private THE ABSENCE OF WINGS ♡ SMOGSTAR

[mockingbirdcry]

She's surprised Smogmaw—er, Smogstar—has any idle time on his paws at all these days. If it were her who'd been abruptly forced to step into Chilledstar's resentment - laced pawsteps, she doesn't doubt she'd be so swamped ( ha! ) that she'd have nary a moment for fresh - kill or sleep, much less aimless gossip. Actually, upon a second glance of wine - dark eyes, he's probably in the brief interim between some task and another, transitioning between duties. Likely, he's disinterested in yet another interrogation from a camp - bound, soft - pawed queen.

Unfortunately for the tabby tom, Mockingbirdcry's self - somethings aren't limited to the suffix of sufficiency; interest and centeredness find themselves slotting in with equal enthusiasm. What a point of view she might be privy to now! That of one of the crowning jewels of the forest—so to speak, anyways, for nobody would truly compare @smogstar to a glittering gem—those who lay down the laws and policies that define each underling's life, who lead their charades and dramatics atop the rock to split the forest into fragments of war and peace, scooping whole territories in the pad of their paw as easily as Mockingbirdcry might treasure an especially lovely feather.

Needless to say, it's fascinating, even if Smogstar himself isn't.

" Can I still talk politics with you, Smogstar? " she mrrows humorously ( even if it's only funny to her ), heavy tail flicking behind her, placing special near - mocking ( ha! ) emphasis on the final smattering of syllables. She eases herself into the mire of camp, fresh mud plastering itself onto the gilded underside of a fluffy tail.

Perhaps it's the humid breath of the earth today, or her well - concealed disdain for Smogstar, or she's just in a casual mood, but the queen elects to shed her usual formalities. He's less irritating in this context, one that is beneficial to her, an insight willingly given from a position of privilege. One where his endless yapping is welcome, given that it brings treasured information with each endless syllable. Dark eyes glitter with self - congratulation at her private joke as she jests, " Not a conflict of interest? "

OOC : —

♡

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[smogstar]

No noteworthy disruption or radical overhaul has touched the grey tom's day-to-day affairs—save for the newfound pep in his step brought by the nine lives rippling through his arteries. His responsibilities carry on much as they used to under his old name, organising and divvying out patrols, sitting through arbitrary disputes between clanmates, et cetera, ad infinitum. His paws are busied and his head is full-to-bursting with domestic toils. But yet, no matter how taxing the job becomes, the limitlessness he exudes now, the innate, primordial energy, and the power thrumming under his skin is enough to placate his otherwise frantic mind.

His downtime proves more valuable now than ever, a chance to recollect himself and look forward. Unshackled from the confines and dour-mindedness corroded into him by a long deputyship, a fresh enthusiasm has bubbled over. Not in a glaringly apparent way, no—a passing clanmate would find nothing far-removed from the ordinary, especially not from the impassive exterior the leader has made it a habit to don.

But, say, should one pause to approach him, to hold conversation, they might discern the change at the right moment. Regarding Mockingbirdcry, with whom he held this vague rapport founded on a mutual interest in all things political... the queen would find the same curt, callous façade, the same borderline disinterest in her eagerness and persistence—and then the faintest trace, the tiniest muscle-pull into a smile at her final witticism.

"Suppose," answers the leader in a simple fashion, cheek sloping her way as he affords the molly a lukewarm side-eye. Lingering a moment too long on her shape, he emits a faint, raspy hum, then turns fully to her and says, "If there's any starting point for a good ol' political dialogue, it's the matter of Sunningrocks." A golden gleam passes through his amber eyes, for this is a topic he has thought on often before.

Subconsciously, his tail thwumps specifically in ThunderClan's imagined direction. "A shallow parcel of land, its strategic value debatable, but, what is certain is its importance to the two clans constantly vying for it." Speaking at a gruff, expository pace, he shrugs his striped shoulders and exhales. "It's the only piece of territory that's been won and lost in the clan age. Ain't that something?"

He swishes his tail again, gesturing briefly toward the molly. "There's not a speck of land in our neighbours' territories worth bloodshed, and it's improbable anyone's looking at our marsh with envy in their eyes. But those rocks? Far as anyone's concerned, they're full of catmint."

Smogstar brings up a slightly curved paw to his mouth and smooths a few rogue cowlicks into submission, grazing the thin scars that run over his muzzle. Then, in an almost offhand manner, he mutters: "Cats killin' each other over rocks to bask on. Reckon it's just a prestige thing?" ​