private PERFECT NOTHING [♱] FLINTPAW

[SHARPSHADOW]

Flintpaw doesn't feel like he should be here.

They've seemed smaller, ever since that day. Lurking about the dredges of camp. Some imperceptible worry in dual - toned eyes, even though any idiot could surely guess what the trouble was. And everyone knew it. Everyone felt it, in a different way. They were all angry, even if they now pretended not to be, for everyone's sake. Flintpaw, she thinks, has the most right to be out of anyone else.

It is the one face that he might think is worse than his own. Even she only looks her way because of what her father did. That's sort of unfair, isn't it?

Only the stars know what compels him to approach the apprentice, limbs feeling more like sticks and stones woven together than they felt like anything he owned. The approach is acutely awkward, but surely, Flintpaw had more important things to care about right now? It's not like Sharpshadow intended to shake them, to renounce their father and then Flintpaw themselves, in turn. Sharpshadow's ears angle sideward, as if conscious of what other cats may overhear— which he was not. Talking to a clanmate is all it was. Talking to a clanmate that he probably would not have talked to, if not for the circumstance. " ... I don't hate you, Flintpaw. "

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

• ooc: @FLINTPAW :3
  

• 

• ( OF THE THINGS I'VE GOT IN MY BRAIN ) SHARPSHADOW: Formerly mentored by Smogmaw Mentoring Halfpaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 18 moons old as of 12.19.23 / ages every 8th
  
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  
  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others. —scraping together some higher purpose— making somewhat of an effort to be " likeable "
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

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[FLINTWISH]

ShadowClan is less a home and more a holding; some sort of cage that Flintpaw cannot fathom escaping from, despite watching his sibling and father and aunt slide through the bars, smokelike. And maybe, even if he could leave, he would refuse the chance. Starlingheart still serves this Clan (and for what reason he cannot understand). Nettlepaw is here, too, and though Flintpaw has historically not been warm or even very kind to his sole remaining littermate, they're all they have left of each other. Aren't they? At least Nettlepaw understands; at least Nettlepaw knows how it feels to be the son of a father who'd committed the ultimate sin. At least Nettlepaw is afraid of becoming him, too. And Starlingheart! How she loves her kits; how she stands up for them, meek though she is, grieving though she is. But ShadowClan looks upon her grief with vitriol. Why does she stay here? Flintpaw wonders when silverpelt dims. She is nothing but kind, tries her best; she had made a mistake (multiple mistakes, he knows too well) but she has done so much for her clanmates....

It lays a heavy granite blanket upon him and weighs him down. Flintpaw has felt little more than catatonic in the few days that have passed between Granitepelt's exile and now. He's espoused his belief that he is hated; he's run away and been found again (the image of Ashenpaw's strained kindness, if it could be called that, still confuses him); he's attempted to return to his apprentice duties, but Scalejaw has ended up dismissing him a few times now on account of his glazed stare and bumbling movements. It's a struggle to readjust.

But he is more vigilant than ever. When Sharpshadow initiates her awkward approach, Flintpaw's flicking ears and dual-toned eyes train on her sharply. He waits for the warrior to speak first, anticipating... well, she's not sure what she anticipates. But what Sharpshadow says certainly subverts her expectation. I don't hate you, Flintpaw, he says, wiry and clunky and uncertain in the body. But it seems that his words are genuine enough. At least, Flintpaw can't discern any mocking from them.

Her ears flick backwards and she squints, uncertain how to process the sentiment.

Thank you for not hating me. That's stupid. It's a stupid thing to say because it's a stupid thing to hate her in the first place, isn't it? She'd done nothing wrong, had she? You killed Halfshade, some piece of her whispers. You loved your father. Maybe those are crimes, but how could she have known? Her jaw opens and shuts again as she tries to figure out how to respond while keeping some semblance of dignity within her grasp. Thank you for not hating me. It's stupid! "... Okay," is all she manages at the end of the day, whip tail drawing in close to her hunched, seated body. A beat passes. "I don't... I don't hate you either." And she does mean it, she thinks, despite the hesitant delivery.

Instinctively, his mis-matched gaze flicks beyond Sharpshadow, as if someone had put the warrior up to this task. But it's just the two of them. Flintpaw re-focuses on the tom, still uncertain of what to make of this whole thing. "Um... did you need something?"

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — headshot by me, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

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