pafp totally wrapped | dressing up

[mottlefox]

A post-patrol jaunt to Carrionplace has quickly turned to a scavenger hunt for interesting items, as any trek to the twoleg dumping ground often does for Mottlefox. The border patrol had come up boring, for which they are grateful, and Pipitclaw had humoured her. He often had done so before he got his shiny and new name, but Mottlefox is glad to see the dark-furred warrior hadn't lost his sense of fun upon being given full duties.

With time to spare before the sun rises she's found herself entangled in a string of neon blue feathers. They're not as soft as bird-down, something weirdly unreal about them. This would make a perfect addition to her nest.

"Hey, look!" Mottlefox peers over the edge of a cold and misshapen den, allowing her denmate to take in her new accessory. Her tail whisks the air, odd eyes crinkling with amusement. In lieu of any potential partners, a familiar ginger coat rises to the forefront of her mind. Mottlefox can practically experience the scoff and roll of amber eyes from all the way out here. "Do you think Honeymoon will like it?"

// prompt: Many cats in ShadowClan like to collect odd baubles and some of these look nice tucked in fur, perhaps dressing yourself up a bit might get you more attention.
@pipitclaw !!

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[pipitclaw !!]

They have plenty of time to kill... not because they are lazy or do their work with half the effort it deserves- really, it is a surprising victory to say that things were uneventful for once. Trailing after a swath of fawn fur dappled alike fresh snow over dirt-dusted passages, the chimera is happy to pass the sun's dozing with a friend. It isn't surprising they find their pairs of paws at the piles of debris and knickknacks they more-or-less frequented... wasn't like they'd find food here but it was still fun to go snooping through the junk.

Mottlefox dips between the dunes of treasures as Pipitclaw picks at some indistinct, clang-y things, unimpressed by their generally flat nature... nondescript. Nothing he could bring back to ShadowClan or show off- a bright blaze of blue and a call for attention bring honeyed eyes towards his clan-mate. "Ooh.. you look like new-leaf skies," he offers smoothly, scrunching up his face in a typical, winning smile. Blue and gold, soft meadow grass. He doesn't see the point in dressing oneself in such flamboyant decoration but that was because he didn't bother with such things as appearances (with twigs and fur and mud still caked into his fur, that much was obvious).

The mention of Honeymoon makes him scoff, recoiling as if wounded himself. "Honeymoon?!" He was older, more mature... funnier... way funnier. So why did Mottlefox care about that molly's opinion so much? "I'm hurt you'd bring me out here just to talk about your real favorite best friend instead," he whines in mock complaint, turning up his nose at the sky as if too upset to even behold their beauty in his eyes.

Winking open his gaze to get an idea of his friend's reaction, the dappled cat stands up and wanders over to a different assortment of litter, picking it apart until he finds something equally flattering to adorn his messy pelt with. It is nothing more than yellowish paper-thin, crinkling thing... horrid for hunting but entertaining and bright to be eye-catching maybe. "Absolutely ridiculous... Honeymoon," he mutters, shaking his head in completely disbelief.

That was the focus of her affections? How boring!​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Sharpshadow was not a fan of Carrionplace, likely to the chagrin of her former mentor. It was called Carrionplace for a reason. It stank of death and rot. You get used to it, some might say, but Sharpshadow didn't think they should have to get used to it. having such a place nearby made her feel even more embarrassed to be ShadowClan than anything else did. Swimming in twoleg trash, they were only a few levels above the average SkyClanners... An important few levels, still, but she'd rather way more.

And the clan treats it like treasure trove, even if you had to plug your nose, dig past rotting prey, and kick the occasional rat or two to truly find anything. Mottlefox and Pipitclaw are as happy - go - lucky as ever, especially when the former drags out a string of feathers that looked... not right. If birds were really that color, Sharpshadow would never miss a catch again.

Who cares what Honeymoon thinks? is Sharpshadow's first thought. One that he does't bother expressing, cause, clearing Mottlefox did, apparently. Who knows why. Pipitclaw's thoughts are apparently similar, and Sharpshadow offers a snort in response to his exaggerated whining's. He doesn't know what Honeymoon would think, but he can say what he thinks, maybe. " Newleaf skies... that are about to kill me, " nodding slowly, he adds onto Pipitclaw's description. " Not necessarily a bad thing, " he adds vaguely.

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

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  SHARPSHADOW: he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms ; 20 moons old as of 2.13.24 ; ages every 8th
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

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[FERNDANCE]

"Well... I think everyone prefers Honeymoon to you," she replied to Pipitclaw, sincerity flooding her whimsical voice. Eyes were wide in surprise that the new ShadowClanner didn't know that already, and her statement was made not to hurt, but to inform. Her head peaked up from her place amidst the twoleg trash, the banana peel that sat atop her skull quickly shaken off as the smell grew too much to bear. It was hardly the usual accessory adorned by the cinnamon tabby, she preferred things that could be found in ShadowClan's forest, like the shells of deceased bugs or the brittle leaves of foliage crushed by leafbare. Very rarely was it to gain the attention of her clanmates. To die was to shed the mortal body and reveal the glamorous soul beneath, to Ferndance, it just made sense to try and replicate a heavily accessorised cat in life, to emulate what one would become when they were inevitably maimed by some nondescript creature. When she traversed that day, her pelt was remarkably barren, save for the pale feather that now followed her around more faithfully than her fleas. She gave Mottlefox's own glitz a proper look and squinted hard at it.

What an aggressively blue contraption she'd found. Ferndance inhaled sharply at the sight. "A feathered snake... I have heard of these before," she mewed mirthfully, hopping up from her mouldy burrow to deliver her sermon. She hadn't, in fact, heard of them before. "When a snake eats a bluebird, the bird's feathers pierce through its skin like teeth, killing it and leaving nothing but bone. But... feathers keep sprouting long after it died, and now you see it here... a feathered snake." Mischief sparked in her ditzy smile. "They're very rare, so rare... we may... we may be the first cats to ever see it." Her parents had likely encountered dozens by now, wherever they roamed now.

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[mottlefox]

"Nooo, Pipitclaw," Mottlefox whines right back at him, hopping down from her pedestal to pursue her friend. It's only partially in apology, but is far more nosy over what he could possibly be doing with the crinkly golden junk. It makes a horrible noise, and doesn't even look soft! But it does match his eyes quite nicely. Mottlefox respects that, even if she doesn't otherwise respect his choice in accessory today.

"I'll take it as a good thing then." She offers Sharpshadow, almost reflexively, and then does a double take. Hey, it's Sharpshadow! His voice is a pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless; the lead warrior had made no secret of her dislike for Carrionplace in the past. What's he doing here? The descriptor, however - newleaf skies that are about to kill me - is funny, especially when intended as a potential compliment. So far, their endeavour has been a success!

Another shake of yellow catches her eye from the left and the warrior turns just in time to see Ferndance dislodge a funny-looking (and rotten-smelling) flower from between her ears. A feathered snake! How exciting. That's far cooler than a normal snake. Mottlefox can't make out a face or maw, but that doesn't mean Ferndance is necessarily wrong. Maybe it's- wait, is it edible? They regard the feathery snake with a mix of suspicion and curiosity for a moment. No, he shouldn't ... but it has been a hard leafbare ... Maybe that's a question for later Mottlefox, when a lead warrior isn't watching. Instead, she addresses Ferndance's claim.

"I mean it's like, super dead!" Probably. "So I hope it doesn't bite me too. Hey, y'reckon that would turn it the same colour as my fur?"​

 

[Maggotfur.]

IF ONLY I FELL FOR YOUR FICTION
TELL ME THINGS THAT CAN'T BE TRUE ​

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maggotfur ♛ 16 moons ♛ female ♛ she/her ♛ shadowclan warrior​

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Sometimes, truly, maggotfur thinks it might actually be worth the trouble to socialize with her denmates - truly if she didn't, she'd have missed so many hilarious moments. Jus like this one.

Amusement glitters in cold blue yes, and despite the blank expression displayed across the rest o her face she snorts at the sight mottlefox makes. " Gone and joined the birds then? I'm sure you'll make for very good prey, " she mocks, but for once it's well meant - nothing more than good fun. There's no sharpness in her tone, only deadpan humor.

Ferndnce however seems far more focused on what the 'thing' mottlefox found is than admiring how foolish the younger warrior looks - and really, now she's curious too. b]" A snake? Where do you suppose the bones go then? Do they become feathers too, or are they lying about somewhere? "[/b] Maggotfur has no need of feathers - she has plenty enough, and something about these snake-feathers are off putting enough she's lost interest. But bones? Those she could make into a tasty snack, or at the very least add to the misshapen pile she called a nest.

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