camp THEM CHANGES — grooming

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Roosterstrut was not the image of a typical ShadowClanner; this, he knew. In a clan brimming with oddballs and quirky personalities, the orange tabby tom was one of the ones that most clans would call "normal". He wasn't a necessarily peculiar cat, but Roosterstrut was fine with not being like his clanmates. He kind of liked his role of being the upbeat one, the amiable face who one could always count on and confide in. After all, a lot of ShadowClanners weren't really known for being friendly types.

While a lot of ShadowClanners did not bother to keep up with personal hygiene and keeping their pelts nice and neat, Roosterstrut was an oddity in that respect. It was nearly impossible to keep sludge from caking onto his fur, but if he left it to dry then various clumps would dangle from the strands of his hair and make him uncomfortable. As a long-furred feline, it was absolutely crucial to groom daily to avoid a disheveled appearance.

Wrangling with a pelt more muddied than usual, Rooster was growing tired of the tedious process. He gave his tongue a break and sat back, discontented with the state of his tail — drying, crusted, dirtied. He put a lot of effort into making sure he looked presentable; his parents hadn't gifted him with their good looks for nothing. Speaking of his parents... hadn't Swan opted to "brush" Rooster with a pinecone, once?

His gaze settles upon a stray pinecone sitting only a few lengths away from him. Roosterstrut took it into his jaws and bent to the side in order to angle it over his tail before beginning to work through the crusty mud with a few determined sweeps of his head. The idea worked, kind of, catching onto the dirt and scraping it off of his tail... though not without ripping some fur out with it. "Ow." Roosterstrut grunted, mouth muffled, before proceeding to brush his tail fur out some more.​

 

[BRINDLEPAW]

(=🝦 ﻌ 🝦=) — Sounds like Roosterstrut and Brindlepaw were one of the same. He wasn’t terribly weird, just inexplicably annoying, a burr in ones side with all his goofball antics and pestering. He also was one of the rare few felines who knew how to bathe, he participated regularly and would lick grime from his pelt after every outing with Ravenwatcher. Perhaps it is why from afar he’s respected Roosterstrut, in a clan of oddities and weirdos he too knew how to act normal and when needed… dignified.

With a hind leg lifted high so he could access a thigh for grooming, he licks out a couple of knots before his green eyes peer up at the tabby. It was always the worst when there was knotting you could not reach, he understands the desperation. After finishing up with his own pelt he pads over, ”I can get it if you want.” He offers, figuring out of all cats in the clan the bright-furred Tom wouldn’t be a bad cat to share tongues with.— tags​

 

[smogstar]

Eternal filthiness is just a fact of ShadowClan life. Some paws are bound to get dirty in their humble territory, though once a couple of moons have passed, you begin to ignore the grunge you've collected in your fur. In bygone days, Smogmaw had questioned whether Briar's head was filled with rocks when she picked a low-lying, mosquito-infested, vile-stinking swamp as a homeland for her clan. Having developed an interest in the political going-ons, however, he now sees the genius in an otherwise dubious decision; ShadowClan, in its nature, seeks to isolate itself from the war which tears through the lands, and what better way to repel malevolent forces than by scaring them off with your scent?

With a meagre amount of grooming, a ShadowClan cat can temporarily make themselves appear approachable. Thus it is unfortunate that most of the sods here have seemingly forgotten how to do so, and admittedly, Smogmaw himself is guilty of this. His pelt is muddled with odd cowlicks, stains, and crusted cuts, and no matter the energy invested into ridding himself of them, they keep coming back like cockroaches. A comparison that some of his clanmates would surely approve of.

It's gotten to the point where encountering a well-kept clanmate is a momentous occasion, one worth celebrating and remembering fondly. Shame he lacked the capacity to do both. All the same, when the dark-smirched deputy catches glimpse of Roosterstrut tending to the mats in his tail, Smogmaw couldn't think of a sarcastic quip befitting of the situation. If only the ginger warrior could clean up the mess inside of his skull.

"Might as well, Brindlepaw," he cooes, addressing the nearby apprentice as he verges on the scene. Narrowed eyes train on the now-tattered tail laying on the soil. "Just be careful, his fur's sensitive." Far from the only sensitive thing about him, too.​

 

[silkbreath]

TAGS — Silkbreath, too, keeps up appearances when he can; though his vision lacks, he knows others' doesn't, and he isn't exactly keen on being seen as anything except beautiful. StarClan had given him quite a stunning cream pelt, after all (and it's so susceptible to the ochre stains the mud leaves behind). It's the least he can do to keep it tidy, and he's quite good at not missing any spots. He hasn't resorted to tools before, though, and from the sound of it it's not too pretty.

The pale warrior approaches on light pawsteps, ears twitching as he follows the conversation. Roosterstrut, Brindlepaw, Smogmaw... a decent enough bunch. He thinks he's gotten a handful of the friendlier ShadowClanners in the mix, anyway- himself included, of course. He's so friendly! That's why he has so many friends, like Ferndance, and... Ferndance, mostly. But maybe it matters not; after all, Silkbreath is at least pleasant company in short doses. The long-limbed tom settles himself at the edge of the conversation, idly licking a paw, content enough to be quiet for once- or maybe just curious about what else they might say.​

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