private MACHINEHEAD —— kite

[SLATESNARL]

He is situated outside of the medicine den today, just reclined near the mouth of the healer's abode. Slate doesn't look particularly comfortable, as not only he was missing his old nest but also his hip was constantly aching with poppy seeds providing temporary relief. Dawnglare had practically forced the former lead warrior out, having claimed that his vast form was hogging his precious space, so Slate was glad to oblige and sluggishly haul himself elsewhere. The sun on his face felt refreshing, as did the cooling leaf-fall breeze that swept through the evergreens — it was hard to believe that he had ever taken these simple things for granted. The Maine Coon was breathing, feeling, smelling, seeing, hearing, tasting — he was alive when he damn well couldn't have been. Whatever universal forces were at play on that fated day—maybe even StarClan—had decided that Slate deserved their mercy. All he could wonder is why.

The hustle and bustle of the departing and arriving patrols, the chattering gossipers, and the rowdy play of kits eventually were drowned from Slate's mind. In this fleeting reality of his, it is just him and the pines as well as the chirping birds and scurrying squirrels. He longs to track and pursue them, to catch a damn meal himself, but he begrudgingly acknowledges that his situation cannot be helped.

The tranquility does not last for long. Out of the corner of his amber eye, Slate spots a black tabby form prowling toward him, untrustworthy and dodgy as they were. They have yet to do anything else that warrants Slate's suspicion since the border incident, but that didn't mean that he trusted them. "What d'ya' want?" The male grumbles. Slate does not currently possess that same fieriness that he's infamous for — constantly feeling drowsy from herbs and low on energy on account of his bedridden state has truly transformed him into a husk of that wolfish beast he once was. He is still big and imposing, but there is a dullness to the bite in his words; he is no longer a threat. He might as well be a cranky elder ( not that anyone should tell him that ).

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

• @KITE

• 

• 

  a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-two moons. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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[KITESTORM]

✦​

In an effort to remain under the radar of those who are... adverse to outsiders, Kite speaks rarely to any who specifically questioned them rougher than others following the visit their siblings made to the Twoleg border. The shadow-like cat errs on the side of caution, avoiding eye contact with those such as Slate. But since the accident Slate was in, it is undeniable the fire they were met with is merely smoldering, not even hot to the touch.

There is a slight hope that in some way Slate could be some sort of... friend. Kite has gathered Slate had been a rogue in a past life, the name alone told them as much. Prior to Skyclan, the tabby was the kind to relentlessly speak their mind, unafraid of the consequences; maybe it would be the same if it weren't for just how much they've grown to love the clan. The old Kite would have snarled at Slate's questions and challenge the much larger tom. A moon and some change has already ripped these habits away, morphed Kite into the perfect image of a clan cat. The news of Slate's fearlessness, and the consequences, drew the attention of Kite and they would be mouse-brained to not feel more respect towards the tom for his selflessness. This newfound inch of respect is why Kite saunters towards him now.

What d'ya' want? Kite pays no attention to his grumble and instead settles on their haunches next to him, a polite amount of space between the two (Kite reckons Slate would toss them around if they sat as close as they would to anyone else). Kite mumbles, "I don't want... anything from you." Kite's ears flick nonchalantly as an uncomfortable silence blankets the two.

"Mm... Slate, you've been in the clan for a rather... long time?" Kite's round head tilts, their frown turning upwards. They know Slate's been around for quite some time, but hopes this will be a decent way to begin some sort of conversation with the tom. "What drew you here?"

✦ ╔═══《✧》═══╗

•  
• — black tabby with a small stature and compact muscles ; TAGS
  — 39, ages every 21st
  — they/them
  — speech
  — peaceful powerplay allowed

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[SLATESNARL]

A sour frown screws onto Slate's muzzle as Kite reassures him that they didn't want anything, but judging by the way they sat in such close proximity to him, he knew that wasn't true. They wanted his attention, and for what reason he didn't know. He had not uttered a single nice thing to the former rogue since they'd arrived on SkyClan's borders; in fact, he'd called them a threat to the safety of the clan. No one had bothered listening to him then, but he supposes that nothing bad's necessarily happened... yet.

A shredded ear twitches as Kite instigates a conversation, attempting an excavation on a topic often gone unaddressed by Slate in discussions with his clanmates — his past. How he came to be a member of SkyClan. Why do they want to know? His dark pupils narrow, lifting back to scrutinize the black tabby's features to gauge an apparent motive.

The Maine Coon nearly snaps that his background is none of their business, but a foreign feeling drives him in another direction. To confide in another about his origins was not typical of the former lead warrior, so finally being able to reflect upon them was... compelling. "I..." Slate begins with a lingering hesitance to share personal information with someone who is practically still a stranger to him, "... Trespassed." Stars, it had been so long ago now, hadn't it? Time had slipped beneath his paws; he had arrived in SkyClan a shifty, thieving street cat with no loyalties or honor of his own.

He blinks, amber stare now drifting off to a distant corner of camp as he recalls the circumstances of his arrival, "It was leafbare. I was hungry, lookin' for food." Kite could probably conclude that he had been an outsider, not one who had been pampered and kept by twolegs but one who had lived the life of a starving stray. "Chased a mouse over the fence 'n I ran into a patrol. My brother, Cloverjaw, found me. He asked Blazestar if I could stay, 'n the rest is history." Slate's brother had been his one saving grace, really. Blazestar had no reason to put his faith in a lowly rogue, especially with SkyClan's constant feuding with them, but Cloverjaw had vouched for him. SkyClan took a chance on Slate when he perhaps had not deserved one; now, nearly two cycle-of-seasons later, he had lived as a clan cat for around half of his lifespan.

"It took a long time for me t' earn my keep. To feel like I belonged." It had taken Slate an embarrassing amount of time, admittedly. Feeling torn in two, like he was two things at once, had persisted within his heart up until a couple of seasons ago. "Everything you ever know as a street cat—selfishness, only huntin' for yourself, senseless killing, livin' without a purpose—you leave it all behind." That was not to say that it was not a long and difficult process to do so. Only when he had killed a rogue had he felt that he had completely abandoned his former self. That same realization could come sooner or later for Kite ( well, that is, if they were truly set on living here ).

Slate's stern gaze drifts back to Kite's hues of olive green. "You must, if you wanna be a true clan cat." He pauses, almost expectant in a way, awaiting a reaction. Part of him hopes they would realize that SkyClan was not meant for them—that loyalty and law were not meant for them—so that they would not inconvenience the clan by discovering their mistake later on. They had no wiggle room for fickle allegiance and uncertainty in their ranks.

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

• 

• 

  a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-two moons. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

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[KITESTORM]

✦​

Kite is taken aback when Slate begins to share, in truth they expected to be snapped at and sent away. Kite leans forward as casually as they can manage as Slate begins to divulge his history to them. Their expressionless face reveals nothing about the delight they feel that Slate is somehow sharing this information with them. "Your brother...?" Kite briefly considers pressing Slate about his kin but swiftly decides against it; relenting to just being silent.

'To feel like I belong.' Despite their intention to remain stone-like and silent, Kite sighs in understanding. They know much about feeling out of place, a feeling that began even prior to joining Skyclan. As Slate unveils his past, it dawns on Kite: their histories are not as similar as Kite had presumed. Kite was not wholly selfish as a rogue. Kite could not tolerate their life any longer in the Twolegplace, thus why they came to Skyclan. Would this be considered an act of selfishness? But no, Kite can not tolerate such a notion when they came to Skyclan to die for them and do what it seems most the clan cannot. '...senseless killing...' This, Kite has vowed to never be capable of again.

"I've left it behind," Kite assures him but the tabby knows Slate would likely not accept this to be the truth. They direct their dim stare upon Slate and tenses. "I've said... many times before I understand your... apprehensions about me and about other joiners..." Kite's words trail away as they hear the fronds of the camp entrance shudder and their eyes watch as a patrol pads in. Each morning, Florabreeze returns in a similar manner and in those moments Kite feels lighter and her mind less foggy.

Their attention snaps back to Slate and they murmur, "My heart lies here. I don't just... I'd rather die than have to leave this clan for any reason. I left my wicked family behind and pledged to find a new one here." Kite attempts to smile, a wavering and thin thing before continuing, "And I have. Slate, despite our differences... I'd reckon I'd follow you straight into danger and have your back."

✦ ╔═══《✧》═══╗

•  
• — black tabby with a small stature and compact muscles ; TAGS
  — 39, ages every 21st
  — they/them ✧ mate to Florabreeze
  — speech
  — peaceful powerplay allowed

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