- Jun 19, 2024
- 11
- 1
- 3
*+:。.。 Viperpaw can't stop staring at Scorchstreak.
Perhaps if his silence weren't so rare he might've been easy to ignore, but as it stands the usually abrasively loud young man with his bug eyes trained so boldly onto his deputy makes for a rather...uncomfortable presence within today's afternoon patrol. Should he have asked for permission to stare? Is that even something you could ask for consent on? Such questions don't cross his mind - hence his unabashedly bad behavior continuing. In Viperpaw's defense, it's rather hard to make room for social etiquette when one's head is filled to bursting with stories of Windclan's top ten greatest battles! Who would've thought that today's mundane effort of picking fleas off an elder would result in the recounting of some of the coolest tales Vip had ever heard!
All morning long, the boy had fantasized about Windclan's lore. He could practically see the blood splattering over the grass and flew flying through the air as cats, brave and bold, defend one another with great, self-sacrificing honor. He thinks of all those who would be forever immortalized as legends, told for ages to come, names carved into the memories of every new generation for the great acts that paved Windclan's future! Rattleheart was one of those heroes, his death marking a chapter of great grief in Windclan that still echoed to this day. It was too late now to ask her for her stories, though. While her death was still fresh it...felt wrong to badger cats for her history.
That's when, upon being assigned to her patrol, Viperpaw laid eyes on Scorchstreak.
Mean, lean, fighting machine - Scorchstreak, the deputy of Windclan! Viperpaw practically trembled with excitement as he kept close pace behind the woman, eyeing her scars with a fascination typically reserved for crows pecking at shiny objects. He'd never thought to look so hard at his clan's second-in-command before, but now that he is...wow! Look at those scars! The stories that hide behind every savage bite and gruesome scratch! It made Viperpaw's kitten-soft cheeks feel so pudgy and lame by comparison! He wondered how she got those scars- by defending her home without fear? By protecting a clanmate whose life mattered more to her than her own?! Did she fight against beasts bigger than her? Stronger? Did she win by skill alone? Using her intellect to outsmart foes with longer claws and sharper teeth? Had she shoved down her fear, bitten back her wails, to do what was right?
Dear fucking Starclan - he needed to know!
"SCORCHSTREAK!" An explosive cry bursts through the quiet evening air, "HOW'D YOU GET THOSE SCARS?!"
Perhaps if his silence weren't so rare he might've been easy to ignore, but as it stands the usually abrasively loud young man with his bug eyes trained so boldly onto his deputy makes for a rather...uncomfortable presence within today's afternoon patrol. Should he have asked for permission to stare? Is that even something you could ask for consent on? Such questions don't cross his mind - hence his unabashedly bad behavior continuing. In Viperpaw's defense, it's rather hard to make room for social etiquette when one's head is filled to bursting with stories of Windclan's top ten greatest battles! Who would've thought that today's mundane effort of picking fleas off an elder would result in the recounting of some of the coolest tales Vip had ever heard!
All morning long, the boy had fantasized about Windclan's lore. He could practically see the blood splattering over the grass and flew flying through the air as cats, brave and bold, defend one another with great, self-sacrificing honor. He thinks of all those who would be forever immortalized as legends, told for ages to come, names carved into the memories of every new generation for the great acts that paved Windclan's future! Rattleheart was one of those heroes, his death marking a chapter of great grief in Windclan that still echoed to this day. It was too late now to ask her for her stories, though. While her death was still fresh it...felt wrong to badger cats for her history.
That's when, upon being assigned to her patrol, Viperpaw laid eyes on Scorchstreak.
Mean, lean, fighting machine - Scorchstreak, the deputy of Windclan! Viperpaw practically trembled with excitement as he kept close pace behind the woman, eyeing her scars with a fascination typically reserved for crows pecking at shiny objects. He'd never thought to look so hard at his clan's second-in-command before, but now that he is...wow! Look at those scars! The stories that hide behind every savage bite and gruesome scratch! It made Viperpaw's kitten-soft cheeks feel so pudgy and lame by comparison! He wondered how she got those scars- by defending her home without fear? By protecting a clanmate whose life mattered more to her than her own?! Did she fight against beasts bigger than her? Stronger? Did she win by skill alone? Using her intellect to outsmart foes with longer claws and sharper teeth? Had she shoved down her fear, bitten back her wails, to do what was right?
Dear fucking Starclan - he needed to know!
"SCORCHSTREAK!" An explosive cry bursts through the quiet evening air, "HOW'D YOU GET THOSE SCARS?!"
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"SPEECH"
☁ Viperpaw
☁ DFAB— He/Him
☁ 10 moons
☁ Son of Snakehiss and Berrysnap
☁ Brother to Rowanpaw, Snakepaw and Privetpaw
☁ Windclan — Tunneler's apprentice
COMBAT:
☁Physically easy | mentally medium
☁Attack in bold white
☁ None currently