JOINT REASONING [ smogmaw ]

[FERNDANCE]

WindClan's border. Ferndance did not know it was possible to feel unsettled by an entire collective rather than a few individuals, but in the moor group, it seemed difficult to tell the difference between the two. One cat snarled and the others bared their teeth in unison, one cat spoke harsh truths and the others nodded their heads as if they'd been the ones to mew them. They were one entity connected by their bitterness, in a place as beautifully disjointed as her home, it was difficult not to find such a difference in style. A monster zoomed past on the gravel path and, when its roar had become a distant memory, the lanky she-cat poked her head out from the rickety bushes she'd sheltered in. She turned her head towards her Deputy, smiling. "A shame the Star-Killer was not around for that." Having missed Briarstar's execution, it'd been morbid curiosity that caused her to want to know what it looked like for someone to get hit by a monster. The Star-Killer, an entity who'd seemingly only be mourned by the maggots, would've been a perfect test dummy.

Any trace of the rogue had vanished with time - a bit of rainfall here, a patrol there, and all the scents had muddled into one. The possibility of catching him seemed to motivate everyone to keep trying, but, sensing the hopelessness of it, Ferndance's thoughts had begun to wander to wilder ideas. Her emerald gaze struggled to land on just one thing, deductions made with an air of quiet wonder that was visible in her parted maw and curved tail. This patrol was supposed to be serious business, but what was stopping a brief discussion among friends? The word felt wrong to assign to Smogmaw though. She'd thought him harmless until the hunting party on ThunderClan's land had almost left her behind at his behest, unintentional perhaps, but she didn't think she'd put her life in his paws ever again. Oh well, at least he was still fun to harass. "Do you reckon we can turn them into an attack dog? The Star-Killer, I mean." She asked gently, her head tilted to one side. "I think it'd be funny if we could send them after cats we don't like. Can you imagine WindClan's faces if they managed to kill their leader?" She didn't seem happy nor sad about such a thing... only curious. "Oh what karma that would be."

@smogmaw

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[smogstar]

It is rare for Smogmaw to take anything at face value. Scepticism oozes from his brain as does lifeblood from his heart, perpetually sifting for a more profound interpretation. Questioning events as they come and shunning surface-level explanations is his modus operandi, a methodology that he has honed throughout the years of his continued survival. It has earned him a reputation of being overly intense, perhaps neurotic even, but to the deputy, it's simply the lens through which he sees the world. Besides, someone in this stars-forsaken dump has to do the thinking.

Smogmaw's response to the prior leader's demise deviates from his typical approach. The affairs of StarClan defy all attempts of rationalisation and scrutiny, and given how Pitchstar supposedly carried several lives with him at the time of his death, compounded with his minimal understanding of the stars, the tom failed to find grounds on which to question it further. What happened has happened, and that's really it. No deeper interpretation, no conspiratorial inklings floating in the midst. All he's left to ponder on is the dealings of their so-called Star-Killer, and based on the lack of evidence this patrol has scrounged up, it seems as though a good explanation lies beyond the realm of possibility.

The fumes of a passing monster infest his senses, prompting a displeased grunt from the tabby. As the stench gradually dissipates, a comment from his lone patrolmate suffuses the air in its stead. Smogmaw offers a sidelong glance towards the ticked tabby, and he gives a simple nod as the words linger inside his skull. "Shame indeed." From what he's made of the entire situation surrounding this killer, there's only two options for where they're at right now. On one paw, perhaps they did perish, if not underneath a monster's weight then at the tips of claws worthier than Pitchstar's. On the other, they could still be out there, slewing unassuming victims as a sick pastime. He'll sleep soundly once this infidel turns up bloodied in a ditch somewhere.

An ear twitches as Ferndance continues to speak, though he can only scoff at the contents of her diatribe. "That so?" he asks, the corners of his maw constrained into a grin. "I'm not convinced this Star-Killer isn't some sort of mongrel. How else could someone with 'nine lives' lose 'em all in one fell swoop? Same thing happened to Emberstar, and we know it was dogs that did her in." His clanmate's askew expression wore no traces of callow humour. She appears to be genuine in her words, offbeat as they were. "Hell, I think our Star-Killer'd have an easier time killing Sootstar," begins Smogmaw, arching his back into a lengthy stretch, "powerful pair of jaws could snatch her up and take her anywhere." All of WindClan's cats were small, and the Moor Queen came as no exception. Given the amount of enemies she already has, chances are she'll meet her end sooner than later.

A huff departs his throat, and a gesture of the head indicates his inclination to leave. "Might's well keep things going," says Smogmaw. "Probably won't find nothin'. Keep an eye out for anything funny, I guess." For all intents and purposes, this patrol is a lost cause, merely an excuse to leave camp for a good while.​

 

[FERNDANCE]

Smogmaw offered his own theories as to who the Star-Killer was and the tabby's pupils began to dilate in interest. It hadn't been a line of questioning she thought the older tom would entertain, for the very word seemed to be an antonym of what the Deputy stood for. Alas, he had surprised her, her heart fluttering with a suppressed joy that she had managed to bring him down to her level. "Well... maybe." Ferndance wasn't convinced his argument was correct, however. She rested her cheek upon her shoulder and offered Smogmaw a thoughtful frown, blinking with lizard-like ease. "Wasn't his belly torn open though? Dogs normally nom nom nom right through their prey, they don't care to be efficient killers. We could always ask ThunderClan about the state of their leader's body when they found it and compare stories." She didn't think it would be a bad suggestion so long as ThunderClan could stomach the presence of the prey-stealers, perhaps a less personal suggestion would inspire their enemy to talk. "Or Flickerfire's, she met the same fate, did she not?"

Flickerfire wasn't a subject the flea-bitten feline was too keen on delving into, not with Smogmaw at least. She recalled other times when ShadowClanners had gossiped about their dead, speaking of how much they hated them. As fun as it was to lend an ear and hear their opinions, there was an expectation to pick a side that she had no interest in. It was easier with the former Lead Warrior, her name run through the very muds of the marsh and shunned from history for her affair and betrayal, but it was still a reminder of how fragile her beloved home truly was. Thankfully, there was another enemy to insult before long, and the ticked tabby latched onto the opportunity without a second thought. "She's so tiny, I'm surprised no one has tried anything already. Perhaps.... oh how do I word this..." She licked her stained white paw and rubbed behind her ear, her brows creased in thought. "They're scared of rats? WindClanners are small but they always overpopulate the gatherings. Not too unlike our little carrionplace friends, and we know they can be dangerous in big numbers."

That was the question then: how could one split the swarm enough to do some real damage to the rodents that mattered? Would she even want to kill a WindClanner if she could? Dwelling as Smogmaw moved to leave, she followed wherever their Deputy would go, the realisation settling in that she wouldn't care either way about hurting WindClanners or sparing them. She was happy to go with the flow and do whatever Chilledstar suggested, though killing hardly seemed as funny as simply teasing the moor-runners until their fur bristled like porcupine quills. Speaking of teasing... "I saw a bird the other day that looked pretty funny. It had legs longer than its body and made a noise when I passed." She cleared her throat, letting out sharp, high-pitched noises in an attempt to mirror the wading bird.
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