camp THERE GOES TOKYO —— medicine den

[SLATESNARL]

He can't quite remember how he got here. Slate's been told numerous times, in reality, only for the words to flow into one ear and shoot right out of the other. Retaining information is lost on the Maine Coon at the moment; it is not a conscious choice, for him to forget. It just... happens. Anything that's occurred within the past few sunrises is a blur to him, including how he received his injury in the first place. All that he knew was that it hurt and that poppy seeds provided him relief, even if it was temporary.

The warrior had awoken groggily, torn from a deep sleep as the new day's sunlight struck him across the eyelids. The massive cat shifts uncomfortably in his temporary nest, raising a hefty paw to massage his temple. "Ugh... my head..." Slate grumbles, eyelids twitching as they struggle to stay open. An ache worsens, seeming to latch onto his brain and swallow it whole. Not only does his entire skull feel this pain, but his hip is especially tender and reacts sharply when moved even the slightest bit.

A figure ducks into the mouth of the den, momentarily blocking direct sunlight which casts a shadow around their figure. Slate's chin tilts down and then up as he squints, his mind trying to make sense of who is in front of him. "Ora...? What're you doin' here?" The warrior mumbles, swearing that he can make out the longhaired and ginger-splashed form of the leader. Quickly, he decides, it doesn't matter if it's her or not. His brain immediately jumps to the sharpness in his joint.

Slate, for the life of him, cannot recall why his hip hurts. It's unlike any injury he's felt before and as much as he tries to move, he is met with discomfort. "What... What th' hell happened? Ow." The warrior hisses through gritted teeth, tail twitching irritably as his attempts at shifting into a better position are halted. Wracking his brain for answers only proves fruitless, frustrations bubbling from trying to recollect his thoughts. The Maine Coon woke up in the medicine den however many days ago ( how long has it even been? ) and... why was he here again? Foxdung, he forgot again.

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

• 

• 

  a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

​

 

[Orangestar]

Guilt wracks Orangestar every time she glances at the empty nest in her den, scarred maw pressing into a firm line whenever she goes to speak to the shadowed brute at her side only to find him absent. She hadn't been there. Orangestar had been alerted of Slate's injury, of the monster who had hit him instead of Primrose, upon their return.

Her routine has adjusted only slightly. While Orangestar still goes on her patrols, keeps her eye on Ashpaw (and more recently, Fluffypaw), brings back prey half the time, her paws invariably stall by the medicine cats' den for a glimpse of the crumpled form of Slate. Today is one of the times she brings prey with her, a lucky catch of a robin and a finch allowing Orangestar to snag the spare for her own benefit after her glance turns upon a sleeping Slate.

This time, however, he's awake. He recognises her, some connection made in his addled mind as a sliver of gold shows between his eyelids. Orangestar steps closer, ears pricked forward urgently as she crosses the den's threshold.

"Stay still." She warns him in a murmur, any gentle concern she might have shown her mate overtaken by the firmness she shows any of her Clanmates, the feathered offering placed off to the side as she moves to sit nearby. A glance is spared towards the other parts of the den, half in search of a medicine cat and half in hopes she wouldn't find one. "I brought a finch, if you want something to eat."

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by pin ]
• ORANGESTAR ✧ she/her, leader of skyclan | seven lives
  
  
  — "a scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes."
  — (undisclosed) mate to slate ; mentoring ashpaw
  — speech is in #D2977D
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[Oleanderkit]

Guilt does not wrack Oleanderkit as she trounces into the medicine cat's den, wide-eyed and bright with curiosity. It was as though the drill had finally struck oil — something very, very interesting has happened. Cats had only whispered around her about how Slate had found himself in the medicine den. She would like to be the first kitten to puzzle it out in its entirety.

Little does she know that the cat himself cannot recall what brought him there, or what summoned such a ferocious ache to his skull, or the sharp zing to his hip. Silvery pelt shines in the dappled light that claws through the hazel bush above them. The scent of Slate's finch fills her nostrils and makes her mouth water — she has half a mind to bite into it herself, though Lovage had taught her enough to know that was a bad idea. Waltzing into the medicine den like she owned it, though... that was probably fine.

Oleander squeaks by Orangestar, near-colorless eyes fixed on the great big brute that sat crumpled across from her. "What happened?" she cheeps, not quite realizing that Slate himself had no idea. "Did you save someone? Did somebody die? What did it feel like?" Whatever it is, she doesn't know, but she asks anyway, an unstoppable fount of impossible questions. "It's been a whole buncha days since you got in here, so...." Hopefully Slate would find her kitten-y tactlessness as charming as Doeblaze did.

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍, 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓 𓆱 . ݁˖ . ݁𓆸

• ooc.
  
• OLEANDERKIT —— kit of skyclan . lovage x laurel . littermate to birchkit and mercurykit ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a willowy silver blue ticked torbie with low white and seafoam eyes. lonerborn, oleander struggles to learn the ropes of clan life while coping with anxiety and past trauma. may seem strange, and has unconventional hobbies.
  ✦ girl / she her pronouns / undiscovered sexuality / 03 moons & ages every 20th
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will not start fights / will flee / will show mercy. a mere kitten, she cannot defend herself in battle.
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

​

 

[Batscreech]

It had been days- the specifics of which were lost on Bat and of little concern in comparison to his strife- since Slate had been drug back to camp with an arsenal of support from their clanmates. Moving him had been no easy task given his immense size and hefty weight, however with great effort and determination pulsating through the multitude of bodies who had held out for him, it wasn't an impossibility. He had been delivered safely and without further damage to the medicine den, where he would remain until further notice.

The state of the ebony tom was not something Bat had familiarized himself with, not because he didn't care, but rather because the entire ordeal had stirred something ghastly within him, the energy it took for him to fight off the ever present resurfacing memories with a desperate flurry of teeth and claws leaving him with little to spare in the way of socialization- not that he really did much of it regardless. However, there were times when he would regain the little clarity he still possessed within his muddled mind, and his attention would trail towards the place where Slate had been hauled off to last. He had never gotten along with the beast of a cat, one too headstrong for the likes of the other's cocky remarks- however, Bat was never one to wish misfortune upon another for such trivial matters. He hoped, to some extent, that Slate would come out of this okay, for no matter where the two of them stood on a personal level, it was without question Slate was a great asset to the likes of SkyClan- they needed him.

Movement in the corner of his eye caused his deep chocolate ears to pull forward, his verdant gaze sharpening as it followed the trail of silver-hued fur that made up Orleanderkit's tiny frame. She had pushed her way into the medicine cat's den under the assumption nobody would notice, however, as was typical for a kit her age, her eagerness would overtake logical thought. Swift paced paws carried Bat after her, quickly but cautiously entering the medicine den after her, his heart rate suddenly increasing paired with unexpected uncertainty. He had never been inside the medicine den before, and he certainly had not expected to find SkyClan's leader standing over Slate- Orleanderkit positioned conveniently beside her.

His eyes widened- or at least, his eyelids pulled back just enough for his expression to seem slightly less disinterested, swallowing with force as his mouth went dry. He could hardly process the string of questions that flowed freely from Orleanderkit's pink lips- something about fleeting mortality. Only one of her statements rang clearly throughout his ears: It's been a whole buncha days since you got in here, so....

Bat cleared his throat as he shuffled slightly closer, positioning his head downwards so that it was more level with her own shrunken stature. "Yeh, well...'T's gonna be a bunch more 'fore he's well 'nuff 't understand any of yer yappin.'" His words may have been slightly harsher than what would have been expected when addressing one so young, however its blow was lessened by the uncharacteristically gentle tone that honeyed his accented voice. "Uh..." He glanced at Slate's weak and unkept frame, and then shifted it to Orangestar's rigid position beside him, his optics clouded with uncertainty. "...Ya shouldn't be in 'ere, poppet. He's in a right state, innit? Still on the mend..." His voice trailed off into nothing then, unsure of what else he could say to convince the inquisitive kitten to give it up and walk away. Was it even possible? He had little experience when handling adolescents, and it was now on full display in the most unconventional of moments.​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

" I've lost count of just how many times you've asked... " Dawnglare's voice carries across the den, a strange mix of irritation and bewilderment, for Slate's manner of confusion is beyond even his typical cloud - headedness. Sudden surge in stupidity, standing and swaying and spouting senselessness. He dares not call it concerned, the look he gives him... but it is divine law that makes him cast some... weariness his way. He would rather not be beholden to it at all, for all the grief these few gives him, but even he is not exempt for any and all tugs of a thread. The strings tied to him are much fewer than they were for any ordinary soul, but there were there, tethered to sky and earth and sun...

Visitors were not something he is intrinsically against... Well — that made something of a lie, to say it that way... More keenly, he stamps down his agitation, or at least he would, if not for Oleanderkit's bobbing head. Sudden agitation makes ruddy sparks of his tail. He makes for the mound of ants with a stutter in his step, claws scraping over themselves in his urgency to see this intruder gone. What an opening she gives too, with the question: Did somebody die? What did it feel like? What an opportunity he could seize, were he to simply tear claws across dappled sunlight, have them gleam against the dim rays of memories gone adrift.... He does not, though. Instead he gnaws at his lip. Orangestar is beholden in disgruntled blues, not for any authority she held, but that which was hidden behind her lives and her name...

A gaze is held level with the kits before Dawnglare may do the same, deep chocolate and scabbed - over skin that flaps his gums in a tongue he can hardly understand. It brings his eyes to a narrow, his ears to an uneasy swivel. The gentleness he offers it not necessarily one that is deserving... A velvet head snakes its way downward, aiming for a glint in the kit's eye. " Slate could find himself star - blessed and unkillable. This would not be your place still, " he adds harshly, though the very thought of such a future brings his very spirit to an uneasy trembling...

Righting himself, he proceeds: " It seems the monster scattered his sense, anyhow... It isn't worth bothering him until it's found, " a blue gaze narrows in the tom's direction before slitted pupils find the kit's watery gaze once again. " Unless you're the one holding it hostage, that is. " ...Not utter nonsense. Malevolence clung to kits more easily than any other. A stranger: this one, slipping between the cracks with a loathsome run to her nose, perhaps it is no stretch that she might bring certain pestilence alongside her... Or could it be the other newcomer? The one speaking in tongues... Welcoming just anyone was a fault the dear leader had inherited...​

 

[SLATESNARL]

How disheveled and diminished he must have looked in front of his partner matters little to Slate as the ache only claws down his temples further, battling his attention and fighting to drag him into a deep slumber once more. The Maine Coon winces, gaze sweeping briefly over the avian offering placed near his nest before his eyes close again and he mumbles, " 'm not hungry." His tone is saturated with sulkiness, as Orangestar's kind gesture was not enough to rouse Slate from his ill-tempered and pained physical state. These demons weren't easily warded off, not even by the heavenly presence of his newfound mate. The Maine Coon couldn't even think about how badly he desired to return to the leader's den and begin his new life with her, no longer as a member of his council but as her better half. It was cruel, really; Slate had not even been afforded the chance to begin working on affixing their nests together before this horrible accident had occurred.

His sluggish brain can barely comprehend the presence of the little kitten who bombarded him with question after question. If Slate could even recall her name before then he certainly wasn't able to do so now. The former lead warrior never paid much mind to the nursery residents, after all, only the fact that they had to be fed around the clock. "Stop, stop." The tom cat growls, mangled ears pinning back in frustration and teeth gritting as if claws were literally grinding against stone. He doesn't know the answer to any of these questions, really — or maybe it's more so that it hurts to remember. At least Primrose was okay... She was okay, wasn't she? Slate can't remember if she'd visited him in the medicine den yet or not. Everything was a blur. It hurt to try and concentrate, to retain information. It was easier to simply not think much about anything.

His blocky cranium tilts forward, orange eyes sliding shut as more voices chime in from all around him. Batscreech was here for whatever reason, though Slate was too disoriented to snap at him to get out of his sight. It doesn't even seem as if though the former loner is addressing him anyway, instead he's going on about something else in that garbled voice of his. Dawnglare's reddish form joins the throng of felines though not for the reason that Slate is wanting. The Maine Coon knits his brows vexedly as his head pounds incessantly and his hip begins to scream once more. "I need more seeds..." The Maine Coon manages wearily, unaware of the fact that he had already received a dose of poppy seeds fairly recently. Slate just needed this feeling to go away; it was nearly too much to bear and worse than any scratches or bruises he'd received in the past. Never had he ever been so impaired. This was clearly a wound that he could not lick himself and the fact that he had to be held prisoner in Dawnglare's abode and temporarily retire from his duties did not make matters easier.

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 ✹ .　 + 　˚ 　　 · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

• 

• 

  a warrior ( formerly lead warrior ) of skyclan, slate is forty-one moons and is mentoring coffeepaw. he is mated to orangestar. he is a hulking longhaired maine coon with black fur and prominent reddish rusting on his chest and belly. scars litter his form but are prominently present on his face. ✦

​

 

[Fireflyglow]

Fireflyglow is a short distance away from the group, compiling mental lists of the herbs they currently had in stock. His ears pricked at the mention of 'seeds' from the former lead's lips, his shoulders rolling to ease the tension there. This was an injury he'd never healed before, leaving Dawnglare to show his expertise while he listened and scented everything that was given and said to him. His tail flicks as he rises to his paws, making his way over to sit a short distance away from the groggy tom.

"You've been given some recently, Slate. We don't want to give you too many." Fireflyglow hums out in response, letting Dawnglare take care of the overly curious Oleanderkit and odd-sounding Batwing. Orangestar offers prey, and when Slate turns it down, Firefly gives his leader a sympathetic look before he leans in to press his nose to her forehead. "He's not going to be hungry for a bit. I'd suggest comin' back when he's less delirious from the poppy seeds, maybe he'll eat then?" He suggests with a kind smile, before he returns to Dawnglare's side like a shadow returning to it's anchor.​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT ✦ 25 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[budkit]

If Fireflyglow is akin to a shadow to Dawnglare then so is Budkit to Oleanderkit. The dark pointed kit sneaks into the medicine den after her friend(?), taking a spot beside the silvery kit. Budkit then stares up at the older SkyClanners in awe. Slate is prone within a nest and still towers above the youngster. And Orangestar and Batscreech and Fireflyglow and… Dawnglare.

She is immediately transfixed by the medicine cat once more.

“Will Sw-Sl-Slate find sal-vay-shun hewe? Did his senses go to find the salvayshun?” Budkit asks Dawnglare specifically, oceanic blues staring up into such intense eyes that she feels hypnotized. Ever since her little adventure into the medicine den she has been determined to figure out salvation. Her mind thirsts for a knowledge only the cinnamon and cream tom seems to hide within his labyrinth mind.

Though as any child, her attention span is not infinite. Slate speaks of seeds and Fireflyglow repeats it, though to Orangestar this time. Something about not being hungry after eating seeds… She looks to the leader and the medicine cat whom she resembles a fair bit. “Why does he eat seeds? Dat can’t be vewy yummy,” Budkit asks with a tilt of her head. ​

[ penned by kerms ]​

 

[Oleanderkit]

Budkit's presence at her side makes Oleanderkit's pelt tingle, and not unpleasantly. Though she is consistently unsure of what to make of her playmate, the fact that they are undeniably together forever makes the girl err on the side of affection. It makes the tongue-lashings she receives slightly easier to weather.

Bat is one of the first to notice her, and so becomes one of the first to try and protect Slate's peace. She sticks herself in the medicine den like a cyst, but Bat's scalpel is blunted and speaks in a thick accent, and so her removal is confusing and ragged. She is a yapping poppet, she thinks, and Slate is still on the mend, which she is successful in understanding as recovering — but putting it all together is slow and difficult. At the eave of understanding, Oleander's ears twitch backwards. "But he's talking," she protests, even though Slate isn't talking very well, anyway. Why should she have to leave?

And then Dawnglare faces her. She has not spoken to him in any meaningful amount since her arrival. She had been more scared then, bathed in a new world and in new faces. She would like to think that she's braver now that she's grown used to SkyClan's bustle. But, truth be told, a little worm still wriggles in her stomach when she is caught beneath Dawnglare's eponymous gaze. His glacial blues, not unlike her own, become a spotlight in the panopticon, and she is a little wriggling inmate, but she is also a very curious littler wriggling inmate, and so his words serve the unfortunate dual purpose of scaring her and intriguing her further.

"I don't have his sense!" she whines, because she thinks it is true. Any sense she holds is purely her own. She is no thief except when it comes to stealing some of Birchkit's portions of prey if she's extra extra hungry. The words swirl in the back of her mind. Star-blessed and unkillable. Like Orangestar? Someone had told her she had special powers — Oleanderkit's eyes pass quickly over her, as if afraid of being caught, before returning to Dawnglare. "You're —"

Stop, stop. Slate's protest interrupts whatever accusation the girl can make. Oleanderkit finally clamps her jaws shut; she watches Fireflyglow when he speaks without seeing, and she watches Slate look miserable and broken a little bit more, and a dark feeling creeps over her ribs. It spooks out of her when Budkit poses a new question: Will Slate find salvation here?

And like her friend, Oleander is transfixed by the idea of this word. It is a word that seems to glow hot and white with possibility — one that feels familiar, and sacred, and a whole bunch of other things, but one that she doesn't quite understand. What is it? Is it something you can eat? Is it something you can feel? She twitches her plumy tail, eyes widening, but says nothing more. She has been banished from speaking, but she will still stick around, a burr in Budkit's pelt.

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋, 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍, 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓 𓆱 . ݁˖ . ݁𓆸

• ooc.
  
• OLEANDERKIT —— kit of skyclan . lovage x laurel . littermate to birchkit and mercurykit ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a willowy silver blue ticked torbie with low white and seafoam eyes. lonerborn, oleander struggles to learn the ropes of clan life while coping with anxiety and past trauma. may seem strange, and has unconventional hobbies.
  ✦ girl / she her pronouns / undiscovered sexuality / 03 moons & ages every 20th
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will not start fights / will flee / will show mercy. a mere kitten, she cannot defend herself in battle.
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Thick - headed. Of course, they heed him none. In fact, they multiply, with the peeping form of Budkit flocking to the first's willowy side. Dawnglare does not stifle his disapproving grunt. She denies any account of theft — squeals her innocence with this shrill wail of a mew. The tip of his head in reply is unconvinced. " What a thief would insist, " he rumbles. Perhaps she needed this proximity to keep Slate's stone - head in a lock... perhaps that is why she ignored the warnings so plainly...

But then — it has been days, hasn't it? Days of delirium; of questions reasked and reasked. Here it comes again: I need more seeds... Dawnglare turns on him, a single snarling word on his tongue. " Greedy. " The brute. He ought to toss him out on his head. There would be no mind left to spill free when his skull shattered open. Dawnglare would not even find the shards worth keeping... Fireflyglow repeats much the same, but with kindness. It is undeserving, of course... but with wild cat's gluttony, he's certain their praises would be sung, rather than his. No matter the paws that remarried bone to joint. No matter the tenure. What did it matter? Did they revel in it? The little worm, did they revel in unseeable knowledge, that of like and appreciation?

It is a silent smolder that lingers upon his former apprentice. He abandons it quickly though, seizing his chance to be better. He shakes his head. " Never before have poppy seeds made puddles of the stuff between one's ears. It is more than that. " He supposes such an impact would jostle more than just the bone... but that did not make a cure for such a thing suddenly manifest.

There is squealing in his ear like the buzzing of a gnat. An icecap gaze snaps bone - quick to Budkit. strangely selective, isn't it, what she does and does not retain. Tiny paws goad her past this border once again, and yet she clings to that word salvation like a prayer. A hint of interest glimmers in the twitch of his whiskers. " ...Ideally so. " His gaze passes between both kits present. " Pray for him this evening, and it will hopefully find it swiftly. "

Why does he eat seeds? Who does he owe this explanation to? No one, that is who... His jaw unhinges for an answer — and it occurs to him that he owes honesty to no one. Dawnglare lowers himself to the ground, hunched shoulders and arched spine. There is the sinuous curve a thick tail behind him. His word is hushed, just enough to maintain a guise of secrecy... though in truth, anyone could likely hear, if attentive. " Listen, now... Slate is no cat, but wriggling mice teaming beneath cat's skin. They don't know how big a cat ought to be... It's why bordering on intrusive is what he is. " he says. " If you look closely enough, you may see the lumps where they lay. If you listen closely enough, you may hear him squeal. " He pitches into a giggle at the very thought... Even if Slate heard, would he remember?​