let's get ready to rumble | closed for now

[Plaguepaw]

I've been trying not to

After returning from an outing with Quillstrike, Plaguepaw slowly walked over to one of the warm sunny stones littering camp and flopped upon it. The prickly warrior was all work and no play. Even with his newfound scratchy voice. His lesson was chalk full of things like proper stance, various battle maneuvers, border pop quizzes, and more. Gangly limbs stretch in grandiose fashion, leaving ebony toes to flex and claws to peek from their sheathes. With a smack of dark lips he abruptly flipped on his side, melting into ambient heat the rock provided. Relief escapes in the form of a comfortable sigh, blue green eyes closing to perhaps take a quick nap before getting up later to do chores.

Just when he found himself good and comfortable a large shadow cast itself over his face. The patchy tom's face scrunches from the lack of heat, prompting turquoise eyes to flutter open. Much to his chagrin, he found the familiar pelt of Cherrypaw hovering close enough to block his sun. An exasperated sigh rips from grizzled jowls as she continues to stand there, domineering as always. "Move Cherrypaw, you're blocking my sun." Plaguepaw mumbles with an irritated swing of an oversized paw, attempting to shoo her off. He did not have much time before Quillstrike would inevitably waltz over and force him to be productive. (@Cherrypaw) ​

Go off the deep end​

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[Cherryblossom]

Cherrypaw rolls her shoulders like she's seen Slate do. Sun-cold eyes stare down at one of her archnemeses with all the aggressive indifference she can muster, like she doesn't particularly care what Plaguepaw does, she just wants him to do something. The sun-drenched stone looks awfully inviting, and if it weren't for Plaguepaw soiling them she could imagine herself slipping into its embrace, so smooth and warm as to be soft.

She narrows her eyes. She can't rest now, even though Slate had let her be for the rest of the day (probably more to get her out of his fur than anything). Her afternoon had been polluted by the heady notion of a goal. Not a single piece of fresh-kill on the pile was hers despite the morning's hunting patrol, but she still had the daylight to do something productive.

The larger apprentice swings out a paw in a long, lazy arc, which she neatly hops out of the way of. "Spar me." Her gaze needles his, blaring alarms against his sleepy insistence. "Spar me, Plaguepaw." she maintains annoyingly. "I know you want to." Her surprise match against Falconpaw seemed to have reminded Slate that, for all her nursery trash talk, Cherrypaw didn't have a single neuron of battle instinct behind her open mouth. The past half-moon seemed to have been all fighting stances and combination drills and "keep your ears down!", the prosperity of Green-leaf allowing for such distractions from the constant war against hunger.

Plaguepaw is still far bigger than her. At the tender age of six moons, the silver-streaked apprentice is almost her mother's size. His bones seem to be plotted along the same lines as Slate's, though his sickly beginnings and teenage metabolism stave off real muscle growth for now. She can beat him, she thinks. She's landed a few hits on Slate, sloppy hits while he was going agonizingly slow, but hits nonetheless. Plaguepaw is smaller than Slate though, and less trained too—how hard could it be? He'd be a perfect stepping stone on her way to pin Slate one day.​

 

[Plaguepaw]

I've been trying not to

Despite his lazy attempt to shoo her away his ears are bombarded by a potent demand. "Spar me." Turquoise eyes flutter open once more, a deeper scowl taking over his features as her gaze pierces his own. "What?" He blurts. She couldn't be serious, yet she repeats herself. The second time is stronger than the first, prodding at him as he sits up from his lounging position. "Are you loco? I don't want to spar you, I want to rest. Besides, it would be a waste of my time." Plaguepaw states with irritation dripping from his vocals. It was blatantly obvious that he would gain no rest here, not with her hovering over him like this. Peeling himself from the sun warmed stone her stands to his paws. "Go spar a butterfly or something." He offers, flicking twin tails with a sharp snap, Turning a grizzled back on his nemesis, Plaguepaw opts to walk off, attempting to leave her stewing in rejection. ​

Go off the deep end​

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