private SUMMERS OVER ✧ smogmaw

[hawthorncry]

She had left to hunt earlier in the day, which had devolved in to her just aimlessly wondering around and taking in her surroundings. She's on her way from returning when a glimpse of blue tabby catches her eyes. Hawthorn doesn't expect to see another familiar face out in the marshes. Oh, what a lovely day to take a walk with a clanmate... Especially when the clouds towering over the marshes threaten to spill more than just a few drops here and there.

"Well, helloooo Smogmaw, what a nice surprise and the honor is all mine! Weather is wonderful today, don't you think? I love the warmth of sunshine and being dry," her voice is clipped despite the friendly trill, trying to shake the drizzle from her pelt. The rain brings frogs and they're like a revving of an engine, gradually growing louder in the backdrop until it inevitably drives her nuts. "The frogs almost sound like birds if you stuff cotton in your ears and try to drown them out, you know." it seems they get louder and louder by the day... Soon, Shadowclan will have their pelts, the meat and flesh plucked from the bone by these insufferable creature. They'll run them out, leave nothing but the mud beneath them in their path...

She flicks an ear as light illuminates the trees, one, two, three, thunder cracks off in the distance. Orange eyes meet his face once more, opening her mouth and then closing it as a thoughtful expression settles over her face. "Say... Ever watched lightning storms before? Can you climb? Oh, it's such a bad idea to be so high in the air, but it's so thrilling to watch the clouds roll in." she blabbers on, trying to forget the frog-song in the background. Maybe if she talked enough she'd forget they exist! How good that would be.

𝖢𝖠𝖭𝖳 𝖳𝖤𝖫𝖫 𝖨𝖥 𝖨𝖬 𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 ✧༺♥༻∞ 𝖮𝖱 𝖥𝖠𝖫𝖫𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖡𝖤𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖣

• @smogmaw
• 
  ❥ hawthorn, hawthorncry
  ❥ cisgender female ,, she/her ,, 40 moons
  ❥ warrior of shadowclan ,, former marsh-grouper
  ❥ pretty black/chocolate chimera w/ low white & orange eyes
  ❥ "speech, #b54055" ,, thoughts
  ❥ bisexual ,, single
  ❥ smells like raspberries & cherry trees
  ❥ art by LICHPRINCE ,, penned by chuff

​

 

[smogstar]

At this stage in his fortuitous position, Smogmaw has become a dab hand at smalltalk.

Navigating it was once an insurmountable wall, every idle musing about the weather or upcoming gatherings simply fell on blank eyes and silence. In smalltalk there's an implied give and take. Everyone knows how it's supposed to go, the back and forth questions, the nods and short-spoken answers are all guidelines one must follow. So of course, a tom armed with a total lack of interest in any social custom will fumble and confuse any attempt to adhere to them. The inane jibber-jabberings, the obvious and ignorant bland statements.

None which holds water anymore. It'd taken an embarrassing period of moons and some brutal internal analysis, but Smogmaw eventually learned that no one truly gives a rat's ass about the weather. No one is truly as invested in upcoming gatherings as they outwardly seem. It's all a pretense, a method by which rudimentary connections can be made. Understanding this, niceties are more easily dealt with. In some cases, a good fix of smalltalk can make a clanmate's day.

Now, with all that said, the deputy is left profoundly flummoxed at how Hawthorncry approached spontaneous conversation. Already is he at a disadvantage by being caught unawares in the marsh beyond camp, an area he does not associate good conversation in. Within a mere few breaths, the molly slams him with the weather, the frogs, lightning storms, and climbing trees, all blending into an amalgamation to which he struggled to keep abreast. His posture stiffens into an attentive position, unable to contribute much more than polite, surface-level input.

"Erhm, yes, I've climbed lightning trees before."

Wait, what? "I mean," he stutters, "yeah, I've given climbing a go. Burnt Sycamore's great for that, but it's best when the bark is dry." An admirable recovery, yet the initial slip-up leaves his pelt ruffled. The urge to paw at his face gnaws at him from inside, teeth scraping away at his confidence as he strains himself into casualty. "Why're you asking? Are you... wanting to watch the coming storm?"​