camp right on, frankenstein! + cold-ass weather

[FISHFACE]

Where does the threshold between Leaf-fall and Leaf-bare lie?

Ask a clanmate to define the former season, and they will state it consists of mellow-weathered days marked by colourful foliage and migrations of birds up above. As for the former, it's allegedly based on brief periods of sunshine, biting temperatures, and - as the name suggests - an absence of leaves on their branches.

Well, the trees were looking rather bare, the last warm day was many sunrises ago, and the air is so bitter that all the big birds like geese have already found somewhere cosier to hang out. And yet, Fishface's fellow Riverclanners insist another moon must come to pass before Leaf-bare's official inception. Another moon of this cold snap!

Maybe it's a consequence of a lack of long fur or meat on his bones, but the tabby felt as though his ears were a couple degrees away from falling off. He shivers, shoulders trembling nastily as he lounges on the chill-hardened ground of camp. Having just swam to the island (which only adds to his discomfort), the warrior refrains from bringing his damp form into the den with his comrades. And thus, he suffers alone in the night's silence, at least until he dries off - nose running, tail quivering, and breathing shallow.​

 

[lusterscale]

Honestly, the cold never had really bothered her, its more so the snow that gets her. It looks fluffy, its white and pretty and shines in the sunlight, but its a demon, devil in disguise, wolf in sheeps clothing! So cold, it seeps in to your skin and chills you to your core. She almost giggles when she stumbles across Fishface, the newly named warrior just barely concealing a smile. It was a sad sight indeed, poor guy practically had popsicles running off his nose.

"Are ya cold? Oops, stupid question. We can go for a race- oh, I could totally go for a race! We can go around camp in laps." she resorts to spinning in circles to contain her excitement, every single time her eyes land on the other she just keeps giggling. "I learned that if you stay active it doesn't bother you too much, did you know that? In moderation of course, you don't want to keel over and die." surely, if he didn't die from freezing to death, he'd die from her talking his ear off. She assumes its probably ten times worse considering its night, and the sun isn't out, so he's probably going to die and that'd be certainly tragic.​

"speech"​

 

[GLOOMPAW]

Gloompaw was born in greenleaf, where the sun shed warmth and not weak attempts at it. Her earlier memories are of summer storms, and cicadasong. Faded now, the hum of an air conditioner as it churned out artificial freshness. It was all she'd expected of the world's temperature. Cold was rivers and the spray of currents, and in no way had it applied to the air around her... until leafbare crept.

Her short ears catch the edge of Lusterscale's statement, and she bounds over, her fur puffed out in the cold. Every time she moved, it was like her bones crackled, ice-shattered. Gloompaw was very, very convinced she could keel over and die if the weather didn't mellow out. "You can die by racing?" she concludes, sitting down and flicking the water off her paws. Droplets scattered, but she was certain Fishface wouldn't mind if some landed on him if they did. He's already watery.

Could someone really get killed by running around? Well, she's happy to never run again with that as her excuse.​

 

[FISHFACE]

Fishface directs his dripping snout at Lusterscale as she draws near, sniffling something nasty so as to take up the excess fluid. His sullen expression remains unchanged throughout the younger warrior's pitch, completely unmotivated by the idea of physical exertion. As much as he hates being a spoilsport, that sounded like the opposite of fun right now. "N-no, let's n-not do that," he honks despondently, "I can't f-feel my fishy face." A low groan emits from his gullet, and he can't stifle the cough which comes soon after. "I'd win anyways."

A flurry of water droplets smack against his side, and the oriental tabby shudders fiercely. He's almost dry, so the last thing he needs is his thin pelt to be even more wet. Frustrated eyes skim across the camp to find the culprit - Gloompaw, who'd already assumed a seated position. How had he not noticed her? Perhaps his brain was in the process of freezing, too.

"Sure, you can die from racing, yeah," muses Fishface, turning to face the apprentice, "like if you were running, and slipped on some ice. Or, a tree could fall down on top of you when you aren't looking. Or, Cicadastar yells at you for not cleaning the elders' nests, diverting your attention and causing you to run face-first into a bee's nest." He sneezes again.​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : the riverclan leader knew he was born fortunate ; he’d been blessed with a tangle of bicolored curls that thicken to a monochromatic briar amidst the leafbare chill, shielding him from better than most. still the bitter tendrils of icy wind frost the tender edges of his ears, rubs his nose raw and runny. the white - collared ruff around his throat is thick with coiling ivory, dripping dew from slick - tipped ends as he makes his approach, settling alongside gloompaw and giving her a faux - serious look, “ it’s true, jah. “ he rumbles, settling down just to wrap the thick, plume - like blanket of his tail over chilly paws, “ it could happen to you one day, gloompaw. mind your elders. “ he rumbles, despite the smile that twitches at the very edges of his rubberblack maw. icy luminaries drift towards fishface, long limbs folding beneath him, jutting spine trembling against the tugging breeze. poor thing.

then his arched muzzle drips and cicadastar blinks, stomach turning. ick,“ how long have you had that cough? you sound . . ” he begins, tone lifting in concern only to trail off in a cloud - lined breath. it rattled in the slim warriors chest and in a brief moment, he seems to think better of his wording. his mouth snaps closed, as if it were any better. his cheeks burn, though not from the cold — and after a few quick, brief licks to his chest, the man mumbles, “ not . . good . . “

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and ice blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a german accent, ages on the seventh, penned by antlers
  
  
• 
• none.

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