camp just hear those sleigh bells jingling | open

[Lionsnarl]

"LIFE DOESN'T DISCRIMINATE BETWEEN THE SINNERS AND THE SAINTS"​

With Totoro losing his owner and a sudden influx of daylight warriors and loners joining their official ranks, SkyClan was feeling very busy all the time now-a-days. There were kittens on the way and apprentices growing larger and larger with every passing moment, promising new warriors come next new-leaf. It should be a happy time, but it seemed like mirth and hope had been set aside for melancholy and despair - emotions so palpable that even the ginger king himself found it to be a little discomforting, and he wallowed in his own hatred and self-pity as if they were mental hot springs.

Deersong and Thistleback grieved the loss of their adopted son, Blazestar and Redstorm fretted over the looming rogue threat, and he... well, he was not particular peachy but damn would he like everybody else to go back to their normal air-headed selves.

And so the ginger king had an idea... a perfectly preposterous idea... out into the pine forest he went, only to return with vines and pine-cones and other such things - pine needles and feathers and discarded strings! The vines he hung hither and the pine-cones went there, the pine needles beside them for that small festive flair! He slithered and slunk with a smile most unpleasant, delicating placing his feathers of pheasant. When he was finished, he would sit back and stare, for this was so different to his muddied despair - it was joy, it was glee, it was his all to share! But would his clan-mates like it or would they not care...​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[Snowpath]

"Why did you bring all this junk into camp?" Snowpaw asked pointedly, padding forward from his staring contest with the freshkill pile to the bits and baubels the red tom had dragged out. He was no fan of Crimsonbite, didn't like the brute and didn't care to have his mind changed and now he found out the guy liked to stack stuff in their camp like it was his own private den. As if he needed more reasons to think less of the tom with the flat face.
Well, he wasn't going to help clean this up-he'd done his time with his punishment so the other apprentices could be put to work instead for once. Ungrateful, the lot of them. He'd cleaned their bedding for a whole MOON! No one said thanks. He was debating putting thorns in it all now.

Snowpaw's nose wrinkled as he took a more closer inspection of pile the older warrior had made, still not getting it but maybe it was cause he was already in a poor mood. He was more morose than normal, taking Coyotepaw leaving about as hard as you possibly could and a small part of him would always blame himself for it no matter what logic might say. If he had held his tongue before, if he'd been more openminded, maybe he wouldn't have added to an already overwhelming weight that sent the other apprentice running first chance he saw.

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[Stagkit]

REACHING FOR THE SUN​

---

All the while, little Stagkit had been watching, his eyes wide and uncertain of what the warrior was doing. He sat in the clearing, warm eyes shining, as Crimsonbite pranced this way and that to place his assortment of decorations. All the child saw was a bunch of shiny new things to play with! Some less shiny than others, but he liked feathers and he liked string, and he'd probably like pinecones too. So while Snowpaw questions the golden, flat-faced tom, Stagkit clumsily makes his way toward one of the pinecones, his eyes akin to liquid gold as he sets his owlish gaze upon the target. With both paws, he reaches for the newfound toy, tiny limbs batting and thorny claws stretching as he finally snagged the strange item.

Stagkit wastes no time in batting the pinecone around, darting around the paws of both Snowpaw and Crimsonbite as he kicked, clawed, tackled, and dragged his toy throughout the SkyClan clearing.​

 

[BASILPATCH]

Basilpaw was not particularly a fan of Crimsonbite, not since the stint with Butterflypaw, though he wasn’t afraid of him like his fellow apprentice was, he did do his best to stay out of the flat faced toms way. He was ugly, uglier than most, and Basilpaw can’t help but wonder if the tom had run into a tree in order to make his face look like that…

Upon seeing him enter camp with a random pile of junk, he would wrinkle his nose, but then stops when he thinks about it. Would wrinkling his nose make it stay that way? His mother had always told him that if he made faces for too long his face would get stuck that way. Perhaps that is what happened to Crimsonbite. Perhaps he had made a face and it had gotten stuck.

Tentatively, the black gray and white rom creeps forward to the pile, sniffing it then again wrinkling his nose. His mismatched eyes glance at Snowpaw and Stagkit, wondering if one of them would touch it first. Was it safe? When Stagkit reaches out and takes a pine cone, Basilpaw deems it safe. "Is this for anyone to take?" he asks, fully intending to pick through the pile for a gift for Butterfly, though he would not tell her where he got it from.
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[Lionsnarl]

"LIFE DOESN'T DISCRIMINATE BETWEEN THE SINNERS AND THE SAINTS"​

You are getting to be a real pain in my ass. The ginger king bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from punting the little bastard to the other side of the camp - he doubted that Deersong would allow him to still breathe if he touched her little trainee-brat, especially after losing her adopted son to the maniac and her kingdom of roaches.

His paws still wrapped in ivy and his coat all a-fluff against the leaf-fall chill, he had to imagine that he did not pose a very intimidating figure - perhaps if he still looked a starving loon, the kid might leave him the hell alone. And yet still, there was a question to be answered and so through gritted teeth: "When I lived with my housefolk, once a year they'd put up all these shiny lights and leaves inside. They'd bring a tree indoors and put baubles on it and then they'd let us cats tear apart these little boxes and sometimes they'd have colorful mice that smelled like heaven." His flicked his tail, a rare smile forming in response to the memory. "Thought some of the old daylight warriors might like a taste of that now, I don't think my family was the only one that did it."

Two more brats appear, pawing through his small assortment of collectibles. "Take it all. Just play things, really."​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

He is bemused by the assortment of forest litter that Crimsonbite returns to camp with, but upon hearing the ginger tom's explanation, his expression softens into a whimsical smile. "My housefolk did it, too," he murmurs, pawing a pinecone thoughtfully. His eyes are soft, brain fuzzy, as he remembers their soft, wrinkled paws adorning his collar with a special red and green bow. The way the house had smelled, sweet and spicy with pine and Twoleg food.

"At least, they did, when I was a kit still." He shakes his head, the memories fading, clarity returning to his gaze. "As they got older, they didn't seem to bother with it as much."

He looks up at Crimsonbite, blinking. "Were you thinking of trying to make the camp look like their pine trees?" It wouldn't really be the same, he thinks... but it's a surprisingly nice sentiment from Crimsonbite.

- ,,​

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