no angst maybe i should love myself / bath time

[Needledrift]

Mornings had always been Needle's favorite time of day. They were calming compared to the midday hustle and bustle of apprentices and warriors flitting in and out of camp to drop off prey and gossip. They were far more forgiving compared to the stress and anxiety the nighttime would bring - ever since the bear attack, Needledrift had not slept quite right in her now lonely nest. Mornings were... safe, what with the sun peeking out from between the trunks of the pine trees and the clan slowly beginning to arise from their nests to start their day.

Needledrift herself was off to a lazy start, opting out of a casual patrol for an after-breakfast bath. Her tongue rasped over soft gray fur, slowly (clumsily) detangling the previous night's clumps of bed-head. Without full movement of her jaw, she was exceedingly inefficient at her voluntary task, but even a half-hearted attempt was better than a stinking pelt in her opinion. If she were lucky, maybe one of her clan-mates would join her in her mundane quest for cleanliness. ​

 

[FERNDANCE]

Stepping out into ShadowClan's camp, Ferndance's cinnamon tabby was adorned with withered leaves and other such floral trinkets from another night spent in a messy nest. A quick shake of her bristly coat rid her of some of the tamest wildflowers, it would a proper grooming session to remove the rest, but such things were rarely a priority in her mind. She'd got lucky with her patrol timings, a dusk patrol coming home late meant that she had not been chosen for any morning patrols, but with the encroaching heat, she doubted she would get some extra sleep out of the oversight. Emerald eyes still lidded with exhaustion, Ferndance gave a quick scan of camp that revealed a few candidates for conversation. A few elders, cooling themselves on the chilling earth, a few nursery queens, twice as tired as her due to looking after their broods for what must've been two moons now. Finally, her gaze settled upon Needledrift, a little spark returning to her vision as she began to move over to her. No sooner did the Lead Warrior arrive on lanky legs did she find herself flopping over before the other, resting her chin on two different coloured paws as she stared up at Needledrift like a forlorn puppy.

Despite that, a smile still blossomed on Ferndance's face, watching quietly as Needledrift idlely bathed herself in the light of the morning sun. Then, a question popped into her head. "Can you bathe me next?" She asked innocently, tilting her head to one side. A Queen a few months ago had not been so receptive to the idea (perhaps because of the way she worded it, perhaps because she looked like she'd just rollen out of a leaf pile), but with sharing tongues such a huge part of clan culture, she would find a way to get involved one way or another.

​

 

[mottlefox]

Mottlepaw is staunchly of the opinion that mornings suck. She's a night cat through and through, though her autumnal pelt and pale markings do no favours on her concealment. But ... occasionally, when the sun rises just right and the first days of dawn aren't particularly offensive, she doesn't mind. Today is one of those days, with the leggy apprentice coming to with a paw definitely not in someone else's nest and gentle sun filtering through the den.

Carefully picking past sleeping apprentices, and whiskers twitching as someone rolls over with a loud snore, Mottlepaw exits the den and blinks against the sunlight. Through the reflexive watering of her eyes she catches sight of Needledrift giving herself a bath, with Ferndance approaching in a seemingly good mood, but all she can think of is that this activity is a perfect summoning ritual for one (1) Wheatpaw and her tendency towards maintaining a perfect pelt.

"Oh no," she whines quietly, racking her brains to remember if the red-furred apprentice had still been asleep. She finds she doesn't know. Uh oh! "There's two of them."

The scruffy apprentice decides to try her luck on sneaking past, to act natural and seem as nonchalant as possible. The two warriors would surely be in their own little world anyway, Ferndance flopped on her side in a playful manner before the green-eyed molly, so surely neither would notice the visible dent in her short fur from where she'd slept on it.

"Mo-o-" Mottlepaw is interrupted promptly by a wide yawn, all teeth and squinting eyes- "rrrrrning."

​

 

[Wheattail]

For Wheatpaw, the life of a loner came packaged with early risings. The wanderer wanted to get as much out of the daylight as possible, endless and aimless walking synchronized to the sun. Forcing herself to stop and stay in Shadowclan for the time being hadn’t changed that habit. Amber eyes slowly opened the same time as always, and the apprentice was silently grateful to the nest beneath her before standing and getting ready for the day ahead.

Wheatpaw had been awake about as long as Needledrift, the two going about their own business before an action by the older she-cat caused their paths to intersect. Like Mottlepaw predicted, the sound of a tongue traipsing across clumped fur caught the apprentice’s attention like a kittypet and a can opener. Wheatpaw had been working through more taken paths and remembered landmarks to try and concoct a course home, but to the back-burner it went as the wanderer decided that this was more important.

Amber eyes scoured Needledrift while autumn paws propelled her forwards at a leisurely pace, going from sharp to soft as Wheatpaw considered Shadowclan’s mostly silent member. Needledrift was the first to find the Somali lookalike sleeping on the territory, and so far she was one of the few the wander decided she would miss whenever she left. Perhaps she could offer a goodbye when the time came? Undoubtedly the unwilling apprentice would have to leave secretly, but she doubted Neddledrift would be the type to tattle to Chilledstar.

Pushing those thoughts away and towards the future, Wheatpaw sat down next to Needledrift and what was apparently her new puppy, regal as ever. “I would not be opposed to helping either of you.” She offered immediately, detached words contradicted by the slight sense of desire in her voice. Sharp eyes would also lock with Mottlepaw, the Somali lookalike flashing a teasingly disappointed glare at her peer (and, more specifically, her pelt), though she would say nothing.​

 

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — Sharing tongues among his Clanmates was not a frequent tradition Sabletuft attended, if only because he had come to feel repelled by physical touch. He was not an affectionate cat, hardly had been even when Rye was still alive. The two were very private cats overall, keeping their affections away from the eyes of their fellow colony cats. They hardly even passed 'I love you's' in public.

Now, especially after the great Battle, the closeness of the warriors den even nauseated him at times, leading him to stray out in the marshes late at night to calm himself down. In recent moons he had found himself returning back to what he once was. Never forgetting the blood that caked his paws, but doing his best to move on from it all.

And from the warriors den he rose that morning. His first instinct was to seek out his apprentice to begin their day, but seeing Needledrift and some others gather for the communal act of grooming one another was... tempting. Does he participate? Would it be strange, approaching the she-cats for that sort? He veered away at first to continue his path to the apprentices den, waiting for the form of a cream tabby to rise.

"Swanpaw, have you shared tongues with your Clanmates yet?" Maybe it was something Halfshade had already introduced him to, but even if she had he would encourage the younger tom to participate in their Clan's cultures. — tags

-- @swanpaw ​

 

[hitch]

┌──═━┈━═──┐
────── R O S E M I R E ──────
└──═━┈━═──┘

He has bittersweet memories of sharing tongues. Far more bitter than sweet these days, though, and logically he knows he's attached too much to that moment in the marsh, seeking shelter from summer rain. It was soft, it was warm, and he idealizes it more than he probably ought to. He just can't reconcile Cicadastar with Distant Cicada. Neither of them are who they used to be. But that's all in the past now, however he feels, and this morning can be a new start for...something.

That something being Needledrift, who seems intent on spiffying herself up. Given enough time, she might be able to give herself a total makeover— if it didn't rain and get her muddied again, anyway. Yet Ferndance asks to be bathed, rather than offer help, and he gives her a rather dubious glance before regarding Mottlepaw curiously. Her vague comment is clarified by Wheatpaw's arrival, and she's sending her fellow apprentice the stink-eye for that remark. Rightfully, probably.

"Morning," he returns, a bit awkwardly. "Sounds like Wheatpaw's got you covered. Both of you, even. Got your work cut out for you there." It's a weak, teasing comment, though neither Needledrift or Ferndance are what Rosemire would consider unhygienic. "Think I'll sit this one out, though— got burned a little yesterday and grooming's kind of...touch and go." It's a convenient excuse.

//had to edit a lil bc i overlooked the thread tag, my bad aksbfka
shouldn't be writing this late
​

​

 

[Maggotfur.]

🕱 NO I DON'T MIND YOU ARE A BEAUTY 🕱

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maggotpaw & 09 moons & female & she/her & shadowclan apprentice​

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Maggotpaw has always taken pride in her appearance and hygiene - a curtsey she also extends towards others, going so far as to drag her friends into her grooming sessions against their will. Sharing tongues is a tradition she enjoys, a rare time to see her smile - a gentle look upon her face despite ice cold eyes. Her own pale pelt is already neat and tidy, pink tongue just putting in the last few swipes, when the idle chatter catches her attention - "I can do it if you'd like," she offers ferndance instead - she likes the molly, strange as she is, finds her entertaining after all. She could do with a nice grooming session - maggotpaw would bet a whole frog that ferndance might actually be pretty if only she kept her fur a bit neater.

— not temptation, you're my creation ♛

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a massive tabby she-cat with striking turquoise eyes, there has always been something not-right about her. cold and apathetic, and more than a bit unhinged, the monster that is maggotpaw is a volitile presence within shadowclan. she seems strangely taken by magpiepaw, putting herself in role of both tormentor and protector.
  
  — physically medium && mentally hard
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not-allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=mediumpurple]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[Needledrift]

With the clan now awake, Needledrift could feel a tinge of embarrassment warm her pelt. She hated when other cats caught her unsteady grooming habits. She knew that she wasn't exactly graceful when it came to such things... but even as she anticipated each additional cat to call her slovenly and distasteful, the judgement never came. Just one clanmate after another appearing and offering a kid word or an offer to help. A smile begins to play on Needledrift's misaligned muzzle in response to the positive attention.

She responds to Ferndance first, a delicate white paw hooking itself around the ticked tabby she-cat's neck to pull her closed. She rasps her tongue over one of Ferndance's cheek tufts, clearing away a little burr that had made the bit of fur its new home. Her green eyes shift from Wheatpaw to Maggotpaw around Ferndance's tall ears, a purr starting in her throat. "Please, anybody is welcome!"

Sabletuft, Swanpaw, and Mottlepaw were all prime candidates for the attention, surely everyone would get in a good bath with the collected group. Rosemire alone stood apart from the growing crowd, only a jest offered. Needledrift tilts her head to cast a dubious look at him. "Then will you sit with us and just conversate? It's a good day for idle chatter." Her words are hard to make out between her shifted jaw, making her tongue do all the work in forming the syllables, but her tone is kind. ​

 

[smogstar]

Time's ebb and flow remains constant no matter one's preferred part of the day, and thus, Smogmaw does not play favourites with daytime divisions. It's a juvenile delight from how he sees it, choosing sunrise over moonhigh for whatever reason. Perhaps, though, the tom's indifference was a manifestation of a deeper-seated grievance; nightly tossing and turning in his nest, or 'insomnia' as some referred to it. Each and every qualified insomniac would describe days that lethargically blend into one another, drowned in a haze of drowsy moments and half-memories. Smogmaw, a well-qualified insomniac, stood in no exception to this.

It's worth mentioning that, on this morning, the deputy was fresh-emerged from a night which bordered on sleepless. The cowlicks along his neck and spine appeared angrier than usual, sprouting at odd angles as though they too had waged a battle against rest. His eyes look heavy, immersed well into his cheeks, and his posture hovers like a wilting flower. As for whether this was a self-inflicted state of being, or a plight which remained beyond his control, the tom could not say. He found immense difficulty in withstanding the urges that crystalize in his mind, and sometimes, he simply had the urge to stay awake.

His groggy vision comes to rest on a congregation of clanmates. They linger nearby, offering tongues in exchange for good conversation, and once a jaw-splitting yawn comes to pass, Smogmaw decides that he, too, would benefit from a grooming session. "Good day for chatter, yup," he cites on approach, plonking his disheveled rump in the sun-dried muck. "But not for me, though. I'm one windgust away from fallin' head over paws and sinkin' right into oblivion." The useless knowledge has been imparted, and now, his knackered glance sweeps over all those present - a wordless request for someone to take care of the grungy mat on the back of his nape.​