sensitive topics WELL, WELL, LOOK WHO'S INSIDE AGAIN — nightmare

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — // cw for minor gore and just generally unpleasant imagery askfvkfdskdf

It was nearly indiscernible from reality — faces were blurry and distorted, as dreams typically were, though Roosterstrut swears he can spot glimpses of the likes of Chilledstar, Rainecho, Ferndance, and Starlingheart. Why the medicine cat was on this particular border patrol was a mystery, one that his unconscious brain isn't particularly concerned with. Everything seems pleasant with the weather considerably warmer now that new-leaf was upon them, with birds chirping among the sparse pines.

Then, a pungent scent strikes Roosterstrut's nose. He knows it from... somewhere. He's smelled it before.

Realization hits him like a gust of wind. His eyes widen, a hitched breath catching in his throat—

Suddenly, the young warrior is yanked upward off the ground, razor-sharp teeth gnashing into the scruff of his neck. "Ack! No, no, no... this couldn't be happening, not again! Roosterstrut tries his damndest to twist around, rake his claws around the vulpine's muzzle, anything to free himself but to no avail. This dream has quickly evolved into a nightmare, and like all nightmares, one's body never moved the way it should.

The tom squirms around, dangling from the fox's jaws, until he spots a familiar mackerel tabby staring up at him with an empty, deadpan expression. Roosterstrut doesn't know why he calls out to him, but the cry for help rips from his lungs, "Smogmaw! Help me...!

Matured features quickly turning sour, Smogmaw grits his teeth and barks at him, "Get over yourself, boy! Fight back!" This only provokes Roosterstrut to panic even more, to which he wriggles in the grip tightening around his neck. "It's-It's got me, I can't—" It feels as if a boa is constricting around his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Good riddance, you spineless coward."

Blood pumps into his ears as all sound fades out around him, only the sound of his quickening heartbeat and gagging filling the air before his vision turned black...

---

Coughs erupt from his lungs as Roosterstrut awakes with a start, desperately trying to refill his body with air. It seemed to be a classic case of choking on one's own spit in the midst of slumber — not exactly the most attractive look a cat could have, but right now, he isn't particularly worried about what anyone else thought. The orange tabby drew in a deep gasp, then another, until his breathing began to level out once more. His maw is parted as he glances around the den; a few of the cats he had spotted in his dream were nestled in their beddings, which only made his stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot.

Upset, so much so that it probably wouldn't take much more for him to break into tears, the warrior tiptoed around the others and hurried out of the den and into the marshes.

The young warrior rests now by a moonlit pool of stagnant water not too far from camp, the guttural chorus of frog ribbits filling the marshy night air. A productive cat may have chosen to seek them out for a late-night hunt, but Roosterstrut isn't focused on doing so. They're... kind of soothing, actually. The orange tabby tom never thought much of the noises, truthfully finding them ugly-sounding at times, but they were grounding in a strange sort of way. A tether to reality, so to speak, a reminder that he was home and that this would always be his home. Roosterstrut wasn't a burden to his clan... was he?​

 

[Halfshade]

Perhaps via assocation with Smogmaw she was the last cat the orange tom wanted to see padding forward through tall reeds and marsh grass to moonlit pool before his paws, but she had no awareness to how sharp the claws her mate held gripped around the other so much so that it would chase him from the camp over a bad dream. She did, however, get woken by said dream. Halfshade was generally a light sleeper already, though having a shared nest did often help lull her into rest more quickly than before, but the gasp that rocked the other awake had also jolted her from a partial doze and she'd lifted her head in time to see that striped tail vanish from the den. Mismatched eyes narrowed, she had debated returning back to sleep and shoving her head back under Smogmaw's neck where the warmth of her own breath took the chill that still lingered in the air away. It would be so easy to just ignore that she'd seen anything and perhaps the tabby warrior didn't want company? After all he had ran off like a scared little kit.
After a moment the torbie sighed, stiffly rising and carefully moving herself about to stand without disturbing her mate and clanmates, long limbs stepping around sleeping forms with poise and elegance as she often held.
Once outside she regretted the decision immediately but she was already up and so her trek went onward where Roosterstrut had not made much of an effort to hide his trail not himself from view, partially lit by the reflective surface of the pool that rimmed his already bright coat in a pale halo.
Her ears flicked to the sound of frogs and toads, their throaty noises a chorus of reverberating hums through the marshland at night and only going silent as she began to speak, "It's a bit late for a walk, is it not? Or a run...rather. You looked like you had a fire lit under your tail, dear."
​

 

[betonyfrost]

Betonyfrost isn't a good friend. She knows this too keenly to be anything but hesitant when it comes to Roosterstrut. Betonyfrost's temper is too short, she isn't fair in her assumptions, and she'll choke on her tongue sooner than she'll apologize.

Despite this, Betonyfrost wishes many things. She wishes she was closer with Roosterstrut, like they used to be. She wishes she knew how to talk to him without sounding bitter — wishes she knew how to explain to Roosterstrut that he needs to be understanding of how much Betonyfrost is holding back, even now, and that he cannot hold her lapses into anger against her.

Jealousy is a thorn under Betonyfrost's skin. It pricks her when she sees Halfshade with Roosterstrut, and Betonyfrost curves from where she had been walking, turns directly into water that she needs to wade to reach where Halfshade and Roosterstrut sit. She doesn't know what she wants to do, only that she wants to do it enough that it drives her in a mindless forward until she's pulling herself out of the water to stand before Roosterstrut.

Whatever biting words Betonyfrost had half-formed on her tongue die before she can speak them.

"You look like you're thinking too much," Is what Betonyfrost says instead, feeling wholly wrongfooted and she drips water in a puddle beneath her paws.​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 18 moons | tags​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

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

---

they knew that look. they've had that look. only difference was... they did everything they could to hide said look. it wasn't that hard. chilledstar was notorious for hiding their true feelings about practically everything. it left so many thinking that they didn't care when the problem was that they cared entirely too much. the slowly pushed themself onto their paws, claws digging into the ground as they stretched their body out with a yawn. it's late... and they really shouldn't be awake. but... shit happened. they made their way through the marshes with a twitch of their ears.

"hm. up for a late night patrol? we're already out here."

it's more of an invite for a walk, but at least they could be useful during it. roosterstrut needed to just clear his head for a moment, it seemed. they knew that much but they'd not tell everyone such. had it not been for the amount of night terrors they had themself, they'd never even know what was his deal. they didn't know the extent of it, but it couldn't have been that great if he looked like that.

"you can decline if you so wish but it might be good to stretch your legs. besides, what better way to get used to the shadows than at night, hm?"
​

 

[CHITTERTONGUE]

જ➶ Duel eyes blink slowly, trying to regain his sense from a deep sleep that had pulled him under. Slowly a yawn pulls from his muzzle as he forces himself to glance around before a figure suddenly hacking and coughing makes him jolt. That same figure leaves the den and for a moment the tom doesn't think much of it. He is almost compelled to go back to sleep but the smell is of fear and so he pulls himself from his nest with a small shake. His nose twitches and he can easily smell where the other went. Only thing is that he hopes Roosterstrut is okay. But as he weaves his way along the sparse marshes it seems that others have also been pulled out here. Sleepily he shifts his way forth, attemptong to miss the wetter areas and he sluggishly sits down. "Everything alright? I mean, you don't gotta tell me but I saw you leaving and hacking something mighty."

His eyes flick over to Chilled then and he tilts his head up before shrugging his shoulders. "To be honest, I'd rather go back to bed. It's so late, ya know." To empathize this he gives a soft yawn once more before lifting a paw to rub at his eye.​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Well, the silence had been nice while it lasted. It wasn't as if Roosterstrut didn't enjoy the company of his clanmates; he wasn't someone who was reclusive or solitary by any means. Sometimes spending time out in the territory alone provided him with some much-needed time for self-reflection and mental healing, though. Ah well, he wouldn't be surprised if he woke others up before dipping out of camp, anyway.

If anyone could get him through a tough time, it was his clanmates (most of them, anyway). He wasn't particularly close with any of the cats present, though they bring a soothing familiarity with their presence. He's known them for his entire life. If they didn't care about him then they wouldn't bother sticking around, right? Maybe Roosterstrut had been overthinking things, after all.

Betonyfrost and Halfshade seemed to have caught on to his troubled state of mind while Chilledstar, in a typical fashion, is eager to keep things productive. Chittertongue shares his honest opinion of preferring some shut-eye rather than a late-night walk, which prompts a small quirk of a smile from Roosterstrut. "I'll go with you, Chilledstar. Might as well." Roosterstrut says, looking up toward the leader. It would be a good way to walk up his little outing, he supposed.

Turning a striped head toward the others, Roosterstrut apologizes, "Sorry for waking you guys up," Actually, had Betonyfrost even been in her nest when he left? He can't quite remember. It wasn't important. "It was just, uh... something in my throat. It's all good now, though." Roosterstrut had to stop himself from mentioning the dream as they would perhaps want him to explain it. He would have to lie about Smogmaw and the fox being at the center of it all, which would lead to more lies, and... He didn't care to lie, even if it was unimportant.​

 

[smogstar]

With the burden of fatigue weighing upon his eyelids, Smogmaw's regard appears even more weary than what one would expect. Whatever the reason was for this late night excursion had gone right over his head, or to be more precise, through one ear and right out the other. Only a jolt from a sudden awakening and the sound of his clanmates' rustling departure from the den linger in his memory. Retaining information is an admittedly demanding feat in this depleted state, his mind opaque like the unlit sky. He groans, a coarse resonance inside his throat, as he meanders out of camp on Chittertongue's heels.

Time passes at a languid pace in the dark of night, and thus the deputy's patience was drained to its dregs upon finding Roosterstrut. The ginger tom idled beside a swamp pool, and the group converges on him soon after with an array of questions. Smogmaw does not share Halfshade's worry nor Betonyfrost's reasoning, but there's no denying that the warrior showed signs of mental wear and tear. An idea as to why promptly comes to mind, yet Smogmaw refuses it. No chance in hell he still hasn't gotten over himself by now. If the firm talking-to hadn't been sufficient in causing the least amount of introspection, Roosterstrut was effectively irreparable.

A half-arsed reason is given: something in the throat. The deputy clears his own in tandem with the excuse. "Something bad enough to drive you out of camp?" he asks, before clearing his own shortly thereafter. "I doubt lazing around out here will do your throat any better. Might swallow a deerfly. Or two." Whatever. The kid had established himself as quite the bonehead, so there isn't any point in dwelling on his motive for too long.

Dismissive eyes descend upon the leader as the reality of their words begin to sink in. A night patrol, and so soon after being involuntarily tugged away from slumber. A rather tyrannical decision, Chilledstar. ​