SHADY SHOALS REST HOME — elder au

[SLATE]

〔✦〕"Huh?! What did you say?!" The grizzled tom cat barks aloud from his worn nest to whoever is talking. Their voice—whoever it was—was muffled in his hairy and torn ears. His hearing had been worsening since his days as an older warrior ( to no one's surprise; his ears were quite mangled ), so much so that he could barely hear anything above a shout these days.

Slate, miraculously still hanging onto life despite his combative nature, was marred with scars from head to toe. The Maine Coon had traded his bulky muscle for pure fluff, his pelt disheveled and tangled as aching limbs and joint pains prevented him from properly grooming himself. Nearly every day, he'd grumble something to himself about preferring to finally keel over rather than rot away in his nest. If he couldn't defend his own clan anymore then what was the point of being around? Slate was just a clump of fur, kicked to the corner of the elder's den and demoted to a living encyclopedia of old tales and war stories. He hadn't died young, not like he'd expected. Many times he had come close, but it seemed those dead cats above were spiteful dungfaces who were determined to keep him alive.

The old Maine Coon swiped his tongue across his scarred jowls before snapping, "Speak up! My hearin's not what it used to be."

oh no, ive said too much ( i havent said enough ) //

• ooc. it's elder time!!! bonus: any current kits/apprentices can jump in as senior warriors c;
  
• SLATE —— lead warrior of skyclan , mentoring coffeepaw ✦ penned by beatles
  ✦ cismale / he/him pronouns / 40 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ single / bisexual & monogamous / closed to romance
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— hard combat difficulty & weak to agile, quick fighters / will start fights, will kill if necessary
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are ic
  ✦ biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  
• 
  
  

  a scarred longhaired maine coon with amber eyes. a large, 20lb tom with thick locks of fur. his chest and underbelly is ruddy from sun exposure. notable scars decorate his face and his ears are both torn with one being folded over.

​

 

[Johnnyflame]

MY WORLDS ON FIRE, HOW 'BOUT YOURS?
THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT AND I NEVER GET BORED."​

---

There were many times when Johnny expected he wouldn’t live to see the days where his fur grew grizzled with age and his muscles grew weary long before the end of the day had come. Old age was both a privilege and a curse, a double edged sword that many Skyclanners never got to know.

Of course, he hadn’t come away completely unscathed.

While his senses had kept to him -sight and hearing- Johnny’s body had slowed. He moved with a permanent limp in his hind leg that was prone to crippling stiffness when the weather turned cold or wet, and he had grown awfully forgetful in his senior years, always calling cats by the wrong name or getting up to do something only to forget what he’d been about to do. He was still quick to shrug it off with a lopsided smile though, never seeming too bothered.

”I said, it looks like rain, you old badger!” bellowed Johnny into the toms ears with an amused huff. ”Deaf as a bat is blind, that one.” he huffed good naturedly to whoever was nearest.

---

​

 

[DUSKPOOL]

don't raise your voice . improve your argument .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

No doubt a surprise to most of the clan, livin’ this long to see retirement left a funny feelin’ in the old tom’s bones that seemed to carry a constant ache as the moons passed, exceedin’ his days as a senior warrior

It was a surprise as much as it’d been one for most SkyClan for not havin’ the greatest track record with peservin’ his life. Duskpool had waited until he’d been dragged unwillin’ by Palemoon, nearin’ 135 moons and hangin’ up his duties as a warrior.

It was a cumbersome process, one he still hadn’t quite settled into after 39 moons. With a low guttural grunt, Duskpool settled down, muzzle wrinklin’ at the constant ache in his limbs regardless of how he laid down. Somethin’ is always hurtin’. If it wasn’t his damn joints, it was that damn leg he twisted moons ago or his shoulder he’d wretched out not once, but thrice durin’ his time as a warrior. Damn body failin’ me before I want it too.

He hated the aspect of sittin’ around with nothin’ to do but watch the younger folk go about their day. It was a bittersweet moment, sighin’ ruefully. Some days Duskpool wondered if he should get on with it and die now that most of his kin perished, wantin’ nothin’ more than to see their faces, but life never did like givin’ him what he desired most, but it gave him the chance to watch over the rest of his kin.

He breathed a haggard snort, tired molten hues watchin’ the conversation. “Still just as temperamental.” He rumbled sarcastically, wooly plumage twitchin’ from where it wrapped around a bulky frame ( now just an unsightly matted mess ).

“Use old fools got nothin’ else to do but complain.” He grumbled from his spot, tucked away from most elders, but not so distant that he was out of Palemoon’s reach. ​

​

thought speech​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

Much like her companions in the elders' den, Doeblaze's body is no longer so unmarred and limber as it had been in her younger days—not that anyone could ever call her without scars, not since her arrival in the forest, anyways. Still, the old she - cat had reached a whole new level by the time she'd finally retired at a hundred and twenty - odd moons; scar tissue marbles her from head to toe, a raised band of pink marring her throat, brutal carvings on her once - muscled limbs, even her split ear now almost chewed off entirely. The injuries may have put a damper on her physically, but they've seemingly done nothing to bring down the elder; if anything, age has softened her soldier's stoicism a little.

" Slate's been complaining since he was still at his mother's flank, " she mrrows from where she's tucked in a loaf of lilac - tabby . . . or not so much, for the old she - cat's nearly all white now, bearing only a doelike patch of freckled tawny across her back and a half - mask of the stuff to prove she was ever a lilac cat at all. Doeblaze's poking fun at Slate more for the sake of tradition than any remaining animosity, their arguing practically a ritual around the elders' den at this point.

Honestly, she'd never thought she'd make it this long; the scars rippling across shaggy white fur is testament to that fact, for the elder'd always thought she'd die young ( or younger, at least ). Time has done nothing to erode her love, though, and she waits patiently for the day when she'll join her lost mate in the stars . . . oh, StarClan, where there'll be no persistent ache in her joints or barrier between her and her love. She turns with a pained wince at the protest in aging joints to nestle her little, war - torn bundle of flowers more securely into the fur of her back; the veritable cornucopia of blooms is an ever - present reminder of those who waited above, and asking about them was an excellent way to draw out an hours - long recounting of everything the little old she - cat had seen since her joining, now so many moons ago.

" You think so? " she mrrows huskily to Johnnyflame over Slate's bellowing—the banded scars across her throat have pitched her already - rasping voice ever lower, keeping her in a perptually low register that made for a terrible mix with so many of her denmates' bad ears. A wave - softened seaglass eye, grief worn down to serenity by time and assurance, seeks the slightly - blurry shape of the sky. Doeblaze's muzzle curves down at the corners as she grumbles, " Oh, but the rain'll make my joints ache. "

" I wonder if the patrols'll come back early . . . maybe one'f my kits'll come visit, " she meows fondly, hoping a flame - licked pelt or two might suddenly appear at the den's fern - lined mouth. " Oh, y'know what this time of year reminds me of . . . the journey. You remember that, Slate? " she croaks out wistfully, poking the grizzled old tom with one snow - hued paw. The tabby sighs, marvelling, " I was so young and spry then! "

OOC : Elder!Doe reference if anyone's interested :-)

♥︎

​

 

[Palemoon]

A soft yawn leaves the old beauty's jaws as the two bellow and scream at each other, glancing at Duskpool as she leans into the comfort of his shoulder. In the past, Robinsky was one of the few elders in the den, but now it is filled with those who retired due to their age. A plush tail sways side to side as her ears flick with every noise, her ghostly pale gaze fully blind. ”Mmm... keep yelling and... you'll fall over dead...” Palemoon murmurs towards the two tomcats. Her paws pat the ground lightly in search of Duskpool before finally reaching one of his paws, gently placing her paw on top of his.

Knowing that he was close still gave her comfort, and she gently nuzzled his flank affectionately. It was harder at her age to keep his coat due to her blindness fully riding both of her eyesight, and their skin being more sensitive with age. ”...I'm sure you still look young and spry... Doeblaze...” The beautiful elder murmurs towards the former lead warrior. A gentle smile graces her aged snout as she lays her head down beside Duskpool's paws. She lost her age so long ago, that she wondered how everyone looked now. How did she look now? Did Duskpool get more scars? There was always that lingering question, but it was Starclan's will that she would see the world in the end.
​

 

[Chickbloom]

Bleary amber eyes open at the muffled sound of bickering, fuzzy tones mixing together with dreams in that strange state of half-sleep. For a few moments, the grey Scottish Fold was miles away. The half-remembered faces and figures of two housefolk swam in the elder’s mind before fading as reality took hold, and yolk-splashed paws pushed him up.

Chickbloom had now been a wild cat for far longer than he’d ever been cooped up in the twolegplace. White features had gone grey moons ago, but the Scottish Fold still thought of himself as a ‘former kittypet.’ The baby bird rummaged around his nest, pulling the faded and torn remnants of his old collar close as he tried to make out what everyone was talking about.

Chickbloom had gone practically deaf with age, a prospect which would have horrified him were he still a youngster. Just the thought of having to constantly ask others to repeat themselves would’ve given scrambled-egg features a topping of ketchup with embarrassment. Now, though?

“Dung and shy?” Chickbloom mistakenly repeated Doeblaze. “Don’t…Don’t be so hard on yourself. I looked up to you a lot back then, y’know. I was the shy one!” ​

 

[Oleanderkit]

Oleandertail does not envy her elders. They lack faculty; their very senses betray them in ways that she has only been privy to in the way of delusion. Ears that can't hear. Eyes that can't see. Oleander's own vision has been going for a long time, but at least she can still read the blown-out shapes of other cats. She is not completely blind — not yet, anyway. She thinks she is only a cycle of seasons away from it; maybe two or even three cycles, if she is lucky. If she lives that long.

They all hem and haw about the ache in their joints and the ozone harbinger. Oleandertail would not be in this den were it not for Lovage's own presence within it. She's been collecting ticks like it's a hobby lately, and though normally de-ticking their elders is an apprentice activity, Oleandertail prefers to do the job herself (so it will be done right, of course). She steps into the den, eyes aglow, a squirrel in her jaws. She drops it in the center of the den. "I brought you all a snack," she hums, voice breathy and high-pitched in the way a glacial fairy's might be.

She settles at her mother's side quickly, though, and gets to work without much of a word. She doesn't feel the need. Her ears prick when Doeblaze mentions something she's only heard of a few times, even now that she has been in SkyClan for many cycles. "Would you tell me about the journey, Doeblaze? I think I was just a kitten when I heard about it last." She sniffles softly, a habit that had not left her since then. Then she hooks her teeth around the first bile-soaked tick and pulls it away. She does not allow her nose to wrinkle at the scent.

"Young and spry, Chickbloom," Oleandertail corrects idly between bugs. It takes a mighty effort to discern the small black things against Lovage's pelt with her blurry vision.

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍, 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓 𓆱 . ݁˖ . ݁𓆸

• ooc. looking for @lovage but interacting with everyone!
  
• OLEANDERKIT —— kit of skyclan . lovage x laurel . littermate to birchkit and mercurykit ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a willowy silver blue ticked torbie with low white and seafoam eyes. lonerborn, oleander struggles to learn the ropes of clan life while coping with anxiety and past trauma. may seem strange, and has unconventional hobbies.
  ✦ girl / she her pronouns / undiscovered sexuality / 02 moons & ages every 20th
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will not start fights / will flee / will show mercy. a mere kitten, she cannot defend herself in battle.
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Curled up at Johnnyflame's side, the spotted tabby had certainly seen better days. Though he had kept himself in shape as best as he could, the ghostly silver fur around his muzzle as turned stark white, and eyes once sharp and judgemental were now clouded and milky. He still had his hearing, but with how loud the conversations around him could get, a part of the feline wished that it was that that had gone instead. He missed being able to see Johnnyflame, the way his smile curved whenever the pair had locked gazes, the myriad of scars he'd gotten defending SkyClan, the gorgeous leaf-fall colours to a pelt graced by StarClan. With a fading memory, he mourned never telling the other Elder sooner how handsome he was while he still had the vision for Johnny to know it was sincere.

He shuffled in his nest, letting out a groan as the bones in his neck creaked. "StarClan Doeblaze, if you regale us with another story of the Journey I swear I'm going to throw you out of this den." There was no point trying to live out their glory days, it only made Silversmoke bitter that he could not do the things he did before. The sound of a visitor caused the Elder to tilt his head towards the den's entrance, staring vacantly past Oleandartail, his nose still strong enough to pinpoint the smell of prey close by. "Please don't encourage her..." Though raspy-voiced and surly, there was a hint of a plea to the tom's voice. "It's all we here from sunhigh to sunset. 'I went to the mountains. I fought eagles and dogs and cured the clan.' I know more about the precise colour of the grasses than I do my own grandkids at this point."



​

 

[CHRYSALISWING]

"I TOLD YOU, STOP YER YAMMERIN' AND LET ME TAKE MY NAP!"

A yowl, as fierce as a caterwaul of war's craft, boomed through the elder's den from the shadows of its interior. From the depths of the darkness, misfit gaze stared daggers into those that dared disturb his beauty rest, though fogged and rounded they had become with the softness of his years. Still did his face carry the baggage of ire that he had always held, even as the moons had not been the kindest to his physique, and as he felt his fur and muscle wish to fall away from his framework of bones. "I swear, y'guys talk like a coupla chitterin' foxes. Meeh mwehh nyeeh ehh." Waves of saltwater inflection rolled from Chrysaliswing's maw, complete with a creaky impression that did not sound of the chatting elders at all, though even at his age had the pules of a failing voice escaped him. He still was the same old cat, after all. If anything, his temper had only worsened and curdled as time passed, as the world he once knew slowly grew more and more hostile to duller senses. The tortoiseshell-colored tomcat's head fell downwards, resting upon curled paws in a pseudo-loaf, as though his wrath could only brim for mere seconds before it exhausted itself like a matchstick. He found contentment in rotting away the days until Starclan would tap at his shoulder, counting down the sunrises and sundowns until he did not awake to witness the aureate. There was little for him where he slept.

𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 ⚠︎ 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘷𝘦

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— CHRYSALISWING / He/They / 27 Moons
  —— Warrior of Skyclan / Mentoring n/a
  —— A long-haired tomcat with chimaeric patterning. His left side is fully black and his right side is black splotched with sunset-orange. He has complete heterochromia, with his right eye being a bright green and his left eye being a glowering yellow.
  —— Abrasive, temperamental, and critical. Approach at your own risk and engage at your own cost. Despite this, he is a hard worker and quick to call out what he finds wrong.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​