camp futures made of virtual insanity | infection

[spectermask]

Fuck, what day is is? What... time is it? Green eyes fly open but the sun is too bright and the light burns, they narrow to a squint. And the dull throb in his shoulder has reignited along with a new sensation of burning beneath his skin. And his head, oh his head felt like it was about to explode. Why do things have to be so damn bright all the time? Even with the tall pines! Specter rises wobbly from his nest but he can barely see with how bad his headache was, dammit, it was like trying to look in to the sun with how it disrupted his vision. And even his legs feel weak, its a show and a half as he drags himself to the entrance of the warriors den.

Once he pokes his head out and the unfiltered light hits his eyes he falls to the ground, clutches his head in agony. It'll go away soon, they tell themselves over and over but as they lay there it only gets worse. Fuck, he feels like crying with how bad it hurts. Specter promptly pushes through it and drags his sorry ass to the shadow-y confines of the edge of camp. Wheres Chilled? He... He needs them right now and as the headache seems to never leap from its peak he groans in pain, flopping his head against the ground. He can't help the tears that prick the corner of his eyes as he screws his eyes shut. "Someone.... someone... get Chilled." its slurred and spoken to no one in particular, he's not even sure if anyone is around. "Where are you? Where are... Flowers, should get you a flower." and now he's beginning to lose it, talking to himself, yes, Chilled deserved a flower. Where even is he, right now? And why is everything so loud? He presses his paws over his ears, hissing as the wound on his skin stretches alongside his forelegs.


// tagging the one mentioned in the thread but its not a pafp ( @CHILLEDGAZE. ) &&& specter is delirious from his fever/headache and laying in the outskirts of camp​

"speech"​

 

[EERIENIGHT]

Don't die.

A pair of words he keeps finding himself repeating, keeps finding himself breaking his silence with. Don't die, don't die, don't die. He keeps urging his mentor not to - keeps urging for star spots to not signal to Magpiekit that it was time for Spectermask to join the stars in the night's sky.

And yet, here Eeriepaw stands, watching Spectermask closely, dark eyes taking in the deliria that takes over his mentor. Wobbling pawsteps, a rest in the midst of the camp. Spectermask wasn't listening to Eeriepaw's words. No, instead of getting better, the black and white feline was only getting worse and worse.

"Are you dying?" he asks as he nears his mentor, uncertainty and worry evident on his face, "Don't die."

Not yet, not yet, not yet.

Chilledgaze. He asks for Chilledgaze - asks for flowers, too. Eeriepaw isn't sure he can find either, but scans the camp anyway, scared to stray too far from the diminishing warrior before him. "Chilled..?" he calls out, as best he can. He hopes the deputy hears him, so he doesn't have to search further.

Eeriepaw doesn't want to return to an unmoving form in Spectermask's place.
​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

they worried about their friend, admittedly more than they worried about their other injured clanmates. call them what you wanted, but spectermask was one of their closest friends. the idea of losing them making them anxious, uneasy. they can't lose them. they just can't. so, they leave camp for a bit. chilledgaze just needed to clear their head for a while, get out of the fog of worrying so much. the lack of worry only lasts for a few minutes before they're returning to camp to check on everyone. they can't offer much, but they could give all the injured scraps. it was all they had. stars, they hated feeling this useless.

the sound of eeriepaw makes then blink. they don't remember the last time they heard the oddly dark apprentice say their name. they make their way over, eyes widening in fear before they just shake their head, nudging eeriepaw to go get starlingheart. they give a look that promises they will look after spectermask.

"hey im right here. spectermask... let's go lay down for a bit, hm? im really tired and i could use your help falling asleep."

they said. they didn't know how to really tell spectermask that they needed him to stay alive. stay alive, frogbrain. stay alive. they swayed their tail, nervously biting on the inside of their cheek before looking at the wound... why did it smell like that? why did he look so out of it? starclan, you've fucked us over enough. don't take him from me. please.
​

 

[smogstar]

Spectermask's wretched form shambles from one end of camp toward the other. Smogmaw observes the sight through a lens of relative disinterest. The anguish written in his clanmate's features does not disturb him, nor the absence of lucidity in their expression. For all he knows - and by proxy, for all he cares - the inkspill warrior's sorry condition is an unremarkable reality of living in ShadowClan. There's no doubt that life is unbearable here, but the least Specter can do is suck it up and pretend everything is alright like the rest of them. Theatrics, as in stumbling around like some sort of mouse-brain, aren't helping anybody.

When the withering feline makes it to the outer reaches of camp, he stops in his pitiful tracks, head colliding against the ground whilst he starts to succumb. Smogmaw's brows upend, and for a brief moment, he is taken aback. Perhaps they are hitting the skids after all.

The tabby springs up in a stretch and departs for the statistic-to-be. Whatever weakened words leave Spectermask's mouth do not reach his ears, though he does catch the deputy's attempts at consolation as he draws near.

"Being sappy won't heal nothing," remarks the tom, stepping forward. Seeing how the clan has now reached the point where people are keeling over and dying, he fails to see a reason to be cute about it. "That cut isn't looking so good," he says, "need to get him to Starlingheart A-S-A-P."

A dark-striped limb proceeds around Specter's wounded figure and brings him as close to their nape as was reasonably acceptable. From there, he simply gazes expectantly, on one paw awaiting permission to continue, and on the other anticipating an irrational, dramatic protest. ​