camp steambreather + intro

[smogstar]

Desiccated mud caked the fluff of his paws, gumming up the gaps between his pads and clinging to the silver fur like an adhesive. Having lived in the marshland for some time now, he knew all too well that it wouldn't come off any time soon. Discomfort aside, however, Smogmaw entered the camp with his head held high with rapture. Perhaps the largest bird he had seen in the territory, a particularly juicy-looking pigeon, was clenched between his jaws as he trudged along towards the fresh-kill pile. Prey happened to be slim pickings around here, but with hope, somebody would make short work of this filling meal that he'd provided.

He deposited the prey without a moment's hesitation, and made off in the direction of the warrior's den with a second object in his mouth, something that he had plucked along the outskirts of carrionplace - a mushroom. Now, the rule of thumb when it came to fungi was they were to be avoided, on account of baneful properties that they might have. The tom recognised this, and he respected the rule to an extent. But, he harboured a profound interest in peculiar plantlife, and maintained a small pile of his findings just outside of camp. None of his prior keepsakes looked half as interesting as this shroom, however - built upon a lumpy stipe, it had a yellow-coloured cap that had white bumps scattered across it. And seeing how he wasn't keeling over and choking on his own blood, Smogmaw presumed its safety.

Resting on his haunches, collecting even more mud on his fleecy pelt in the process, the warrior dropped the mushroom before his folded paws. "Pretty little thing, aren'tcha?" he asks, as if the mushroom possessed ears of its own. ​

[ AND THE BASTARD WALKS BY ]​

 

[BARKBREATH.]

What can n' old man do to resist the ever-present urge to snoop on the younger generations? To stick his nose into every typa' business he could (n' subsequently, make fun of em for whatever he finds.) An' just here, this fella sneaks off with somethin' sickly lookin' tucked between his jaws. He drops it into a pile wiff' all his other odeties, n' starts whisperin' to them like a nursery queen soothes 'er kits. Eesh, how's he never noticed this before? "KEH—! You tryna' flatter the shroom?" he interjects, makin' his presence known with the typical grate of his bark.

His tail settles into a rhythmless back an forth as he peers at the odd little things. There's lots you could say about mushrooms, oh-so-deadly, sometimes not, didn't taste like much of anythin' most 'f the time. He lowers his rotten voice, as if deliverin' a secret. "I ever told ya how my mate died? Ate one 'f these things an went mad," he says with a dry sort-f' laugh, lips curling amused at the assortment of specimens.​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Flickerfire is gnawing avidly at some pitifully small frog's legbone, working the joint in an effort to crack it and wreak havoc on the marrow within. She does not acknowledge either Smogmaw or Barkbreath as they filter into the warriors' den, aside from a cursory glance in their direction.

At Barkbreath's mention of the shroom though, Flickerfire drops the joint and gives Smogmaw a baleful look. "Another one? Ain't we got enough mushrooms growin' around here without you bringin' 'em into the den?" She scowls, but it's friendly enough.

She gives the grizzled old tabby beside Smogmaw a faux-sinister look. "Yeah, 'cause you fed it to her, you crazy old bogbrain," she says, flicking her jet-colored tail and grinning sardonically.

- ,,​

​

 

[HEMLOCKSIGHT]

"You should probably get rid of it before one of the kits try to eat it." Hemlocksight huffed as he lingered nearby like a ghost. He wasn't particularly keen on watching some daft youth choking down some random fungi like it was some sort of crazed race to StarClan. Though the tom did quirk his whiskers when Barkbreath spoke about losing his mate to a mushroom. "Someone was mad enough to be your mate? Must have been eating mushrooms before meeting you."
​

 

[Glowingsoul]

"ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SHIELD WALL"​

"Well isn't that nice to see us all getting along." A playful murr of laughter would enter the group's air as Glowingsoul padded forward. Her copper gaze would flicker from face to face as she settled down beside Flickerfire and the molly would nod along with Hemlock's words, "Oh yea, without a doubt. One would have to be mad on something to tolerate Barkbreath." Her whiskers would twitch good-naturedly as she chuckled before she turned back to Smogmaw and gestured with a small paw towards his collection.

"You seem to really like those things. Any particular reason why?" ​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[smogstar]

The blackened tips of his ears would twist outwards at the sharp twang of Barkbreath, and he pivots his head so that he may properly observe the sorry bag of bones. A grimace then befalls his features, forming because of his inability to fathom what was just said. "You sure your mate's the one who went mad?" counters the laying tom, sighing something heavy afterwards. Not everybody could appreciate the little things, like toadstools, yet not everybody had to be a critic either - not that he cared much for Barkbreath's input, anyhow.

Another voice catches his attention before he is given a window to further berate the spindly old coot. "If you've an issue," he begins, glimpsing the young lead warrior, "you ought'a talk to someone who cares." There was a sardonic air about his words. If Flickerfire minded plants so much, then perhaps the lifestyle of a kittypet was better suited for her. "I ain't keeping it here, anyhow," Smogmaw then said, as his personal pile of goodies lay beneath a half-rotten tree stump beyond the premises of camp; he didn't intend to keep his things somewhere others may snatch them.

When Hemlocksight also jumped on his ass, the tabby frankly rolled his eyes. A kit wasn't going to wobble along and wolf down the entire mushroom. What a non-issue. Some folk just liked to complain, honestly.

A load was lifted from his shoulders when Glowingsoul shifted her attention towards him, as he no longer had to be on the defensive. "No specific reason," he answered honestly, shrugging as he spoke. "It caught my eye, I suppose."

At best, that was a half-truth. Realistically, however, that was a lie.

As it were, Slogmaw found himself driven by a compulsive inclination to amass objects of interest. Be it waste scraps discarded by twolegs at carrionplace, mundane things like two-leaf clovers or funnily-shaped rocks, or even possessions that belonged not to him. Collecting these objects, taking them for himself, gave him fulfilment. To simply label this behaviour as a habit would be an understatement. 'Lifestyle' would be a better term. But it was something which he largely kept to himself. He had his things, other people didn't have his things, and in a way, this made him better than other people.

"Found it near carrionplace," mused the warrior, "there's a lotta interesting things out that way." ​

[ AND THE BASTARD WALKS BY ]​