camp THE MILK CARTON / DOUBLE INTRO

[BUTTERFLYPAW]

( ) Butterflypaw trusted his brother with his life and for good reason too, Mothpaw usually knew to do in a lot of situations and was older (only by a few minutes) than the chimera tomcat. Why would there ever be a reason to not take his brothers word for a lot of things? It seemed like a foolish thought as the two apprentices wandered around camp and suddenly, Butterflypaw saw that mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes which made the tricolored apprentice start to wonder over what potentially could've crossed Mothpaw's mind. His only upright ear laying flat against his head and he was afraid to ask but eventually his maw would part seeing that curiosity was getting the best of him at the given moment "What is it?" Butterflypaw hoped that it was something that wouldn't get them into too much trouble and get stuck with the worst punishment possible, his nose scrunching up at the thought. His paws nervously messing around with a rock that he had nearly stumbled over while they walked around the camp, Butterflypaw's mismatched gaze meeting his brothers for a long moment.

That was his first mistake.

"Are you sure about this, Mothpaw? We could get in trouble..." Butterflypaw began despite having followed his brother this far and you'd think that he would reconsider his decisions on following Mothpaw's lead. Absolutely not. Sure, there was moments of doubt here and there but the mottled apprentice would still be a few pawsteps behind his brother and it seemed that it would remain like that for a long time. He was his partner in crime, his best friend of all time, and even if Mothpaw got them into heaps of trouble sometimes... He would also get Butterflypaw out of it too. Now, the both of them were there with mossballs though the tabby had gotten the "brilliant" idea of letting them fall into a puddle of water until they were soaking wet. He grimaced not liking how they flopped in his paw at all and wrinkled his snout in disgust before staring at Mothpaw with uncertainty in his mismatched eyes.

"I don't know about this, Mothpaw..." Butterflypaw mumbled out watching the other apprentice begin to mess around with the wet mossballs and the fur along his neck would rise when he realized that Mothpaw was watching the cats that were currently walking around camp. "Oh no... I hope he isn't thinking what I think he's thinking..." And to his dismay... It was.

/wait until Mothpaw posts!!! ​

( THE COWARD IS SO ; CONCERNED )

 

[mothpaw .]

Mothpaw shared similar trust with his brother. He'd give it all and then some to see the other succeed and protect him, but that didn't mean he had to be bored the entire time he did. As they wandered around camp, a tiny grin brushed at his lips. The plan that formulated in his head wound itself up, and the longer he thought of it, the more he wanted to set it into action. After all, he wasn't just going to let the day go with no excitement. His eyes widened, a grin settled on his lips. His ears twitched as his brother spoke to him, and he turned his head. "Hm? Oh, you know..."

Mothpaw leaned over, murmuring in his brothers ear. Just him and Mothpaw would know. "Get a mossball with water." As he drew away, and did similar to what his brother would do as well, he carried it back to where they had been previously standing. Excitement bubbled in his stomach, his tail swaying back and forth with is wears perked and a smug grin on his face. He was searching for a target as Butterflypaw deliberated over there, and finally his head turned. "Hm? Oh, come on, it'll be fun. And fine!" He added the last bit as reassurance, and he sounded confident about it too.

He stopped paying attention to his brother as he rolled the moss ball, then bat it up into the air. A lucky hit? Or was it dexterity? He wouldn't know for sure, but it flew across the camp and smacked a warrior in the head. Wet and slimy. A grin split open on his face as he turned his back, casual as if nothing had happened.

// anyone is welcome to get smacked in the face/head with a wet mossball as long as they are adult aged! ​

​

"speech"​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† The tides change... or whatever. Instead of moping all day, he spends much of his time out and about without much coherent thought or purpose other than to succeed. It's too bad she couldn't figure out how, though.

Sharppaw is lingering. Silver eyes trail distantly to the hunting party preparing to leave. She wonders if she should interject. If she should offer to join, or something. She shouldn't, but would she only be hiding again, if she did? He's glad he can close his eyes without them hurting now. He thinks he should get a grip on the thoughts in his head before he attempts to get one on the fuzzing forms of reality; faces out and about. He thinks she's teetering on the edge of a migrane, on top of everything else as well. How many days has it been, since each and every one of their livelihoods were hanging in silk held by bear claws?

Probably, maybe, one of the all-time grossest sensations— right next to tearing a claw, having mud pressed underneath your claws, and having your eyeballs groomed— clocks her right in the side in her face.

He goes blank - faced. No, he's probably going stupid - faced right now. One with bulging, scared eyes and his lip clearly quivering like in a want-to-cry-and-trying-not-to way. Not like that's what was actually happening. He wouldn't cry. Wouldn't that be stupid. He's just– It's just–

Is it the way he looks that made him a target? Was it for what he's done? Was it so much to warrant this sort of warfare— psychological, more than anything, to know you could be slapped with a wet tongue at any given. moment, and not the comforting kind that reminded you of your mother. She'd deserve it, if it was. Of course, of course. Everyone would know he's too old to have a paw to his name. Would he end up like Flickerfire, dead in a ditch somewhere with the only soul to mourn her dying too? And that soul itself being detestable, the maggots would be the only thing good to honor her. Useless. Lazy.

It's fine, though. She's... trusting herself. What did this have to do with trusting herself??? This line of thinking made no sense. Nothing made sense.

Each of these thoughts is condensed into a visible cringe, and an " –Oh. " The moss ball drops wetly to the ground.

OOC † IN THE MIRROR 07.07.2023

• OOC: she is stupid - faced rn.
  
•  

• SHARPPAW: brother to Rookpaw. Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 13 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw is a creature living in constant fear. Most thoughts are irrational, but consistent in that they are borne from pessimism and generalized anxieties.
  — In an era of assessing what has set him back and figuring out what he wants.

​

 

[smogstar]

Rabble-rousing is not illegal—at least, not in accordance with the clan's current administrative structure. Apprentice-aged cats are filled to overflowing with rowdy inclinations, and it'd be indefensible to stand in the way of their true nature. Stars know how well he excelled at games like 'bite-and-run' and 'smack-the-queen' when he was of a similar age to Butterflypaw and Mothpaw. It's just intrinsic in a young one's spirit. Hence, it isn't the two brothers who found themselves at the receiving end of the deputy's ire. Rather, it's his warrior-aged, high-strung, basket case of an apprentice.

Semi-lidded eyes would behold with relative indifference. When the sodden mossball bludgeons into Sharppaw's cheek, the vestige of a smile tugs at the corners of his maw. Yet, as it becomes obvious that she couldn't be bothered to assert herself, instead resigning himself to the tempest of self-loathing swirling inside his skull, an impatient sigh slithers forth from his throat, and his brows knit together tight. Not even a modicum of effort from the black-furred oddball's part. He shakes his head, baffled by his own naiveté in expecting her to rise above his already-low expectations.

"Good aim," he murmurs in passing to Mothpaw, not sparing even a sidelong glance as he straggles in his apprentice's direction. The limp that Sootstar had so generously given him has since subsided for the most part, though his gait hasn't been quite as nimble since her cowardly ambush.

His permanent scowl is ever-prominent as he comes to a halt before Sharppaw. A gleam of displeasure pierces through his downward glower, and as the venomous words churn in his throat, he takes a moment to rein in his irritation, the bitter taste of frustration hot on his tongue. "So," he says curtly, "you got hit." His head pivots around until the duo of apprentices are in view. "You should hit them back, and harder. Make sure they never hit you again."​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Maybe her constitution was more similar to the soggy moss ball than anything else. She doesn't know how she is possibly meant to react to a thing that is both unexpected and relatively harmless. What does it matter, if the feeling makes her want to claw out his own eyes? He knows its irrational; he knows its stupid. Sharppaw stands there, flexing her paws, and she knows that she's already messed up somehow when Smogmaw approaches. Sharppaw does not glance upward; the wide blankness of her gaze doesn't shift at the dark tabby fur lain ahead of him.

So what? he almost wants to snap, and his eyes meet his mentors on with a flicker of indignance. This didn't matter. None of it mattered. You got hit, and Sharppaw glowers silently, brows furrowed as he waits for the point. What could he do but be better? To be someone that no one would ever want to mess with. ( Like Smogmaw, really. And that realization makes him want to rip out his own fur )

You should hit them back, and harder. Sharppaw's eyes go a little wider, expression loosening into one of subdued concern; confusion. Make sure they never hit you again. Sharppaw's gaze follows his mentor's own, to the apprentices with their backs turned, looking non the wiser. Was it really them? Of course, Smogmaw had seen it all.

And Sharppaw doesn't think he really likes how easily Smogmaw answered his mental question. She feels like a fresh apprentice again, looking at her mentor like she couldn't possibly be trusted to do anything without their say so, because she knew nothing.

Not that much as changed really, wryly, he thinks. She didn't want to be like him. Sharppaw rolls the moss ball back toward her anyways. He just needs to be better. Be better.

Sharppaw smacks it as hard as she can, aiming for the offending apprentices.

OOC † IN THE MIRROR 07.07.2023

• OOC: Very late reply but I really wanted to do this one
  
•  

• SHARPPAW: brother to Rookpaw. Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 13 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw is a creature living in constant fear. Most thoughts are irrational, but consistent in that they are borne from pessimism and generalized anxieties.
  — In an era of assessing what has set him back and figuring out what he wants.

​

 

[mothpaw .]

// it is very much okay!!!

Mothpaw had tensed up as the mossball SMACKED wetly into the older apprentice's noggin. Still, the grin found his muzzle, ignoring the urge to spill a laugh from his mouth. Mothpaw hadn't turned instantly, some kind of smug satisfaction settled in the pit of his stomach. The look at the back of his head went unnoticed, the resounding 'oh' from the other apprentice missed. What wasn't missed was Smogmaw approaching. His head tipped back, following the warrior as he passed.

Good aim.

That was.. not what the mischievous apprentice expected out of the deputy's mouth. As he passed, Mothpaw turned, eyes fixated on the deputy as he went to speak to his apprentice. Mothpaw shifted his gaze down towards the older apprentice. The look on his face was swirling was indecision, emotion that Mothpaw didn't quite know how to grasp at yet. His ears twitched. The mossball rolled, and moments before Mothpaw identified what was about to happen, he inhaled.

The ball came flying, but the apprentice crouched, watching it sail over his head. He slowly picked himself up, glancing over his shoulder at the ball, then back towards Sharpaw. He grinned wide, then stuck out his tongue, all kinds of bravado and charm.

// note: rolled a 19 for defense​

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"speech"​