camp no other shade of blue [painting]

[CRAPPIEPATCH]

The calico apprentice has settled at the edge of the camp, beneath the shade of a beech tree. A large, flat chunk of bark lies before them, peeled carefully from the tree, and across its face is smeared a slew of colors. Their once-white paw is coated in a layer of gross blue goo, the result of smashing a berry with a rock. At their side are a few other piles of stone-crushed materials, from fish scales to leaves to chunks of reddish-brown clay.

"Blue," they murmur to themself, applying the color to the bark’s surface. Their creation looks a bit like a fish, smudged and printed in pawprint-shaped globs of color. It is messy, colors muddling together in shades that are mostly gray and brown, but it is their own creation. It passes the time and serves as a welcome distraction from the terrible reality that their life has become. It keeps their mind off of missing friends and dead clanmates, off of the sickening turning in their stomach each time their gaze settles upon certain clanmates. They are surrounded by clanmates, and yet they are still so alone in this clan, drifting without purpose.
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[ my my, cold hearted child ]​

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[hazecloud]

"That's quite a lot you have going on over here." Hazecloud would comment kindly to the calico. Her jaws show clear sign of a freshly enjoyed meal, and now had come to fulfill the curiosity that pulled her to Crappiepaw's work. Her eyes would rest on each material as they were lined out, connecting what the colors were made of. The warrior was impressed by how crafty the little tom had been to gather it all and begin to simply... create!

"Did someone teach you that? It looks quite a wonderful skill. Maybe we can prop it up in the apprentices den when we get back to our normal camp." Hazecloud sounded genuine as she took interest in some of the paints, poking a claw into one of the pastes and scoring it over the stone. A single shaky line, but it excited her nonetheless. What an neat little hobby!​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

He remembers this before, heart thudding in his chest and breathlessly watching apprentices weave flowers into black and gray fur; the scent of ThunderClan and RiverClan mingling as the forest dwelling cats rested from the fire in their camp. They didn't often do the traditions much anymore, he had thought them silly at the time but now he longs for the clan to be back in their comfort of their own riverside home and once again adorning one another in colors and baubles; berry smears of paint and shimmering scales. The dark tom does not approach immediately, watching quietly as Crappiepaw sets about their task with a vigor he did not often see in the usually sickly apprentice-diligently smearing whatever concoction they've created across smooth bark. If only they were so eager to do their apprentice duties as they were this, he might think normally, but the thought only briefly flutters upward in his mind before he has found himself smiling despite it all. Smokethroat tightens his jaw, pulls the lax of his mouth back into a sternly set line and he utters a sigh at the lapse that allowed him to soften if even for a moment. The dark tom didn't like how often he would just stare off into space lately, he wished there was a way to force his mind back into its usual drive and focus but his feelings were especially muddled as of late and it was hard to determine why.
Maybe he DID need to indulge in something foolish and light, he feels a tension in his shoulders as he goes to stand just as Hazecloud reaches the tortie and he follows suit behind her with his head raised and expression neutrally intrigued, "You've quite the arrangement here."
Did he want to know how some of these colors were made? Probably not, he imagined several might bother their more squeamish clanmates.
"Are there any you're missing? I know...Beesong cleaned their den recently." Old herbs might be useful for something perhaps-so long as they were safe.
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[>Honeystone]

— A fish fin hung in the maw of the lilac molly as she gnawed and padded along. Her stormy-blue gaze was soon snagged onto the scene of a few cats taking interest over Crappiepaw. Curiosity took hold of her and she started to make her way over, first taking a look at the spread of glops and galore that was around the apprentice. Honeystone sniffed curiously at one of the colored mixtures before casting her eyes to the tortoiseshell youth. This wasn't something she could recall seeing before. "Lovely work, Crappiepaw." The molly would chime a praise as she seated herself a little ways away to view but also not too close to disturb the space. — tags​

 

[CRAPPIEPATCH]

The sound of something approaching them causes Crappiepaw to flinch, but as they turn to look over their shoulder they only see a clanmate, Hazecloud. She has questions for them, observations. "It is fun. I learned to do it on my own," the calico asserts, shooting the older cat a distracted glance. They are content to go back to their work, ignoring the existences of both Hazecloud and now Smokethroat, who comments on their arrangement—but then the former begins tracing a claw through one of their colored paints, dragging it across a stone. "You will be good at it if you practice," they assure the older cat. It is not an admirable attempt at painting, but it is something. Using a claw creates more precise lines than the large, messy pawprints that Crappiepaw has been slapping onto their bark canvas.

Smokethroat asks whether they are missing any colors, and Crappiepaw nods once, brusquely. "I do not have orange, like your," a bemused expression overtakes their face for a moment as they seem to change the course of their statement, "eye. And I do not have pink, either." They wonder if Beesong would be upset upon seeing their herbs used for such a thing. Maybe grinding up a few extra plants would make them feel better.

Another cat compliments their work, and though Crappiepaw is not particularly proud of it, they give the warrior a tense smile. "Thank you." They flick a dappled ear in Honeystone’s direction, an acknowledgment of her compliment. It is not often that they are praised, and Crappiepaw is surprised to find that they enjoy it. Perhaps they should not try so hard to hunt well, and instead focus more on their crafting skills.
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[ my my, cold hearted child ]​

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