the discourse on inequality — smogmaw

[DOGFUR]

In their first meeting as Chilledstar, they had said that every cat standing there after the horrors of leaf bare stood by pure luck. It was a funny thing to think about, and something Dogfur had only recently remembered that strange phrase. He toyed around with it, chewing it like a piece of cartilage in his mouth. "Hmm," He finally murmured to himself, licking up some of the excess spittle that had dripped from his lips. "That's probably not true. You'd have to look no further than a cockroach to see how much will—just plain, dumb, will—makes the difference in hard times."

Fragments of a cracked fantasy he held in their mind threatened to burst again and he growled at himself, whipping his gaze up. They imagined a version of Chilledstar in front of them, wondering how they would react to such a statement. "Speechless, are you?" Dogfur continued to chatter to his imagination, feeling once again the uncontrollable twitch in his leg that prompted him to thump it against the ground. He breathed in and out deeply—they had not realized how long they had been holding their breath.

They happened to rest his gaze on Smogmaw. One step further on his path. Victory was only nine lives away. They knew, for the second time now, how little that made a difference if one could manage a devastating blow. "I did not give you my congratulations at the meeting." Dogfur called out, begging for Smogmaw's attention. When it was given, he would flash the deputy a crooked grin. "I hope you are not cr-oss with me."

@smogmaw
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[smogstar]

Smogmaw holds the promotion as an official recognition of his authority, more so than a sanctioned elevation of it. The moons preceding this one saw him warned at meetings, spurned by his superiors. Oh, how the scales have tipped. In a final act as leader, Pitchstar made the tom's findings public at the cross-clan gathering, forever tarnishing the legacies of Emberstar and a dear lead warrior of theirs. What's more is Chilledgaze designating him as their and Starlingheart's bulwark during the trek to the moonstone, further cementing the trust that ShadowClan's establishment had in him. An observer by heart, it takes a marked amount of restraint to not let the promotion get to his head.

On the heels of Chilledstar's first meeting, Smogmaw lingers where he had watched it all unfold. Gaze fixed on the base of Clanrock, the tom is present only in body, though not quite in mind. While he can register the overhead warbling of birds, the muddled ramblings of Dogfur carrying on the breeze, his thoughts are consumed by recent events and the implications they held for the future.

It's only when the male tortoiseshell addresses him directly that Smogmaw is torn from his stupor. He blinks, suffused with a sense of self once again, and pivoting his head to behold his clanmate. The admission catches him off guard. Requests of forgiveness are not something the dark-smirched tabby receives often. "Your praise isn't owed to me, Dogfur," he responds, the newly-promoted deputy offering a dutiful nod to the other's smile. The warrior was an odd fellow, though oddness is hardly a crime in this neck of the woods. "You're a good warrior," Smogmaw continues, his words conjecture in part, "and lest you try to make life hard for the rest of us, I've no need to be cross with you."

A black-capped ear flicks to the wind. The sudden change in affairs will take some time to process, but for now, he feels assured. "How do you feel about the way things are going?" the tom then asks. Smalltalk isn't something he's historically found useful—with the promotion to deputy, however, familiarising himself with his clanmates' viewpoints seems all the more important. "You strike me as the perceptive sort," he continues, "I'm interested in hearing where you stand."​

 

[DOGFUR]

Dogfur's smile continued to stretch to the edges of his cheeks, causing the muscle to ache. He allowed them to relax, if just for a moment. How much work it took to make a happy expression—he did not know.

"You're right, but," Dogfur shuffled his paws and exhaled sharply. "It's good to make friends, isn't it?" He blinked once, shrunken pupils wavering in their syrupy yellow pools. "A good warrior. Do you think I could become a lead warrior?" He asked. He did not want to believe Smogmaw's assessment of him. The tortoiseshell had believed that he pulled his weight the least out of anyone here, apart from the kits of course. "Be honest with me." Dogfur's grin faltered. If Ferndance could ascend to such a position, then what could ever hold Dogfur back.

It wasn't ambition he was reaching for. If he could hold his buzzing brain for a moment and make it slow down, he could recognize that he was missing something. There was no drive upward socially for him. He felt the same lack and emptiness when he looked at few couples of ShadowClan, yet he did not know what to call that.

His throat broke out into a raspy purr at Smogmaw's next words. "Oh my opinion? Where on earth could I begin?" His eyes darted too and fro, though not much time passed before he spoke again. "The first is that nine lives are just too long. Every leader has had them ripped away from them in a single stroke. What's the point of them anywhere? It just proves to me that cats were never meant to live nine times. Show me a leader that has died nine separate times, then I'll praise StarClan's brilliant decision to condemn their leaders to a death of agony." His tail twitched and his hind paw thumped the ground.

"Another thing that has come to mind is that we must capture this star-killer. I'd like to pick their brain apart, personally. You're deputy now, Smogmaw. Do you not think that we ought to bring the star-killer to justice?" He scooted over a little more, claws tapping the ground—half-unsheathed. "In fact, if you give me the word, I'd search for them. I know Chilledstar is good and trying their best adjusting, and that Pitchstar had enemies, but are we really going to let it slide? Let life go on as normal?"

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[smogstar]

The smile bound to Dogfur's face is akin to a tree growing in barren soil. It does not belong, yet it grows nonetheless. Does the other warrior, like him, coerce such expressions when circumstances call for it? Smogmaw does not hope so. There's nothing about him that would warrant such a stupid grin.

A brow cocks at the tortoiseshell's purported justification. Making friends, now isn't this dainty. Winning over people's hearts is not something he loses sleep over, and having never found a need for them, friends have been few and far between in Smogmaw's days. Though he doesn't suppose it'd be awful to sanction Dogfur's terms. "Maybe, I dunno," he replies in turn. "I can be your friend," continues the tabby, "so long as you're not weird about it. And lead warrior? If Flickerfire could do it, buddy, anyone can."

The tortoiseshell addresses his concluding query, earning a moderate nod of the head. To hear that they're on the same page on the topic of StarClan, along with their false promise of livelihood, was immensely refreshing. What most saw as a religious pantheon was not more than a sanctimonious collective demanding cultish worship. If those who dwell in the heavens are the same ninnies he knew in life, they're hardly deserving of his reverence. "Give a cat nine lives, 'n they'll only be nine times as foolish," he quotes, and a shallow chuckle trails his words. "I don't believe there's nine lives at all. I think that, once one of 'em gives the go-ahead up there, they just kill off leaders as they see fit. Why they let Pitchstar live for so long is beyond me."

His noggin tilts askew whilst he ponders the point about this rogue. Had it been the same prick that WindClan spoke of, responsible for slaying young ones all throughout the territories? If so, that they've moved on to killing leaders would be most troublesome indeed. "Where would we even start?" he puts forward, voice dripping with genuine bewilderment. "Couldn't pick up any scent beyond Pitchstar's innards, so we're not working with any clues here. We can't afford to send anyone on goose chases—let alone you, my friend." For that word to roll off his tongue is a peculiar sensation. But, say something long enough, and you'll eventually start meaning it. "If this 'star-killer' makes a return, we'll be ready," the deputy assures, dipping his forehead in the affirmative. "Most of us are sleep-deprived anyways, so I was thinking of devising regular night patrols. If five warriors can fend off a fox, then five can fend off a leader murderer." A cursory glance falls to the ground between his paws. "Don't know if I'd live to see the next day if I made that happen, though." ​

 

[DOGFUR]

"My look-a-like." Dogfur chuckled, reminiscing on the dead tortoiseshell. If only his death would cause such chaos. But then— his erratic mind takes a swerve and he grasps on to a wholly different thought. Why, to be compared to Flickerfire was a crime. He would not have his name dragged through the mud. "I hope... you do not think I am a traitor." He wondered if Flickerfire was in StarClan. "If so, we might have a dif-different conversation." He's not a traitor. Dogfur knows he isn't. Maybe it is the one thing he cannot lie about.

"But if they did, and Chilledstar passed, StarClan rest their soul, and Starlingheart took you up to the Bluestone," (obviously, the holy fool could not even care to get the names of his religion's points of interests correct). "You wake up in StarClan and you see nine dead cats and they offer to give you lives, would you... you... still accept them?" Dogfur asked suddenly. He had never realized the depth of Smogmaw's agnosticism, which actually was far deeper than Dogfur's own.

But of course after giving Smogmaw a moment to respond and, without being prompted, the tortoiseshell takes the hypothetical he presented for Smogmaw and offered his own reply. "If StarClan's existence is a truth presented to my own eyes as I went up to get my nine lives, I would stare, stare a little more. Get my fill of their essence! Find out if they can feel anxiety like the living do. Then I'd laugh, and I would tell them that I 'can believe in your existence, but I don't have to accept what you say because you are hypocrites, you let bad cats live and half-good cats die—just like any other living cat'. They missed their shot. Somehow they got Pitchstar instead of Sootstar—poor aim those ghosts... it's a shame. Sent the starkiller after the wrong cat."

For all of his foolishness, Dogfur seems incredibly frustrated with Smogmaw's lack of action against the murderer. Sulferic eyes burn in their wretched sockets, their wide circumference suddenly shifting and narrowing for an unusual change. "You don't even know what they look like. How could you prepare? The least we can do is spread the word. Murderers like to linger at the scent of their crime, especially when one draws attention to it, yes... I know all too well. There's an addiction in it. If we speak loud enough, they'd come." Dogfur grins again.

"I think I have made a very, very good friend today."

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