camp ROCKET NUMBER NINE [✨] gathering night


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The light of the full-bellied moon cascades off the nettles of the pine. Its soft silver light illuminates the camp even as midnight settles upon them. Orangestar and Twitchbolt had left thousands of heartbeats ago to attend the gathering, Figfeather can envision them now with the rest of the clan settled within fourtrees.

She longed to be there with them, settled at the base of the Great Rock as Orangestar’s stand-in deputy. How exhilarating it must be to sit there underneath your leader, gazing back at the crowd of cats who watched and waited for their word. How nice it must be to know that StarClan gazes upon you as you represent your clan. She grows envious that Twitchbolt regains that honor tonight, as much as she wished to suppress it, the taste in her mouth was bitter.

Still, she reminds herself that it is still an honor to watch over the clan in Orangestar’s absence. It meant the scarred leader must hold a great deal of trust in her. Her attempts to convince herself the task she bore were important did little to suppress her yearning. It’s clear in the way her gaze drinks up the moon her heart is somewhere else, beneath Orangestar’s paws at the base of the Great Rock.
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The camp had fallen into a near-empty state since most of the clan had left. Gatherings. Others revered them as acts of unity, but to him, they were nothing but false traditions—ways for leaders to gloat and point fingers at the end of the evening. This grand gathering had left the camp vulnerable, and now it was a matter of who would dare to challenge the silence. The titan of a fighter always preferred to stay where his skills were most advantageous. Home. Silver lights cascaded around the camp, briefly illuminating various areas.

A stoic gaze was fixed on the orange-colored deputy stand. Her pelt, reminiscent of a campfire, was both comforting and hungry. She stared into the sky as if competing with the moon, in a silent battle of who would blink first. Orangestar had left her in charge, and in his icy blue eyes, she was the one best suited for it. The owl stood several cat-lengths behind her, his eyes narrowed in emptiness, as if a soul had been ripped out. If Fig was beautiful and determined to watch over the clan in their leader's absence, then Owlfrost would be her shadow—always present, always waiting. The fighter’s body flexed as he silently closed the distance between them.

Curiosity.

Something was on her mind, and while he wasn’t going to ask, he would simply be present. His left forepaw fell next to her right one, exhaling softly as his hardened sneer lifted to the moon as well.
 

-ˋˏ ༻❇༺ ˎˊ- The Gathering, they'd only been to it a handful of times and they wished they could go more. Though it was alright as they werent alone back at camp at least. Honeysplash had been leaving the nursery to find something to eat for herself before bed, she had to wrangle the kits up and that took more energy the bigger they got. They couldnt wait for them to be apprenticed, the day and thought of it making her smile to herself. Still they glanced over to the cats who had stayed behind and seen Figfeathers orange fur along with the darker coat of Owlfrosts'.

They pause in their walking for a moment before deciding to abandon the idea of eating in favor of bothering the two of them. They both looked so serious sitting there and they wondered if everything was sound. Honeysplash flicked an ear slightly before raising her tail in greeting to the two of them, "Guarding camp? How about some company?" They offer and didnt really wait for an agreement or anything as she sat down beside Owlfrost on the other side of him.

The cream and white queen look up to the stars as they stretched across the sky, and they smile a little to themselves, "Do you think the Gathering will go well this time?" There always seemed to be something at the Gatherings, big or small, chaotic or not. They just were excited to hear about it when they returned.


  • Speech
  • Honeysplash she/they/it, Warrior of Skyclan, 31 moons.
    a lithe, short haired cream tabby and white patched cat with mossy green eyes
    sister to Orangestar, Applefrost, Apricotflower and Cloudberrythorn // aunt to; Cherryblossom, Eggbounce, Tawnyclaw, Glimmersun // crushing on; Florabreeze & Chrysaliswing // mother to; Cloverkit, Adderkit, Weaselkit
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
    see battle info here
    penned by wolf@wolf_1997 on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 
The eternal infantryman he was, his eyes never did drift to the deputy’s branch as some others did. His eyes were on the ranks and the network of clan morale and training progressions. His days in politics had left him with headaches, but he didn’t feel ashamed to step away from his duties for his first litter. Leafbare had been plagued with war and turmoil, he had played his part and did it well. Diplomacies had badged him with friends in higher places, but vestigial to him now. Newleaf had brought rogues but the ranks swell at the ready, with proper Skyclanners to train them.

He lays across soft grass, tail curling at the tip with the occasional flick. Moongazing, he spots Figfeather who was left in charge, several tail lengths away while Owlfrost and Honeysplash inch their way to bring her company.

The quieter nature of night made voices travel easily, he enjoyed eavesdropping when the moon was out and the crickets sing beyond the fern and bramble. Reminds him he was alive. " The last moon gathering went well… beyond the inevitable bad news … no real incidents… the apprentices were having a good time " he recalls aloud, hopeful for this gathering at least but two peaceful gatherings in a row? hell would sooner freeze over. Aching shoulders roll, and he flips over on his side to feel the coolness of the ground soak into his overworked tendons. He chuckles a bit to himself with his cheek against the grass, mentally praying Quillstrike doesn’t get into a fight. Hot-headed fool, Twitchbolt would be too busy with the temporary deputy pleasantries to leash him.

Not his problem anymore, he thinks as he stretches out his legs where he lays against his ribs. Training two cats and maintaining his own sharpness among the newest generation made the hard ground softer than any nest he could make.






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    forty-eight mns. EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
    — Former Lead warrior of Skyclan 12.22.22 - 06.2023
    Father of Coyotecrest, Eveningsun and Scorpionpaw
    — mentoring Teeveepaw formerly Snowpath & Quillstrike
    — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
    voice & accent
    biography・゚✧
    OPEN for Dice battles | 🎲 stine#3004
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It had been many seasons since Slate had been camp-bound on the night of a full moon. Having to skip out on a gathering was welcomed by the former lead warrior, who much preferred quiet and solitude compared to ringing voices and bustling bodies, though he could not help but wonder how Orangestar was faring tonight. It is his new standing with the orange and cream molly that strongly compels the tom to accompany her whenever he is able. Tonight, however, is spent apart with only Twitchbolt at her side as part of her council ( aside from the medicine cats ).

SkyClan is left in the paws of Figfeather and Twitchbolt and, for the time being, no one else. Slate could safely say that he trusted the latter more; even when Twitchbolt had the guts to show some backbone in recent moons, he still had not forgotten what the patchwork tom had confided to him in the medicine den. However, as much as he held some faith in Figfeather to help carry the council in the newfound absence of a pawful of lead warriors and a deputy, he only mourns the fact that now he can't do so as well.

Ruminative, the Maine Coon twitches the end of his tail, momentarily watching as Orangestar's chosen lead warrior stands guard. Selfishly, Slate wonders if he'd made the right choice — not because he didn't love Orangestar, but because now he was no longer in any position to aid in making decisions for the clan. He wanted to have a say, now more than ever, now that death was always on his mate's doorstep. If her council let anything happen to her when they could have helped prevent it... needless to say, Slate would be expressing his discontent loudly.

Momentarily, he considers the alternative path he could have chosen, conflict brewing in his gut. If Slate had stayed on Orangestar's council, if they had chosen to forgo their love for one another, then he would have lived with his decision for the rest of his life. After all, the leader could promote as many lead warriors as her heart desired, but at the end of the day he was her only mate. Slate possessed the privilege be close to Orangestar in a way that no living cat could. That, he decided, was more important to him. Besides, it was not as if Slate would stop serving SkyClan to the best of his ability ( although, he would not take very kindly to the lead warriors if they decided to boss him around all day ).

His clanmates chatter casually, communing with one another to discuss the gathering. Slate picks up on a few words here and there, torn ear perking slightly, though he's disinterested in conversing for the most part. Sitting a few paces away from the leader's den, he rests a steadied amber gaze on the entrance of camp, as if staring long enough would make the away party appear before his very eyes.

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    a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face.
 
For once, Bat was content. On a typical day, the SkyClan camp was the very last place he wanted to be, the way the incessant chatter and endless movement like a school of disturbed fish making him so stressed he could easily be sick- but not tonight. Tonight was different, for nearly half of the clan had departed alongside Orangestar to begin their journey to fourtrees. This, admittedly, was an event Bat was quite unfamiliar with. He did not understand nor see the appeal in all of the clans gathering to conjoin into one momentarily just for the sake of what he deemed to be idle discussion. He had not yet been a member of SkyClan for one of the most impactful gatherings as of recent moons- the idle gossip falling from loose lips that travelled around the uncharacteristically open space was completely foreign to him. A part of him wanted to know more for the simple sake of being curious- it was in a cats nature, after all- however, the other more predictable part of him didn't care. Clan life and their traditions were a concept that he may never come to fully be able to understand nor grasp. He was here to do nothing more besides exist and provide the services that were expected of him which would allow him to do so, nothing more and nothing less. To be a renowned and noble warrior whose name would be relayed throughout generations, whos memory would withstand the tests of time- it was not something he imagined nor expected himself to be.

His stark verdant gaze trailed over those who remained in camp- Figfeather, positioned at the forefront of the entrance as to keep a weary watch over those under her temporary care- Owlfrost, Honeysplash, Thistleback, and Slate. Slate. Bat's attention stayed fixed on the ebony maine coon's impressive frame for a rather noticeable amount of time. Recently demoted from his position as lead warrior, he was eerily resigned- silent, for once in his life, though the way he stared with concerned expectancy at the camps entrance made one wonder what exactly was going through his head. Bat expected him to be much more...imbittered- but there was hardly any anger to be seen within him, the contrast between this and those familiar bared fangs and guttural snarl somewhat jarring.

He did not spend much longer contemplating the inner workings of an individual he had has nothing but negative experiences with, instead pushing himself onto lithe paws to make his way towards the only cat in camp who he could stand to willingly be around- Thistleback- sprawled leisurely out against the soft grass that cradled his elongated frame. He caught his comment as he closed the distance between them- something about a previous gathering, bad news and the enjoyment of the apprentices attending- all of it was entirely lost on him. But perhaps it didn't have to be, surely not if he asked politely? Or at the very least, as politely as he could manage given his instinctual sarcastic drawl. "Oi, what- Uh...What's all this tosh 'bout the last lil' get-together 'tween yer posh leader posse?...We ain't well in 't, yeah?" He settled down next to Thistleback, though his distance was far enough as to be respectful.​
 

After the last gathering, Howlfire thought it was probably a good job Orangestar had not called her name among those chosen to go. She hadn't caused a scene - not really anyway - but she could understand why her sudden flight at the mention of Moonwhisper's passing, might have reflected poorly on the clan and Orangestar.

With so few left on the council, watching camp falls to Figfeather that night, and Howlfire reflects with an air of amusement that her friend seemed to be taking it in stride. Owlfrost lingered not far behind her, a silent shadow watching proceedings. Slate was also silent tonight, lingering close to the leader's den, his amber gaze more interested at the entrance of camp.

Howlfire finds herself gravitating towards the groups of cats discussing the gathering, incling a head in the direction of each speaker in turn. Bat asks if they were in trouble when Thistleback mentions the inevitable bad news that always seems to come with any gathering - peaceful or not. "I don't believe we're in trouble," She responded. Howlfire suddenly shifted her paws awkwardly. "I probably wouldn't be the best to ask if you wanted any certainty, I left earlier than most..."