private SNAP OUT OF IT — silversmoke

[SLATESNARL]

A patrol with both Silversmoke and Slate — that was certainly new. Orangeblossom usually knew better than to keep the two sharp-tongued, irritable lead warriors in one setting for too long, but today seemed to be an exception to this unspoken rule. It had been moons now since Slate had stepped up to the position on Blazestar's council, not to mention he had been gone for nearly two on a perilous journey. Perhaps this was a means of testing the waters, of seeing if the fire between the two rivals was still ablaze or if tensions had quelled to a smolder. Besides, now that Bobbie was a lead warrior alongside them, it seemed that Slate would have a more fresh feud to keep his attention on.

Any dislike that Slate feels toward the silver tabby is, for the most part, surface-level at this point in time. He was a rule stickler who bossed everyone around with every breath, who scrutinized his clanmates' decisions even down to the tiniest detail, who never seemed to do anything but work. Silversmoke was, in other words, annoying. However, they have both done a decent job of staying out of each other's way. Had Slate finally proved his worth to Silversmoke, or had the senior lead warrior simply gotten better at masking his distaste for the former rogue? At least they haven't gotten into a heated argument in a long while. In fact, more often than not, they end up agreeing with one another. As much as Slate would hate to ever acknowledge it, the two seem to share more similarities than they'd like to admit.

Maybe... Maybe it was time to stop looking at Silversmoke as an enemy. Stars, was he really going to start a conversation with him? Maybe all of that mountain air had gotten to his head. Slate's amber eyes hesitantly shift over toward Silversmoke as they walk along the riverside. "So, the new lead warriors..." Slate rumbles, now directing his gaze toward a rock as he leaned his great, blocky skull down to rub against it. "What do you think of 'em?" Did Silversmoke, the other outspoken kittypet opposer in SkyClan, have as much of a problem with Bobbie's promotion as he did?

✰ INFO

• @SILVERSMOKE
  
• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

The tabby was one of many boundaries, revealing when they had been crossed with bristled fur and a tongue that pierced like teeth. Walking with Slate, the Lead Warrior's limbs were tensed, claws flexing in and out of their sheathes in preparation for a fight that never came from his peer. To agree in public was one thing, to be tasked with patrolling together was a new level of audacity that he wanted to admonish the Deputy for, but nothing negative had come out of it so far. They worked in abject silence (a preference for the withdrawn maine coon), marking StarClan knows what to protect it from StarClan knows who. Convinced that the only sounds he'd hear were the birds overhead and the rustle of ferns on the crisp wind, Silversmoke wasn't sure if it was the other tom's voice he'd heard at first. Blinking rapidly, he cast his glare towards them, a follow-up mew confirming that it had, in fact, been the ex-rogue to strike up a conversation. Was he feeling alright? A case of yellowcough in his travels, perhaps? He seemed lucid enough.

Slate wasn't talking about Greeneyes. Anybody else in SkyClan could have taken Greeneyes place and neither of them would've batted an eye. Bobbie was the culprit of their ire, and he stared at the rusted tom for a long time, he couldn't help but wonder what had brought about the question in the first place. 'Looking for a kindred spirit?' The corner of his scarred muzzle twitched at the sardonic thought, buried beneath a level of professionalism that would not be offered elsewhere. "A long time ago, Bobbie told me that she refused to get a warrior name until she felt her skills were warrior-worthy." Nostrils flared - Slate hadn't taken one either, seemingly comfortable with the lack of social and hierarchal pressure. He didn't like it, but that was not the issue today. "She still has no name and has learned seemingly nothing from the journey. But she accepted an esteemed position on the council when she is not ready, a position that someone like Figfeather or Dogbite should be in instead." Shame briefly flittered into his eyes, guilt twisting his stomach into a tight knot. A thought had struck him like unsheathed claws and had sunk in deep, even as he looked away from Slate, he found his opinion remained - stars, the world would be easier if things could just be perfet every once in a while.

"I would die for Blazestar, but he loves too much and lets that love cloud his judgment. If it is love, not merit, that has given Bobbie a place among us then..." He shook his head at the thought. It wouldn't last, it couldn't last.

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[SLATESNARL]

The burly Maine Coon listens as the other tom elaborates on the topic of the former kittypet she-cat, about how she has refused a warrior name. Slate himself doesn't have much of a solid reasoning for a lack of a suffix, other than the fact that he didn't think he needed one. What would change? Everybody would still see him the same way. At least he didn't have a ridiculous twoleg-given name. "Bobbie sure as hell isn't more deserving than either of those two." Slate snorted in agreement with a twitch of his bushy tail. He flicks a shredded ear once Silversmoke suggests that Blazestar's bias and favoritism alone landed the she-cat a place on the council. Wasn't Blazestar more reasonable than this? "I just want to know what he sees in her. As a lead warrior, I mean." He couldn't care less what the leader thought of Bobbie as a mate, and frankly, he doesn't want to know. The thought of them rubbing muzzles and cuddling up next to each other nearly invokes a nauseating churn of his stomach.

It isn't long before Slate realizes how contradictory he might sound, especially in front of Silversmoke who likely balked at his promotion moons ago. "Hmph. Maybe I shouldn't be one to talk, but at least I can defend SkyClan. At least I have the spine for it." Slate would not stand there and pretend that he wasn't different than the other lead warriors — Silversmoke shared his stubbornness and aggression, but he was at least empathetic toward his own clanmates when the time called for it. Johnnyflame, Twitchbolt, and Greeneyes were all similar in the way that their temperaments were generally friendly.

They all had their place among SkyClan, among the clans in general. Slate could not admit to feeling the same, even after all this time. "Brute", he had been called on the journey by one of the RiverClanners. He doubted that he would ever be seen as anything more than a rogue. Perhaps Blazestar had sought him out for that reason — he needed an intimidating presence on his team after the disappearance of Thistleback.

Well, he supposed that complaining all day wouldn't change matters. It was best to just grit their teeth and go about things to the best of their ability... until the day Blazestar began to blatantly favor Bobbie's opinion over the others. Slate would not last for much longer on the leader's council if that were to be the case. "I still find it hard to believe what happened while we were gone." The lead warrior grunts in a swift change of subject. It wasn't that Slate was particularly enjoying his conversation with Silversmoke, but... it was interesting to have someone to talk to about these matters ( someone besides Ora, anyway ). The two had never really talked before — Slate truly did not know who the silver tabby was, outside of his stoic and dutiful lead warrior shtick. Was Silversmoke more nuanced than he initially presumed, or was he made of stone? "The rogues... where did they all come from? Were they from the city?" There were rogues who lived beyond the confines of the Twolegplace, he was sure. Slate was merely curious if Silversmoke had recognized any. For all he knew, they could have been the felines whom he used to associate with.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣

• 

• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

"Diplomacy, I imagine. They say those who cannot use their claws use their words instead, but hers are no less sharp than a badger's teeth. She will get eaten alive by any clan that takes offense and, within SkyClan, her position as Blazestar's mate means she may never be wrong in our council meetings." Blazestar, beloved Blazestar, had never been able to see reason when it came to those he loved. RiverClan's loss of Sunningrocks should have been an alliance-ender and a war-starter. Should battle have been inevitable, he'd have preferred his odds against ThunderClan - less obstacles to their camp, more trees to ambush from. Luck was too short a thing to rely on it in leafbare, all he could hope was that Bobbie's existence did not stir something vicious within the other groups.

Slate spoke of defending SkyClan and the tom scoffed. "When you want to," he huffed all too quickly, eyes twitching at his own speed. It seemed unfair nowadays to call Slate a brutish rogue; he was a brutish SkyClanner instead, still awful in many ways the spotted tabby could not comprehend, but loyal to the group that had taken a chance on him. Thinking such positive things about the creature that maimed his face was not as easy as his superiors wanted it to be. Even if such injuries had been a game of survival back then, he still couldn't help but feel as if the maine coon had cheated by denying him a chance at retaliation. Ears flattened as he swallowed them thoughts down - just because they were allies did not mean they needed to be friends... he could life with allyship. "A part of me thought you would not come back from the journey. Not because you were killed, but because you were tempted by life outside of SkyClan. I am... glad I was wrong."

StarClan, that was awkward. His fur bristled; a chestnut's shell, prepared to protect, prepared to ward the other Lead away should one question try to cut too deeply. The hairs below his neck had still not fully regrown, a pink line formed on the white flesh beneath his long coat. It was failure's grizzly mark, but at least he had earned it on the battlefield and not fleeing those who had threatened to destroy SkyClan. Slate moved onto them instead and the Lead Warrior grit his teeth and pointed his nose towards the sky. Despair had been his best friend for that moon, even now it lingered, seeking to cast blame on everyone else so he did not have to think so hard about his own failures. Even if he recognised it, he still couldn't help but feel sour that his worries had come true. The maine coon hybrid shook his head. "No, I didn't know any of them. No Frost, no Hiss, not even Belphegor. No one knows where they came from or how they managed to form a more unionised clan than half of those I've seen in the forest." He didn't like not knowing, not knowing meant there was the potential to be evicted again and the next time could very well be permanent.

"They fell like trees when we attacked them together." His thoughts shot to Snowpath - perhaps that comparison had not been as well thought out as he'd liked. "They attacked RiverClan first, I think they came from beyond the Twolegplace; but if that were the case, someone must have told them about the yellowcough outbreak across our forest." His muzzle twisted into a half-snarl, half-grimace at the thought - had the enemy travelled through the Twolegplace, there was only one set of creatures that could've informed them about the sickness.
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