- Oct 22, 2022
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// retro to splitting up, but post dog attack! you can get the entire gist of it from the last two paragraphs :3 i got a lil carried away!
Reputation is a compelling determinant in one's worth. When you enter a scene, and everyone's attentions flit towards your sorry body, their immediate emotional response and mode of behaviour will be wholly premised on this perceived concept of who you are. All they understand is what they make of you, in that precise moment, in ignorance to all else you may have accomplished and endured. As such, it may be advantageous to curate a reputation which demands attention and commands authority, and one such reputation will grant you the respect, fear, or influence necessary to carry out your goals.
Moulding public perception came easy enough in the eyes of his own clanmates. With less wandering eyes to fret about, not to mention a base supply of trust, Smogmaw could alter the narrative around any given situation to improve his image in ShadowClan.
Flickerfire did not merely die at the border to some unruly hounds—she had been a spy, and he the upstanding warrior to divulge her true nature. It was not in belly-high moorgrass where Sootstar's claws raked into his tissue, but rather in the swamp itself—and when the news was broken of this heinous, unsanctioned attack on marshland soil, there beat only venom in his clanmates' hearts.
Respect towards him came in scant supply, and fear exceeded it by a narrow margin. But, his influence had grown so thick, it saturated the ShadowClan atmosphere. And though relegated to a second-in-command position, the tom possessed all the authority needed to see his ambitions carried through. Had he not built himself a firm reputation to stand upon, the rest certainly wouldn't have been attainable.
Smogmaw's influence all but halted at the ShadowClan border. Aside from rank, his name brought with it negligible weight on this journey. He may have cultivated some degree of respect from those whom he'd heralded from the caves to safety. Yet, to a group so large and varied in mind and background, he held little authority over others' perception of him. That couldn't be truer to any clique than the WindClan cats. One in particular always levelled a withering glare in his direction, during the rare instances in which they'd even shared a space. Hatred and revulsion, both searing, seeping through his singular blue eye.
It was not out of the ordinary for Smogmaw to be loathed, mind you. He'd gotten quite used to it from the likes of Roosterstrut and Betonyfrost back home. The nature of Periwinklebreeze's hatred, however, eluded his scope of understanding. Might it be blind rage borne from less-than-flattering rumours? Or, perhaps he'd unwittingly crossed his path before and behaved in such a way it left a bad taste in his maw. Either or, the tom felt it imperative to get the message, so to speak. The distaste Periwinklebreeze harbours could possibly reflect a broader perception around him. Becoming aware of this perception can, and will, prove beneficial in the grander scheme.
"You."
The younger warrior's misty figure is seeked out among the larger group. To his knowledge, this feline among several of his clanmates had led the charge to reroute the dogs. That he might have them to thank for even being alive this evening is not a reality he'll ever confront, though. "Uh, 'nless I'm mistaken, you hate me, right?" He asks it so business-like, words mouthed from a neutral expression, amber eyes watching beneath unclenched brows. "Why? Did I give you a good reason? Or do you hate me, just 'cause?"
Reputation is a compelling determinant in one's worth. When you enter a scene, and everyone's attentions flit towards your sorry body, their immediate emotional response and mode of behaviour will be wholly premised on this perceived concept of who you are. All they understand is what they make of you, in that precise moment, in ignorance to all else you may have accomplished and endured. As such, it may be advantageous to curate a reputation which demands attention and commands authority, and one such reputation will grant you the respect, fear, or influence necessary to carry out your goals.
Moulding public perception came easy enough in the eyes of his own clanmates. With less wandering eyes to fret about, not to mention a base supply of trust, Smogmaw could alter the narrative around any given situation to improve his image in ShadowClan.
Flickerfire did not merely die at the border to some unruly hounds—she had been a spy, and he the upstanding warrior to divulge her true nature. It was not in belly-high moorgrass where Sootstar's claws raked into his tissue, but rather in the swamp itself—and when the news was broken of this heinous, unsanctioned attack on marshland soil, there beat only venom in his clanmates' hearts.
Respect towards him came in scant supply, and fear exceeded it by a narrow margin. But, his influence had grown so thick, it saturated the ShadowClan atmosphere. And though relegated to a second-in-command position, the tom possessed all the authority needed to see his ambitions carried through. Had he not built himself a firm reputation to stand upon, the rest certainly wouldn't have been attainable.
Smogmaw's influence all but halted at the ShadowClan border. Aside from rank, his name brought with it negligible weight on this journey. He may have cultivated some degree of respect from those whom he'd heralded from the caves to safety. Yet, to a group so large and varied in mind and background, he held little authority over others' perception of him. That couldn't be truer to any clique than the WindClan cats. One in particular always levelled a withering glare in his direction, during the rare instances in which they'd even shared a space. Hatred and revulsion, both searing, seeping through his singular blue eye.
It was not out of the ordinary for Smogmaw to be loathed, mind you. He'd gotten quite used to it from the likes of Roosterstrut and Betonyfrost back home. The nature of Periwinklebreeze's hatred, however, eluded his scope of understanding. Might it be blind rage borne from less-than-flattering rumours? Or, perhaps he'd unwittingly crossed his path before and behaved in such a way it left a bad taste in his maw. Either or, the tom felt it imperative to get the message, so to speak. The distaste Periwinklebreeze harbours could possibly reflect a broader perception around him. Becoming aware of this perception can, and will, prove beneficial in the grander scheme.
"You."
The younger warrior's misty figure is seeked out among the larger group. To his knowledge, this feline among several of his clanmates had led the charge to reroute the dogs. That he might have them to thank for even being alive this evening is not a reality he'll ever confront, though. "Uh, 'nless I'm mistaken, you hate me, right?" He asks it so business-like, words mouthed from a neutral expression, amber eyes watching beneath unclenched brows. "Why? Did I give you a good reason? Or do you hate me, just 'cause?"