private SPIT BLOOD // snakehiss

[cottonsprig]

She's trusted with the injured because Wolfsong trusts her. He may walk, explore, hunt, discuss, and he knows that he will return to well-taken-care-of toms and she-cats and otherwise, most if not all with no complaints of her care. Cottonfang takes reprieve in this fact, however she struggles in the silence of her own mind when that moment finally comes. She can idle with the hurt apprentices, checking their bandaging, agreeing that they looked so incredibly cool in the fight - or she can glower at Snakehiss. She finds herself nearly insane - days ago, she played a part in saving his life. Weeks ago, she padded after him like a lost kitten!

And today... today she just grimaces when she looks at him.

"Snakehiss," she breathes, her tone not soft or kind like it is with most other patients. "Snakehiss, wake up. I have to check your wrappings." As much as she would adore to leave it to her mentor, she is still in training, and surely would be reamed if she left him to fester with a dirty bandage job. Pieces of her still care for him, clearly, and so when Cottonfang nudges him, it's not rough or clawed - even if her voice doesn't sing like it does with the kittens. "I'll pour water on your head. C'mon, now."

@SNAKEHISS ​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

A few muffled grumbles were uttered from the black tom's maw as he was roused from his slumber by a prodding paw. Snakehiss expects to see Wolfsong before him, ready to deliver a firm lecture about not pawing at his cuts and irritating them further; he can handle the presence of the medicine cat. Even though Snakehiss had never quite liked the golden tom, even since his apprenticeship, their relationship had always been distant and strictly professional.

However, as he lays his groggy eyes upon a sickeningly familiar blue smoke molly, he feels his gut churn. He supposed there was no easy way of avoiding Cottonfang while resting up in the medicine den. "Huh," The former deputy snorts softly. You're forced to look at me now, aren't you? Snakehiss wonders if Cottonfang feels even a shred of remorse for what she put him through. He, on the other paw, isn't sorry. He isn't sorry for anything he's done or said. Snakehiss had no reason to court Cottonfang any longer, seeing as his deputyship and relationship with Sootstar had been abruptly stripped away, but she had still publicly humiliated him. Nothing would change that fact; even now as she stood before him, even now as he was some sort of prisoner, Snakehiss still felt a bitterness well within him anytime he even looked at her.

He abides. Snakehiss gently rose, settling upon his haunches and lifting his head to reveal the scores on his throat. The tom, once practically a pristine slab of marble, now sports an ugly array of scars thanks to Harrierstripe. An icy indignance underlies his tone, his green gaze not daring to meet hers, "I'm surprised neither you nor Wolfsong decided to leave me for the buzzards." Snakehiss' tongue was more than capable of delivering a much harsher comment; however, he decided not to push it for now. Unfortunately, Cottonfang was one of the only cats who knew how to keep him alive and free of infection.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨

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  ✰ SNAKEHISS
  —— he/him; moor runner of windclan
  —— bisexual; ex-mate to berrysnap; not looking
  —— long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

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[cottonsprig]

His dimwitted chuff pushes Cottonfang to stifle an eyeroll. She's not one to firmly wear a mournful or stubborn gaze, yet with Snakehiss, she seems to sport one well. He creeks on his way onto his paws, as if he's several dozens moons older than her rather than the very few moon difference, and she just watches, not offering help. The life of a medicine cat is to treat cats of different backgrounds indifferently - she's proven she can do such by helping Granitepelt with his plethora of lacerations (she hopes they scar over.) So maybe just this once, she can be a bit curt.

"If I had it my way, I would've lead dogs straight to your corpse," she says, plainly, "unfortunately, even hounds don't bother with scraps," a soft white paw flicks against one of his forelegs, spindly and thin, just as a moor runner should be. Several beats pass, with that same paw nudging the cobwebs and poultice aside so that she can see his wound, and she murmurs a softer, "Plus, Sparkspirit seemed insistent on the fact that you saved him." A pause, and then a sigh, "Maybe StarClan has gifted you a drop of selflessness. It'll never be enough, but it helped you then."

She begins preparing the new wrappings - clean cobwebs and new poultice - and she settles in the quiet for many, many long moments, before whispering, "Are you going to get better? Do better, Snakehiss? Or are you going to be the same tom that -" her tone raises, and her paws firmly plant themselves on the ground before him, "nearly ruined every relationship I had? Sedgepounce - he died thinking I hated him! Do you understand that?" You killed him, she wants to add, but her chest already hurts with enough heartache for the evening.​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

Snakehiss is not surprised by Cottonfang's dismissiveness of him, though her words did not sting any less. Many of these cats—cats he had known and grown up alongside—would rather have him dead, he figures. Sparkspirit had been his saving grace, and for what reason he does not yet know. He ponders the question every day.

His eyes narrow. I... ruined your relationships? What about their relationship? What happened to Cottonfang being obsessed with every word he spoke, every story he regaled, every move he made? All for her to just publicly insult him as if his gifts and efforts had meant nothing! None of it mattered, in the end. Nothing did anymore. However, Snakehiss still felt like a geyser readying to burst when Cottonfang spoke of the injustices inflicted upon her.

His tongue sharpens like a sword slipping out of its holster, electricity fizzling in his viridian glare. She doesn't even know. She doesn't even know what he's been through because of what she did. "You... ruined me-" Pain swiftly interrupts him, the sensitive lacerations across his throat prompting him to resist his fury. He grimaces, swallowing, and sharply turns away from Cottonfang. As for her questions... he doesn't know. He doesn't know about anything anymore. "Just... do what you must, then leave." For good, preferably, he wishes.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨

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  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾
  snakehiss
  

  — he/him; moor runner of windclan
  — long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

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