THANK GOD I'M NOT YOU + FLICKER

[smogstar]

Smogmaw takes all of ShadowClan's ladies to Carrionplace.

There's such a raw, ironic elegance to be discovered in the twoleg's dumping grounds. Aside from its nostril-splitting stench and hordes of plague-ridden rats, the junkyard housed a plethora of oddities that were impossible to wholly understand. It's like the flavour of fresh fish; an acquired taste, surely, but able to be savoured by a select few. Smogmaw got a thrill out of the place because it offered insight into a world which wasn't his own - a world where people used thinned pelts and ate bizarre-looking food, only to fling it all away when they've had enough.

And for a collector like him, the spot is a damn treasure trove. Here, surrounded by intriguing objects that catch his eye, he feels the most comfortable.

"Get a load'a this thing," remarks the tom, his words muffled through an article of stained cloth held in his maw. "Think this denotes loyalty? I think I'd look fancy with this around my neck." Behind him, the contents of a torn waste-holding container spilled out onto the ground. An assortment of bags slashed open in a similar fashion lay scattered around the area. But, this garment he held had to be the cleanest entity that he's ever found in Carrionplace, hence his royal assumption.

"Find anything?" he asks @FLICKERFIRE, before attempting to fit his head into the largest of the garb's three holes.​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Like Smogmaw, Flickerfire often wastes hours of her days pawing around in the Carrionplace. There's nothing philosophical in the discarded Twoleg rubbish; she never ponders the usage of the things she plays with, the food she sometimes sneaks bites of, depending on the grub quota, the numerous trinkets she bats around. It's simply something for her to do, something to take her away from the drudgery of ShadowClan's camp, where she is expected to boss cats around.

Of course, she doesn't mind that part so much, but being responsible for anything still plagues her. She is happy to leave the bulk of the responsibilities for Geckoscreech so she can play in the trash with Smogmaw.

"Well," she answers him cheekily, "nothing can really make you look worse." She balances on a sturdy flap of cardboard, giving it a test with loose limbs. She's delighted to realize she can bounce! That is, she can bounce exactly twice before it breaks under her and she goes tumbling down into the muck.

The young tortoiseshell isn't bothered by it. She lolls ponderously amidst the garbage, giving Smogmaw a curious look. "Ain't found anything that good, no. What'd'ya need to look loyal for, anyway? Who cares?" A model lead warrior, some would say.

- ,,​

​

 

[smogstar]

Royalty. The word is royalty. RO-YAL-TY.

Whatever. The garment smells foul anyhow. Yanking his head out from the off-white article, he conceals his mistake with an aggrieved scoff. Thankfully, his clumsy companion doesn't seem to have caught on. She's more enthralled by propping herself atop objects which obviously didn't support her weight. Being so carelessly dense must be nice.

His eyes roll at her little rebuke, but a grin soon spreads across his maw when she topples over. "Do that again," implores the tabby, ogling the cardboard flap. You could probably fling a kit several fox-lengths off of that thing.

He finds Flickerfire's answer to the prior question unsatisfying, because frankly the whole purpose of visiting Carrionplace is finding peculiar doodads beyond understanding. Though she does end up raising a fair question - "I'll do you one better," replies Smogmaw, a wry undertone to his voice, "what's the point in being loyal?" Pawing the white pelt-like thing to the side, he casts a meddling glare right into the lead warrior's eyeballs.

"We ought'a run away from camp, just for the season. Maybe join WindClan or ThunderClan, or perhaps we could just live here. StarClan knows we wouldn't starve, at least." His words are in jest, obviously, and yet there's a particular authenticity to them. Leaf-bare is a difficult time of year all-around, but as far as he's aware, none of the other clans have been as negatively impacted as his own. He didn't want to go hungry; "And I wouldn't mind gettin' to know Sootstar a little better, heh." ​

 

[FLICKERFIRE]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

He tells her do it again, and the dark tortoiseshell, with a bark of laughter, hops right back onto the cardboard. This time, though, it busts beneath her and she falls into a heap of stiff-peaked trash. She groans and waves a paw. "Why do I listen to you," she pretends to grumble, but shakes her fur out with bright eyes.

Smogmaw has latched onto her question about looking loyal - and his response has her ears twitching. "What's the point in being loyal? We ought'a run away from camp, just for the reason." Flickerfire snorts, but continues to listen. He mentions WindClan and ThunderClan. She smiles, considering the idea. Living in ThunderClan. They're all a bit goody two-paws for her taste, but she could be in the same Clan as Emberstar, and... that would be nice... wouldn't it?

But Flickerfire has to smother a bout of laughter at Smogmaw's suggestion utterance about Sootstar. "She's pretty, alright, but trust me, she's less fun than Geckoscreech, even," she cackles, springing to her paws. "WindClan would be even colder than it is here... no thanks. ThunderClan for me. Their forest is nicer, 'nyways." She leaves it at that...

- ,,​

​

 

[smogstar]

In defiance of fully knowing what would happen should she try to do so again, Flickerfire heeds the command, ultimately hurting herself for his own entertainment. If only everybody in the marsh listened to him like that...

Indulged eyes watch on as the willowy woman clambers to all fours. A keen curiosity is taken in how she responds to the second line of questioning, as it is in a manner dissimilar than before. The lead warrior casts her typically sarcastic twang aside in favour of a more matter-of-fact delivery, possibly signalling a mental departure from the conversation at hand. Where, oh where did her mind roam? Is there something else she's refraining from telling him? Did her loyalty lie elsewhere?

No.

You're just neurotic, Smogmaw.

"Whatever you say," retorts the tom, a laugh accompanying his words after he breaks from his brief stupor. As far as he's concerned, his luck with women is faring much better than Flickerfire's, and thus, her input on WindClan's leader is discarded forthwith. "Even with our marsh's faults, it's still much better than ThunderClan's forest," he continues, briefly glimpsing some movement in the bags of waste off yonder. Damn rats. "Might not have the same amount of prey, but the sights here? Whew- I wouldn't want anything else."

His spine arches out into a stretch, mouth prying open in a yawn, before he reclines onto his side upon the mucky ground. "If their forest is as nice as you say, you've gotta give me a tour one of these days."​