private GREW UP RIGHT ON THE COUNTY LINE — scorchstorm

[BUCKFIRE]

Buck was bored to tears. It was days like these where he both appreciated and yearned for freedom again; the cramped walls and crowdedness of the Badger Sett made the former loner stir-crazy. Part of him figured that he could just up and leave with no one to stop him, but... he'd only be stranding himself without the aid of a medicine cat. Besides, it didn't feel right up and leaving without a word — Sunstar had taken Buck in when he very well could have turned him away. Wolfsong kept him damn well out of the ground, too. He would get out of this eventually; it would just take time before Buck's body tanned this illness' hide.

For now, Buck could only make small talk with the fellow inhabitants of the Badger Sett. One cat he hadn't formally met before, nor even really talked to, caught his attention. Her pelt was dark with vibrant red markings, kind of like another cat he knew. "It's a real shame that we're only properly meetin' like this." The brown tabby remarks with a hoarse voice, natural charm attempting to shine through regardless.

The male pauses, turning away to clear some buildup in his throat ( which then turns into a bout of coughing ). He's certainly looked—and sounded—better, that was for sure. Sunset eyes slightly watering now, Buck sniffles and rotates his head back into the direction of the younger feline. " 'm Buck. You got a name?" Probably like... Firespots or Orangepatch or something, if Buck had to guess. Was he getting the gist of the whole naming thing?

𝐈 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 ✹ . + ˚ · 　 𝐈 𝐆𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄

• @SCORCHSTORM

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  a horseplace loner, buck is thirty moons. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips.　✦

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[SCORCHSTORM]

It is difficult to weather the days in the old badger sett. She finds herself surrounded by groaning malaise and little else. The apprentices, hardly more than kits, are the worst to keep company with, and not because they are poor companions — they don't deserve to be trapped here, locked in this rotting sick-den where StarClan knows how many of their kin have passed before them.

And in the cloistering dark, it is far too easy to chain herself to should haves. This illness should have never come back. That kit should have been left to her own (at this idea, Scorchstorm's chest twists, but she does not retract it). She should have worked harder to prevent its spread, should have noticed it, should have... done something. She isn't sure what.

She stews in circles. The darkness unsettles her. She thinks of Luckypaw, tail crushed beneath a boulder; she thinks of Cherrypaw, resting beneath the plush tail. She feels nauseous at the memory, or maybe it is a symptom of the illness she has contracted. She isn't sure. But Scorchstorm is content to sink further into this pit until she is roused out of it by a drawling invitation.

She lifts her bi-color gaze to him then, wearing a falcon's frown. He's the new guy — the mouse-chaser, runner-into-of-goats. Much of his story is lost to the way that foggy sickness eclipses her working memory, but she remembers that much. Now she can put a name to the face. Hooray.

"Scorchstorm," she replies with a sniff. "How did you end up here?" Here being the badger sett, or maybe WindClan as a whole. He'd been injured, but she hadn't heard how. Only seen him in the medicine den when she would check in on the ill kittens. Another pang lances her heart when she imagines Splinterkit in Wolfsong's den, down a mother and a set of healthy lungs. Her frown deepens, and in an effort to escape the new discomfort, she prods further, "Where were you before?"

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌 ✧

• ooc.
  
• SCORCHSTORM —— warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 16 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

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[BUCKFIRE]

The younger warrior's dichromatic stare betrays the scowl that she wears, two features that juxtaposed one another. He could've sworn that they appeared opalescent when the faint sunlight cast into the den a certain way, but for now, the two felines exist in a hollowed darkness. "Scorchstorm," Buck tests out the name on his tongue, still finding the concept of two-part names novel and unfamiliar. It sounded euphonious, at least — a scorched storm, he ponders for a moment, unable to help himself when it comes to thinking about weather phenomena. Did such a thing even exist? "Any relation to Scorchstreak?" Buck gests, genuinely, as he is unaware of the actual relation that the two possess.

As much as his energy levels are near depleted, Buck's natural charm and flair for conversation refused to cease. Voice somewhat hoarse, the brown tabby meows, "Here? Well, I wasn't tryin' to. I woke up feelin' like shit yesterday mornin', so, here I am." A moment passes before he gives a small raise of faux brows, "If you mean WindClan, I saved one of yer' warriors from a fox." That was an exaggeration — he had helped Hollyhockpurr save herself, along with the assistance of Webwing, but Scorchstorm didn't need to know all the details.

The tortoiseshell's inquisitiveness only furthered the inflation of the former loner's ego. He takes pride in his life experiences and regales others with stories about them. "I think it'd be easier to say where I haven't been. I've been everywhere." Buck answers with a smirk, giving a flick of his oak-tipped tail. "I ain't good at stayin' put." Such a fact was immutable ( and only time would tell if his nomadic instincts persisted ). Roaming from place to place was a quotidian routine for Buck, having never been weighed down by the yoke of contributing to a community and having a real purpose. He wistfully looks back on some of his past adventures, wishing that he could be out making memories and living life to the fullest instead of wasting away in this badger set. The tom was in his prime! It wouldn't last forever, certainly.

𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✹ . + ˚ · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋

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  a new warrior of windclan, buckfire is thirty-one moons. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells of cotton grass and gorse.　✦

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