LUNCHBOX FRIENDS &. vigil

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

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they didn't care about the opinions. why didn't care if they hated pitchstar, or if they were glad that he was dead. they just needed to sit and be quiet for one fucking night. if they couldn't do that, there would be serious consequences. they sat down away from most everyone, claws digging in and out of the ground, a not very recognizable expression on their features. chilledstar's stomach hurt. they should have done this already but they managed to get too busy. now, however, was the time for it. better late than never. though pitchstar did not blame them, that didn't sway the guilt to completely leave them.

they lifted their head, watching other cats who either sat with a rude look upon their face, or the small few who actually seemed genuinely upset. they didn't want to be here, either, but not for the same reason as the cats who sat pouting. they lowered themself into a laying position, paw rubbing against their slowly aching head. couldn't this night be over already?
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[ravenpaw x]

Ravenpaw sat silently, as her leader had ordered, a perfect model for her clanmates. Her expression was neutral, but could be interpreted as a touch mournful, if one was charitable. She had even dipped her head in respect slightly. There was no disgust or distaste visible in her, but neither was there any distress. Instead, she was simply a still, silent picture of respect.

Internally, however, she was in turmoil.

Her brother did not deserve her mourning, she had told herself. Seeing those who disrespected his vigil, however, she could not deny the anger that rose in her. A small frustration that manifested in the slightest twitches of her whiskers, even as she tried to deny it with all her strength.

It was simply because they were being childish, she lied to herself. They were making a scene and it was embarrassing. That was all. — ♕​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Upon a cursory glance, it would appear Granitepaw is in mourning like the rest of his Clanmates. Pitchstar, after all, had not only been his leader -- the rosette tabby had been his mentor as well. Granitepaw had been stuck with the stinking pile of bones since he was four moons old, though he could count no higher than his number of paws the things Pitchstar had bothered to teach him. Granitepaw stares at their slate-colored forepaws. His green eyes are hazy, distant.

I killed you. The thought is a forbidden one. Taboo. He shouldn't think it. He knows better. He can feel Chilledstar's dismal presence, missing the cat they'd served under. Ravenpaw, who wears a queer expression he cannot read. His nemesis. Does she miss Pitchstar?

Granitepaw stares at the sleek black she-cat, a lump growing in his throat. He has to force himself to look away before her bright yellow eyes catch his. Starlingheart, he needs Starlingheart. A shield to hide behind. How their roles have switched.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[Starlingheart]

The young medicine cat of ShadowClan wears grief plain on her face as she stumbles forward on unwilling limbs. She has lost not one, not two but now three guardian figures. The only sibling that she had any semblance of closeness with. She, of course, knows death is not the end for cats of the clans but still, she wants him here, with them and not up there where she would only see him again in her dreams.

Or when it was her turn to join them.

She looks at Ravenpaw's face as she approaches, but she does not see her own mourning reflected there and it stops her from going to her sister to seek comfort. She knows most will not grieve like she will for their leader but to Starlingheart, Pitchstar could do no wrong. He was her big brother, after all. Her first mentor, her leader. She comes to Granitepaw's side, not daring to say a word out loud and break the silence demanded of them from the vigil but she presses her nose into her friend's shoulder.

If she could bury her face into his gray fur and never have to face the world again she would gladly do it.
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[DOGFUR]

He can afford to be quiet for a few hours.

Dogfur sat alone, far enough from the center of it all. He craned his head backward to study the looks on the others' faces. Chilledstar did not look happy—like this was a chore more than anything. Ravenpaw was quiet and seemed solemn enough. Granitepaw shares a similar expression. Dogfur was only distantly aware that the apprentice had been mentored by Pitchstar. He seemed to grieve no differently from Pitchstar's siblings. Dogfur yawned and broke his gaze away when Starlingheart pressed her face into Granitepaw's shoulder. He knew she would be suffering the most—it was highly likely.

Dogfur bore little emotional attachment to the leader. One could even think his apathetic presence was insincere, but he had the model of annoyed Chilledstar to justify his boredom. He scraped his claws against the ground. His head was empty for any prayer. All he could think of was who could do such a powerful thing.

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[CHITTERTONGUE]

જ➶ Death. It is part of nature, part of life. But death seems to hover over Shadowclan like a heavy black blanket that will not lift. He has seen the apparition too many times for his liking. Too many. Especially when it comes to his own family. It's cruel he supposes to lose family so quickly and so suddenly. To watch them in the throws of death over and over again, or to watch them walk out and never to return. Amber, Briar, Pitch..who is gonna be next. "...hehehaa...damn..." He breathes almost like a wheeze as he makes his way towards what is supposed to be a vigil for his brother. Were they going to find the rogue that did it? He doesn't know, and honestly with all this bad fortune he just hopes for something, anything to go right. The marsh colony has never had such bad luck but after the split, after everything it just seems to pile up onto their shoulders. Two toned eyes fixate on nothing and he places himself off to the side.

The tom bows his head, struggling to contain his feelings. The urge to leave in his paws. He bas never been comfortable with stuff like this and as his throat strains to keep in his sounds he flicks his tail back and forth. Over and over again. Once and then twice. Did his brother make it up into Starclan? Did he? Shadowclan curses Starclan so are the odds with them? He hates it that much is certain. They shouldn't have to live like this, playing a guessing game. Bowing his head he refuses to look at anyone. ​

 

[GECKOSCREECH]

⊵ usually a vigil for a fallen clanmate would be filled with close friends and family sharing tongues with the deceased one last time while bystanders who lacked a similar attatchment would sit back muttering words of condolences and prayers beneath sorrowful breaths as it's never easy losing someone you've grown used to seeing everywhere. a shame this was not one of them. pitchstar, despite caring for shadowclan in his own strange way, had all but soured most meaningful relationship with his subjects when he allowed himself to be consumed with grief and paranoia.

much like everyone else geckoscreech remains sat along the outskirts of the clearing with an expression void of any emotion, eyes trained carefully upon the center before looking over at those who attended this funeral. it seemed that there was only a few who truly looked mournful over this loss while the rest remained neutral which said quite a lot even in silence. ​

【 THERE'S SO MANY FAKE ASS PEOPLE PREYING ON YOU.】

 

[smogstar]

Inert forelimbs support the deputy's hunched frame. He's sequestered from the rest of them, his wet snout addressing the dirt beneath his paws, and his regard along with it. Through the fringes of his vision, he sees those who ached for their departed leader, those who share the sorrow of his family members, and the stoics who weren't moved by the spectacle at all. Given his aversion to the mourners, Smogmaw can very much see himself falling under the last category—but in all candidness, he isn't sure how he felt at all.

It's unclear to him what would quantify as an appropriate emotional response here. His mind is a blank canvas, embellished by sentiment only when the situation calls for it, and expunging itself clean once he was left alone. Having observed the bearings of his clanmates - Ravenpaw's reservedness, Granitepaw's nonacceptance, Starlingheart's distress, and Chilledstar's formality just to name some - he cannot justify feigning a demeanour even tangentially related to theirs. He does not sympathise for nor pity the dead. A mournful utterance is merely a breath wasted.

In life, Pitchstar was a man of many labels. Friend. Brother. Cousin. Leader. Bastard. Now that he's dead, he isn't any of them.

When he ultimately decides on an expression, it's nothing more than the beginnings of a frown.​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Pitchstar had not been a perfect leader. He had made mistakes, of course, and hadn't always made decisions with clarity, though Roosterstrut can hardly admit that he blamed him. He had lost so much in his life, including multiple family members, and had suffered through an unfortunate chain of events that led to him growing more paranoid and distrustful even of his own clanmates. It had been a tough downward spiral to witness, and just when it seemed as if Pitchstar would absolutely hit rock bottom, his lives had been taken from him. Roosterstrut hopes it was a swift end and that he hadn't suffered for long.

Roosterstrut's opinions on the late leader were mixed, while most of his clanmates either had a very black or white way of regarding him. Regardless of what anyone thought, Pitchstar had still served his clan dutifully and it was only right to give him one night of respect and tribute.

The orange tabby sits, a rare solemn look shadowing masculine features. He had known Pitchstar back when he was just Pitch, Briar's son, a fellow member of the Marsh Colony. He had been someone that younger Roosterstrut had looked up to. His death was only a grim reminder that the past was gone and that nothing ever remained constant. Would Chilledstar still be leading ShadowClan by next newleaf? How many faces would come and go?​

 

[Magpiepaw]

The black and white apprentice wanders forward, wobbling and stumbling, but arrives next to the rosette patterned tom without smashing his creation held firmly in his teeth. His blue-violet eyes dart around warily at first, uncertain, before he sets the mass of twigs and bits and baubles up against the fallen leader's side where hopefully it would disuade the birds from shredding his soul into pieces with sharp beaks and sweeping wings.
He hopes the ascent is quick and safe, he hopes his wings are spotty to match his tail, he hopes StarClan is more comfortable than it is here in the world where food is scarce and cats spill blood over the most trivial of things. Magpiepaw hopes, most of all, that Pitchstar doesn't smell in StarClan because that would make a very poor impression on the rest of the clan and when he eventually got to go too he didn't want to be known as the smelly cats.
The attempts to hide the wounds inflicted on the other are clumsy, if there were attempts at all, he can see the parts in the fur and the way it stiffly bristles around the areas; but whatever herbs were used to mask the scent of death were much more appealing than Starlingheart's den usually is. He rather likes them and makes a mental note to ask for some later. A smell that guards against decay, it sounded powerful.
"Goodbye Pitchstar...I've asked the birds to be nice to you when your soul goes up but I can't promise they will. Maybe if you yell at them they won't peck you though." He was always so good at yelling, it might work.
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