sweater weather ♡♥ grooming

[Halfshade]

Snow was less present, she didn't often see it fall anymore and instead a light drizzle had begun on occasion; the clan was coated in a fine mist at times and the morning lit with dew. Newleaf was right around the corner and Halfshade could not wait for it. Prey returning in masses, their camp drying up proper so she didn't have to waste so much time finding a nice dry clean spot to rest in on occasion. The first chance she got she was digging out the entire warrior's den and remaking the nesting for everyone with nice clean bedding and whatever sweet smelling plants she could find to stuff in there as well; after letting Starlingheart make sure they were safe of course.

Her prey today was not as mouthy as expected, she'd folded her tail lazily in a loop around them, contently focused on her task of grooming a pelt that was not her own for once. She didn't often bother sharing tongues but she made an exception this time and because it was for a very good cause. She expected a fight to some regard but he was being very complacent for now. Halfshade pushed a paw down on the back of the tabby's neck anyways as a gentle but firm reminder she would not hesitate to throttle him if he got uppity with her, but she continued on with her pleasant task of rasping a tongue across the top of his head to try and get his scruffy pelt free of tangles and looking a little less like he rolled in a hole for several moons. She'd already battled his tail, picked countless burrs from it and offered a warning bite when he made a crude comment and surprise-surprise: no more little comments after that. How funny!
"You know if you let this get so matted it'll pinch you. It's very uncomfortable." Her comment though a scold was hardly sharp in tone and she remained ever amused at the other despite it.

- @smogmaw (Not a PAFP, you may bully him before he can fight back if you like.)
​

 

[smogstar]

This genre of weather complements Smogmaw in every possible respect. It's dreary, insipid, and colourless. With mist taking over as the dominant form of precipitation, one may now expect to find the morning sun to be concealed from view, and instead awake to find camp enshrouded in a damp grey.

Leaf-bare, it would seem, is in its dying throes. Echoes of this season shall linger for moons to come, he is sure; only time and better diets will relieve ShadowClan of its winter-bourne scars. But as the days gradually warm and lift this cold misery from their shoulders, there is a chance - a small chance - that he'll feel comfortable here once again.

Of course, not everything can be perfect. These new conditions, particularly this humidity spelt doom for the quality of his fur, rendering it matted and nasty. A reality which isn't helped by the tom's underlying neglect for his pelt.

Halfshade, be it in her obsession with physical appearances or her everlasting quest for perfection, has noticed this. It hadn't been much of an offer on her part, rather a demand, that saw Smogmaw concede control to the she-cat.

He lays on the cool ground with his front paws curled into his chest. His eyes are clenched shut, a disinclined expression on his fact as her tongue works down his head and nape. "I'm not convinced, but okay," the tabby ripostes. He knows better to outright argue with her. And besides, it would be a falsehood to say he didn't enjoy her attention.​

 

[Frostbite]

A smirk.

That is the look he gave Halfshade and Smogmaw. Look at them, so close. How cute. He stayed where he was, it would take too much energy to move to them.

"I'd listen to Halfshade. Nobody here looks as good as her." He said.

It was no secret that Halfshade was literally the best looking cat in the clan. He would be lying to himself if he didn't, at one point, have a teeny bit of a crush on her. But like all such emotions, he killed and buried it. Besides, she and Smogmaw had something going on. He intended to let them have it.

"Besides. You could use a bath anyways, stinky." He said to Smogmaw.

Teasing was better than dating. This was a fact.
​

 

[Tornadopaw]

If you don't like me, that's your problem

The girl approaches, interested. Not over the cleansing of Smogmaw, although his transformation thus far was glorious at the work of Halfshade's paws. But instead over how well the tricolored warrior maintained her beauty regimen despite the clans horrific environment and finicky weather. Tornadopaw takes a seat, settling upon her hip with her other hind leg sprawled in some other direction. "What's your secret Halfshade, how do you keep yourself looking so nice all the time?" Tornado inquires, yellow eyes moving from the annoyed features of Smogmaw to the prim and proper molly herself. There was a genuine interest within her that failed to reach her eyes, but she longed to know all the same. Flicking her curly tail, she drapes the appendage over her outstretched leg.​

When I let it bother me, that's my problem​

​

​

​

​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

chilledgaze prided themself on being clean and presentable but they weren't nearly as open about it as the local princess named halfshade. they didn't go around speaking about how good they looked and how clean they were. sure, they looked clean and they looked somewhat neat aside from a few strands that stood upwards, but they all looked horrible. shadowclan was skinny and frail, eyes sunken from the sleep lost due to hunger gained. still... wouldn't kill shadowclanners to groom themselves every so often. they had a bad enough reputation without the swampy stench. with an unamused look on their face ( no surprise there ), they turned back to their on fur, perking their ears up for them to twitch. they did wonder where their little brother was... they had to make sure he had eaten ( more often than not, they were sharing a scrawny scrap tag barely had a few bites on it ) and that he had gotten clean properly behind his ears.
​

 

[Halfshade]

"You know sometimes I wonder if you don't get dirty just so I can clean you..." She wouldn't put it past him, but it also felt like a lot of effort for pampering. Then again in ShadowClan getting filthy was easy. It was staring clean that was the real challenge. How she had kept herself mostly in order was a daily battle and she kept winning it thus far. With the occasional accident like her spill at the thunderpath. The white-furred warrior's compliment earned a pause in her destruction of the tangles near Smogmaw's ear and she lifted her head to smile at him brightly in turn, "You're such a charmer, Frostbite. Handsome tom like you? We'll have a lady friend for you yet~ Or a tom! I supposed I never asked your preference!"

Chilledgaze was there, not joining their discussion at all and simply existing nearby so she fully ignored them and focused on Tornadopaw's innocently asked question. There was not a proper answer really. She took time and care, shifted her focus to it entirely at times of stress; perhaps ShadowClan being so at odds with the world kept her humbled on looking nice, she despised being presented as the dark marsh-stenched bogwater cats of their clan. Every gathering some fool elsewhere had to make a comment and she would be damned if it was directed at her. So in her idle time she groomed, picked her fur apart and untangled curls; diligently swept her pelt back and made sure to walk with sure steps lightly to not splash the soft swampy earth around upon her.
It was obsessive almost, but she wouldn't say as much and especially not to such an impressionable young girl like the apprentice.
"Care and attention, dear, it never hurts to sit and clean yourself after your duties." Fleas, ticks, burrs, all sorts of things could tangle in fur and clean fur was easier to get rid of such obstructions. She'd once met a cat so matted they could barely bend a joint and that fear kept her from slacking on her grooming.
​

 

[smogstar]

Smogmaw's drab expression morphs to that of a mellowed pleasure; his eyes do not squint as hard, and a low purr takes form in his throat. The care and attention that he receives from Halfshade cancels out the environment's bothersome aspects. Even as several clanmates interpose on his bathtime, the black-brushed tabby cannot possibly feel angry at the world. Not when the warm touch of his sweetheart skims across his hide in hypnotic, repeating strokes. Frostbite's coy remarks nor Tornadopaw's fawning break him from this relaxed state. It is only when Halfshade herself halts her work that the tom comes to.

Dull, muddy eyes reawaken to the world, and they forthwith latch onto the white-fleeced tom. "You heard her, frog-brain," he would grumble, "get yourself a better half and leave us alone. I'm trying to meditate here." His mocking words are laced with genuine irritation, though only in a small amount. It's a bitter feeling brought on by Frostbite violating the bro code. You don't violate the bro code. That's not cool at all. He couldn't care less about the comment about needing to bathe—you don't violate the bro code.

Half-expecting the grooming to resume from there, Smogmaw frowns as the apprentice's prying is addressed. Pursing his maw in a small frown, his gaze wanders away from the ongoing circumstances, inevitably falling on the deputy off yonder. The frown shifts into a smile right then. He doesn't see them with a sweetheart.

"Know what? I've considered it," blurts Smogmaw, asudden, harking back to Halfshade's comment about dirtying himself on purpose. "Seein' how we live in a mud pit, I don't really have to try." It's bad, but at least the ground isn't as horrid as it was in the days after the melt. "Ack, I can feel- there's a right dirty spot between my shoulders," he then says, craning his head up to meet her pretty face. "Can you take care of it? Please?"​

 

[BARKBREATH.]

Young love. Was that what it was? Smogmaw hardly looked a day over 80. How many springs has he seen now? Fourteen? Fifteen? Practically young as a spring chicken, with all the grime of one too, or somesuch. Too bad such a pretty thing has set her sights on a tom like him. He'd never understand the standards she-cats held for others. As much as they don't want you to think so, it was random as all hell, if you asked him. Practically a saggin' bag 'f fur.

"Aww, aren't ya two sickening?" He says it without malice. Pokin' fun s'all it is. As much as he'd like to say he personally, as a tom, would never let a molly dote on him like this, it was wholly untrue. He could consider it a win on many fronts. Barkbreath's own ratty tail lulls behind him. Was bout as ratty as Smogmaw's everything was. "Me n' my miss would do the same in the marsh's early days. Sunbathin' n' whatnot... Too bad yer stink has driven the poor sun away." Perhaps it'd be a worthy sacrifice in his mind. The crooked tom shrugs. "Win some, lose some."​