LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REST — open

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — To those who knew Roosterstrut as the resident fun-loving, upbeat tom cat of ShadowClan, it may have come as a surprise that he was decently skilled at combat. One could go as far as to say that he excelled in it, even. There is a high probability that Roosterstrut would have been dubbed a prodigy of sorts, had he not lived up to his namesake — a rooster waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for the perfect moment, except in doing so he could nearly lose the fight entirely (or worse, get killed).

No, it wasn't the fighting techniques themselves nor their execution that Roosterstrut suffered in, but rather his strategy of "seizing the right moment". While it worked sometimes, other times his hesitation would only benefit his opponent. "Better start swingin' before I do!" An NPC warrior, Darkstep, encouraged as they circled around Roosterstrut. Stems of grass and flecks of dirt stuck to both of their pelts, having spent a chunk of their afternoon wrestling around and sparring out of good fun. The orange tabby tom, on the other hand, appeared battered and beaten pretty good, his jaws parted as he caught his breath and watched Darkstep with keen sight.

Time ticked on, the competitive tension between the two warriors only building as Darkstep preyed on Roosterstrut like a fox seeking a hare. Rooster doesn't move a muscle, only swishing his tail and tensing his shoulders as he awaits a window of opportunity. He couldn't attack now; they would be fully expecting him to do so, and this particular angle would put him at a disadvantage. If he made one bad move then he could get caught up in their jaws; it could be all over in seconds, even. If he just prepared himself and defended against their offensive strike, then—

It was too late. A flurry of ebony fur barrels into Roosterstrut and knocks him onto the ground with a thud. Roosterstrut let out a grunt, his head beginning to spin, though he mustered his remaining strength to extend his limbs and try and push Darkstep off of him. "Hey, Rooster! You good?" They mrrowed, having noticed how dazed and out-of-focus the other warrior appeared.

The tom blinked a few times, giving a shake of his head and finally sitting up once Darkstep climbed off of him. "Yeah, yeah, fine, just..." He trailed off, rubbing a paw against his temple and staring at the ground below. Roosterstrut, for once, couldn't find the words. Maybe he was just tired, or simply just distracted...

"Let's... just take a break, alright? I'm gonna go get a drink, you wanna come with?" In response to his sparring partner's offer, Rooster shook his head and acknowledged them with a nod, "You go on ahead." In actuality, some hydration might have done him some good, but he needed a moment to clear his head and think straight. What are you, frog-brained? That wasn't smart. The warrior scolds himself with a furrow of his brows.

He didn't want to believe—refused to believe—that Smogmaw was right about him, but...

A deep sigh escaped his maw.​

 

[Maggotfur.]

EYES COVERED IN INK AND BLEACH​

maggotpaw | 06 months | female | she/her | physically easy | mentally hard | attack in bold mediumpurple​

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Maggotpaw has always found the more brutal aspects of life to come to her easily. Hunting and fighting, or really anything that results in death and bloodshed - as easy as breathing. It is instead her personality and social skills tat seem to be lacking. And so it is really to no ones surprise that the apprentice simply stares unlimitedly at roosterstrut. "Why'd you just stand there? Were you trying to let them hit you," she says it so tonelessly that any mockery is lost, instead leaving it sounding like the worlds most brutal question.
​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† He doesn't know how Roosterstrut has survived in a place like this so far. A bright face amongst the rest of them. Literally. (Was there a connection to the color of your fur and the type of face you were? Perhaps Roosterstrut would not be so insulted by comparison to Poppypaw as many would be. And that adds to the theory, she thinks) Roosterstrut's never seemed to pick at the scabs the way some others do. He was quick on his paws. he was... him. Not today though.

Roosterstrut has never been known for anything bad. (Not like him. He didn't know it, but he felt like he did) And yet, he fumbles. He's brought to ground. He loses his breath. He's left to break and he's left lost.

(Sharppaw wonders if this was what she looked like. Worse even, then on his back, caught in a rut; because she's been like this for longer). Roosterstrut is observed through pinched silver eyes. He nearly feels the need to flinch on Roosterstrut's behalf, with Maggotpaw's words, but he knew that he was judging him too. What were other cats there for, if not to judge?

Sharppaw doesn't really care how he is. Not really. " Something's wrong, " she says, all the same.​

 

[smogstar]

With breath reeking of apathy, the dark-smudged deputy creeps up along the flank of his apprentice. He wears a scowl, or a death stare, or whatever term the fine folks of ShadowClan used to describe his permanent display of displeasure. Only, on this occasion, the utter revulsion he held for the ginger warrior pierces through his deadpan features and manifested openly. As to how Roosterstrut hadn't yet been clasped in the same sodden embrace as his predecessor is a matter that eludes him entirely. For hardworking warriors and aspiring apprentices to go the way of all flesh, while this mouth-breathing, patrol-failing underachiever still haunts this nick of the woods, it's a lapse for which StarClan themselves must atone.

Muddy eyes avert the measly warrior for a brief moment, instead falling upon Maggotpaw. Her remark brings rise to a sharp exhale, as her words carry more weight than the entirety of Roosterstrut's efforts during the spar. At Sharppaw's observation, he would pivot to face his apprentice, gaping down at his silvery hues. "Nothing's wrong," the tom contends quietly, shaking his noggin to-and-fro. "In truth, he performed better than what's expected of him; he isn't crying, for example."

Toms like the walking apology before him relied on others' flattery and praise. As an alternative to taking his head out of his arse and doing the least amount of introspection, he'll cling desperately to any bit of false validation flung his way, and use that to shield himself from the reality of his incompetence. Perhaps such kit-like behaviour is accepted, dare say rewarded in other clans. Not here, though. Not when prey is scarce, and a lone warrior's lack of ability will tow the entire clan down with him.

A scoff breaks free from his maw. Then, he embarks towards the younger tom on long strides, glaring daggers at his baby greens before grinding to a halt some fox-lengths away. "Is this the height of your ambition, Roosterstrut?" he asks in a tone which simmered with venom. "Existing as a living, breathing training dummy?" While the deputy is hot on the trail of his own coveted enterprises, his counterpart has stagnated for an untold amount of seasons. This isn't about a perceived failure to live up to ShadowClan's expectations. Damn the clan for a moment. This is about a child who'd lost his father and then decided to never grow up.

He turns, sourly, and walks off. "Make sure you train long and hard, Maggotpaw," he would spare the pallid-toned she-cat. Lest you wish to follow in the pawsteps of mediocrity.​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Roosterstrut's attention and focus had been so consumed by the training session that he hadn't even noticed that there were other cats watching him. Jaw ajar as he caught his breath, he turned to face Maggotpaw, who had indeed dealt the warrior a rather brutally-worded question. Red ears flick backward, trying to prevent hurt feelings from visibly manifesting onto his masculine features. "No, I..." Roosterstrut struggles to find a way to explain himself without sounding like a total frogbrain. He shouldn't have just been standing there. He does that too often; he is reminded of the skirmish with ThunderClan — standing, waiting for the best opportunity. But what if that opportunity never comes?

"Something's wrong," Comes the comment from Sharppaw next, and once again, he is just left standing there. What does he possibly say in response? He supposes that he could just try to brush their words off and claim that he was simply feeling tired or out-of-focus, but it still doesn't feel good to outright lie to his clanmates. A soft frown tugs on his maw, and just as he is on the verge of formulating a response, none other than Sharppaw's mentor arrives.

Pale green hues narrow as the ashen-toned deputy, without fail, seizes the chance to take jabs at him. He knows that he should expect Smogmaw's harsh criticisms and taunts especially with their history with one another, but it still stings all the same. It isn't the insinuation that Roosterstrut is a crybaby that bothers him; he can take a childish insult. However, Roosterstrut knows that he hasn't unlocked his true potential and the deputy can see that as clear as day. Smogmaw probably doesn't think the younger warrior has any potential at all, which only frustrates Roosterstrut to no end. He's trained and worked so hard to prove himself useful to ShadowClan, but he would never be good enough in the eyes of the mackerel tabby. Even if he improved greatly, even if he started taking more risks, would Smogmaw find something else to nitpick him about? Probably.

He watches wordlessly as the amalgamation of grays and dark stripes stalks off, leaving a hollow feeling in the chambers of his chest. Roosterstrut's eyes cast downward for a few moments after, self-criticizing thoughts and other negative things cropping up all over his brain. For once, the upbeat warrior has nothing to say. He debates apologizing to the apprentices for them having to witness such a display, but Roosterstrut ultimately decides against it before heading in the deputy's opposite direction. Anywhere away from him.​