pafp they say the devil looks like you ["totally normal" conversation]

[GRAVELSNAP]

Since the defeated return of the patrol sent to fight ShadowClan has had Gravelsnap worrying about his clanmates. Not only did Sootstar die in the fighting, but WindClan lost. His clanmates got hurt fighting against the weakest clan of the forest—Houndthistle lost part of his sight. His heart flutters with panic for a moment, the face of a dark-furred RiverClanner swimming through his mind's eye. Would he have been proud, if he'd taken Ravenpaw's eye? Had he done enough damage as it was? That apprentice was announced as RiverClan's new healer; too weak to continue on the path of a warrior. Too weak an opponent.

Shaking their head to clear it, the black-splashed tom settles beside one of their clanmates, near enough to fall easily into conversation but not near enough to touch. They've been discussing the aftermath of the ShadowClan fight, and how it could have gone much worse, all things considered. WindClan got lucky they hadn't lost any cat without extra lives. And that's a terrifying thought. "I was going to check up on Houndthistle later." As he speaks, he can't help but to feel as though he's being watched. Observed. Hazel eyes sweep the area immediately around them, searching for the threat, and the fur at the back of their neck prickles. ShadowClan? Is the other clan attacking in retaliation, aiming for a stealthy approach? "I feel like I'm being watched," they grumble, ears pinned flat against their head.


// pls wait for @cygnetstare​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[cygnetstare]

Shifting pink eyes are the first thing to emerge from the well-known banks of the camp's shadows, raw like prey-flesh and almost glowingly pale. Cygnetstare's feathery mane spills around their death-white face, the oily cloud of death-smell creeping into the air like a disease. They slither like a greased eel to where Gravelsnap's familiar pelt is seated next to a clanmate, pulp eyes trained still and silent on the warrior even as their angular and drunken-swaying body oils through the paths like a gnarled spine to where the pair sits. Their curved neck creeps around Gravelsnap's side, bringing their pale and staring face into the other warrior's vision, followed by their staggering body as they uninvitedly join the pair.

"Oh, ayuh, the battle. I didn't make it there, but I heard enougha it 'round camp," Their grating mew emerges, thick with the Northern drawl, and their bone maw twists into a rotten, somehow off semblance of a smile. "Heard Sootstar lost a life, didn't she? Just fascinatin', ain't it, how she can get back up bleeding outta her neck, walkin' and talkin' an' all? Makes ya wonder, don't it, how it happens? Wonder what it'll be like when we all die, when I die, when you die? Gonna get a grave or not, how ... when? Wonder what it's like havin' nine lives. Feel the reaper hangin' over ya own neck every damned second, I imagine; I wonder if it ain't better just stayin' dead?"

She finishes this morbid tangent with a raspy gravedirt laugh and glance at their company, waiting brightly (as brightly as it ever gets with her) for a response with that same bent and implacable funeral-smile.
​

 

[SUNNVAR]

"You worry yourself too much, Gravelsnap." The low words are spoken in passing, with a ghost of a jostle towards the young warrior's shoulder. Though he does not touch, there is the hint at it, the assurance of comfort and a respect for boundaries at once. He has seen the young tom touch another only a few other times, and never in such a mood as this. He does not press closer. "ShadowClan does not dare fight us here– without their shadows as guidance, they are but harmless wraiths." Truly, he intends to leave it there and continue his work. In the midst of their loss, Sunstride has taken to reinforcing their camp walls once more in a familiar, comforting routine. Yet something about their posture halts him. Or perhaps it is the brusque nature of Cygnetstare's morbid tangent. Either way the lead warrior halts in his path, seaglass gaze firmly upon the small gathered group as he buries himself in thought.

There is no room for regret in the aftermath of violence. Though he may hate what had happened there, and acknowledge his mistakes, what is done is done– there would be no untangling of time, and no fixing what had become of them. Sootstar had died. Gravelsnap had left the whelp with enough strength to crawl into this position as healer. Truth was immutable as the stars. "And you speak strangely of your leader's death, Cygnetstare." His brow raises some, though there is no harshness to his voice. If anything, Sunstride sounds curious. "I have seen her return myself. I do not think she would prefer death."

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. thirty-eight moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests. single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

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[GRAVELSNAP]

Sunstride's words are some comfort, assuring them that they simply worry too much, but such comfort is also an annoyance. They do not need to be told that they are wrong; they like to believe that WindClan will always prevail. But the recent fight against ShadowClan proves that no, the moorland clan is not indestructible. They are more vulnerable than they first believed themselves to be. But the older warrior makes as though to bump his shoulder against theirs, and they manage to settle their hackles slightly. ShadowClan will not attack them here.

As it turns out, though, they were correct to be uneasy. There are eyes on them, tracing their movements. And when they turn their head to seek out such a gaze, they see one of the most frightening things possible. Pink eyes, pale as wound-marked flesh. A mismatched patchwork of fur both dark and light, scented with death and decay.

This… is the face of evil.

The young tom shrivels inward as Cygnetstare speaks, her words bathed in that horrible lilt that she speaks with. Fascinating, she says, about their leader losing one of her lives. About Sootstar experiencing death itself, and of her flesh being knit back together atop wounds too grievous for any normal cat to survive. And no, he thinks—he does not wonder how he will die, or when. He does not want to think of such things, can already feel that telltale squeezing of his chest. "I…" he trails off, mouth moving uselessly as he fights to breathe evenly. What can he say? What is there to say? Cygnetstare seems far too interested in the death of their leader; what do they mean by the reaper?

"You sound insane," they state at last, voice flat, but Sunstride has already cut in as well. The lead warrior is correct: Cygnetstare speaks oddly of their own leader's death, and Gravelsnap doubts that Sootstar wishes herself dead. She has a family, has a clan to return to. "I don't think anyone truly wants to die," they comment with a grimace. Why must she smile like that?​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

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[LAMBCURL.]

Lambcurl wanders over. His usual placid smile is instead a thin - lipped stare, eyes of similar worm - flesh coming to meet those of Cygnetstare. His head is tilted somewhat consideringly. Musings of such a thing were not always good. Not always bad... Understanding could not always be reached easily, by some, and he ponders over which someone like her would subscribe to. Of course, it's okay to wonder... Lambcurl would not be so hypocritical as to think so.

Never before, has he considered how Sunstride may muse of death and life. A bright face and words carefully endearing are oft what distracted Lambcurl, instead. But for once, he does wonder. And Lambcurl agrees: " True... " Neutrality where he stood did not translate to want. Want was something strong and carefully placed... Lambcurl had all he wanted, already. " Sometimes you must... " for better or for worse. Such a thing did not deserve the stigma that it bore. He believed a leader had more than nine, truly. For there were few whose lives wouldn't be worth preserving just one of those.

Not just lives, but lifetimes. He thinks it should be so. Yes, Sootstar would long outlive him. The thought brings him no discomfort.

You sound insane. Lambcurl cannot comment. " A grave would have you, " Lambcurl tells Cygnetstare at last. Not all life was sacred, but any stone could be placed by any corpse. He would do it himself, if they had him. Though the molly already smelled of death. Perhaps they should bury her now. " We will dig you one, " he reassures.

〖 OOC 𓆩ꕥ𓆪 NOTES 〗

• —
  
•  
• 
  LAMBCURL: HE / HIM , CISGENDER MALE ; GAY & SINGLE, IN LOVE WITH EVERYBODY TBH ; TUNNELER OF WINDCLAN ; 41 MOONS
  
  tiny, curly - furred albino tom with teary pink eyes. ; dreamy – eyed and dreamy – minded, Lambcurl drags himself across the land with an ever-present smile and glassy bug eyes. Deeply honored to hold his position as a tunneler and whisperingly reverent with everything he does. Somewhat unnerving in ideals and the way he speaks, but he means well.
  — tentative voice claim: fox mulder
  

 

[Mouseflight]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ | Mousepaw hadn't been at the battle with ShadowClan, staying at camp to help protect the kits the best he could as he hadn't really gotten too much into the fighting training quite yet. Not that he minded it, he preferred the tunnels, and the training that he'd had in there on fighting was all he really wanted to learn at the moment. No need to turn or watch his back, just go forward and fight, and that was only if someone happened to be in there. He had heard about Sootstar losing a life - who hadn't - and was a bit disappointed, though didn't stick with it for long. If Sootstar lost a life that meant the ShadowClanner she had been fighting had to be the biggest baddest ShadowClanner they had, and she had demanded that she fight him alone to prove a point, she didn't fight dirty. That had to be it, and Mousepaw wouldn't take any other answer, even if Sootstar told him herself.

Despite that, the apprentice wasn't the biggest fan of the way her death was being talked about, nose wrinkling as he listened to the conversation while he came over, looking towards Cygnetstare and then towards the others. "We have too much to do to want to die, too much good to make happen." Mousepaw would chime in matter-of-factly, eyes shifting around as he got comfortable, sitting down and hunching over, tucking his paws underneath his chest. Too much to do, much too much to do. WindClanners to protect and teach, and others to... put up with.​

​

 

[cygnetstare]

Somehow, Cygnetstare hadn't expected the attention her strange ramblings would attract, although she's indifferent either way. Not objected to it, neither is she acquiring a taste for it; the strange tunneler is equally comfortable in and out of the limelight, regardless of the odd behavior that lands her there. That burly red-furred lead warrior comments on it, and while she's apathetic on the topic of their differing philosophies, she agrees that the flatlanders are harmless worms without the filthy cover of greasy marsh darkness. His tone is curious, not harsh, which they appreciate—not all cats tend to be as open-minded on the topic of her philosophies, case in point being the original speaker and the next cat to offer a flat mew.

Insane, they call her. You can't please everyone, Cygnetstare supposes, although the black-and-white warrior seems to have a distaste for her. She supposes she'll just have to try to make a better impression on them, maybe say hi next time she spots them around camp. The chimera's not terribly offended by the comment; to seek the mysteries of the grave wasn't for the fainter, of heart, after all. Not everyone could reach the veil and tear it thin. It took ... sacrifice. Their wide pink eyes blink; what were they thinking about, again? This conversation is giving them a sense of deja vu, for some reason. Well, no matter; more cats have arrived to discuss.

Another pair of cats; one a pale-eyed tunneler like herself, shying from the sun, another a patchwork apprentice. The pale tom assures them of the guarantee of a grave, perhaps a brief balm on the mind; the patchy one expresses a similar distaste for her philosophies as the rest. Cygnetstare holds her voice in reserve before lending it to the silence, "Much obliged, then, to be assured a grave. Anyhow, I feel like I oughta clarify—I wasn't meanin' that Sootstar would want to die. Just sayin' it might be a little more nerve-wrackin' than a normal cat's life. We know it's one'n'done, everyone dies 'ventually, but I 'spose if I was in her position I'd be worryin' about whether the stars might take 'em all away again. Just speculatin', I guess, food for thought 'n all, ayuh?"
​

 

[PEONYBREEZE]

✿ — Morale slipping is expected after such a loss - quite literally, in Sootstar's case - but that fact doesn't make it any easier to deal with. It hangs over Peonypaw and his Clanmates like some sort of stubborn cloud that's hell-bent on following them around. It helps little with his apprehension towards battle, the knowledge that it's messy and uncoordinated and sudden. No amount of training can prepare you for the chaos there.

He's been close enough to a group of warriors to overhear Gravelsnap and his... paranoia. Peonypaw can't quite blame him, and he even throws a glance over his own shoulders as he steps closer to join the conversation.

Cygnetstare brings up points of interests, the likes of which Peonypaw had thought about before, but the unnerving way they speak puts him on edge. Perhaps it was Sootstar herself that made Gravelsnap think someone is watching him, and now that Cygnetstare's words are thrown together with reckless abandon, she might appear out of thin air and pummel them into the ground.

No such thing happens, for better or for worse.

"They wouldn't do that," he says despite intending to keep that thought to himself. His ears twitch as he feels self-consciousness seep in, but now that he's started talking, he might as well finish that train of thought. "Taking lives away just like that, I mean. They wouldn't..." The unspoken addition of the question - right? - lingers. It seems impossibly cruel- what would happen to a leader who has already lost a life or more?​

❝ I DON'T WANT TO RUN — JUST OVERWHELM ME ❞​

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[GRAVELSNAP]

Another tunneler approaches, and while Gravelsnap doesn't have much to hold against Lambcurl, he still isn't a fan of the strange, ghostly pale tom. And he speaks in the same way that Cygnetstare does—odd, twisting words, tracing along a path that only the speaker seems able to see. It is a headache, more than anything; still, it intrigues him nonetheless. And Lambcurl says to Cygnetstare what sounds like a threat, but is simply confrontation. Cygnetstare will have a grave, and while Gravelsnap didn't wish death upon them, he also looks forward to the affair. Perhaps if they dug the tunneler a deep enough grave, and then they happened to fall in…

But Cygnetstare seems pleased by the reassurance, even as Mousepaw proclaims that they each have too much to do before they die. The black-patched warrior disagrees, though; not every cat has good to make happen, and not every cat has something to do. Perhaps culling the weak, the useless, could be a good option in such a case. Not that Gravelsnap considers any of their clanmates weak, however; WindClan is powerful, even after their loss to ShadowClan.

Cygnetstare clarifies their statement further—Sootstar surely doesn't want death, but the rot-smelling tunneler thinks that it would be a terribly anxious existence wondering if those lives would be ripped away with each death. The joke is on them, though, because Gravelsnap is anxious about StarClan tearing their life away with every day they walk on the moorland, even with just the one life. Before they can respond, though, another voice joins the conversation, and Gravelsnap's ears shift to lie flat against their skull.

"They have done that," he snaps at Peonypaw, hazel eyes narrowed. Hadn't the stars taken lives from ShadowClan's leaders before Chilledstar? He doesn't explain himself further, allowing his words to hang in the air as he stares at the younger tom. There is a stark difference, in Gravelsnap's mind, between Peonypaw and his own apprentice. For one, Thriftpaw is a moor runner—capable aboveground, not prone to traipsing around in the dark like a fool. All of these tunnelers… Gravelsnap cannot stand being surrounded by them, sometimes. Perhaps it is their smell that throws him off the most. "But Sootstar doesn't need to worry. StarClan blesses Sootstar—they smile upon her. She hasn't made the mistakes that Briarstar and Pitchstar did." Their nose wrinkles, and they turn their attention away from Peonypaw with a flick of their eel-black tail.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[SUNNVAR]

Sunstride does not think of death the way the others do. In terms of graves and his body's fate. Death is a matter of the soul– he has a life to live now, and glory to earn while he does. What does it matter if they find a place for him? Who will be left to mourn? A darker thought than he would typically entertain, but often he is ensnared with such things around these cats. Lambcurl and Cygnetstare are the typical atrocities of tunnelers. Their discomforting words create a world around him. As if there is only the truth that they have given him. The warrior has every urge to leave this place and conversation. Were it not for Gravelsnap's outburst, he might have. Instead he is frozen to watch this trouble unfold.

"ShadowClan has had poor luck with their leaders," he agrees slowly, nodding to Peonypaw with grave weight. "StarClan did not allow them to return as they have with Sootstar– I saw her myself, once, and now this battle. They watch over her." He turns his gaze then to Cygnetstare, finding himself in disagreement with the whole of this tunneler's spiel. Like Gravelsnap, it would seem that he is not wholly comfortable with those who dwell beneath the earth. The living or the dead. "But perhaps the rest of you would like to pick your places now. Our place of mourning has many spots unfilled." He raises a cool brow at the pair.

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests. single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

​

 

[PEONYBREEZE]

✿ — Peonypaw all but shrinks back into himself as Gravelsnap meets his words with a snap of his own. Asking for clarification doesn't seem like too much of a good idea despite the burning curiosity evident in widened eyes, so he sticks to just staring right back at Gravelsnap. No matter how observant Peonypaw tries to be at all times, certain things will always slip by - perhaps thanks to apprenticehood or just general inexperience. Sometimes the other Clans feel just as mysterious as the one in the skies.

He only breaks the eye contact when Sunstride speaks up; it's the perfect opportunity to look away and not have it be an admission of defeat against Gravelsnap. Peonypaw looks to the lead warrior with gratitude in his heart, before glancing down at his paws.

"They do favor us," Peonypaw says, echoing what he has heard Sootstar say not once at gatherings both at Fourtrees and in their camp. He's never doubted her, but with Sunstride's addition to his ever-expanding knowledge, it makes even more sense. He doesn't dare say that ShadowClan's leader had to have deserved such treatment, then.

Staying silent now just seems to be the better option, especially when the topic of graves and mourning comes back up.​

❝ I DON'T WANT TO RUN — JUST OVERWHELM ME ❞​

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