- Oct 17, 2022
- 454
- 78
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MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————
It’s late. Late enough even Snakeblink’s insomnia should have surrendered to the pull of exhaustion, but he can’t sleep. The moon is a sliver in the sky, waning towards darkness like a giant cosmic eye closing. It’s barely enough light to see by: Snakeblink’s immobile eyes can’t see much further than the ground on which he lays his paws. He paces anyway, peripherally aware of the gorge yawning open nearby. It helps him think. With that disastrous conversation with Cindershade and the ensuing gossip he’s eavesdropped on playing in his head again and again, he needs all the help he can get.
See, Snakeblink likes solving problems for other people — but he knows that he tends to cause them, instead. He likes talking, he dares say he’s good at it, with his big words and his mind that is always trying to be ten steps ahead. But words without meaning are hollow, not communication, and Snakeblink is terrible at communicating. He’ll talk and talk and talk and never for a second pause to think about what others are hearing, only what’s coming out of his mouth, so worried about it being helpful and witty and clever and never about whether it’s the right thing to say, whether he should be saying it at all. He knows this, yet he’s always surprised by the reception he gets — surprised that he got it wrong.
Stars. He’s just another idiot, isn’t he? Shoving all four paws of his straight into his mouth. It’s a miracle no one’s tried to claw his tongue out — well, no one since the one time that landed him with that scar of his.
He has to apologize. That much is obvious. But how? He can hardly trust himself not to fuck it up again, pardon the language. He, frankly, still isn’t sure how he insulted her so thoroughly — no, that’s not right. He doesn’t know which part insulted her most, and fears he’ll only repeat his mistake without this knowledge. He’s learned in time that even the most innocuous things might be taken as a slight if said in his voice, and he’s said many things that were not innocuous.
”Cindershade,” he starts muttering to himself, peering intently into the impenetrable night as if he might glimpse her shadow-woven pelt in its depths. It’s easier to find his words when he’s only imagining her — but not by much. Even in his mind’s eye, she cuts a frightening silhouette. ”You have to understand that— no, no, too forceful. I must tell you that I spoke in… haste? Hm, no, hastiness was not the issue. I misspoke… Spoke out of turn? Maybe. I never intended to insinuate anything negative about your appearance— should I really remind her of that…?”
Thus focused on the meticulous crafting of this speech (which he would hardly have the time to recite in full in front of the molly), Snakeblink doesn’t notice his steps taking him slightly closer to the open maw of the gorge. Close enough that, when gravels under his paws loosen unexpectedly, he finds himself pitching forward with a yelp — headfirst towards the edge he cannot see.
See, Snakeblink likes solving problems for other people — but he knows that he tends to cause them, instead. He likes talking, he dares say he’s good at it, with his big words and his mind that is always trying to be ten steps ahead. But words without meaning are hollow, not communication, and Snakeblink is terrible at communicating. He’ll talk and talk and talk and never for a second pause to think about what others are hearing, only what’s coming out of his mouth, so worried about it being helpful and witty and clever and never about whether it’s the right thing to say, whether he should be saying it at all. He knows this, yet he’s always surprised by the reception he gets — surprised that he got it wrong.
Stars. He’s just another idiot, isn’t he? Shoving all four paws of his straight into his mouth. It’s a miracle no one’s tried to claw his tongue out — well, no one since the one time that landed him with that scar of his.
He has to apologize. That much is obvious. But how? He can hardly trust himself not to fuck it up again, pardon the language. He, frankly, still isn’t sure how he insulted her so thoroughly — no, that’s not right. He doesn’t know which part insulted her most, and fears he’ll only repeat his mistake without this knowledge. He’s learned in time that even the most innocuous things might be taken as a slight if said in his voice, and he’s said many things that were not innocuous.
”Cindershade,” he starts muttering to himself, peering intently into the impenetrable night as if he might glimpse her shadow-woven pelt in its depths. It’s easier to find his words when he’s only imagining her — but not by much. Even in his mind’s eye, she cuts a frightening silhouette. ”You have to understand that— no, no, too forceful. I must tell you that I spoke in… haste? Hm, no, hastiness was not the issue. I misspoke… Spoke out of turn? Maybe. I never intended to insinuate anything negative about your appearance— should I really remind her of that…?”
Thus focused on the meticulous crafting of this speech (which he would hardly have the time to recite in full in front of the molly), Snakeblink doesn’t notice his steps taking him slightly closer to the open maw of the gorge. Close enough that, when gravels under his paws loosen unexpectedly, he finds himself pitching forward with a yelp — headfirst towards the edge he cannot see.
——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely
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— Snakeblink • he / him. 37 ☾, riverclan warrior
— a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
— gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
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friendship