private I AM A LUXURY FEW CAN TOLERATE ✶ smogmaw

[GHOSTMASK]

Ghostpaw is becoming surprisingly adept at orchestrating "accidental" run-ins with whichever cat happens to be most fortuitous for her to interact with in a particular moment. Whether it's wheedling Applepaw into pairing up for duties or bumping into Sootstar three quarters of the moon ago, the first proper meeting is the most memorable. After all, she'd first impressed herself upon their deputy's torbie daughter through her grovelling (admittedly, excessively so) obedience in kitten-games. She'd politely introduced herself to Sootstar in the course of that genuinely accidental meeting; sure, what use was it earning the approval of a tyrant, but what was the harm? Who knew how useful the smoky she-cat could someday be?

However, for all her careful puppeteering, sometimes fate would roll the dice instead. Today, she's slated for assisting their deputy in repairing the last dregs of the rogues' remnants; hardly a marvelous duty, but Ghostpaw can—and will—endure a startling amount of suffering to further her goals. You would think the territory entirely mopped up by now, but this is ShadowClan, possibly the least proactive of the vast territories' residents and by far the most lacking in able and willing paws.

"You're Applepaw's father," Ghostpaw remarks, somewhat blithely. Deciding how much of her own infinite intellect to disclose to conversational companions is a perpetual challenge; for some cats, it's better to appear appropriately vapid. For others, namely her own father, she bothers less with the concealment of her arts. "How did you become the deputy?" She blinks over at him as she sets a torn-out piece of a woven den to rights. Smogmaw's usefulness is something yet to be calculated, his deplorable son notwithstanding. An unsettling pause, and she elaborates, "Was it because you're smart?"

The statement is deceptively matter-of-fact, but Smogmaw is far less ignorant than Ghostpaw estimates him—and every other cat in the forest, for that matter—to be. No doubt the deputy, experienced in the quiet subterfuge interspersed with clan socializing and politics himself, will notice the carefulness in the way she speaks. The calculation of the flattery is exact and intended to boost Smogmaw's already-inflated ego, a strategy which has rarely failed Ghostpaw since she brought Needledrift a gift a few turns of the moon ago. She is less aware of his particular vendetta against her sibling and mother—how could she be?—though she does feel that there's a distinct sense of tension suffusing the air.

i found the man who created me ✶ ( and tore him limb from limb )

• @smogmaw !!

• 

• 

  ghostpaw ; apprentice of shadowclan
  x. she/her ; 6 moons ; tags
  x. slender black she-cat with white mask & pants and dark blue-black eyes
  x. played by dejavu
  x. daughter of starlingheart and granitepelt; sister to nettlepaw and flintpaw. apprentice to her aunt, lilacfur.

​

 

[smogstar]

One may observe Smogmaw as if he were entangled in the cobwebs of misfortune, precariously dangling over the precipice with no apparent means to save himself—some misfortune self-inflicted, the rest played by fate's calloused paws. It's true to a nominal extent, for sure, but the obvious needn't be elaborated on any further.

Take a contrarian lens to the going-ons of the past moons, however, and one might - just might - glean the faint threads of a silver lining. As the deputy weathered mountainous peaks, together with companions whom he'd come to pin his total faith in, a maelstrom took form around the Burnt Sycamore, and its turbulent draughts were felt across the marshlands' entirety. Needless to say, Smogmaw silently reveled in not having to weather that storm. Blizzards were the more agreeable option in this case.

As any storm does, this one wrought its own brand of havoc and destruction. Hastily strung-together bedding lay strewn across the peaty soil, while bones and discarded giblets splayed amongst the grass where fresh-kill piles had existed. Both left in the four clans' wake. Both to be tended to by ShadowClan paws. Perhaps he ought to, but he cannot fault his clanmates for shirking the cleanup process. The responsibility shouldn't have been saddled on their shoulders in the first place.

"Hmm?" A dark-tipped ear pivots towards the voice that reaches it. Away from the rubble pile at his paws and onto wee Ghostpaw, Smogmaw's amber regard lifts in attentive pause. The two of them worked in silence up until now, and, all in all, their clutter-clearing operation has gone swimmingly. For the masked she-cat to beseech him now, he can only surmise this to have been prompted by something important. That, or youthful whimsy.

A gentle sigh slithers from his maw. "Applepaw, amongst others," he supplies, a restless tail-flick following in the interim. The curiosity in her words soon takes root in him also; Ghostpaw is now the second apprentice to ask about such things, walking in Maggotfur's pawsteps. It settles in his brows, pinching yet raising into his forehead, and his expression conveys the mild incredulousness. "Yes, it's because I'm smart. It's also because I wanted to be." The answer spills forth, unburdened by the usual restraint weighing on his lips. "Why do you ask, Ghostpaw?" he then posits, a cant to his head. "Have your mind on greater things than cleaning?"

Her inquisitive approach appears as a form of admiration, resonating with a certain capacity for appreciation. It's met with a tempered shade of disbelief, mostly directed inwards than towards Ghostpaw herself.​