camp LISTEN TO THE RAIN | Eavesdropping

[Petalstep .]

( ｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ ) The only thing that the apprentice had noticed about new-leaf thus far that it was wet. Just wet. It was as if the air itself was damp, what kind of atrocity was that?
Finding a dry enough spot in camp, Petalpaw had settled herself down to groom at her fur, washing away the dapples of scattered rain away with one ear perked as she listened to her surroundings.
Two couples chatted loudly only a fox length away, one of them sharing the exciting news of kits, the other pair chattering on about how their time would come soon enough, what they would name them, how excited they were.
Something tugs at the back of Petalpaws mind then, were my parents this excited about me?
Yet she blinks the thought away, licking away the last of the stubborn droplets that still clung to her maw. She didn’t even know them, or who they were- what was the point in aimlessly wondering about them?
She fluffs her pelt out then just as an indignant cry rings out from somewhere near the nursery, an angry kit scampering in her direction.
Petalpaw’s head tilts as they collapse next to her with a huff, their clearly annoyed mother only popping her head out of the nursery before disappearing with a defeated shake of her head.
Petalpaw wasn’t sure that she minded kits all that much, she was barely grown herself.
Yet, when the kit opens their mouth only to start whining about how unfair and terrible their mother is, Petalpaw is suddenly overcome with the urge to bop them.
Moms are just so unfair! Right, Petalpaw?
When the young kit cranes their head sideways to look at her, Petalpaw’s tail flicks in annoyance. ”Be grateful, and take your woes somewhere else.”
Her flat words are enough to make the kit pout and run back towards the nursery, leaving Petalpaw to lightly rest her head on her forepaws, watching almost bitterly as the kit disappears behind the dens walls.
I don’t think I want kits, they’re brats.
”Speech.”​

( KEEP ABOUT YOUR WITS ; KNOW YOURSELF AND WHO YOU CAME IN WITH )

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"Irritating aren't they." The shadow that fell over Petalpaw was as dark as the cat himself, only lightly spotted in some places that almost softened the otherwise bristling and spiky edges of his pelt; not enough for his silhouette to be anything but intimidating but enough that a second glance might disuade the immediate wariness his stoic form often instilled in cats. He had witnessed the exchange, a mixture of a amusement and a knowing expression making his whiskers quiver in idle thought. His comment was meant more for kits in general, but perhaps it could also speak towards parents in its own way.
Some cats didn't care to nuture their kits, often even abandoning them to go about their lives. Lives brought into the world to be foolishly discarded without a care, the callousness was even appaling to him and he detested having to watch kits. Maybe he'd sing a different tune if he ever had his own, but it wasn't something he had much of an interest in currently. The duties of a warrior were many and his even moreso, he wanted to focus on the clan now and not selfish things like rearing kittens so soon after newleaf. It would take time for RiverClan to adjust to normalcy again.
"Kitsitting, Petalpaw? Or did you have something else to be doing?"
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[CICADASTAR]

he’d never put much stock in kits of his own. his childhood had been a blur of rotten memories and the feeling of pressing into his brothers coiled fur when their mother was not present to tell him to stand straighter, shape up, lift your chin. he watches the youth mill about his camp and it is enough — to simply watch, guide them as well as he could into warriorhood. but his track record of child figures has been disheartening, tragic, and he loathes to give it any more thought than that. pumpkinpaws death, and quietpaw’s abrupt disappearance moons ago. the uptick of twolegs about their territory came with a price, and he could only hope that the latter had found solace somewhere instead of suffering at the hands of the no - furred beasts. he does not talk about it. religiously, like a secret, he keeps his tragedies close — walls laden with barbed wire and the scraps of those who’d tried to scale them before.

the chimera didnt know if he had it in him to risk disaster again. the thought knocks around in his chest, lodges in his throat, makes him desperate to turn away, but he does not. the leader is lounging on his side a tail length away, shaded beneath the dew - damp newleaf undergrowth. it’s shaded here, comfortable, curls slick and pristine. learning to clean himself with the brand new rip in his maw has been a challenge, much like his balance, the loss of only a few whiskers leading his coordination askew. despite himself, he watches still, pale eyes hyperfocused on the irritable child. upset about his mother. the encounter is short, quick, but he sees the molly plop her head down, annoyed, and feels amusement kindle in the depths of his chest. the kitten would forget the interaction within moments, most likely — already playing, toppling with his littermates, but petalpaw seemed bothered. his gaze flicks to the kit as he toddles away, pout already fading as he disappears within the nursery.

slowly, he lifts himself with an audible ‘ hyup ‘, a grunt accompanied by a long, slow stretch to alert the girl to his presence. at that moment comes smokethroat, and he is ever grateful for his proximity, despite his grumpiness. so he moves close, aims to flick him with his tail, a small grin stretching across the unmarred side of his face, “ irritating as they may be, you were a kit once too, petalpaw. not too long ago. “ he speaks, and it is not chastising — oddly sloping vocals tinged with something unidentifiable. tender, just verging on something sorrowful. nostalgic, “ that nursery, this clan, is their whole world. any problem they face is a brand new experience.. to someone who’s never had hardships, every little inconvenience must seem like the end itself. ” so be kind. it’s unsaid, but he settles, cranes an ear towards the tiny, echoing screeches of childish excitement that pours from within the woven den. smokethroat continues, inquires, and he simply sits, listens for her response — but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere amongst the litters and early newleaf miracles.

− ♱ information out of character ⟐ visual reference translated ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

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[Petalstep .]

( ｡ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ ) "Irritating aren't they."
The familiar voice that addresses her doesn’t pose a question, his tone more of agreement than anything.
”N-” She’s cut off before she can properly answer, and a spark of annoyance flickers in her chest, not that her poker face could betray that as she looks up to Smokethroat, the light behind the lead warrior making him even more looming than usual.
She can only tilt her head, almost too casually, before she responds to his next prompt. ”A child watching children is kind of ironic, isn’t it?” She chimes back towards him.
When Cicadastar joins in with his own two cents, Petalpaw’s ears flatten, displaying her reluctance to his words. ”He wasn’t irritating me, Cicadastar, I just wasn’t going to subject myself to listening to him vent about his mother not letting him wander off too far” she replied, her tone keeping a steady cool. She followed the leaders gaze to the cheerful squeals of the kit who had been pouting minutes before, the playful yowls of his littermates following shortly after, and she diverts her attention back to Smokethroat, ”He seems grumpier about it than I do” she hums, but her tone is humorous, suddenly uncomfortable where the conversation was heading, she sprinkled in a bit of sunshine- amusement, she decided it was.
”Speech.”​

( KEEP ABOUT YOUR WITS ; KNOW YOURSELF AND WHO YOU CAME IN WITH )

 

[DARTERWING]

(=^･ｪ･^=))ﾉ彡♡ — A cat of Darterwing’s grown age should be preparing to bring kits to the clan this New-leaf, or at least that’s what her parents had been reminding her. They seemed to pester her older siblings moreso than her about this thought, Darterwing assumes this is because even if they appeared accepting her image has not recovered after becoming a drypaw. Rebelliously Darterwing smirks at the idea of bombarding them with drypaw grandkits, but truth be told she wasn’t ready for kits; wasn’t sure she ever was. She had many partners who she could pursue and take on as a mate, but settling down and ceasing playing the field sounded like no fun.

No mates or kits for her this new-leaf, maybe the next, maybe not…

”Well lucky for you Petalpaw, we’ll have more kits for you to look after in no time!” A blatant tease as she descends upon the scene. Today she appeared to be adorning some sort of flower in her fur, a nice pop in color against her monochrome pelt. ”I pray that all our queens are carrying at least six each… D’ja know that’s possible Petalpaw? Just imagine, we have… three queens right now? Oh, by next moon we could have- well I can’t even count how many that’d make for you to watch!”— tags​

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

He likes to think he'd been a fairly well-behaved kit. If only for the difficult life he'd had to lead, and how busy it'd kept him. From even before that night on the Thunderpath, to the moons he'd spent beneath Flint's paws, there'd been little time for sass. Then again, well– nobody gets this way without some sort'f mark on their history. His sass certainly must've come from somewhere. Your father, his mind supplies, and despite all the growing that they two of them have done since that night of revelation, he'd still grown up not knowing the term. Not knowing that he'd had one. In a way, he supposes he understands Petal, then.

Even still, he's not certain he can understand the reaction to the child's words. His head's tilted in silent thought, but by the time his words even begin to crawl out of their holes, a crowd's already formed 'round the group. He lets go of whatever quiet story he'd been close to telling, and instead comes closer with a jest of his own: "Ah, I doubt there's much beneath these stars Smokethroat's not all that bothered by," he snickers.

"And don't you go hoping for more of those things than you can keep track of yourself," he threatens Darterwing, with a laugh echoing along in the pause, "each one'll need an apprentice– stars know you'd wind up with the most irritating ones in the bunch." He almost hopes it's true, too, just to see how well his friend would fare. Probably better than he'd give her credit for, in truth.

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• NOTICE: hound's name has changed from houndsnarl to houndstride! sorry for any confusion.
  
  ooc: —
• ──── houndstride. trans male, he - him - his pronouns.
  ──── over three years old. born late december of 2020.
  ──── bisexual but with a heavy masc preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

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[SMOKESTAR]

Cicadastar's presence softens his remark, pulls the venom from his words; he is almost annoyed at the other for appearing so gently to offer council when he felt he was doing fine on his own. Petalpaw almost answers him with a 'no' but catches herself, realizing she didn't need to be so polite unless needed. She was a cheeky little thing wasn't she? When she was not morose her words were curt and cutting, he had half a mind to cuff her just because it reminded him too much of Iciclepaw's backtalk but it was all in good jest and the dark tom merely rolled his shoulders in reply. He wasn't allowed an opinion about grumpy cats, he was the king of them even apparently.
The black and a gray form of one of their few drypaw warriors appears, her cheer clipped and her comments earning a scowl from him almost immediately.
"Don't put such blasphemy out into the world, Darterwing, we don't need that many kittens around the camp right now." They just got done with the last two surprise leafbare litters and he sometimes still wanted to strangle Willowroot when he thought about it. Boneripple had been a more unwanted of the two surprises and she hardly contributed much outside wasting the other queen's times until recently and now she was scarce as could be.
As he sat there surly at the idea of having three litters with six kits each (they better not) roaming around this temporary hovel of a camp he could not help but look up from his frowning as the brown tabby arrived with a joke at his expense.

"Are you teasing me? That's hardly fair, Houndstride. There's several things that don't bother me. You're not one of them, but there are several." The dark tom's teeth contrast bright white as he shows them in an amused smirk, the faintest tilt to his tone indicating a teasing remark and not something serious.


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