camp SNOW DAY ; rogue stories

[DOEBLAZE]

It's been a long time since she called this place home, Bobbie thinks as she stands outside the nursery. Far from the makeshift nest of ferns in which her kits were born, or the hastily built post-Snowpath den, it's now properly fortified and made comfortable by SkyClan's new generations. Through the entrance, soft moss lines the ground, and the Clan's most vulnerable bound around, playing and arguing and tussling. It'd be a lie to say it hasn't melted her heart a little, watching Butterflytuft's three prance around camp or Sangriakit and Coffeekit peer wonderingly at the towering trees during their first visit.

A reminder, however small, that leaf-bare can bring more with it than hunger and misery. Oh, but to be back to greenleaf days, lying in the sun with nothing more to worry about than getting a moment's rest away from her kits. When Crowpaw had been Crowkit and he'd clung to her so much she'd nearly wished he'd let go a little—and now, her son will barely speak to her, and Lupinepaw doesn't seem to be on speaking terms with him either. The memory is a lead weight in place of her heart, and suddenly she does miss the feeling of little scraps of fur chasing after her, bedding down in soft moss as dusk streaks the sky.

Don't be silly, she chastises with a self-directed roll of the eyes, blinking at whichever kits peer back at her. The queens could surely use a break, and she remembered kits particularly enjoying wild tales of bears and rogues. Perhaps telling the story would soften the blow a little. "Do you want to hear a story about the rogues?" she calls invitingly to whatever bundles of fur pile out of the nursery. "And how I got some of these cool scars?" The mending wounds on her lower back aren't technically scars yet, but she doubts the kits care to make the distinction.

// Prompt thread: The kits will be curious—while you're entertaining them, regale them with tales about the rogues!

"speech"

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[SANGRIAPAW]

*✧･ﾟ The kit knows, distantly, of what has happened within the clan recently. She knows that some cats were hurt in a fight, and one of them was Figfeather’s apprentice, but she hasn’t been told how. And truthfully, Sangriakit doesn’t know enough yet to be angry about it. She’s just happy to be away from home for the day, in the new camp that’s open for her and Coffeekit to explore. When the lilac-striped form of one of the clan’s lead warriors enters the den, Sangriakit picks herself up from where she’d been bravely wrestling with a loose scrap of moss. Her fur sticks up in some places, and the tortoiseshell is quick to correct it with a few swift licks—she can’t be looking gross in front of Bobbie, can she?

Leaf-green eyes practically sparkle as she stares up at Bobbie. The warrior is going to tell them a story? "Shut up! Shut up! She’s gonna tell a story!" She bats at the other kits with a soft paw, her voice raised enough to cause more of a ruckus than the others had been causing in the first place. But once her attention returns to Bobbie, the little she-kit settles herself down on her haunches before the lead warrior, staring intently up at the other SkyClanner. "What's a rogue?" She doesn’t give anyone the chance to answer her first question before asking another. "Will rogues give me scars?"​

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[Honeysplash]

The clan truly hadn’t changed. Everyone was still there from what she could see and they felt relief over it. Of course it would be silly for the clan to just disappear like that but it was a paranoid thought they had had since their kidnapping. Just an entire what if situation of what would happen if they came back and everything was gone. Just- vanished. Like some sort of nightmare.

A small shake of their head, they shoved the thoughts down into the dirt and shivered slightly though not cold. Sure there was snow on the ground and the weather permitted being cold- but it was a different emotion that made their fur prickle. A sense of being an outsider? It felt like no one wanted to talk to her, or visit her, or what have you. Though it might be yet another paranoid thought from Honeysplash- those have been more common since she left.

Then a voice spoke out from near the nursery and they lifted their head up. Bobbie was offering stories to the kits and it warmed their heart slightly. They loved stories, and there was so much they had missed over the moons. Though not a kit any longer, but she could help but get up and pad closer.

She settled down with her paws tucked under her bandaged chest, and offered a smile that no longer reached mossy green hues “Mind if i join in too? I’d love to hear about rogues,” She asked Bobbie softly and looked to Sangriakit as the young cat grew so excited. It made her chuckle slightly and then relax her shoulders. A good story would be nice. ​

"Speech"​

---

living in a world so cold​

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[LITTLEMOON]

it's not my fault i have my father's eyes .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Why would anyone want to hear stories about rogues? About death? He side-eyed Bobbie, nose crinkling. Was that why Crowpaw turned out the way he did? Stubborn and telling tall tales that he’d seen straight through before the other could do anything. His pelt prickled hot, letting out a stubborn huff. His mama had been proud, chest nearly puffing at the sign of affection, fleeting as it had been, Littlepaw rarely saw his mama since she showed them SkyClan.

Littlepaw shuffled, curling a plumed tail around his body, not really difficult given his small stature. There was nothing nice about these stories. Telling lies. It made his heart prickle oddly, watching Sangriakit’s excited spew of questions. He couldn’t tell if he was morbidly amused at the sudden chance of ruining a kit’s innocence ( not that he’d let that happen ) or the fact that he was standing close to Crowpaw’s mother.​

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thought speech​

 

[FLUFFYPAW]

She has seen Bobbie around camp—she has long, soft fur and a trill to her voice. Fluffykit had been content to ignore Sangriakit’s rowdy games; at Bobbie’s call for a storytelling audience, the puffy she-kit yawns and exhales a mouthful of kitten breath in a random direction. Her nap had been shallow and troubled. The other kits are too noisy, and she wants milk, not a story, but tentatively, so as not to be mean, she pushes herself to sleepy paws and joins Sangriakit.

Bobbie’s tone is casual, but the words she speaks are scary. Rogues, she says, and Fluffykit’s ears twitch nervously, even as her kin explodes into excited chatter. “S-scars?” She asks, round jade eyes darting from Honeysplash to Littlepaw. Both wore scars on their own pelts—all of the cats who left camp did, she thinks to herself, further reassurance that she would never become a warrior. Too scary.

, ”​

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[COFFEEPAW]

❝ SO GIVE ME COFFEE AND TV ————————————

Never far from his sister's side the chocolate tabby raced over at the mere mention of rogues. Chasing his own tail having been easily abandoned for the much more entertaining topic. Coffeekit's knowledge did not exceed Sangriakit's given what their parents had explained to them both. He was unaware of the depth and nuances to the situation at play. Playfully, he aimed to bump his sister's side with his round noggin and rested on his rump. Gleefully exclaiming alongside her as his bushy tail lashed in anticipation. "Yeah! I wanna know! I wanna know!" Looking up to Bobbie with bright and curious emeralds.

He'd just started to place faces with names and the older molly was one of the few they could pick out. The idea of receiving a scar to adorn his own pelt seemed like the coolest thing ever. He'd get to show off just how strong he was and maybe even one day get lots of scars just like Bobbie. Fluffykit's worried mew draws his attention off to the side and he catches her worried expression. His maw droops in confusion unsure as to why his own kin would strike such a frightened look over the mention of scars. Now I gotta know! Turning back around he waits expectantly to learn more about the rogues and these scars.

[penned by tasmagoric]

———————————— TIL THE WORDS START SLURRIN ❞ ​

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[SLATESNARL]

Somehow, Slate feels that he could never get used to hearing the voice of the lilac tabby, the former kittypet-turned lead warrior whose voice grated against his brain like jagged rocks. The Maine Coon is tempted to duck out of camp and head toward his solitary nest to spare his ears, though his attention is caught when Bobbie offers to regale the nursery residents with her stories of battle particularly against the rogues.

The amber-eyed tom wanted to snort. What did she know about rogues? The only thing she knew was how to get attacked by them. She would be better off telling the kits about the life of a house pet instead. Slate was far more educated than the other lead warrior on the subject, he's certain, but he doesn't make a move to challenge her knowledge in public. In fact, he's a tad curious about how she would explain her perception of rogues to the kits.

Slate says nothing, probably unable to be identified from the background unless one were to look. His gaze lingers on Bobbie expectantly, half-lidded eyes simultaneously communicating "hmph, let's see about this" and "I don't care for anything you have to say".

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

• 

• 

  ✰ 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

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[DOEBLAZE]

Sangriakit's mewling cries of Shut up! Shut up! draw out a giggle from the tabby at the way the little torbie orders her fellow kits around. "How about we lower our voice, Sangriakit?" Bobbie coaxes gently, the kitten's kittypet name foreign and yet familiar on her tongue. Privately, she wonders if Sangriakit won't be on the fast track for lead warriorhood, the way she's commanding the other nursery residents.

Her promise of stories draws in more than the kittens. Honeysplash, looking weary and bandaged, appears to softly request one as well, and Bobbie nods, nostalgia washing over her like a warm greenleaf breeze. The last time she'd properly spoken to Honeysplash, she'd been a timid young queen instead of a well-worn lead warrior—stars, they needed to catch up, didn't they? Bobbie quietly promises herself to go check up on the wounded younger warrior sometime and grins as Coffeekit's expectant little face appears next to his sister.

Then she glances up, and the smile fades off her face at the sight of Slate death-glaring her, as per usual. Bobbie raises her eyebrows in a silent what? and then resolves to just tell the damn story. It's been proven over and over again that she'll never be a real warrior in the dark-furred tom's eyes, so why does she even try? The tabby clicks her teeth softly, debating how to explain current events—which she felt the kits deserved to know about, regardless—in a way that wouldn't keep the kittens up at night.

"Rogues are cats who don't belong to any clan at all. Most of them are mean and they like to take other cats' stuff—like if someone took your favorite toy," the tabby mews gently by way of explanation, nothing how poor Fluffykit trembles—Butterflytuft's most timid kit reminds Bobbie a little of herself. "Well, the story is that one day a couple of other warriors—Orangeblossom and Figfeather—and I went out with our apprentices."

"But then we got ambushed by the rogues, and we had to fight them. Blazingpaw, Wolfpaw, and Hawkpaw were very brave, but they got hurt, and so Blazestar and the other leaders decided that every kit in the forest must be six moons to be apprenticed," she adds instructively, mewing sternly, "That's why you kits have to stay in camp and wait until you're old enough, right?" The cautionary part of her tale complete, the tabby turns before her little audience to display the sunburst of wounds, visible beneath spread cobweb, across her lower back.

"I got those scars fighting the rogue, but I bit him right in the eye!" Bobbie concludes dramatically. She refrains from describing the blood, the pain, the gagging when her teeth had sunk into flesh. If she could delay these kits finding out the reality of battle, she would: their mentors could teach them that when they were old enough. "And I bet when you all grow up, you'll be the best fighters in the forest."

"speech"

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[wolfpaw!]

Wolfpaw finds the premis of Bobbie's story distasteful for reasons different to Slate. He'd surely say the same thing about her if she were the one singing her own woes; she knew little more about rogues than the feeling of their claws in her flesh, but never would she think to parade it as some heroic thing. Maybe that was only true because she hadn't been the hero, though. Howlfire and Figfeather (and Bobbie, she thinks with some reluctance) had been, sweeping three kittens away from death's door. It harrows her to think that the tale could be spun in any positive light, but her pelt prickles more when Bobbie actually starts telling it.

Wolfpaw was very brave, but she got hurt. This much was true. She is suddenly embarrassed to be present, though, and her blush burns through even the cobweb eyepatch she wears, as if the whole forest could see her glowing red. Her good eye darts surreptitiously about the crowd, and she shrinks away from any of their prying glances. She'd gotten hurt and she'd doomed the kits to two more month of campbound boredom. Hopefully they wouldn't hate her for that (though, thinking of what she faced, she was glad that they would avoid a similar fate). Swallowing, Wolfpaw weathers through the storm of emotion that strikes her. She manages to stick around, even, as Bobbie notes her triumph over her opponent. Wolfpaw can only remember pleading with the rogues to stop.

"It was scary," she murmurs at the back of the crowd, if only to assure herself of her own experience, almost unaware that she'd said anything at all.

𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐍 ☾ 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆

• 

• 
  
  — wolfpaw
  — she / they / he ; apprentice of skyclan
  — longhaired lilac torbie with piercing yellow eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — avatar by tropics; signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

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[SILVERSMOKE]

There was a certain protectiveness he felt over the stories of rogues. Even if he loathed the very idea of them, it was difficult to forget that he had once been one, fighting over scraps of food and small claims of territory that felt pointless in hindsight. Settled close to Slate, the eyes of the Lead Warrior were bored down upon Bobbie, ready to scrutinise the words that came out of her mouth. A nose twitched, followed by the furl and unfurl of a plumed tail, the sinking feeling in his heart feeling all too valid as he realised that he had been right to be protective - the way she told the story was uncomfortable when said apprentices lingered at the outskirts of the story circle. "How heroic..." he mewed quietly to Slate, casting the other a bombastic side eye as he regaled him with sarcasm. Preening one's feathers for failing to protect three vulnerable apprentices was certainly a choice, one he would be ashamed to do himself. Justice was revenge here, not something to be glorified in stories, but to be chased all the same.

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