camp joy when from the right & chatting

[Magpiepaw]

The little oddity picked from the trash was enjoying his new home. He ate as much as he could, until he was stopped by either Bramblesong or Snailcurl or the horrible twisting of his own stomach betraying him; he could roll around in the snow all day and be left alone. He could nap whever he wanted. Paradise, perfect. ShadowClan was amazing, but to a kitten born in a cramped cage, starved and trampled by other cats, even the dirtiest rock had a sheen to it. It was strange though, there were several cats who spoke around him in hushed whispered tones and seemed to avoid him. unaccustomed to this he followed sometimes, but his wobbling gait didn't allow him to keep pace with much of anyone so he was left to wonder alone.
Magpiekit gave a small swat with his paw, rattling the tiny pile of mouse bones he had collected from near the warrior's den; he saw cats carry them out of camp but he had taken some because he wanted them and no one else seemed to. The delightful sound of the oddly hollow-like calcium shards made him brighten his eyes in delight; a smile nearly invisible in his dark fur curling.
His amusement could stretch on throughout the day in idleness but he paused suddenly and lifted his head alert as if startled, his ears fell flat and then pricked upward and both blue-violet eyes widened ever more larger than they had been before.
"Yes?" The kitten's wisping tone asked though there was no cat nearby, "No. I don't think so. Maybe later." His arid comment drawled into a hum, "I guess if it gets cold enough."



​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Kits are... strange.

Nearly every time she sees, smells, or hears Magpiekit, he unknowingly adds to her list of reasons to think so. Try as he may to pay no mind, Magpiekit always demanded attention. Not like he was one to cry for a mother he didn't have, but he was... a disruption, more often than not.

As one of the only kits in the nursery, she supposed he made his own fun. Voice whipped in whisper, he pokes and prods. seemingly amused by what's merely... a pile of discarded bones. Small, more of a choking hazard than anything. The clicking sounds barely-audible. Probably caked in some random warrior's spit. Altogether, a hazard, probably. Sharppaw casts a glance towards the nursery. Should he... do something? Maybe it would be better if he was gone...

That wasn't– wasn't fair to a kit, though. And maybe she lingers too long. Long enough for her ears to prick towards his whispering, and to realize, uh... no one else is... here.

Nose scrunched, her eyes flicker to the side. It's not– not her business anyways, but it leaves her uneasy. Would some kind of other-being really communicate through this kit, of all cats? Surely not, but... worry, all the same. They should have left him out in the forest, clearly his mother left him for a reason.

Well... that wasn't fair. "Wh-who are you talking to?"​

 

[TEASELPAW]

Chittering, chattering- kits, they were incessant weren't they? Just- loud. And if they weren't loud they were doing something else irritating. It'd been a long day of training today, he'd been out for at least an hour, and now he was simply trying to nap- but of course that was when all the- strange ones started crawling out of the crevices, absolutely hellbent on preventing him from just relaxing like he wanted to. Shadowy ears pinned against his head, a fiery eye creaking ajar, peering through the half-lidded flutter.

Well, that was quite a sight, and Sharppaw- he'd like to say she seemed to agree, but really she just asked. A stretch skittered through his muscles before he made his way over, short stature taking rank beside his fellow apprentice. Hooded eyes accompanied a smile, but as usual it was not the joyful sort. "I didn't know kittens could lose it." he murmured, clearly mostly talking to Sharppaw- though he didn't bother to temper the volume of his voice to spare Magpiekit's feelings, either.​

PENNED BY PIN​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

She's not fond of kits, admittedly. Flickerfire finds them antagonistic. Maybe that's a particular brand of ShadowClan kit -- she wouldn't doubt it -- but either way, she avoids the nursery at all costs unless it's to callously drop a piece of prey just inside of it for the kits to swarm like crows.

She remembers Briarstar's seven when they were tiny, the trouble they'd caused, especially when mixed with Sandra's three. Too many at once. She's been soured on kits for the rest of her life.

And yet Pitchstar keeps allowing them in! She can't imagine why. It's not like they can hunt or provide for the Clan. She snickers to herself -- the guy likes to act like he's hard-hearted, but every tiny face he lets swarm their camp like one of his Carrionplace rats.

And this particular trash-heap kit ...

She pricks her ears and leans forward on her toes. It's whispering, talking to someone ... but who? Flickerfire's eyes dart left, then right. It's talking to itself.

She glances sideways at Sharppaw and Teaselpaw, who are giving little Magpiekit uneasy looks. Sharppaw outright asks who the creature is talking to, and Teaselpaw makes a comment about kits going mad.

"Anyone can go crazy. You should know that by now, livin' in this trash heap." She snorts and thinks to herself, Especially with your brother. She could imagine Pitchstar doing this, easily. No contest.

She pads close to Magpiekit and bumps him with her forepaw. It's neither rough nor gentle. She scowls at him. "Who the hell ya talkin' to? Whoever it is, did they bring any prey?" Her grimace crooks itself into a grin.​

 

[Magpiepaw]

His ears twitch, outside voices are acknowleding him and he does not lift his head rather than turn it sharply to the side as it is still bowed in the direction of the hushed tones and wary queries. Magpiekit stares, unsure of what to make of the confusion because he believed he was being very forward with his discussion. Did they not know? Did none of them see? It was only the fire branded charcoal of Flickerfire's paw raising to thump him on the forehead that makes him blink away his confused stupor; twin blue-violet orbs round and inset like marbles swiveling upward to face the lead warrior. Sharppaw had asked a similar question, but with softer wording, not to spare him but just because Sharppaw was like that. Teaselpaw was not.
"No." He replies to the question of prey, silly to think they would help them when they regarded the ShadowClanners as prey themselves. They often watched and waited instead. Preparing to move in for their prize when the stars took them back. Once you died, your belly stopped gnawing itself in demand. He often thought it might be nicer that way, but the world was too interesting to forsake now. "Them."
It was his only response to the actual question uttered and the faintest tilt of his eyes lift upward to the tree above where a single black carrion bird, a crow, perches in a snow riddled loft of branches. It flitted about, feathers ruffling, shifting from the cold.
"When we all starve to death, they will eat us. They were asking if we were going to yet." Tiny twin triangles of black flicked up and then lay flat atop his skull, "There is still time."

​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Maybe she would have agreed with Teaselpaw's comment, but it was hard when Magpiekit had been off from day one. She's more inclined to agree with Flickerfire. Maybe it was something about the marsh that made minds dim and fur fall out...

Them, the answer was not helpful. A frown fixes upon her face, a question unspoken. Belatedly, and just barely does she notice the lifting of his gaze.

She follows it, only to lay eyes upon a bird, ruffled feathers the same murky blackness that the marsh invited. Magpie was only a kitten, Sharppaw knew. He surely couldn't speak to birds, Sharppaw knew. But she can't help the slight prickling of her spine and mild unease written on her face. (Even if he could talk to birds, the crow had been making no noise). A phase, she hopes, or she could hardly see him making a good warrior later on.

He discards the thought with a grimace. Not something to be thinking about, but she wasn't sure what she would prefer to think of. That, or the image of the crows feeding on their carcasses. He glances to Magpiekit, only for his gaze to wearily flicker back to the crow. It wasnt doing much of anything, still. This was stupid.

And rationally she nows, Shadowclan would not starve to death. Not– not all of them, at least. They've survived many moons in the marshes, and yet...

There is still time, he says, with the flicker of ears atop his head. She'd sure hope so?? Sharppaw can only blink in reply.​