toxic garbage island ↷ [ tunnels & loud noises ]

[smogstar]

Off-white ivories become exposed to the dusking atmosphere, for the lips covering them have twisted into an embittered snarl. Until now, in the days since ShadowClan's eagerly awaited homecoming, his gaze hadn't chanced upon the underground passageways that they'd called home for the better half of a moon. This was intentional. The mere sight of them aroused a visceral reaction in his innards, a choleric concoction of discomfort and resentment, so he did well to avoid them during excursions out towards the border. But, be it because of the dim-lit sky, or his overall world-weariness, the deputy was betrayed by his internal compass, and the patrol found themselves at the mouth of the concrete tunnels.

A hiss rumbles in his throat as he looks into the yawning darkness. "The next time beasts invade our territory, we'd be better off bunking at Carrionplace instead," Smogmaw begins, swinging his head over his shoulder to glimpse a fellow patrolmate. He speaks with conviction, because if it has happened once, it can certainly happen again. Such is the nature of all things. "Sore pads 'n body cramps, that's all these tunnels have given us. Nothin' more, nothin' less."

He opts to put an end to the patrol's little break, but abruptly, out of nowhere, and without warning, a deafening crack would rattle across the sky. It's like thunder, only louder, and lasting a fraction as long. Black-capped ears pin to the back of his skull as he turns to see illuminated clouds, before the light dissipates, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. The suddenness of it had kickstarted his heart into a frenzied rhythm—as it also did to his mind, a bedlam of thoughts both primal and rational. "What in th' blazes?" is just about all he can muster in the moment. Where'd it come from? Where'd it go? Had StarClan decided to smite Sootstar properly this time?

All he knows is that he isn't going to tell his patrolmates to hide in those damned tunnels. Never again.

// it's fireworks :3​

 

[Needledrift]

Needledrift almost giggles at the statement, knowing full well that Chittertongue had done that exact thing and just come out of it stinky and sore. Almost does the giggle escape her when the sky erupts, bathing the gray she-cat's form in hint of red and gold. Her heart slams in her chest, a harsh BADUMBADUMBADUM, a frantic bird beating against the bars of its cage. Smogmaw mutters something about Sootstar, something to cut the tension, something that is completely drowned out as another star explodes. This one lights of the sky in brilliant blues and golds, terrifying in its spiraling, bombastic spectacle. The sky is on fire, Needledrift thinks, the sky is on fire, so far above us that it doesn't even touch the trees. We're safe, even if we're terrified.

She places a paw against her maw tentatively, "Do you think it's a sign from StarClan?"​

i will never leave your room, tell everything that bothers you​

 

[clearheart]

━━ι═══════﹥ He remains quiet during the deputy's agitated yet resolute strategem. He does not remark on Smogmaw's certainty that they will find themselves invaded once more, his mind divided between their surroundings and considering how viable the Carrionplace would be as a haven. It is not without its dangers, though the same could be said for the Thunderpath. He is curious why Smogmaw harbors such disdain for their previous refuge, an unspoken question he answers in due time: physical discomfort. A wrinkle forms in Clearheart's nose and he intends to ask how the tunnels gave them anything, least of all physical ills, and how he is so assured that they are limited to sore pads and muscle cramps. However, poised to speak, a whining thunder streaks far above their heads. Light shatters in a hundred directions, a trail of smoke left in an arc below the explosion.

His ears remain braced against his skull, gaze remaining skyward. Needledrift's suggestion is what summons Clearheart's focus back down. "No," he says firmly, "I do not. What we have seen is greatly unnatural. StarClan would speak to us with portents familiar to us: weather, prey, the life around us. A sign must be fathomable." He is certain of it. Surely StarClan would use what the other clans know to speak— they would not want their messages misinterpreted or aimless. Even so, when another splits the sky, a bright blue shower, Clearheart worries he may be dismissive of what could be a new voice. ​

══════⊹⊱≼ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ʜᴀɴɢꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴄᴇɴꜱᴇ / ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ≽⊰⊹══════

• — CLEARHEART / / 40 moons old / / amab and uses masculine pronouns but will also accept the use of neutral terms.
  — a warrior of shadowclan / / currently mentoring dragonflypaw / / excels greatly in combat above most all other skills.
  — former loner who wandered great distances & rarely remained in one place for long / / arrived after the great battle.
  — devoted to starclan above all else (aside from his idea of the common good) / / not prone to enter battle mindlessly.
  
  — of a height slightly above average / / trim and athletic with a sense of immovability about his posture/stance & size.
  — chocolate sepia w/ low white / / fur is quite short for the most part / / tail is naturally bobbed // full-body reference.
  — fairly warm demeanor much of the time; there is a "softness" about his features so that neutrality doesn't seem surly.
  
  — lawful good, in the sense that he likes to maintain order and work toward bettering lives around him without cruelty.
  — often misunderstands figures of speech and may interpret them literally. as such, can seem to lack a sense of humor.
  — deeply genuine; dislikes lying immensely, and so (most of the time) he is wholly earnest, especially with compliments.
  
•  
•  

​

​

​

 

[𝒯𝐻𝐼𝒮𝒯𝐿𝐸𝒥𝒰𝑀𝒫]

Thistlejump possessed a nervous disposition, and the presence of anything strange and unfamiliar tended to heighten her nerves, sometimes to an inconsolable state. When the patrol paused near the tunnels, she gazed skyward at the black night and thought to herself just how beautiful the pitch-painted sky and the bright scattered stars were, until the peaceful skies were struck by the thunderously loud, fiery glow which exploded amidst the dark clouds. Her eyes widened with fright and her ears pinned against her head. Her spiky coat became bristled with acute trepidation, enlarging her appearance, as she stared at the sky in horror.

She looked to the deputy for guidance, but Smogmaw appeared equally frightened.

The assault on the sky continued, in bursts of fantastic colors and terrifying sparks of something akin to flames. “Perhaps it is.” She remarked to Needledrift, her voice shaky.

However, Clearheart’s rational declaration slightly swayed her. “But what else do you think it could be?” She questioned Clearheart, anxiously curious to hear what kind of explanation he could think of.

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

//tw for anxiety mentions. sorry this so short i am rushing out of the house

make them stop. why is it so loud... be quiet. be quiet.

the loud noise causes nothing but anxiety. they have no way to hide from it, to make it stop, but they can try to make it less painful. they pressed their paws against their ears, eyes squeezing shut as they muttered.

"i think it's too loud. if this is starclan's way of speaking with us, i urge them to find a less... booming way to do so."
​