pafp WASTED YOUTH | slipping & sliding

[. Heathershade .]

Ice was.. difficult. Iced mud? Impossible, especially with the gait Halfshade had taught her to keep pastel paws free from the mud.
Still, she tries as she slips back into camp from a solo hunt. Her jaws are frustratingly empty, but she’s putting her best paw forward in keeping an up-beat attitude, finding comfort in the silver linings of her upcoming warrior ceremony, or the fact that most of her clan had seemed to warm up to, spare for the silly whisperings of her history, an accusation thrown towards her, seemingly that she was guilty of being a former house cat.
Yet, the rumor wasn’t sure and she knew that, her almost perfected hunting techniques proved it so, to her at least.
A patch of ice goes unnoticed by sunflower hues, and she goes sliding mid-thought.
A surprised yelp is the only thing that gives away her predicament, unfortunately not being a enough warning to the suspecting cat she promptly rammed into, sending the duo toppling into the mud in a dirt-speckled bundle of silvers and muted lilac.
"Sorry! Sorry Smogmaw! I’m a klutz!" Heatherpaw trills, finding humor in her slip-up as she tries to regain her composure, immediately going to groom the mud out of her silk curls.

@SMOGMAW
"Speech."​

[ COCOA BUTTER KISSES ]​

 

[smogstar]

Leaf-bare brought an array of elements which, no matter how hard one tried, were inescapable. It is only one of the reasons why the tabby regards this season with such raw disgust. You can find shelter from the heat, and you might seek refuge from the rain; but the snow imposes itself on you wherever you roam, and the cold cannot be avoided by any means.

Ice - as sleek and precarious as it may be - is not a problem for Smogmaw. It should not be an issue for anybody. So long as one is cautious in where they put their paws and conduct themselves with a minimal amount of common sense, accidents and collisions are entirely preventable. Common sense is regrettably not very common in ShadowClan, however, as the mackerel tabby is thrown off his footing by an out-of-control apprentice.

Shoulders strike against the hardened ground in a vicious movement. The wind is expelled from his system when his midsection follows suit, but not before a nasty curse automatically parts from his maw. He does not return to all fours immediately. Instead, a caustic brew of hatred and ill-temper begins to bubble within his mind, a plethora of foul words flashing across his psyche.

Smogmaw cannot see his assailant from where he lay, but he need not to. A cursory apology is put forward for his consideration, presented by Heatherpaw's balmy voice. If the pewter warrior is not mistaken, her name at one point had been Sweets - a name which sounded Twoleg in origin, more than anything else.

Unsteadily, he returns to his paws. "Damned kittypet, is this your first time outside?" grumbles the tom, staring her down through half-lidded eyes. ​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† She nearly jumps out of her skin when the scene unfolds. ...Maybe unfolds is too-articulate a way of putting it, when it was a matter of moments. Before, Smogpaw and Heatherpaw were alright, and then suddenly the both of them are spitting, toppling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. And Sharppaw is horrified. Horrified that Heatherpaw is going to be snapped at, but, thankfully for her, she's only met with grumbling.

And Sharppaw shudders. Shudders at the thought that that could've been him. Never would he be able to recover so gracefully from the fall as the both of them had. Never would she be able to laugh at her own stupid mistake, or feel good in putting another down for it. And it's almost unfair. No, it is. Oh, so suddenly, she's hyper-aware of the iced over ground at her feet. Never before had he considered the ice a threat, but now, it very much was. Stagnant, gradual threat. One sleepy step outside would be all it took to trip him up. One sleepy step, or a stupid step from someone like Heatherpaw. "You... you should..." watch where you're going, she almost says. But that was mean. "...b-be more careful," lamely, he substitutes; and he hopes that wasn't the wrong thing to say either.​

 

[Poppypaw ★]

"HEATHERPAW, YOU FOOL! A little more speed and you could've splattered him across the GROUND! I'm disappointed in you!"
You could not hide how absolutely unhappy she was that she arrived on the scene to find an entirely unpuddled Smogmaw just standing there none the worse for the wear, if only she could have arrived to a scene of his insides outside-but then what would you call them after that? Did they get called outsides? Would she be too caught up in the linguistics to be able to marvel in the smashed to a pulp gray stain of a cat? Would her joy be drowned out in her inability to understand how words worked? Poppypaw didn't know, she didn't know a lot of things but she sure did know one thing.
Smogmaw was alive and that was a problem.
"Next time I think if we get several apprentices and we go sliding one after the other as fast as possible we might be able to hit him hard enough to knock his big ass head off and that would be great. I would sure enjoy it."
Her dirty white paws plopped her along towards Sharppaw to stand next to the prickly apprentice and smile at her attempts to be some kind of supportive but he had it all wrong. "Be LESS careful actually." Those Smogmaw's didn't kill themselves.

​