private UTTERLY DEVOTED TO RUINING THINGS \ orangestar

[TWITCHBOLT]

And he was not dying, anymore.

Thanks to the cobwebs swathed around his neck, cramming in the blood, Twitchbolt breathed- but he barely felt alive. Every waking moment- fully waking, anyway- since the patrol had returned made him feel sick, rendered his voice unusable. Curled in the medicine den, left to wandering thoughts, Twitchbolt stewed on his fear. His heart tied itself in knots, his stomach boiled with nausea, and his head... it screamed and screamed.

All his life Twitchbolt had been afraid of death. It worked well to protect your Clan, it turned out... for if you worried on every eventuality, you eventually became pretty able to bat them all away. Now, though... now he had seen silver sheen behind his eyes. He had felt like nearing, and felt as if he had deserved it... and wasn't that horrible, that it had nearly felt right? Like- there and then, he should have faded away?

And that had not been the end. Teetering on the edge, he'd looked down the reaper's throat- and had been pulled away from it with looping spider-silk and poppy seeds. Death would be worse, he imagined, and Orangestar had faced it- any leader would have to face it.

If it was worse than this... and it had to be... Twitchbolt could not bear to know what dying truly felt like, yet keep on living.

The cat he had been thinking of soon neared; he looked at the wound mirrored on both of their throats, hers having crushed what was beneath the flesh. "Orangestar..." he murmured. Regret sprawled within him, premature but aching nonetheless, for what he was about to do. "I... I could never be leader."

Candid, maybe stupid. He'd take it while he couldn't overthink.

\ @Orangestar ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[Orangestar]

Orangestar is lucky. By virtue of her role, and the fact that her injuries seemed to be healing well, she has been allowed stints outside of the medicine den. She returns from one now with soaked moss clutched delicately between scarred jaws, dropping it with a soft squelch rather than lowering it and risking the cobwebs coming loose.

She tries not to think about her death. Tries not to let her mind linger on the moment she'd passed, rain-blurred gaze fading to nothing at all even as the first flashes of the storm had illuminated the forest. Every time she blinks, however, she's faced with burning blue eyes and a queasy feeling she has yet to escape from. The most that the poppy seed she'd been offered had done was ease her into a dreamless sleep, a short reprieve given the circumstances.

A croak of her name catches her attention near immediately, a distraction for which she is briefly grateful. One ear twitches, swivelling towards Twitchbolt a moment before her muzzle follows. The motion tugs at the injury at her neck - just when she'd tried to avoid it, ugh - a small puff of air escaping her maw before she shifts to face him fully.

I could never be leader.

She tenses. From the moment Blazestar had nearly slipped on the word abandoned with regards to Deersong's choice to rear her kits rather than continue with her duties, Orangestar had known that she would not do the same. Could not. Was she about to face a similar betrayal?

"... Explain." She prompts further, voice hoarse beneath the weight of a single word.​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

Explain. There was an awful lack of anything to work with- Twitchbolt struggled at the best of times with elaborate social cues. His ears flattened, an expression of great conflict and agony screwing up his face, tensing his whole body up. Skin prickled thorn-sharp, sickness swirled its cold coils around his throat. Lily-livered, he couldn't even hold her eye.

No- no, he could do that. That, at the very least. Wavering pupils lifted to meet burnt umber eyes, befalling a clear, steely tenseness across Orangestar's entire body. Twitchbolt swallowed.

"I'm sorry." His voice was as thin as a spider's web, weary and worn. Fear of death tunnelled his vision intensely, and a skittering spasm purled his muscles, but Twitchbolt managed to keep his line of sight still. The threat of tears began to press into the back of his eyes, but for the moment he managed to force them away.

This was not a wanted thing. Because, wasn't this just giving up? But a good deputy... a good deputy would do what was best for their Clan. And what was best for SkyClan was not for Twitchbolt to one day lead them.

"I'm scared of dying. And I've been scared, and now I know I'll never stop being scared." Twitchbolt's eyes dropped to the ground. "I'd never want to lose you. But... there's... there's always a possibility it would happen. I'd have nine lives, and- and..." His blood froze. The conclusion went unspoken- nine deaths.

"I've never been the right choice. Everyone thinks it. They know-" and his words hitched, but he pushed through the shaking that was beginning to teeter his tone, "I'm not brave enough for it. I couldn't face it. I'm not... I'm not what SkyClan needs."

Twitchbolt squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He could almost feel the weight of disappointment flattening him- from the gazes of StarClan, from his leader, and from everyone who would find out about this in the coming days. "I'm sorry. I can't do it." Couldn't give a life for another, because death scared him too much to risk facing again. A coward, nothing but a coward, a wreck, a sorry excuse. Not good enough, and... and now he'd told Orangestar she was wrong, but maybe that'd be his last act as deputy. ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[Orangestar]

Twitchbolt looks like he's about to be sick. Orangestar half expects it, braces for the scent of bile to hit her nose. It never comes. Instead, haunting her in weary tones, comes a whimper. An apology. Scarred lips press together. The white-and-ginger molly would rather her deputy be sick before her than this. Green eyes drop to the ground, leaving Orangestar to stare at the top of Twitchbolt's head.

Were it not for the explanation she'd just prompted, Orangestar would assume the apology is for the injuries the patrols had sustained. For the way several strong SkyClanners lie injured in Dawnglare's (well, Fireflypaw's in his mentor's absence) den. Maybe even for the loss of her own life. Twitchbolt's voice startles her from her musings, ochre eyes returning to him.

The worst part about Twitchbolt's rambling, the worst part about the fears he has confided in her about, is that ... they're reasonable. Orangestar has shoved the moment of her death as far from her mind as she possibly can and yet the memory of it, impressed upon her very soul, pervades every single moment of her day.

Despite the very understandable nature of Twitchbolt's concern, anger beats furious wings against the inside of her ribs, talons outstretched with an irate and irrational desire to clutch at the bicoloured tom and finish the job the fox had started. Orangestar blinks, dismissing the urge to unsheathe her claws. She is not quick enough to dismiss the way her ears press back against her skull, the way her characteristic frown deepens into something appalled.

"Fine."

What else is she meant to say? The choice is Twitchbolt's, in the end, as much as it wounds her pride to have him be removed from his role like this. Her deputy would be the one taking on the mantle of leadership one day. It is the deputy's job to learn. He's too young, says a voice in the back of her mind, smug, one that sounds suspiciously familiar and yet not her own. Orangestar's ears twitch again, gaze flitting somewhere beyond the brown-and-tan warrior before her, before darting back to Twitchbolt.

"You may insist that you are what the Clan does not need, but I disagree." Her voice is firm, but her eyes are nearly glazed over. "I expect you to remain on my council when you recover."

Maybe he's not young enough.
​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

Fine. And he wasn't an idiot, he could hear the disapproval in her tone- the tightness. Twitchbolt had expected it, stewing in his terror, though that made it no easier to face now. Did this make him a traitor? Disobedient to his leader, untrusting of her judgement?

Perhaps, perhaps not. But he knew it made him a coward, no matter what. A snivelling whelp, just like he'd always been and would always be. There was no will in him to defend himself from the deep embers that flickered in Orangestar's eye. Shame glowed from him like a beacon, and he was sure even StarClan could see that saddened flicker.

It was more than one word this time, though. I disagree. Even after all this? Twitchbolt's eyes wobbled to meet hers just for a few moments. No, no- there was something awful and twisted inside of him, something that always ended up ruining things, and... she just hadn't seen it yet. One day she would, and she would know... she would know she never should have asked him to be her successor. It was best to get ahead of it before it happened, before... before SkyClan fell at cowardly paws, before fear engulfed his bravery and made him useless in every way.

She disagreed. Enough to ask him, even after this shameful, pathetic display, to remain on her council. Grief gripped tight. "I will." His voice was hoarse, exhausted. Darkness and silence enveloped all for a handful of seconds. Resolve, aquiver, glimmered in Twitchbolt's eyes. I disagree. Like fox-teeth, the words sunk deep, but Twitchbolt struggled against them- and in that moment managed to convince himself that they came from a mind that did not know him well enough to throw him away willingly.

He'd cut himself away like a tumour. Painful but necessary. Twitchbolt rested his chin on his paws, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony that was beginning to rake through his organs.

This had not been the relief he'd thought it might be. In the absence of his future, he'd thought he'd feel lighter- but it hurt more than the teeth to his throat. ​

penned by pin ✧​