private THIS IS A FIRST RATE TOWN — magpie

[fleabounce]

Outside the confines of camp, the darkening world promises many things. It shines brighter than it should—moonlight reflects off snow, then once more against the underbellies of the overhanging clouds. A good night for hunting, Fleabounce knows, by the very same instinct that understands when rain is coming before clouds gather or to test a narrow place with the edges of her whiskers.

She should be out there, clotting with her clanmates in bundles quaintly called patrols, the hinge of her jaw sore from being held half-open for so long.

She won’t be out there, tonight or any night soon. The medicine den’s walls are cold stone, the floors, hidden in small part by moss nests and organized piles of herbs, are the same. Fleabounce’s eyes are quick enough to scan the whole of it in the time of a blink—it isn’t unfamiliar to her, but it has been some time since she’s willingly stepped her paws this way. Disguising pain is a skill that Fleabounce is well practiced in but one that, by its very nature, is under appreciated by her peers.

“I understand your mentor is…indisposed,” Fleabounce starts, as delicately as she can, “I normally wouldn’t bother you with such things but—it’s my back again. It hurts beyond what I can manage myself. Leafbares are always harder, and I’m afraid my age hasn’t been helping,” Her mouth curls, the barest hint of humor.

She reminds herself time and again that there isn’t any shame to be found in this pain. It isn’t even as though it is pain from an unknown or a mental source. A careful paw could feel the missing ridges of her spine, close to where her back meets her tail. Anyone, careful or not, could note the spot that swells, that is warm and firm to the touch. Whatever judgement Fleabounce feels from Magpiepaw—she knows it to be her own. Knowledge of such things, Fleabounce has learned, doesn’t ease their sting.

@Magpiepaw​

SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ▫ CHOCOLATE TORTOISESHELL WITH AN UNUSUALLY SHORT TAIL

LOW HEARING ▫ 83 MOONS ▫ TAGS​

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[Magpiepaw]

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Indisposed is one way to put it, probably not the most delicate way but short of hearing someone insult his mentor's looks it was acceptable. He wouldn't deny he was especially prickly to be around at the moment, his nerves wound tight enough to snap him in half in their worry and protectiveness over Starlingheart and he might normally dismiss these concerns about aches as being nothing more than symptoms of the cold and Fleabounce being as ancient as fourtrees - to be blunt. But he knows pushing cats away will only send them to disturb his mentor and maybe his bedside manner could use a bit of adjusting, he'd not deny it.
He has been silent the entire time after she speaks, stifling his own unease at having to deal with what he felt wasn't very important but needed to be addressed, "Lay down." Magpiepaw says after a moment, his crooked tail twisting upward into the air behind him as he shifts aside to gesture a paw at the extra nest used specifically for patients who would be in and out swiftly. The moment the brown molly complies he ambles over with a bob of his head, sitting next to her to knead his paws in her back; his own limbs often felt stiff and a good stretch helped them out plenty, he'd asked Garlicpaw to push on his back once similar to this but she'd been so heavy pawed he'd hissed at her and gotten someone else to do it so he was carefully aware of the pressure he put down on Fleabounce. The pad of his paw warms at the base of her tail, he withdraws it curious to the little lump like a pocket of heat just under ruffled earthen fur.
"Have you always had a bump there?" Her back was a mishapen ridge of bumps in its own way but this felt different. He'd known cats that had prominent lumps of flesh on them that didn't bother them and didn't impede their existence and he thought nothing of it normally - some bodies just had blemishes in many forms but they didn't often feel hot to touch.

————— ⸸ looks like the stars won't shine much longer ———— ⸸ so give me your hand

• OOC can go here.
• 
  
  
  Magpiepaw
  —⊰⋅ MCA of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/They
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/a white throat and blue-violet eyes.
  —⊰⋅ Has mild cerebellar hypoplasia (Wobbly cat syndrome)
  
  

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[fleabounce]

The whole of Fleabounce feels sensitive to doubt. It doesn’t tighten her expression—she has had countless moons of practice to not let such things show—but it does sour something in her. Regardless, Magpiepaw doesn’t dismiss her, and there is something to be said for that. She complies in a slow way, her usual rabbit’s gait halting and, once in the nest, she lowers herself down with unconscious half-sounds.

Vindication comes as Magpiepaw presses along her back. He finds the space—the proof—and lingers there. Fleabounce cranes to watch his face, "Find it, then?" Her plucked voice betrays none of what she feels, and feels nice from it's space low in her throat. Magpiepaw's own voice comes to her watery, but Fleabounce has enough experience in this, too, to guess what he means, "The swelling comes and goes, and is always..." She pauses, one of her forepaws making a circular gesture as she searches for the correct word, "...feverish, I'll say. Warm."

Fleabounce pauses, her round eyes still fixed on Magpiepaw. Information is an infinitely valuable thing; Fleabounce doesn't divulge it so easily. Even something as trivial as her family history—while undoubtedly helpful here—feels like a sacrifice to give. "It has always been a quirk of my family," She settles on, "My mother inherited it from her father. My dear sister and I inherited it from her. The walk—the back, the tail. The pain, as well." Her voice takes on a placating tone, softening at the edges—as if Magpiepaw is the one who needs to be soothed. "As I said, I just need something for the pain. Any other treatment is...doubtlessly out of your bounds."​

SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ▫ CHOCOLATE TORTOISESHELL WITH AN UNUSUALLY SHORT TAIL

LOW HEARING ▫ 83 MOONS ▫ TAGS​

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[Magpiepaw]

—————————————————————⊰♰⊱————————————————————
This was not something he was familiar with nor did he hear Starlingheart ever speak of such a thing. A warm lump that comes and goes like the rain, burns like embers under flesh and builds a pocket of its hot air along the ridges of bone and sinew. He nods slowly as she speaks, acknowledging he'd found what she intended him to and his ears pinned back in curious thought. What an oddity. A mysterious ailment but at least it did not spread like fire in the way yellowcough had, it seemed to be contained just here beneath the surface of skin.

"Is it a deep ache like a bruise or do you feel it like an open wound?" There were plants to ease pain, but some were better suited depending on how far beneath the surface said pain went. He knew of that to bind bones and ease soreness, knew of what softened the sting of slices and torn flesh. Admittedly this kind of thing was out of his understanding and as much as he wanted to argue that with the chocolate molly he knew it to be true. "Have you ever tried to..." He raised a paw, a single claw unsheathed in a gesture of a slice or jab, unsure of how to phrase his remark in a way that didn't sound especially horrid. If this was passed down then someone probably tried that at some point yes? If he had such a thing on his body he might've been tempted to.

————— ⸸ looks like the stars won't shine much longer ———— ⸸ so give me your hand

• OOC can go here.
• 
  
  
  Magpiepaw
  —⊰⋅ MCA of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/They
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/a white throat and blue-violet eyes.
  —⊰⋅ Has mild cerebellar hypoplasia (Wobbly cat syndrome)
  
  

​

 

[fleabounce]

When asked on the nature of the pain, it takes some restraint for Fleabounce to not answer with an immediate both. Like a bruise and like an open wound—sometimes worse than Fleabounce knows how to quantify. She doesn't say such things, as it wouldn't be helpful and, shamefully, would border on needles complaining. Instead, Fleabounce offers Magpiepaw a smile that is too wavering to land fully at encouraging.

"When I keep my back half still, it is like a bruise," Her clear voice shifts around a deep-throated purr, the same ingrained instinct that bids her to smile, "But were I to move a hindleg, or shift my tail..." Fleabounce's voice rumbles out of her, faster than before. Her words keep that odd separation—the space inbetween them, "An open wound is a close enough comparison, if only in intensity. Movement can make it spread everywhere, and stopping can return it to as it was before in an instant."

Magpiepaw doesn't finish his last question, not verbally. Fleabounce watches with a grim curiosity—interest—the gesture is far more descriptive than anything Magpiepaw could have otherwise said. In her youth, she used to imagine something there: a thorn that had somehow imbedded itself into her, or in her more desperate moments, a cache of maggots eating the death in her. Fleabounce's smile twitches into genuine; her purr tapers into nothing.

"My dear sister had created a bare spot in her fur from how frequently she chewed," There are teeth in Fleabounce's own words, her placid voice comes marginally louder, "She never did find anything of interest doing that, but I have always personally wondered if she simply hadn't gone deep enough." Are you offering what I think you are? ​

SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ▫ CHOCOLATE TORTOISESHELL WITH AN UNUSUALLY SHORT TAIL

LOW HEARING ▫ 83 MOONS ▫ TAGS​

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