MOANING LISA SMILE | rta

[CHERVILSHADE]

Little Ghost, don't wander too far from your nest! Her mother always said. Okay! Chervilkit chirped like a sprightly, fledgling bird. You know what happens to birds that can't fly when they go too far from the nest? Littlebird mewed to her daughter. What?, an owlish reply, fraught in the sickly-saccharine curiosity of a child. They'll get gobbled up by all the bad things in the forest! So don't go where you're not supposed to, okay? That supposition scared Chervil, but she nodded regardless. I won't!

Had she accidentally wandered too far this time? She didn't understand what she did wrong. She listened to her mother and never faltered in that obedience. She was nice to everyone even if they weren't nice first. She made sure to share her playtoys and thanked Starclan for every meal. So why couldn't she be an apprentice?

Chervilkit could remember long days coughing and coughing and doing nothing but that, as though what little energy she had would be expended in those high-pitched wheezes, like the swan song of a thrush that could not fly. Bound to the cruel ground it avoided, she cried out - as if it amounted to anything within the grievous symphony with pestilence as its twisted conductor. Every day, stuck between the walls of the den that seemed closer to devouring her whole by each minute, she heard those struggles for air. The only time she could escape was in her dreams, and even then that was fraught in nightmarish cold wringing her dry and leaving her a waste of a husk. There she stayed in the corner of the medicine cat den, for what seemed like a lifetime passing her by. She grew up in the confines of the cage of wire and thorn, a little bird with wings sewn to the side.

Nowadays, she could walk - or, hobble, more accurately. Trembling with each step, the little ghost haunted the walkways she used to run through, bigger and yet not any better. Eyes as dull and glassy as ever, the dilute tortie moved through the shade as though she swam through the gloom that infested Shadowclan. She still had the name she always had - Chervilkit - despite being more than of age for apprenticeship. I can be an apprentice too! See, look at me! With tiny teeth she dragged at a rather large branch, poking out from the confines of the only home she had ever known. Velvet paws dragged onto the dirt and grime, and she strained and strained and strained. Straining, just to prove something of herself, that she could still make everyone proud of her -

The girl found herself stopping after a few seconds, stumbling back as though she had been blown away by the angered breath of the storm. Out of breath and out of options, she panted softly as she attempted to gather herself. When had she become so weak? Not that she had ever been some paragon of strength. Now, all she wanted to do was lay down... She succumbed to her fatigue and let the shadows envelop and caress her resting body.​

 

[APPLEJAW]

The whims of kits was something she did not understand. Applepaw did not have time to idle for long, sticking her noses into childish games; spectating things that ultimate did not matter— Not anymore, anyways. But while she eats, or while she awaits her mentor, or before her patrol leaves for the border, she sometimes catches glimpses of their strangeness, and today is one such day. Slowly, slowly, Applepaw sees what appears to be a sentient stick from the corner of her eye— only for it being revealed to be the doing of a kit, but it was much too big for them. Their progress— nevermind why they were making it— was slow, unexciting, and it seems that they've realized this, somewhere along the line.

It is there that they stop, presumably to take a break. And then Applepaw watches their eyes close; their breathing slow... Only after the most vigorous bouts of training, did Applepaw fall asleep so quickly. Kits. It's... amusing. Despite herself, she finds a smile twitching its way upon herself.

It's gone, by the time the patrol is nearly ready to leave and Applepaw finds herself worrying about the kit being trampled. Her smile has faded, but her amusement does not. Gently, ( more gently than she would handle Tanglekit, or Halfkit, for that matter ) Applepaw would attempt to nudge them awake. " Is this the best place for a nap, you think? " her tone cuts somewhere between genuine critique, and a surprising softness.

( one track mind, one track heart ) ༊ ( if i fail i'll fall apart )

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• ( CAUSE I FEEL LIKE I'M THE WORST, SO I ALWAYS ACT LIKE I'M THE BEST ) APPLEPAW. apprentice of shadowclan. eldest sister to swanpaw, ashenpaw, and garlicpaw. ( + birdkit, halfkit & tanglekit )
  —— she / her; confused by the use of others.
  —— currently 8 moons old as of 11.17.23. ages every 17th.
  
  longhaired blue torbie with a white chest, paws, and underbelly. A young cat you would describe as " bossy, " Applekit is quick to take charge of any situation she sees herself as the probable head of. A rule - follower to a T, and thinks herself better than the majority of her clan for this. Not ignorant enough to think herself above a warrior, but seeks to gain that status as quickly as possible. Intensely self - motivated to be the best in a mixture of blind, childish desire, and never wanting to be afraid of anything ever again.

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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

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

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they had to agree with applepaw. this, perhaps, wasn't the best place for chervilkit to be sleeping. poor thing looked exhausted, and couldn't go too far without simply giving out. yellowcough truly did a number on her and chilled hated that. with a gentle flick of their ears, they move closer to the two, tilting their head with an unusual softness in their gaze.

"yes, perhaps we should move somewhere a little safer. are you alright? have you eaten?"

maybe they were only being nice because they felt guilty that she had to deal with any of this anyways. they did, sometimes, feel like yellowcough was a punishment from the stars and that those who got sick or died within their clan was certainly their own fault, even though logically they knew better. still, who was to say that they didn't give it to her, when they were sick? they'd been sick for some time without symptoms... ah. they couldn't think like that. focus on the now, chilledstar.

right now, they wanted chervilkit to be out of the way. perhaps she would be ready to be an apprentice soon, but they're worried about that too. what would she be able to do? hunt, perhaps. taking it slow and slinking through the shadows. only using speed and force when absolutely necessary. shadowclan could do with good hunters. they could only hope she would be one.
​

 

[Snowlark.]

You've wasted your life, but thanks for applying​

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Snowkit remembered Chervilkit, from the times she had visited the medicine den painfully in search of their own parents, to see if they were still alive. Eventually, she stopped going, and now yellow gaze trained onto Chervilkit who had passed out in the midst of camp right where everyone walked, but it would soon be Applepaw to swiftly and gently push the fragile kit out of the way and soon Chilledstar came to show their own concern.

Hesitancy danced in the smaller kit's paw steps as she approached the scene, gaze drifting down to the weak Chervilkit while a soft huff came from them. How had it been that someone like her was able to survive but not their own kin? Were they not lucky? A frown furrowed onto the kit's lips before glancing at the other two "She'll...be okay, right...?" her voice soft, while their eyes shift to loom over Chervilkit, she survived this far...

"I...can grab something for her from the...pile if she has not eaten yet," they softly placed in, shifting a bit uncomfortably but, she did want to make sure Chervilkit was okay. After all, they did get to know the other kit a little bit while they continued to visit her own parents before they succumbed to yellowcough, and now Chervilkit was somewhat of a familiar face to Snowkit, and of the rarety a few she was comfortable around. ​

"speak""Thoughts"​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

Chervilkit does not carry much of a familial resemblance like her older sister, but Roosterstrut cares for her all the same... even if they had not interacted too much outside of the occasional nursery visit and strained chat in the medicine den. Now that everybody had been healed from Yellowcough, perhaps Roosterstrut could get to know his little cousin a bit more.

The red tabby tom had watched the kit play, even considering going over to join her, before she slowed to a stop and descended to the ground as easily as the setting sun. Chervilkit was too young to be tiring herself out so quickly. Perhaps she needed to hydrate herself or fill her belly, but maybe her weak state had been a result of Yellowcough wracking her small body. It had been an aggressive illness, one that many cats did not survive.

Roosterstrut glanced up toward Chilledstar as the younger cats tried prodding his kin awake. With genuine concern gleaming in his eyes, he meowed, "Do you think she should see Starlingheart?" That sickness might have taken quite a toll on her, he wants to say rather, but he does not dare risk dampening Chervilkit's spirit. She was still so young with dreams and aspirations of her own. Who would he be to threaten them?

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙧

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  ✰ ROOSTERSTRUT
  —— he/him; warrior of shadowclan
  —— heteroflexible; single
  —— red tabby tom with long hair and pale green eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

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[SINGEGLARE]

*+:｡.｡ TW: Dumbass child had dumbass hot takes <3 sorry in advance, IC insensitity to death and illness

Singekit had not been scarred by the plague that had destroyed so many of his clanmates' lives. He'd been barely a newborn during the worst of it, only to gain his awareness of the world after the cure had been found. For Singekit, his memories of the illness were quickly growing fuzzier, and with his mom and brother coming out of it healthy and strong he saw no need to concern himself with the past.

And so he didn't. Because of that, he felt no sympathy for those who were still trapped in the echoes of that awful time. "Wow, imagine having to go to the medicine cat because you lose a game of tug-of-war with a stick" Singekit snickers mockingly as he steps up to stand beside Snowkit. For as much as Singekit ignores the echoes of the past, some are louder than others - like Snowkit here. Sometimes Singekit felt a tug in his chest for her, watching her sleep all alone in her nest without a single parent to keep her warm. But it's not like he can fix that! And with how sour they act all the time about it, he isn't sure he even wants to! So he rolls his eyes at his fellow den-mate's comment, mouthing thoughtlessly, "Why waste prey on her? If herbs don't work, nothing will." He justifies his comment by smugly echoing Chilledstar's favorite line, "Shadowclan is going to need strong hunters soon! I don't think Chervilkit will cut it!" How cool is Singekit, knowing exactly what his leader wants? He lifts his aquatic blue eyes to hopefully catch Chilledstar's gaze, expecting the older feline to give him a nod of approval for his insight.

The idea of death was a painting still trapped in its rough sketch phase. Singekit was one of the lucky few who hadn't lost anything to the plague - not his health, not his family, and for the most part, his innocence remained wholly intact. But even so, his earliest memories were a fog of peering out of the nursery entrance, eyes dreamily blinking as he watched cat after cat lay limp and lifeless in the center of camp. They were fuzzy memories, no stronger than a passing dream, but a part of him still held onto the images of the unnatural limpness of those bodies. The colors and patterns of pelts he'd never see again. The permanence of death and how it could affect cats was a concept that hadn't yet fully solidified in his mind, but he knew enough at a young age to be aware of its existence. Enough to be curious about it. Familiar enough with it to ask in a much too-casual way -

"Is Chervilkit going to die?"

*°:⋆ₓₒ Updated 11/12/23

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  GENERAL:
  ⚙ Singekit
  ⚙ Cismale — He/him — Questioning sexuality
  ⚙ 1 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
  ⚙ NPCx NPC (brother to Swallowkit)
  ⚙ Shadowclan — Kit
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ⚙ Physically easy | mentally easy
  ⚙ Attack in bold ruddy
  ⚙ Can be power played just ask
  injuries: None currently
  

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[CHERVILSHADE]

Chervilkit felt a docile prod at her flank, almost like the kiss of a leaf-green wind, a gentleness found in infinite store within her mother. But this was not Littlebird - she could not sense the lurid, slightly stale scent of old nesting and stagnant air. Like a pale ghost, a deathly gloom, it tended to cling to the ends of Littlebird's fur and whiskers. Dull eyes, as if the comforting glow of the distant monster, fluttered awake. Applepaw, a face she recognized from once in the nursery. Surprisingly soft, like Chervil could poke into her tone like fresh mud. "I'm s-sorry. I was just trying to lift that branch." Still, the throes and spasms of sleep still echoed, like a faraway dream or a distant disturbance. It was persistent, but it anticipated and crouched rather than pursued and pounced.

She got up, trying to before anyone else saw her like this. But now, even Chilledstar had come bearing a sweetened voice. Chilling, sky-blue eyes bore no pity she could glean, and yet her mind danced about with her and told her that it simply lay behind the visage. Had even the leader been watching her? How embarrassing! She didn't want to be pitied or looked down on. As though she had done something so grievously wrong, the overgrown kitten bowed her head and allowed her gaze to pool upon the frost-bound, withered foliage on the ground. Sometimes, Chervil felt like the leaves that curled and cried from leaf-fall's might, a fragile and crackling thing.

A thrum of anxiety pierced the girl's heart as a crowd began to circle her as the storm did to the moorland, as the buzzard did to the carrion, and as infection did to the open wound. They had all come so fast, and where had they even arrived from? Was everyone in the entire camp looking at her at this point? Dilute pelt burned as though shame blazed through the sawgrass, as the whole of Shadowclan's eyes seemed to set upon her frame of skin and bone.

"I'm okay. I promise..." The lilting tone of Little Ghost greeted Snowkit as she approached, an aggrandizing wave of trepidation washing over her throat, as if it were trying to stop more words from falling out ungracefully. Now that the molly thought of it, she was hungry... And yet her stomach did not sing that song of hunger that often wracked her like a sailboat caught upon a playful tempest. Still, she shivered, though she was not cold. If anything, it was heat that bubbled up inside her small ribcage and festered into every nook of her being.

Chervil cowered into her own shadow as Roosterstrut suggested she should see Starlingheart, much to her dismay. The dilute tortie had already grown tired of the ivy-coated walls of the medicine cat den, spending countless days and nights among the destitute chorus of coughs and wheezes and dying breaths. It was of no fault of Starlingheart's or Magpiepaw's, but she could not help but associate that terrible miasma of dread like thick wool over the nose and mouth and infesting the taste of the tongue. It was suffocating, just like this moment was now. Easy breezes of breath did not come regularly, interspersed with blusters that lagged in her larynx for undue moments. Though, she was a little more comforted by his presence, if any. He was family, and she knew he just wanted what was best for her... The whole clan did, surely. It never made it any less overwhelming for the poor girl, like she were an effigy of a cat, nothing but twine and wax and silt. A pale imitation of a cat, simply a husk wasted away by what little energy she had left.

Now, triangular ears folded back to her head as Singekit barrelled into the scene like a great ball of inglorious fire. She didn't know the other kitten too well, and this interaction was souring what little she recalled of the sand-and-sun tom. Why was Singekit saying such terrible things to her? Like she was a waste of prey, of herbs, or space... Was she? He must be saying what everyone else was thinking. Those niceties, those platitudes... they were nothing but fool's gold, a rehearsal of concern with none of the beating heart behind it... Perhaps all of the cats that surrounded her knew she would be dead by leaf-bare's first wake... (Did they hope she would pass?) "Die...? I'm not going to die, am I? I don't want to..." Tears pricked at the edges of soft, porcelain features. Her whole face combusted in an invisible flame, and right now all she wanted to do was run into the forest and never return. Perhaps the trilling songbirds and the scurrying rodents would be fairer to her.
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