camp TAKE A SLICE ⇢ ˗ˏˋ intro & prompt

[WYRM]

A gift can be anything if it's from the heart! Write about your character giving another cat a gift.

It was a wonder! O, how these wildcats managed to remain entertained through every waking hour of the day. No strange new things to shred, no neighbors to peep on, (and oh, they had neighbors indeed, but the act of such peeping would be illegal for their kind. Quick to hiss and spit, all of them. So protective of their things! And he supposed they had to be, when another thing would not be dropped at their paws at any given moment. So what did they do then, what? Did they sharpen their claws on tree bark? Bat around bones like a play thing? Destroy rocks with a single swipe and rid themselves of the snow through sheer goddamn willpower alone?

No, it was a wintery wonderland out there, (or more aptly, a hellhole). Even poor him had been locked away, tucked deep within the confines of his nest. Not allowed outside, and not a spot to gaze from sadly like a lonely widow, because even those were frozen over. Some upwalker-contraption. He'd thought it some ultra-clear ice, but then the actual ice ruined it for everyone. What the hell was the point?

Safe to say, he was gone the moment he was able. (Not completely true, because he'd gotten so fat off his own devices he hadn't even checked until a good few days after). But it was fine, its fine. Freedom is his once again.

And today is a day he's only seen once before, when the den was covered in blood roses and pink sugarstuff. The wildcats had no sugarstuff, he bets, and what a pitiful life, that must be! Naturally, now, here he sits atop a tree with branches that conveniently scraped towards their base of operations, as it were. Unceremoniously, he spits his bounty from his mouth. One of sweets, pretty and pink, topples to the ground below, but he manages to clutch the rest between his paws. (And mind you, he's no upwalker. He isn't quite the spitting image of poise and primness.) Greatness called for sacrifice, make no mistake.

Dropping some was definitely an accident, but they didn't need to know that. Upon any approach, he would surely lilt his chin and fix a grin upon them, cause who could resist his charming wiles? Purposely, his chuckle is exaggerated and annoying. "Hmhmhm, like what you smell?" he'd call below. A jet-black tail whips behind him, then curls delicately around the branch, seeking purchase (as if it'd do a thing but be ripped clean off were he to fall). "Behold your savior, then! If you all gather, I'll do the honor of dropping it all so you may all fight to the death! The winner will receive an additional, handsome prize." At the words handsome, he makes a face (He is the handsome prize).

[ he's been here before but it was awhile ago so whether he's recognized or not is up to you ]​

 

[angelpaw]

TAGS — Angelpaw doesn't really know what he's doing at the edge of SkyClan's border. He thinks he may have been told to patrol with his mentor, but as he looks around now, the warrior is nowhere in sight- it's just this tomcat hovering above him, and the pink something that nearly hits his head on the way down. Angelpaw inspects the treat for a moment: it smells sweet, and he thinks his own twolegs might have some around the house, but he's never really thought to eat any. Tentative, he bats at the thing in one languid motion, ears twitching as he hears Wyrm's words but hardly acknowledges them.

"I don't really feel like fighting to the death," the apprentice rumbles, soft. Finally he turns doe brown eyes to the tree-perched feline. He doesn't recognize Wyrm, but maybe it's just because he is a daylight apprentice himself, typically bound to the twoleg nest that he inhabits rather than the open fields and dense woods that SkyClan can offer. He watches the way he teeters there, tying to keep all the other sugarthings in his paws. At least he's succeeding now. Angelpaw considers Wyrm for another moment, then turns his attention back to the sugarthing at his own paws, bending down hesitantly to taste it. And it tastes good. Like, this is all he really wants to eat for the rest of his life good.

He flicks his attention up to Wyrm. "I don't want a prize. Just give me more of these things," the apprentice demands, unconvincing, equal parts monotone and dull. He's dead serious, though.​

 

[SLATESNARL]

The amount of twoleg involvement in SkyClan was sickening. No, they themselves were not meandering along the territory, posing a threat to camp, but the daylight warriors that trekked to and from their nests brought a disgusting smell that clung to them like mud. Accessories dangled from their necks, eyesores that served as a reminder that their lives belonged to their twoleg, a being who considered themselves superior to cats. A being who could take and give at a moment's notice; kibble, warmth, comfort, even life. Who would ever be proud of living amongst such a beast?

He doesn't quite recognize the tom before him, perched atop one of the pines, but Slate cannot help but flatten his ears to the back of his cranium at the sight of the sugarstuff. He acts as if he is some sort of prophet, a superior being who possesses a substance so addicting and mouthwatering that he could entice them into fighting over the rest of it. Slate wasn't sure what he despised more — arrogant bastards or kittypets. Unfortunately for this one, he was both. "You think we want that rubbish here?" The former rogue scoffs, watching as a younger tom curiously nibbles at the pink sweet.

He narrows his eyes and sends an icy stare toward Wyrm, who towers above them all. "The twoleg stench on you is bad enough. I'd rather not smell more of it than I have to." Or taste it, for that matter.​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• —— decided to officially remain in skyclan as a warrior
  —— participated in battle with windclan, currently recovering from belly scratches and a bite mark on hind leg
  

​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

Rosy hail- clattering down upon them like infernal rain, the size of eyeballs, enough to knock a hole in your skull! At the clatter of one- a few, Twitchpaw scrabbled back in alarm, completely unable to hide the shock it had given him. The bicolour apprentice had never been one for subtlety- more, unintentional theatrics. And such habits were woven in the screech of shock he let out.

Wild and wary, wide eyes flecked with an amber spark shot up in a blur to where the domino stranger sat. They- they looked like a warmth in this light, shadowed paws with a snowy head- completely monochrome, like some horrid projection. Some- some malevolent haunting- what had they all done to deserve this? Hail that almost looked blood-soaked in its pale scarlet- and, and, fools they were, no caution, his Clanmates went bounding toward the stuff!

Before he could even sputter out his protest, Angelpaw was already demanding more- and it was a wonder Twitchpaw did not rattle his brain out of his head with how fast he was looking between the apparition and the daylight apprentice. Slate's words were harsh, but they did not ask the right questions- a dithering paw forged forward, twitches flickering one-by-one over his eyelids. "Who are you?!" he demanded, unable to suppress the wobble of his tone. "Some- siren here to entice us into eating poison and fff-fighting each other over it? Well- well, I won't fall for it!" Definitively said, the spasming did not stop. ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[TALLULAHWING]

Tallulahwing trails behind Slate, Angelpaw, and Twitchpaw, @FIGPAW at her flank. The Twolegplace border is a contentious place for some of her more prejudiced Clanmates, and she gives the big smoke-colored tom who spits vile words about kittypets a judicious glare. "Darlin', you'd be almost handsome if you didn't let all that horseshit pour outta yer mouth," she says, lifting her chin and placing her paw over the decorative lavender bow adorning her collar.

She sniffs at the strange thing Angelpaw dares to taste. She recognizes it -- her housefolk are connoisseurs, especially the she-Twoleg. She's never tried it herself -- something about it looks unappetizing and dangerous, like the toxic paints of a frog.

Tallulahwing narrows her eyes at the black and white tom above, clutching more strange offerings. "Oh, yoohoo! Down here! I recognize you from the neighborhood." She can't remember his name, but she's seen him out and about before -- once even close to SkyClan's territory. "Are you gonna fight to the death too? Slate here is just dyin' to knock you dead, I think." She grins up at him, fluffy tail waving.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[FIGFEATHER]

The sight of the kittypet in the trees reminds her of Fanta, which she realizes is likely insulting to the she-cat because this guy was nothing like her! He did not wear a vibrant bandana of orange and he was dropping twoleg food on the forest floor. They were tiny, pink, and oddly shaped… she whiffs and takes in their odd odor with a nose wrinkle. She can’t believe Angelpaw was eating it!

”You don’t even know what it is!” She scolds, waltzing up to the barely younger apprentice and aiming to shoulder him as a wake up call. What if Twitchpaw was right?! What if it was some type of poison? She could understand if Angelpaw wasn’t a daylight warrior and was starving like the full time members of the clan, but he wasn’t! Why? How could one let the curiosity of their taste buds order them around so much?! ​

---

Spoiler: TAGS ★ 01/05

( primary character / "speech" / ic opinions )​

╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· FIGPAW, AMAB — she / her
╰ ‣ 9 moons .
╰ ‣ skyclan apprentice . believes in starclan, doesn't fully understand

╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smells like pine nettles & sap, status — 100%
╰ ‣ A red tabby she-cat with orange eyes. Mangled right hind leg.

╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
· ENFP-A ❝ CAMPAIGNER❞ , Gryfindor, Lawful Good
╰ ‣ Excitable, generous, caring, quick-to-act, daft, naive
╰ ‣ finds relative ease relating to others . kind-hearted, will show mercy

╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· NPC X DAISYFLIGHT, sister to Greenpaw, Violetpaw, Snowpaw & Butterflypaw
╰ ‣ Pansexual . mistakes admiration for romantic feelings
╰ ‣ Apprentice to Tallulahwing
╰ ‣ poor fighter . okay hunter .
╰ ‣ unlikely to start fights . will flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.

 

[TERMITEHUM]

( 𓆣 ) Well, isn't this interesting. A kittypet in a tree -- she thinks he's a kittypet, at least, if the collar is anything to go by. Could be a daylight warrior, but she doesn't think she's seen him around before. Her brother says kittypets are parasites, but Termitepaw doesn't really see what's wrong with them. This one, though... Well, she can almost see why Chrysalispaw doesn't trust them, as she watches Wyrm drop strange twoleg-food across the forest floor.

"Stra-ange cat," Termitepaw says of Wyrm, though not unkindly. She pads over to join the small gathering of apprentices, eying Angelpaw suspiciously as he takes a taste of the scattered sweets. "Could be poi-son," she concludes. Twitchpaw is right to be scared, she thinks. Though, maybe it is a bit too early to freak out, considering Angelpaw hasn't dropped dead yet. She raises her voice a bit. "Angelpa-aw, you don't feel sssick, do you...?"​

 

[WYRM]

I don't feel like fighting to the death. Immediately, Wyrm's lopsided smile breaks into a confused stare. Quirk of the eyebrow as he addresses the apprentice. They have the nerve to consume his goods for free. But, but– just a sample. It's only a sample. "Well that's boring," kind of comes out on its own, but he perks with the words that follow "Ya-huh. That's the prize," he drawls.

And there's another guy here. Somethin' somethin', you think we want this? The tom cocks a brow. His tone is not condescending, but like, he states a fact. "Clearly ya do, look at this guy here. Uh," he makes a name for them on the spot. They're basically a character in Wyrm's play, at this point. "Sweets is lovin' it. Sweets gets it." Why were these guys just arguing instead of doing anything productive? Though, if you asked him, that could describe a whole lot of clan cats' lives.

Wyrm pointedly sniffs. He lifts his chin all hoity-toity-like. "Look, all I'm askin' for here is a little bit of bloodshed, and–" In the process of his very necessary dramatic motions, he drops more of the stuff on the ground. "Ah, shit. Well, your dreams are coming true." He concludes, smiling down at the one he has surely convinced into addiction, by now.

And there's like– a bobbling doll here or something. Back and forth, back and forth, he's spazzing out like the worst sort of toy he's ever seen, like the jaws of insanity are shaking him to his core, or something. Whatever the hell he says matches up with that description pretty aptly. Even he is taken aback, whimsical as it is. He's totally gonna go with it, though. Him? Some kinda... uh... beast? Way to boost a guy's ego. Wyrm should hire him. "Argg, the twitching thing be right. I be here ta make yas crazy, and stuff." He doesn't know what a 'siren' sounds like, but that's probably pretty damn close.

And then he sees Tallulah! Woah! "Oh, Hi Tallulah!" He drops the act as quickly as he'd started it, and with a flourish, the rest of his spoils are falling to the ground. Wyrm blinks, before in a flurry of genius, adding. "TOXIC RAIN ATTACK!" He puts on his best act of evil maniacal laughter as he watches the guy's fellow apprentices scramble to curb his addiction. But it's too late. He was one of his minions now, or something. Wyrm pretty much nailed it.​