybe that wouldn't de-escalate anything, actually... but he hopes it could make the two toms realize there's more important things to be doing.​

​

 

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Jealous, the tabby warrior deems Slate, painting him only as a bitter rival who sought to infringe on his reputation and leech upon SkyClan like a parasite. He nearly scoffs, as this is far from the truth. Why would Slate be jealous of someone like Silversmoke? No, he isn't jealous of Silversmoke and his accolades, his hard-earned merit. Silversmoke simply doesn't deserve any of it. Truth be told, Slate probably wouldn't have paid the lead warrior much mind if he hadn't waltzed right up to him and shoved his nose into his business in the first place. Similar to the situation with Ashenclaw's sister Moon, he would have been willing to leave the past behind them and not interact with each other for the foreseeable future, but Silversmoke had made it adamant from day one that he was going to make Slate's experience in SkyClan a living hell.

"Do you even love your brother? Or are you just using him for an easier life?"

Slate legitimately is at a loss for words for a moment, almost blown back by the audacity of the scarred tom, though it isn't long before his muzzle gnarls like the roots of a great tree. He hisses like an angry cobra, "Oh, you've got some fuckin' nerve." How dare he. How dare Silversmoke speak on a subject that he knows nothing about — family. And where exactly were his parents, his brothers and sisters? How dare he drag Cloverjaw into the fray knowing that this was their battle alone? Silversmoke claimed that Slate was the jealous one, but he wonders if the lead warrior is jealous that he has someone to love and care for unconditionally. Lonely and pathetic, trying to pretend that his clanmates were anything more to him than soldiers to nitpick and keep in line.

Cloverjaw is present now, stars help him. Slate is certain that another cat is watching the situation unravel as well, though he is too blinded with rage to even acknowledge whoever it was. He could barely focus on whatever Cloverjaw was saying in order to alleviate the argument. No, Silversmoke had gone too far! Had Cloverjaw not heard what he had said?

He doesn't stop, only keeps running his mouth and thickening the tension between them both. Silver even threatens to take his eye in the same manner Slate had taken his, and unable to suppress his ingrained fight-or-flight response, the hairs lining his spine bristle like a porcupine. The former rogue flattens his ears against his cranium, challenging the blue-eyed bastard, "I'm a coward, huh? You wanna test those claws out right now? C'mon bigshot, let's see if you bite as good as you bark." The charcoal male doesn't care if Cloverjaw disapproves of their bickering; Silver had stepped over the line, and he would not let him get away with such blatant disrespect, "I oughta' finish what I started, right after I cut your tongue outta' your—"

The universe had impeccable timing. A menacing succession of bellows echo in the distance, growing so close and so loud that it was impossible to ignore.

Slate found himself stopped mid-sentence, his tufted ears swiveling in the direction of the guttural noises, eyes narrowing as thundering pawsteps practically galloped in the direction of the SkyClanners. His attention now fully on the approaching creature, he could only utter a "What the—" before the beastly sight of a drooling, mid-sized canine appeared on the horizon. It stopped, like death staring them all in the face, before breaking into a sprint and charging toward the cats with jaws gaping and ready to bite.

// tldr; hi doggy
anybody is free to powerplay the dog for the sake of attacks and such! after a certain amount of hits it'll run off​

 

[Pigeonsong]

The field laid out before him, wildflowers just beginning to reach their stems towards the sky in reverence. All seemed well in the world and a soft wind rustled his sandy pelt delicately, willing him to dance with with the flowers. They weren't ready he knew, and his careless paws would surely trample ample numbers of them to bring the field to ruin. Wild grasses tickled his whiskers and thick green chutes tickled his shoulders. It was tranquil and he felt as though he were floating on the breeze, content to just exist in this moment.

It was all much too short lived however, the harsh sound of furious arguing sent his mind reeling for a few seconds. The fields fell away beneath him and he fell into himself, startling awake. Blinking the sleep from his gaze, Pigeonsong stretched quickly, poking his head gingerly from the Warrior's den. A small clowder had gathered it seemed and he made his way among them. As he found his way outside of camp, his thoughts were turbulent; what could lead two clanmates to fight in such a way? IT was a thought that remained at the forefront of his mind as he watched Slate get more and more angry and Silversmoke's digs get more personal.

Now he was having to learn things he didn't want to know about either of these cats he scarcely knew.
"Hey guys c'mon." Nobody heard him and frustration wracked his mind.
Keen ears perked at the sound of heavy pawsteps heading in their direction and for a few moments he is frozen. It stares at them and then begins its charge and he's just standing there like a kit.

"SkyClan, dog!"

His yowling is cut short as it barrels into him, knocking him against the camp wall.

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Their bickering had attracted unwanted attention. He saw faces in the corner of his bad eye and wanted to turn to them and welcome them to the show, let them witness firsthand the depravity of the ex-rogue, only, his fierce glare was practically locked on Slate. Perhaps the dark tom was not as evil as Kuiper, but his desires were the same - pain for the sake of pain, fighting for the sake of fighting - what difference did it make when the end result would always be death? His teeth grind together so hard they could've broke, black lips curling into an ugly sneer that secured the pair's fate within the next few moments. Cloverjaw speaks and it was with a firecracker temper that the tabby whipped around. "Good cats have gone missing and this treacherous bastard won't even look for them, I'm not letting this go!" He snapped at Cloverjaw, guilt panging in his own heart the moment he turned his anger on another. He stared at Cloverjaw for a good few moments, his flank rising and falling rapidly. Before he could stay anything to lessen the sting, Slate spoke again and Silver welcomed his voice as if it were the other's swan song.

He barrelled forwards a few steps as Slate threatened him, claws out and ready to make good on his promise. His heart was a drum that beat louder and louder, so loud that it was hard to register a far more erratic noise. Only when Slate stopped did Silversmoke follow, his furious blinks growing less and less frequent as he too heard a sound, an excited woof that repeated over and over. Hesitantly, he looked past his enemy. A beast, not too big but still bigger than them all rushed toward them like it's just hit the jackpot on prey. Silver squinted, recognising the hefty forepaws and elongated snout of a dog, and let out a hiss laced with colourful curses. Of course Slate would've attracted a dog with his incessant noise, the black tom never attracted anything nice - no, that wasn't entirely fair. Silver had played a part in this too, but he'd be damned if he had to pay the price for it. His good eye watched where the dog went, trying to make sense of which animal it wanted to tear into first, cursing his weakened depth perception when he couldn't quite make it out. There was a moment where he thought it's jaws would set upon Slate, the fear of such an occurence prompting the tabby into action.

"MOVE, IDIOT!" With all his strength, he aimed to shove his body into @SLATE 's hoping to push the cat out of the way of the approaching beast. Silversmoke followed whether he'd been able to push the warrior or not, spinning on his heels and briefly trying to block his enemy from the dog's sight.... only to watch the canine charge right past them, its attention settled on Pigeonsong. His ears went slack against his skull as the other's body collides with the fortifications, barely having time to register if his clanmate was hurt before the tabby's legs moved on their own. He charged towards the dog and sunk his teeth into its back leg, claws tearing up grass as he tried to physically pull the larger animal away from his clanmate. With a yelp, the dog whirled its head around and Silver let go, leaping away a short distance, yellowed fangs snapping down on the empty air where Silversmoke's face would've been moments prior. He landed with a slight wobble, a thin line of red forming on the tom's hind leg.

​

 

[Auburnflame]

Words fly and whizz past his ears, insults and blows like a slap to his face. He stares incredulously at the duo before them, but his gaze would mostly lock onto Silversmoke's rapid breaths and quick movements. Stop them. Stop them now. Do whatever it takes. They'll kill each other. He yearns to speak out, but his mouth doesn't cooperate. He just stands there, patterned ears pulling themselves back in utter shock. Silversmoke is aimimg for low blows, spitting and hissing as he did. Venom drips from his maw and the calico can't help but flex his own claws back into the soil to anchor himself. Too far. Too far, Silver. Stop! He's trying to speak, but he just doesn't. All he can do is stand there in a daze.
Cloverjaw had interjected into their argument, his feathered fur barely brushing his own as he moved to stand by Slate before speaking. Auburnflame blinked, coming back to reality. He stood rigid as Slate spews rage and anger from his maw, body still like stone except for the whipping of an auburn tail to show his agitation. He couldn't agree more with Cloverjaw, a curt nod showing his support for the sibling. Cats were missing, and only StarClan knew where they would be. This was no time and place for this; in fact, nowhere was a better term for the situation. Their hatred for each other festered like a sore, coming to a head and ready to pop at any given moment. It was too much.

Good cats have gone missing and this treacherous bastard won't even look for them, I'm not letting this go! Anger continues to build in his chest, flaring up as Silversmoke snaps at Cloverjaw. Mint hues widen with intensity, taking a step towards the larger tom with shoulders flexed but a voice steals his thoughts away. Pigeonsong had appeared beside him, blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes as he tries to gather just exactly what was happening. He tries to de-escalate the situation as well like Cloverjaw, but his words had little meaning to the two. He silently watched, the noticeable movements of aggression with ivory teeth bared and fur bristling as they step forward. I'm a coward, huh? You wanna test those claws out right now? C'mon bigshot, let's see if you bite as good as you bark.
He finally had had enough. Something snaps within his mind, a wall cracking under the pressure. Silversmoke moves towards his opponent, ready to strike Slate down and Auburnflame can't stop himself any longer. The calico rushes forwards, taking a step towards then with his own disheveled fur bristling. "ENOUGH—!" His voice booms and tears from his vocals, threatening to rip them asunder as he screams in hopes it would cease.

And for a moment, he believes it does. But little did he know, a danger approached them.

Frothing jowls, tongue lolling as mahogany eyes of lifelessness stared at them. They hadn't heard the distant baying until the creature was upon them. Slate and Silversmoke both froze, eyes trained upon the canine and Auburnflame follows suit. His muscles tensed and flexed, coiled and ready from fight or flight instinct. His stomach drops and twists, his heart stuttered as he made eye contact with the dog. Oh no. It lunged for them, barking excitedly and he reels backwards as Silversmoke attempts to push Slate out of the way but it collides with Pigeonsong. SkyClan, dog! The tom takes no time to react, as he collides into the hound's flank with a piercing caterwhaul. He latches himself into tough skin and muscle, razor like claws stripping and tearing into it's hide. It twists, trying to grab Silversmoke that pulls at his hind leg with powerful gnashing teeth. Fear strikes Auburnflame's heart as it misses him by a hair, but rage soon follows. "Leave him alone!" He moves upwards towards the dog's head, aiming to anchor himself deep into the nape of it's neck. Howls of pain pierce his ears, reverberating in his skull but he does not yield. He had to protect his clan mates, had to protect Silversmoke. He'd tear this beast limb from limb if he had to, even if he was torn apart in tne process.

​

[ SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY ]​

 

[cloverjaw -]

TAGS — Slate's never been one to hold his tongue. Cloverjaw doesn't know why he expects any different out of the tom now-- but Silversmoke should've been up to the task, right? He was the one so concerned with their missing friends in the first place (or concerned enough to start a ruckus about it). But regardless of who won't stop yammering, there is a greater threat on their horizon: it seems like Silversmoke and Slate are going to tear each other's throats out. But Silversmoke wheels on him, instead. Coal-tipped ears flatten at the warrior's words. There's a sting that ripples through him; he stares back at the other tabby, lost for words. But there's hardly time to speak before his brother pipes up again with a challenge. "Slate!" the warrior exclaims (or hisses, or maybe pleads-- he can't tell, the way it leaks from his mouth). His brows furrow upwards, a defeated sort of concern lacing its way through his features-- but it doesn't matter.

There is a dog barreling through them all. "Pigeonsong!" Cloverjaw calls now, paw outstretched towards where the warrior had slammed into the camp wall, but he's too far away. He can't help the cream-pelted warrior, and he hardly gets the chance to push Slate out of the way before Silversmoke does it for him. He has no time to process the attitude shift it must have taken. There's a dog, and it's bearing down on them, and warriors are flinging themselves at it now. Silversmoke and Auburnflame leap and bite and rip; Cloverjaw finds it is imperative to follow suit-- but not without first sparing Slate a glance, something that might mean be safe.

His heart pounds. This is far different from the kittypet life he'd lived before, but it's no time to think about it. Cloverjaw leaps at the dog, claws outstretched to rake across its face. He knows it's dangerous-- more than dangerous, it's a death sentence --to be near the thing's teeth, but if he could injure its eyes, or at least get the blood to seep in and blind it, they had more of a fighting chance. And besides, he was one of the few cats big enough to handle the job. It's one of the only times he thanks StarClan for his Maine Coon heritage. And his strike is successful: Cloverjaw's claws catch on the dog's eye and it wails, throwing its head back, nearly throwing him with it. The feline lands on his side, but he's not hurt-- he quickly gets to his paws, scrambling out of the way of the dog's returned ire. Blood streams from one side of its face. He'd only gotten one eye (at least, he thinks he'd gotten it), but maybe that was good enough?

He doesn't think too hard about the parallels.​

​

 

[Pigeonsong]

Pigeonsong is dazed but not down for the count by any means, he leans forward to stand and the dog lunges at him. It's stopped in its tracks by the other warriors and the tom moves quickly. Although dizziness clouds his vision, he pants heavily and shakes his head to clear it. It was true that he wasn't an amazing fighter but he cared about his clanmates, even when they were fighting like mousebrains. With himself still behind the dog, he'd brace his legs and stretch his head forward.
Sharp white teeth clamp down on the beast's tail and he tastes blood. It's coppery odor strikes the back of his mouth and he gags a little, spitting out fur as the tail is freed, bleeding.

He's never had to fight a dog before and because of this, has no idea how to bring it down. It's big and loud and stinks of twolegs and dirt. Without much clue as to what he's doing, he'd rake his foreclaws down it's flank, hooking them as deep as he can. It whirls to face him and he darts around it, yellow teeth grazing his side.
He stands beside his fellow warriors, panting. "Great StarClan, how are we supposed to take it down?" As he spoke he realized how foolish the words were. Simply put, he believed that they needed more warriors for this.
Or maybe not. He thought as he realized just who he was fighting this creature beside.
He shakes his head again and readies his claws, unwilling to make the first move on the creature.
Blood trickles down his side but he seems to be okay.

 

[Fireflyglow]

Fireflypaw isn't expecting the smell of dog to waft past his nose at any point, but here it does- and he's already up a tree by the time the barking begins. He wants to help, he really does- but what could he do, if he couldn't even fight properly? Even with Chrysalispaw's beatdown/training, he was still so inexperienced at battle. He wasn't a fighter, he was a healer.

He could handle Silversmoke and Slate fighting, but this.. Oh, this was terrifying.

"Run!" He finally shouts from above, shaking from his place on his branch. "Use the trees!" He adds on unhelpfully, racing across the branches before he leaps off and downwards with help from the noises below, aiming to land square on the dog's back with all of his weight, claws extended and ready to shred into fur. If he fails, he'd hope that his reflexes would kick in and he'd land a bit more gracefully. (he most definitely wouldn't.) ​

 

[ThistleBack]

He twists around, kicking up dirt with the quick rotation of his hocks. His clanmates are suddenly shouting, had they finally decided to tangle claws after all the dirt spit at eachother? Thistleback’s hackles twitch, and his nose wrinkles with irritation. Until he hears the deep sharp pitch of a bark. Dog, it’s yowled into the air and Thistleback charges back to the scene. Each moment, a moment too late.

Cloverjaw snags the dog’s face, Pidgeonsong is getting up from the ground. The dust in the air is heavy and a blundering beast is snapping jaws in the air and it claps dangerously like thunder. From above the branches shake, and Fireflypaw is soaring onto the dog’s back. Sheer bravery and stupidity brew Blazestar’s son it seemed. Auburnflame’s at its neck, Silversmoke at its hindquarters. " WE HAVE TO LURE IT AWAY! " especially if we can’t make it surrender.

Thistleback races to the violent tangle, and digs his own teeth and claws into the creature’s flank and ribs. Hoping to catch the dog’s ire before Fireflypaw could. He feels the dog stagger if but a bit now, and pain radiates through his limb as it stomps on the bend of his backleg. goddamn ow, it surges through his spine and makes him grunt and growl and nearly slip his grip and footing.

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
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  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) 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
  
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​

 

[SLATE]

❪ TAGS ❫ — "SkyClan, dog!"

The warning reverberates in his brain, not quite clearly registering with him until Silversmoke knocks him out of the way. Slate goes down surprisingly easily, especially when he least expects it. He tumbles across the ground and comes to a stop, shaking the dizziness of the sudden impact from his eyes, and his sights settled on the frightening scene unfurling before them all. The hound had tossed Pigeonsong and was now biting and snapping at the other SkyClanners present. Silversmoke was tackling the fiend head-on, no surprise there, while Auburnflame was swooping in to the lead warrior's defense.

Slate can only watch in paralyzed horror as Cloverjaw meets his gaze before leaping into the fight like a brave warrior. No matter the nature of his beginnings, Clover truly possessed the spirit and courage of a clan cat, fierce and determined to protect his wild home. It was at this moment that Slate did not feel like a warrior, but instead a terrified kit.

There he was, standing in that dark alleyway again, cowering and shivering as the mongrel's silhouette drew closer and closer. Slate couldn't remember much of what the dog looked like, but its eyes glowed golden even as the shadows engulfed its hulking form. "D-Don't leave me here!" He had cried, his ears flattened against his small skull as he shrunk back and arched his back in a pitiful attempt to defend himself. Drooling jowls, he remembers. Bared pearly whites and the stench of stale blood, he remembers. "Help!" A childish squeal bleated from his lungs, just moments before the hound lunged forward and permanently left its mark upon the youth's face.

Slate wavers in and out of reality as even more cats join in; some things are shouted, though he can't recall what. It's Thistleback's roar that fully lassos the Maine Coon to his senses — he had to suck it up and leave those bad memories in the past. He was a full-grown cat now, one who knew how to put up a fight and protect himself. No dog would ever bring harm to him again, especially not Cloverjaw.

Just as he fully got to his paws and clenched his jaw, eyeing the frantic tangle for the best opportunity to leap into action, the dog let out a high-pitched yelp as more teeth and claws dug into its flank. It staggered backward and let out a few barks toward the horde of felines, this time sounding much more pathetic than it had when it first arrived. It then proceeded to hurriedly limp away, bloodied and battered from the beating that the SkyClanners had unleashed upon it.

He finds himself extraordinarily tense, intense amber stare fixed upon the creature disappearing over the horizon while his muscles were still bunched as if he were still primed to attack. "Its..." Slate breathed, flicking his ears back and hardly able to convey a cohesive sentence. Memories, emotions, thoughts all raced around his mind like a mad rabbit, unable to slow down. "We... should probably get outta' here. Its master may be nearby." The charcoal male manages steadily, swallowing a gulp and flicking his gaze over toward the others. Forget what had happened before; none of it would matter if the twolegs spotted them and raided their camp. Everything was insignificant in the eyes of the twolegs and their bloodthirsty mutts.​