never learned to grow old || smogmaw

[betonyfrost]

Betonyfrost’s body has become disorganized while she had been distracted. Between the kits getting older, Chilledstar, the bears, Chilledstar, Betonyfrost had managed to miss that her heart lives fully outside of her chest now. It stains her path red before every step that she places upon it; acting both as a trail to follow and macabre reminder of everywhere that she has been. Betonyfrost’s anger knows where to lead her and she has learned how to follow it without hesitation or question.

There is hardly an established norm between Betonyfrost and Smogmaw, but it feels like a reversal of something for it to be Betonyfrost to seek Smogmaw out, her low tail flicking with an ever present agitation and her frostbitten ears folded to near invisibility against her head.

“I’ve been thinking,” She starts, in lieu of any kind of greeting, “Back under the tunnels — I’ve been thinking that Roosterstrut should’ve done more. Split one of your ears or — or something. I know I would’ve,” It’s hardly a confession; Betonyfrost has always worn her dislike of Smogmaw openly, “You’d be wise to let him be.”

@smogmaw ​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 21 moons | tags​

 

[smogstar]

Few and far between are Smogmaw's threads of emotional attachment. Chalk it up to apathy or some twisted methodology; he simply does not permit his ambitions to be restrained by such bonds with his clanmates.

It's a spectrum, really. There those whom received a greater amount of consideration when interacted with, for the purpose of self-interest or something or other—and there were those with existences that could be safely disregarded altogether. The bulk of ShadowClan's populace fell in the realm of mutual disinterest, but not disdain. Keeping them at a hare's length away, while still maintaining good terms, was beneficial in the proliferation of his authority.

As to where Betonyfrost was placed on this spectrum - well, the half-eared, lilac molly was of her own niche classification. Poised behind her emerald hues is a marked neuroticism. A tension of sorts that which could not be fully defined, but was undeniably present.

Based on the few, unpleasant interactions they'd shared, it felt as though she constantly teetered on the edge of unraveling—veiled emotions, camouflauged motives, and an air of volatility which hung around her like a dense fog. It's no marvel that her qualities drove so many from her proximity. Yet, for the deputy, these characteristics were perceived as a (flawed) embodiment of his own inhibition, his own struggles to maintain composure in every waking situation. They stand as the sole reason he doesn't dismiss her entirely.

Hefty brows knit together on the queen's approach, but there's naught a flicker of aversion in his steady regard. His veneer of neutrality is not returned in kind, as Betonyfrost forsakes any form of pleasantry and promptly confronts him over actions past. He takes no offense to this approach—if anything, he appreciated those who prioritised efficiency over idle chatter.

"He should've, yes," Smogmaw responds plainly, whiskers atwitch as he admits the fact. Engraved onto his muzzle are the faint clawmarks of Roosterstrut's attack, juxtaposed against the larger streaks left by Bonejaw many seasons ago. They were insignificant. Trivial, even. "I tried goading him into doing more, yet I knew he wouldn't," he drawls on coldly, the lack of warmth in his voice seeping into his gaze. "You don't grasp the... complexity of our dynamic, mine and Roosterstrut's. But, more importantly, you don't grasp a lot about me. Let me fill you in on a few important details."

A moment passes as he assesses his throughts, tail swiping absently against the dried soil behind him. "I don't care if you don't like me. I don't speak with empty words. And finally, I don't appreciate folks who exploit others' names to voice their own concerns. So forget about Roosterstrut, and tell me what you really want to say." ​

 

[betonyfrost]

Of all the things Betonyfrost had expected Smogmaw to do, agreeing with her hadn't been high on the list. It had been understood as a possibility but not considered; Betonyfrost was hardly someone to stop and consider every detail when agitation took her, and she finds herself paused as Smogmaw speaks. She closes her mouth around an outraged Are you suggesting I'm stupid? and an appalled Do you really think I care about you? in favor of simply listening to Smogmaw.

"Thank you for the lesson," Betonyfrost scoffs, once he has finished, "But I didn't need it. You and any of your — your 'dynamics' aren't nearly as complex as you think they are. From where I'm standing, I see a coward and a bully whose fallen up in life."

She imagines him as empty, that she could press a paw to him and he'd fold like discarded snake skin. Betonyfrost lives in a world where she is one of the few who are whole. Nearly everyone else is terribly shallow. It had taken Betonyfrost a long time to recognize that fact, but once recognized it couldn't be forgotten. There was a time in her life when Betonyfrost would have done anything for Smogmaw, for anyone, to be impressed by her.

How far gone those days feel.

"Maybe you don't grasp this about me but I care about Roosterstrut. I'm not hiding behind him and I say what it is I mean. I don't know what your problem with him is, but I'm serious when I say to let him be. You and I both know that you wouldn't have been acting like that had Halfshade been around."​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 21 moons | tags​

 

[smogstar]

Betonyfrost's unasked-for observations continue to pollute the surrounding air. His nose scrunches some, whiskers atwitch under the weight of her fuss. That she derides the nuances of other's affairs and then, mere seconds later, incorporates her own insights as though they hold more weight strains his patience to the utmost. Is she blind to her sanctimony, he wonders, or does she simply revel in it? In any event, it has Smogmaw questioning the very validity of this conversation. Much to his disinclination, though, the deputy retains a stubborn heed on the queen's profile, peeling back the thin upper film of her words in search of ulterior motives simmering within.

"It sounds like you're projecting a fair bit, Betonyfrost," avows the dark-smudged tom, whose creased brows contend with maintaining a neutral demeanour. The response is measured as it is accusatory, and while he initially shies away from any tone that may provoke her volatility, Smogmaw cannot help but assert his point. "On what grounds do you stand? Making demands of others, knowing damn well you won't abide by the same standard; calling me cowardly, a bully, when you're no less inclined to ridicule those you think beneath you; saying how I adjust myself based on my audience, like you've never been one to worry about external opinions." And on that final note, lest this molly before him keeps Halfshade's name out of her mouth, she'll be left retrieving her own teeth from the muck underfoot.

A long-lasting sigh draws from his throat, nearly resembling a hiss as it slithers through grit fangs. "I keep out of your affairs," he reminds her, words fitfully benign, "and if you can't find it within yourself to grant me the same half-assed courtesy, then we're done here."

Amidst her rhetoric was an element of truth—the major disparity between him and Betonyfrost was his internal recognition of it.​