PERFORMANCE / intro + lost collar

[SILVERSMOKE]

'Why didn't you just leave, Silversmoke?'

The words of his clanmate still rang in his ears like tinnitus as he prowled into SkyClan's camp. He could have left, joined one of the other groups, and probably would have been happier for it, but the tabby had allowed himself to fall into a routine within SkyClan: do his duties, watch the Twolegplace for signs of danger, repeat. It was nothing special compared to what other groupmates did, but the sense of purpose forced Smoke to stay in the face of adversity - there was no telling if the other groups would offer him the same little comforts that meant a thousand stars. The snow crunched beneath his paws as he moved into the camp, a meager mouse caught between the tom's teeth. Its bones stuck out from beneath its sodden fur and knowing that it'd barely make a meal for an apprentice hurt his ego somewhat, but simple scraps were better than starving. It was his second winter, he never remembered the first one being so cruel, but age had brought cynicism along with it. Cynicism, and wounds too. The bumpy tissue on his face felt more bitten than the cold than anything else, it was a painful accident that the one who'd given him such a scar now resided among SkyClan and its wannabe warriors.

His claws unsheathed at the thought. With an ounce of carelessness, he tossed the skinny rodent to the elderflower bush and scanned the camp with mismatched eyes. He didn't have many friends in SkyClan. Silversmoke had always kept to himself, there was a certain vulnerability to opening himself up to kittypets that he wasn't quite comfortable with yet. Wordlessly, he assessed who was around, the tip of his shorter tail lashing out of spite for leafbare's wind. The tabby stepped forward, recoiling his paw quickly at the texture of fabric beneath the hardened pad. He glared downwards at the source of his surprise, a collar, and lowered his head in indignation. Either someone had decided they wanted to abandon their kittypet ways, or someone had lost a part of their pelt. As much as Silversmoke hoped for the latter, he didn't have high hopes. There was no shame in being cared for by one of those creatures in SkyClan, there was the freedom to have a paw in two different worlds and the opportunity to leave whenever it was simply convenient. Silversmoke didn't know if it was simply caution that made him doubt his groupmates, or jealousy.

It didn't matter, what mattered was making sure that their fairweather friends did not slack off. "Really?" He asked the nearest cat next to him, picking up the collar with a singular claw as if it were somehow diseased. "We're just leaving these around now?"

​

 

[CHRYSALISWING]

"You sure that's not yours, dude?" Came the acerbic tone of Chrysalispaw, with the undulled blades for words like claws sharpened for war, though the only conflict they would face would be in platitudinous polemics. His tongue burned just as ardent as his russet coat, as though they had been wrapped from the same cloth, a creature borne of phoenix's rebirth and flame's swathe. The apprentice trotted up to Silversmoke, the spotted tabby's stature much more intimidating than his own, but that never stopped the pompous tomcat. "Try it on. It'd probably look good on you."

Though, Chrysalispaw's gaze trained upon the strangely-textured collar - to him, it looked as though it were crafted from the same material as a nose or a pawpad, though he hadn't a clue on how they were truly made. For all he knew, those Twolegs probably killed their kittypets and fashioned collars out of their remains like some macabre machination. Well, that was too grim, so probably not. The chimaera then imagined it clasped around his pristine neck, pressing against his throat as though a persisting cough, though one he could never hack up like an owl's pellets. He quickly shook away such a disgustingly sour image, as if the very notion of him being a collared and chained individual sent shivers down his spine, as a fate worse than certain death. Ugh... That'd be too ugly on me.

Candidly, Chrys despised the life of the woolen kittypet, as much of his pride came from the grit that hung from the edges of his being, unlike the plush figures of the housepet. Those lazy and pudgy felines clung to their staked fences, with nothing to show for themselves except their own ineptitude. Their too-glossy pelts, too-judgmental eyes, and too-ignorant demeanors were enough for him to abhor all of them. Then again, one did not have to work hard to earn his ire.

He had to suck such shrewdness up, much to his juvenile dismay, though such disparity ruminated just behind a preened visage. Many of his clanmates were daylight "warriors" and former loners, including those that had earned respect among the ranks. Still, that never spared them from the eagle-esque glare of the condemnatory adolescent, as he silently told them to go back where they came from. At least, that was what his parents liked to say. And they were right.

// ic opinions ofc <3
​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

The tabby's sharp glare settled onto Chrysalispaw, and if looks could kill, then StarClan would be welcoming a new apprentice amidst their ranks. He slammed the collar back towards the ground, grinding it into the frigid snow in protest of the other's jests. He thought himself able to take a joke if it was funny, but there was little to laugh about when his honour was prodded. Most the apprentice's age felt as if they'd been granted an infinite amount of lives to toy around with, it would be asinine to say that Silversmoke had grown out of that phase too, but he at least considered himself self-aware. Chrys was not, and it was that peacock confidence that left him floundering for a sharp-witted answer to them. His eyes twitched as he watched Chrysalis assess the collar, noting their disgust with a sharp "Hmph". He'd thought the newest generation of SkyClanners had been taught tolerance of the daylight Warriors, it was comforting to be wrong. There was much to loathe about kittypets, even the ones that spent their days helping the clan, it was perhaps their help that Silversmoke hated the most. It felt like charity from creatures that already thought they were better because they had warm homes, how could anyone truly take the warrior life seriously if they had a paw in two worlds?

Realising he hadn't spoken in some time, the tabby raised his head. "Sorry, I was looking around for Chrysalispaw, but I appear to have found a mouse-brain instead." He picked the collar up, trying not to gag at the way it felt between his teeth. The fabric threatened to curl around his gums, the texture was rougher than any cat's tongue, and the little jingle from the bell was enough to make any cat mad. Shame truly was a long-gone concept in SkyClan. Wordlessly, he stared down the apprentice, and in one swift motion, aimed to place the collar atop their head. Silversmoke had no clue how such a restrictive device was supposed to fit around anyone's neck, but if they could make Chrys wear the crown of shame for just a second after such comments, then they would consider the matter dropped. "It suits you better. A twoleg would take one look at me and run away, but you might just have a new life as Fluffykins after all." His scarred face was not the worst thing to look at, but upon seeing the shiny coats of well-fed daylight warriors, Smokey had decided that twolegs were vain.

The male was not shiny, and in this winter weather, he was not well-fed either. His weight had not shifted dramatically from the summer months, but the more frequent hunger pangs reminded the tom that change was not always obvious. The smallest smirk crept up upon his maw at the comment, his paws squared and ready to move away in case Chrys tried to retaliate. For all of Silver's declarations about loyalty and clan life, even the clanborns had not earned his complete trust yet.



​

 

[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

Fluffykins.

The word stings Fireflypaw, even though he himself is forest-born. His father was born a kittypet, and Fireflypaw holds that fact highly. He'd experienced life with twolegs, was more wiser about them than the forest-dwelling cats that'd never seen them up close. His tail flicks behind him in irritation as he tries to reason with himself; give the guy a chance, he can't be that bad. Besides, maybe he's just joking. Maybe he's just got a bone to pick with some kittypets from the twolegplace who hurt his feelings.

"Chrysalispaw just looks like a cat. We all do. You sayin' that collars make us look weird or somethin'?" He musters his best sarcastic, joking tone he can- thankful his eyes are shut in these moments, protecting his aquamarine hues from getting too exposed to the sun. But also thankful it doesn't expose the ire in them, either. "Gimme that. If you're gonna play around with it, I'll just take it to my dad to have it buried or somethin'." He huffs, cheefs puffed out in complaint. Silversmoke, that tom.. Where did his prejudices come from, anyways?​

 

[SLATE]

Kittypet.

The tom possessed a soured relationship with the term as well as the concept, one that had been festering since he was a tender kitten. Although he had been born to two kittypet parents, he had severed ties with any relation to being a kittypet and being associated with kittypets. Being born in a twoleg nest did not make him a kittypet; he had left that life long ago and had never looked back.

"Collars just serve as a reminder that you belong to a twoleg." Slate delivers the cool statement after nonchalantly observing the scene unfurl from his seated position atop the camp's tree stump. A collar like that had hung from his neck once; he remembered the lime-green color and the bell that jingled with each step. The thought that he had once been a simple accessory for a pair of twolegs nearly made him cringe.

Slate cast a glance in Fireflypaw's direction; they seemed less adverse towards the idea of donning a collar. SkyClan was apparently one of the more kittypet-friendly clans, even having their own category of "daylight warriors", so of course wearing one wouldn't be seen as shameful. "You'll be doing whoever lost it a favor by burying it." The dark-furred tom huffed.

​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• 
  

​

 

[ThistleBack]

Steely greys peer toward the interaction spurred by Silversmoke, mild prejudices and jokes test the cold air between the warrior and apprentice. Thistleback idles over the conversation, listening to the casting of narrow-minded ideals. Oh how hideous and ridiculous it was, a branding of the twoleg. Ode to a jester. A jagged smirk ripples over his skull white maw, humorless and crinkled at the bridge of his nose.

Fireflypaw joins the static of it all, heavily outnumbered and obviously hurt by the suggestions. It’s Slate’s words that settle a straw to the camel’s back that lay the foundation of Thistleback’s silence.

" well my good lad, that’s not necessarily true " Thistleback hangs a claw in the wedge of his tooth, scraping grime and scraps of prey bone as he rested on the snow. Steam rolling from his thorny back from his patrol exertions. " I was never a kittypet. Not even by birth. " he begins, tone reserved and simple.

" the collar I wear, belongs to a dead friend. A man, that served his short life helping starving strays " The pain of losing Rhinnon dares not surface, but the memory of peeling the collar off his two-leg burial stone is shallow and dancing in tandem to his eyes. " Mine reminds me, of a good cat who no longer lives. While scum like Sootstar, do. " he rasps, humorless smirk not yet making its leave.

" If you wish to take the piss out of your own clanmates, keep in mind there is four other clans doing the very same thing." He sweeps his tail across the ground, and presses a paw to his temple. Hoisting his head up by an elbow planted on the ground.

" I will speak to the daylight warriors, however. Littering camp is unacceptable " he finishes with a militarily tuned sternness.

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
• 
  
  

​

 

[SNORLAXMOON]

They're all crowded around something. Snorlax doesn't know what, but the gray tabby fears they're planning to attack him. The silver tabby from before, the young one, Thistly. They're all amongst the crowd, and, after the harsh words two of them threw at him earlier, after the silver one threatened him with claws?

They must be planning something. He'll be dead by the time he has to go home. Be up in - what did they call it, NightClan? - with the rest of their fallen, instead of in the warmth of his own nest.

Cautiously, he steps forward, hoping that his appearance in the midst of their discussion would stop their schemes. He nears the group, and that's when he sees what they're crowded around. A collar. It's pretty. Not nearly as nice as his, but pretty all the same.

"Oh, that's pretty," he says, inspecting the collar. What a shame, that it's not around someone's neck! Snorlax looks back up at the group. "Is it one of yours?"

Though he's not certain it is, Snorlax hopes the piece of fabric belongs to one of them, as he thinks it would be sad if the collar was lost, discarded. He'd be sad if he lost his, after all! Some poor cat is probably looking for their collar right now!
​

 

[eveningsun]

so much commotion. weren't they all supposed to be friends? isn't that what being clanmates was about? eveningkit abandoned the protruding twig she was batting around to go and see what all this chatter was about. the voices seemed unhappy. it was making her unhappy.

the kit arrived, stepping high over the snow. there was a serious look on her face, a fire in her pale eyes. silversmoke seemed to be the aggressor here, she watched as the warrior moved to place something upon chrysalispaw's head. craning her head to see what it was, she identified it as a collar. brows quirked. really? all this over a collar? she had more compelling arguments with a stump.

mismatched ears idly listened to defenses of the object, wondering why this was all so polarizing. eve didn't have a problem with them, the one her dad wore was a pretty color, maybe if she found one sparkly enough she would even don one. this was all so silly. silly warriors arguing about silly things. shouldn't they be spending their time finding a way to feed her?

the girl waited to insert her opinion until snorlax had asked his question. "you guys are so silly! i thought warriors were supposed to be tough," she began, small giggles interrupting her words. "why does the collar hurt your feelings so much? snorlax is right, it's pretty!" her boldness was paired with a challenging grin. the tortie acted tough, because what were they gonna do? fling her across camp right in front of thistleback? eve thought that would be rather stupid, he could totally beat them all up.​

[ FALLEN STAR ]​

 

[CHRYSALISWING]

A snort escaped Chrysalispaw's maw at Silversmoke's claim of him being a "mouse-brain," as though the warrior's words rang libelous, though he had certainly heard those descriptions before. The chimaera wagered that he had the most sense out of every cat here combined, as his mind was the only pillar of truth in the wake of the dream-laden and cotton-eared stilts. Still, he cowed his tongue for now, as he brushed upon the flank of the fire to tame it. If his verse was the flame, then those that lie before him were the rushes and wildgrasses to flay. And yet, unlike the indiscriminate wildfire, he knew restraint.

Then, in a surprising (to Chrys, anyhow) turn, the older warrior tried to place the collar on him. Chrys let out a loud screech and writhed about, like the worm abated naught by the hook, of the twine that behooved and maddened him. He batted at the leather collar with thorny claws, anything to get that wretched manmade device away from his earth-crafted body, as if it would poison him if he were to even brush upon it. "I'm not Fluffykiiiiiiins! Stoppit!!" He practically yelled. Anything that wouldn't beseech his honor would be good enough for him.

At the arrival of the other felines, he immediately composed his coltish legs, as though untangling woolen yarn-limbs from erratic movement. He nodded his head to Fireflypaw and Slate, a slow and elegant bob, a lily basking upon the watery mirror. "I agree. Collars look so weird. Why would you want that around your neck, anyhow? Won't it hurt after a while?" Curiosity fronted in the stead of his usual scathing anathema, the wavering tail of a larger beast of emotion, though it was no ruse nor lure. It was all him, as rare as it was to see him like that. He could be a flower, as much as the embers that ate at its flesh. He was a fleece-laced feline with barbs for threads.

At Thistleback's lament, though, Chrys' ears drooped in a rare show of humiliation. Perhaps it was rather a jagged display of being caught in an act rather than the remorse of the act itself, a countenance fraught in thistle and holly leaf, a daggered yet unpolished display. Though, the dopey naivete that both Snorlax and Eveningkit showed sent prickles of annoyance through his pelt, and he couldn't stand such presentations of ignorance. "Ugh, I guess it's pretty. For a kittypet thing." He muttered under his breath.
​