camp STRING FOLLOW ╱╱ TALKING TO MOSS

[HONEYJAW]

He'd said he would gather moss, and gather moss he had. Honeyjaw had a veritable hoard of it now, which was...humiliatingly pleasing to see. As if it was the most he's accomplished in moons. Not really that much of an exaggeration. That's the humiliating part. His childish imagination soothes his hurt ego my imagining a true mountain made of moss, towering over their camp. He wonders what it would take to make it solid enough to walk on, without losing its softness. Could moss be filled with more moss? Could he tuck it together to make something more solid? Briefly, ever so briefly, he's truly tempted to try. His paws lift as if to do it, clawfuls of moss in both of them. No no no; he puts it back down. Ridiculous. He can be so ridiculous. No wonder Dragonflypaw spends most of her off time with her mentor when their dad acts like this. (Though the thought is lighthearted, there's still a twinge in his chest.)

The warrior sighs softly and begins threading through it normally, the way he's supposed to, without any fun involved. There were a lot of nests to be made if they were to sleep well in the coming nights. After their time in the tunnel, they definitely deserve that much. "You know," he tells the moss, "you're very lucky you don't have feelings. Physically, I mean. Or– or emotionally, yeah. I doubt this would be fun either way."

﹥ˏˋ  OOC NOTES ╱ REFERENCE ╱ 07.02.2023  𝘙𝘌𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘔𝘌 𝘏𝘖𝘞 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• honeyjaw ╱╱ 36 moons old ╱╱ he - him - his ╱╱ warrior of shadowclan.
  ──── a former loner who joined the clan approximately six months ago (give or take).
  ──── named for the deep honey-brown of his pelt as well as his too natural charisma.
  ──── has an apprentice-aged kid he joined with, def scared of watching 'em grow up.
  ──── bisexual- kinda flirtatious yet never seems to really pursue a relationship. single.
  
  a short-furred dark chocolate point tom with the smallest splashes of white on his forehead, front paws, and tail tip. well-built, but overall average in size and unremarkable aside from his lightly curled ears and the magnetism of his smile. seems to show signs of aging earlier than expected, with a salt-and-pepper dusting around his jaw and muzzle.

• "speech"

​

 

[smogstar]

Concrete made for utterly horrendous bedding. When Smogmaw rouses from a long night's slumber, he doesn't want his muscles aching more than they had in the night before. Sharp fragments in the tunnel's flooring ate away at his thin membrane of reason for nearly a moon, and though ShadowClan has since reacquainted itself with its appropriate environment, the remnants of that torturous experience still vexed his consciousness. And his body, as well. It feels like his joints won't know peace until the passing of seasons, at the very earliest.

The hollow's state of disarray did not trouble the deputy initially, for he was ecstatic to be in the only setting he associated with comfort. Yet the ebb and flow of time made all the camp's now-missing conveniences glaringly apparent. His nest had been torn to tatters amidst the bears' raucous romp, and while dampish soil was certainly a step up from his previous sleeping arrangements, it fell short on providing his body and mind with any sort of relief. No place to rest. No place to find solace.

Catching Honeyjaw in the act of weaving nests together brought a twitch to Smogmaw's whiskers—it's the most affordable expression of appreciation within his current means. That the curl-eared tom attempted to establish a rapport with the moss between his paws hardly raised his eyebrows. On the other paw, his demonstration of empathy to an inanimate object had the hallmarks of hysteria. Empathy is what you'd give to people you love, or those who you want to secure favour from.

"Hypocrite," jeers the deputy as he drifts near. "pretendin' to give a hoot about the moss's feelings, like you aren't going to plant your rump on it later." When he grinds to a halt near the umber warrior's flank, his neck would crane and procure a view of his work. Satisfactory. "I'm sure it thinks your concern is deeply touching. But, aside from that, uh- how's it all coming along? Need a paw with anything?" ​

 

[Garlicheart]

She was slowly getting back to normal, she still had nightmares and still saw the looming figure of the bears in the camp in her mind. But she was finally beginning to adjust and recover. For instance, she was back to her regular antics. She saw Honeyjaw talking to the moss and her eyes widened. Could he SPEAK TO THE MOSS? Incredible. Shadowclan was blessed to have a cat so talented. She bet the other clans didn't have anything like that.

She bounced over and plopped down beside Smogmaw.

"You can talk to moss!?" She questions excitedly. What kind of things did moss talk about. What secrets did mosses have.

It was a welcome distraction, as well as a cool new discovery to learn that she wasn't the only one who talked to something that wasn't a cat. She talks to her snail every day. Yes, others look at her in confusion. No, she doesn't care. They just dont GET it.​

 

[Swansong]

————— ☾ —————
NOW I KNOW WHAT'S REAL, WHAT'S FAKE

The camp's disarray troubled Swankit, of course, but he was well-accustomed to sleeping without a nest by now. So long as he could curl up by one of his siblings, he'd be satisfied, if not fully restful (the nightmares still plagued his dreams, and his sleep grew only more fitful; hopefully his twitching wouldn't drive his cuddle-buddies away).

Still, not much seems to have changed for the kit. He shadows his family as always, stumbling across an interesting (though not quite unexpected) sight. A warrior talking to moss. He knew that some talked to animals or insects, but this one is certainly new. The warrior and his father speak of its feeling, which he unfortunately does not know much about. He's never thought to ask his bed how it felt before.

He does, however, know the answer to Garlickit's question. "You can talk to anything, if you want..." Swankit says wisely. After a moment of consideration, though, he adds: "Um. But it might not talk back... Unless it really likes you..." Like Magpiepaw and their birds. Or Ferndance and her bugs, maybe. He's doesn't know if Garlickit's snail ever talks back, but he's sure it likes her anyway. She talks to it enough for the both of them.

RATHER SLEEP THAN STAY AWAKE
————— ☾ —————

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ info ; visual

• //
  ​
• SWANKIT named for his pale fur, after his maternal grandmother.
  — he/him. 3 moons.
  — shadowclan kit.
  — quiet and dreamy.
  
  penned by saturnid.​
• "SPEECH"
  ​
• 

​

 

[Scorchedmoon]

ShadowClan was never exempt from entertaining moments, Scorchedpaw admits to himself as he joins in on the commotion about…talking to moss. Talking to other animals is one thing, as maybe it’s possible for them to understand, but talking to something inanimate that’s used for bedding? A little kooky. But eh, he really couldn’t judge much. Sounds like something he’d do if he was just a bit more weird. His quirkiness shows in other ways, and he probably didn’t need to add to that.

It’s fun to see the kit’s curiosity about the topic either way. Messing with kits was also pretty fun while they’re still young, but they were doing a good enough job themselves. Even still, Scorchedpaw might as well join in on the teasing. “If moss talks back to you, maybe go see a medicine cat. Magpiepaw is the worse option.” He might not talk to the apprentice much, but he’s totally sure he’s the type that would talk to moss and expect it to talk back. Yeah, most definitely.

// OOC : Mobile post will edit tomorrow zzz​

 

[batpaw.]

"HEAR MY STOLEN LULLABIES"​

The fact that a grown warrior would talk to moss was something Batkit couldn't wrap his head around. Moss is a plant. Why talk to something that can't talk back? Surely, something must be wrong with this cat's head.

His denmates are barely any better. Garlickit thinks that Honeyjaw can actually talk to moss, and Swankit seems to say that the moss might talk back. At least he says that it won't respond if it doesn't like you enough. It's still wrong, but at least he's not saying moss will absolutely hold a conversation with you. "It won't respond. It's moss. It's just a plant."

When an apprentice speaks up, Batkit nods in agreement. The warrior definitely needs a medicine cat.​

✦ ❄ ✦​

 

[HONEYJAW]

To be immediately and relentlessly surrounded by children of all things– if he hadn't felt humiliated before, he certainly would now. Smogmaw was an easy enough start to things. He snorts at his response, and grins easy and wide: "What? No. Couldn't you tell? This is for your nest. That's why I'm apologizing!" As tempting as it is to throw some of the bundled moss at his face, it would be a lie to say he really knew where his boundaries with the deputy sat. Since joining ShadowClan, he hasn't had much time for genuine friends. As coolly fond as he was of everyone here, that didn't really mean that he knew them. The most he really knew about Smogmaw was that half the kits now running around this clan were his fault, and really that means he's to blame for the next bit that happens.

Some of it, anyway.

"What? No, it's– it's not like that. Like he said," Honeyjaw nods to Swankit, "I can talk to anything. What's it matter if it talks back, huh? Sometimes things are better when they just listen." That is mostly pointed towards Scorchedpaw, one brow raised. But there's an unrelenting twinkle in his eye that gives him away. He's not very good at being serious. The warrior chuckles some and shakes his head, then beckons everyone closer with a flick of curled ears. "You know what? Yeah, why don't all of you sit with me a bit. If you don't want me talking to moss, you'd better make yourself a good alternative." He shoves one section of moss towards Smogmaw, and another towards Scorchedpaw. A third bundle goes for all of the kits, leaving it to them to distribute amongst themselves. Far be it from him to tell them what to do, but at least it's offered if they want to accept.

"Sometimes when people are really bored, or really lonely, they can do...silly things. Like talking to moss. Or coming up with stories in their heads. Don't any of you do that?"

﹥ˏˋ  OOC NOTES ╱ REFERENCE ╱ 07.02.2023  𝘙𝘌𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘔𝘌 𝘏𝘖𝘞 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• honeyjaw ╱╱ 36 moons old ╱╱ he - him - his ╱╱ warrior of shadowclan.
  ──── a former loner who joined the clan approximately six months ago (give or take).
  ──── named for the deep honey-brown of his pelt as well as his too natural charisma.
  ──── has an apprentice-aged kid he joined with, def scared of watching 'em grow up.
  ──── bisexual- kinda flirtatious yet never seems to really pursue a relationship. single.
  
  a short-furred dark chocolate point tom with the smallest splashes of white on his forehead, front paws, and tail tip. well-built, but overall average in size and unremarkable aside from his lightly curled ears and the magnetism of his smile. seems to show signs of aging earlier than expected, with a salt-and-pepper dusting around his jaw and muzzle.

• "speech"

​

 

[hitch]

The joking is nice. Not everyone in ShadowClan is all doom and gloom, but Honeyjaw has the sort of charm that seems...stubborn. Rosemire had thought the same about himself once, a long time ago when ShadowClan had another name— not so much anymore. The luster's come off in messy flakes, and sometimes he thinks a bit of the old spark remains somewhere, showing its face when he prods at Buckthorn, but it's nothing substantial anymore.

He remembers Frog's Croak taking advantage of the dense, curling fog to play at the disembodied voice of a ghost, some invisible remnant of the past, and wonders if that just might mean something now.

"Smogmaw? Lonely?" Rose snorts as he sits, grimacing slightly when mud squelches under his short tail. "Sometimes. No stories, though— I'm pretty boring and definitely too boring for that." He glances at the patches of moss Honeyjaw gave to the others present, then at his own muddied paws. "Got any moss to spare for my– for Comfreypaw? Maybe you can tell us one of your stories while we emotionally prepare the moss for our asses."

//@COMFREYPAW

I N F O R M A T I O N
​

​

 

[smogstar]

The beginnings of a smile are made manifest as a tide of raucous kits washes over his paws, each hurling their own abject observations at the caught-off-guard Honeyjaw. When the voices of Garlickit and Swankit are identified in the midst, the tom's neck would buckle down to be at eye-level with his daughter and son. "At least he's just talking to moss," he professes in a composed tone of voice, gaze flitting between the two as he addresses them. "There are worse things he could be talking to, like bears, or WindClan cats. Don't let me catch you talking to either, or else you'll never get your warrior names." A quick wink marks the end of his lecture, and when his head raises to view the others nearby, the warmth in his bearing goes cold.

A sidelong glance is spared towards the oak-furred tom whilst he attempts to drive the conversation forward. No such look is given to Rosemire, so that he may feign ignorance as his name rolls off the other's tongue. His gaze instead trails after the wad of moss shoved before his paws. An offerance, one which he scrunches his nose at. The act of giving necessitates an underlying expectation of future compensation, and Smogmaw would prefer to limit the favours he's indebted to others for.

"Why, of course, Honeyjaw," he would inevitably reply, retaining an icy layer of neutrality. "I believe they call that 'having an imagination'. Mine can be too much to bear, sometimes." A paw presses down at the bedding in front of it. He thought it to be satisfactory before, but realistically, it's better than anything he could piece together. Part of him still grieves over his mate's permanent move to the nursery—her proficiency in nest-building far surpassed his, and he'll deeply miss sharing one with her. "I find myself thinking about the threads that weave everything together. The hidden meanings behind people, clans, and things. Theories, I guess you could call them. I've a stronger penchant for those than stories." ​