pafp make your soul breathe a little [sorting]

[CRAPPIEPATCH]

Crappiepaw simply loves sorting, organizing, and arranging. Whether it is their own collection or just a group of assorted objects, they enjoy taking a large group of things and splitting it up into smaller groups of things. Things belong in groups, especially when those groups of items have things in common. Besides, it is easier to take in the entirety of their collection when it is organized into groups that are obvious at first glance—it is exhausting, sometimes, to try and take it all in at once.

They sit in silence for a while, swiping and scooting things into groups with tired alabaster paws. The cat at their side has been sorting along with them, except—what on earth are they doing?! White brows shoot up, a concerned crinkle appearing between their brows. "Are you… making size groups?" Their tone drips with judgment as they turn to stare at Hazepaw with wide, intense green eyes.

Why would the silvery tabby arrange their groups by size? Does every apprentice not know that it is better to sort their collections by color? How do they plan on quickly finding a specific rock or leaf within the rest of the objects. Crappiepaw particularly enjoys sorting the gathered shells into separate colors, because some of the shells have multiple colors.

// pls wait for @Hazepaw
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[ my my, cold hearted child ]​

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[Hazewish]

WAKE UP TO THE SOUND OF YOUR FLEETING HEART ⋆⁺₊⋆

Sorting objects is not usually Hazepaw’s idea of a great time. She’s usually too restless to sit somewhere, organizing trinkets into neat lines. But Crappiepaw is older, which makes everything they do immediately more interesting, and she has the nagging suspicion that the reason behind this ritual arrangement will become clear once she has tried the practice herself. And, all things considered, it’s a nice enough time. She’s quickly engrossed in the process of putting her little collection in neat rows, from tiny pebbles to larger snail shells. The feather between her paws is proving to be a bit of a mind-twister: should it go on the large end, for its length, or the small end, since it’s so light and thin?

Crappiepaw’s voice distracts them from the internal debate. She’d nearly forgotten about the other apprentice, and their judgemental tone has her frowning in irritation: is this not the right way to do it? It seems so obvious.

Glancing sideways to the calico’s collection, they frown further. What is that? There’s hardly any rhyme or reason to it: a mismatch of shapes and size, with no color diversity to speak of.

”Logical,” they state, leveling an unimpressed look at Crappiepaw. Clearly the sickly apprentice needs all the help they can get: she’s younger and this is her first time sorting things and she’s already doing better than they are. Pointing at the other’s trinkets, they ask, ”Help?”

Without waiting for an answer, they reach out a paw to nudge one of Crappiepaw’s colorful shells towards a monochrome one of similar size.

[⋆]​

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[FERNGILL]

Fernpaw's almighty horde, despite its size, was not at all sorted. Stones and feathers and shells alike huddled mixed into a mountainous pile, one that cluttered his nest and encroached all the space around him. Though he was notoriously unpleasant to share that space with, the bright ginger tom had never truly pondered the idea of sorting his belongings. It would not make sense to separate them, in his mind- they were all equally beautiful, kept for their stunning appearance.

Turquoise eyes befell the array kept at the two apprentice's paws, and the tension that their clashing methods produced slipped right past him like water weaving through pebbles. Starlight lit bright in his gaze, admiring the menagerie; and completely missing the point of Hazepaw's encroachment of Crappiepaw's space, Fernpaw pointed toward the colourful shell that now lay next to the monochrome one, uncaring of the order they were placed in. "That one's so pretty," he remarked, eyelids fluttering. "Where'd you find it?" ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[CRAPPIEPATCH]

The calico sniffles harshly, breath rattling in their chest as they glance back and forth between their assorted objects and those that Hazepaw is sorting. Any peace that they may feel is erased when, rather than answering their question, Hazepaw offers her help. They do not need her help, especially when she takes matters into her own paws to move one of their shells around. "No!" They protest, tone sharp, as a white paw shoots out in an attempt to swipe the shell back where it belongs. Their expression is a picture of horror, green eyes wide and panicked. No, no, no! What a terrible idea!

They stare at the mess that Hazepaw has made for a long moment, and then squeeze their eyes shut, breathing deeply. They attempt to compose themself, collecting their wits as they consider their options. When they open their eyes once again, Crappiepaw turns to stare at the other apprentice. In a more flat, calm voice, they murmur, "Those are not the same color." Why would the silvery tabby think that anything should be organized according to their shape or size?

The ginger tom who approaches next draws a smile from Crappiepaw—a relief. Perhaps Fernpaw will be on their side, help them to convince Hazepaw of just how wrong her idea is. Fernpaw compliments one of the shells that the silver tabby had moved, and the sickly tom nods eagerly. "Thank you, Fernpaw. I found it near the bridge." The colorful shell is one of their favorites, and one of the objects that they must take back to the island camp with them. The flick their stumpy tail, eyes narrowing as they look back at the shells. "How do you sort your things?"
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[ my my, cold hearted child ]​

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[RAVENSONG]

Ravenpaw lacked the kleptomaniac habits of his Clanmates. He did like nice, feathery things, but he had never gathered rocks and shells into what could be described as an entire collection. They were pointy, hard, and difficult to move. He would stick to dried flowers and feathers. The others could squabble over their stones.

He can't see color like the others can—Ravenpaw knows that for certain, but he doesn't know how his peers see it. He was told that his vision was muted, less hues, but he had never known a difference. All he could figure out that he was somehow missing something was when he looked down and realized that Crappiepaw's monochromatic rock didn't look drastically different from the other one Hazepaw was pointing at.

Thus, his opinion would be made. "I'd sort them by size, too, if I picked up rocks."

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[iciclefang]

Iciclefang, like Ravenpaw, is hardly interested in collecting trinkets. Her Clanmates' nests are filled to the brim with shells, feathers, bits of dried flowers, stones, and scales, but she keeps hers clean and free of debris. She wears nothing on her prettily patterned pelt, nothing but river water. She's not even particularly interested in watching the group of apprentices sort their bits and pieces, but her injury has driven her to an intense boredom, and her boredom leaves her restless.

The tortoiseshell warrior limps along after Ravenpaw, careful not to worsen her injury. She looks at Crappiepaw all but smack Hazepaw's paw away for daring to sort their shell differently, and amusement glimmers like frost in her light blue eyes. Fernpaw, of course, hovers as though something interesting is happening.

She throws the medicine cat apprentice a glance and says, "If I were to waste my time with rocks, I'd probably sort them by color." She shrugs. "Or maybe not. Maybe I'd not sort them at all."

She watches warriors leave camp and she sighs, wistful. How she wishes she could be doing something productive. Her days have been reduced to this -- talking about trinkets with apprentices...​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[dovethroat.]

Having not met the bar to graduate to warriorhood, Dovepaw was immediately jaded by the ongoing conversation—and the fact that he was annoyed himself more than anyone was doing to him. Crappiepaw and Fernpaw were hardly (if at all) younger than he was, and they would be warriors soon, talking about these same things but with a different name. Regardless, knowing that he could have already reached some level of society but had failed was tainting all of his thoughts right now; you would have to forgive him for being such a sourpuss.

The appearance of Iciclefang does not make him feel any better. In fact, it probably makes the placid frown on his face turn into a borderline scowl.

Dovepaw did not sort. His mother had derisively pointed out that any thing that he ever collected, like bird feathers or a nice-looking leaf, was left in a pile that was not exactly internally cohesive. His mother made fun of plenty of things that he did, and it was part of why he probably stopped even collecting such things once he left the nursery.

Standing nearby, sniffing. Dovepaw ponders what the best way to go about it would be. And then (perhaps just to be contrary to a certain someone), he decides that: "I'd, uh, d-do... do color, t-too. Probably."

[⋆]​

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[FERNGILL]

Fernpaw had not foreseen a debate when he had approached, but here it was- with Crappiepaw's swat of Hazepaw's attempt to 'help', apparently by sorting their belongings, each present apprentice began to speak of how they would prefer to sort their piles- if they had one. So reliant on his hoard since kit-hood, Fernpaw could not imagine having nothing to sleep beside in your nest- no glimmering stones catching starlight, or pretty, winding shells that brought good fortune.

Asked directly, he stood silent and stunned for a few moments. "Sort them?" A small wind-chime of a laugh left him at the implication. It seemed a waste of time- and unfair to the trinkets themselves! "Well- everything I have is so beautiful. It all looks nice just... together." He collected things for their beauty, after all- if you sorted things because of a common trait, he supposed he already sorted them just by collecting.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[Hazewish]

TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

Hazepaw almost rolls her eyes at Crappiepaw’s outburst, but she does retract her paw without further protest. It’s not her responsibility to make sure their collection is sorted in the best possible way — even if she cannot imagine looking at this uneven, lumpy hoard next to her nest every night.

One’s organization is a personal thing, after all, and there are as many ways to do it as there are cats in the clan, or such is the impression they get from the other apprentices — and the one young warrior — piping up with their own opinions on the subject. They can appreciate the breadth of styles, although they have to admit, privately, that their and Ravenpaw’s way of doing things still seems more obvious.

Iciclefang’s dismissive comment does make them roll their eyes, scoffing quietly. Like she’s above collecting things, just because she’s a warrior! The way Hazepaw sees it, she’s way more miserable than the rest of them who actually take the time to enjoy pretty rocks and shells. They’re about to call her out on it when Fernpaw asks, sincerely baffled: Sort them?

She draws short, blinking at the ginger apprentice. ”Together?” she repeats, equally baffled by the concept of not doing any sorting at all. She glances at Crappiepaw as if to share her confusion with the other apprentice: they may not sort items by the same system, but at least they can agree that there has to be a system!

[⋆]​

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[FOXKIT!!]

❪ TAGS ❫ — As a scatterbrained kit, Foxkit does not appreciate the art of collecting... at least not yet. Once in a while the reddish fluffball would find a cool-looking leaf or a feather, but he wasn't really interested in hoarding them for himself. He was more interested in playing with them!

Foxkit couldn't help but stick his nose into business that wasn't his own. He waddled on over to where cats were crowding around, and while he didn't know what he was expecting, it certainly wasn't rocks. "Why d'ya' care about sorting them?" Foxkit asked bluntly, eyeing the array of different colors and sizes. Some of them looked neat, but... they were rocks! What were they good for? Besides.... "We should throw 'em. Can I throw one? I bet I could throw the furthest." It would be so cool if Crappiepaw and Hazepaw let him throw their rocks. Foxkit never got to throw stuff! He was always discouraged from doing so. Maybe if this activity was allowed with permission from the older cats, then he could throw stuff all he wanted!​

 

[CRAPPIEPATCH]

The calico rolls their eyes when Ravenpaw speaks up—the healer’s apprentice cannot even see the differences between many colors, so his opinion is discarded immediately. Iciclefang’s words also do not mean much, because while the calico is their friend, she also does not often do anything fun. Perhaps while she is injured, Crappiepaw can convince the she-cat to help them sort their things; the clan should hopefully be moving back into their camp soon, and so Crappiepaw must get their hoard organized quickly. And Iciclefang agrees that she would sort them by color, so she is a perfect candidate to aid them. They flick an ear at her, murmuring, "Maybe you should try it. You might enjoy it." They cast a smile at Dovepaw, glad that at least someone seems to agree with them wholeheartedly.

The gasp that leaves their mouth when Fernpaw implies that he does not organize his hoard at all is near-scandalized, an alabaster paw raising to cover their muzzle. Their eyes narrow for a moment and then they murmur, "Fernpaw, you are my friend. I respect you a lot. But I cannot respect that." They cast a glance over to Hazepaw, meeting the silvery tabby’s eye in a gesture of agreement. It is better for the other apprentice to sort by something as strange as size than it is to not sort at all. "It does not look good all together—right, Hazepaw?"

The next clanmate to approach is a kit, and Crappiepaw looks down at him with a neutral, almost intrigued expression. They do enjoy the curiosity of kits, and consider offering Foxkit a shell or a rock. But then the child speaks, and Crappiepaw’s eyes narrow. The menace wants to throw them. "No," they grumble, a tinge of panic invading their tone. "You will not throw any of my things. Or maybe I will throw you." Their warning would be much more intimidating, perhaps, if it weren’t followed directly by a sneeze that wracks their entire frame.
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[ my my, cold hearted child ]​

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