private yap yap | fleabounce

[scorchfrost]

Scorchfrost had been on his paws all day, dealt with various cats, patrols, and idiotic happenings, and really just needed to sit down. He'd had a productive day and felt satisfied enough with it to stay in camp but he was too restless to settle in for the night.

The moon was high above the trees, illuminating the camp with slivers of luminescence. The nursery was empty, most apprentices were asleep or lingering near their den, and the last patrol had just ended. Scorchfrost found his tension easing with every silent moment that passed but it wasn't enough. He still needed to do something, talk to someone. It would be easier if he knew the majority of the clan, he wasn't awful at striking up conversations, but he'd been too out of the loop to be all that familiar with the youngins. He did, however, know one warrior in particular. The only one that he could really say wasn't a youngin.

" Fleabounce? " The chocolate warrior was resting in the elders den, where she and Scorch would often rest and chat. He couldn't care less that it sparked jokes about his age. There was never anyone else in the den and it was comfortably mossy. " Good, you're here. " Scorchfrost all but collapsed beside his friend, cushioned by the thick bedding beneath him. " Ugh. "
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[ YOU CAN'T BREAK MY SPIRIT ]​

@fleabounce

 

[fleabounce]

Scorchfrost joins the ground with the same gracelessness of a fledgling daring to leave the nest for the first time. Fleabounce shifts to accommodate him; the motion so often repeated that it is done thoughtlessly. The elder’s den is insulated from the rest of camp—Fleabounce could well and truly relax here, if she allowed herself. Instead, Fleabounce straightens herself, sharpens. She never could resist making a show of herself; she lifts her chin in a parody of judgement. Her eyes twinkle with amusement, betraying her.

“Slumming with me rather than continuing to wear your paws off out there? I must be a terrible influence,” She sniffs, “Keep this up and I might just accuse you of enjoying my company.” Fleabounce appears pawless from how she lays, every limb folded and tucked beneath her belly. Scorchfrost looks more like the awkward jumble of a newly born fawn, “Eventually you’ll see the benefits of lounging through the day—you may have noticed that I’ve never been overcome with the need to throw myself to the ground.”

Her jealousy is toothless and well-concealed; it isn’t by her choice that she is in camp, rather than trudging through the mire with her clanmates. It isn’t something that needs to be swallowed—the moment passes, and Fleabounce is unaffected.​

SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ▫ CHOCOLATE TORTOISESHELL WITH AN UNUSUALLY SHORT TAIL

LOW HEARING ▫ 84 MOONS ▫ TAGS​

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[scorchfrost]

" You know how generous I am. " Scorchfrost reached out a paw to bonelessly, effortlessly, bounce against Flea's side. " I spend time with the downtrodden of Shadowclan. I grace them with my glorious presence. "

It was well known that Scorchfrost was a workaholic, often and usually to his detriment. That was the main trait others seemed to associate with him. He'd not been getting better in his older age. " You know that I'm not a lounger, Flea. I can't leave the youth to inevitably get eaten by.. foxes or something. " It was a weak, but realistic, excuse. He didn't have high hopes for the intelligence of some clanmates. They always seemed to get involved in the most absurd drama and situations. " This is good enough. " Collapsing at the end of a long day with his friend was relieving, spirit easing. He could feel the days stress begin to lift off of him already.
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[ YOU CAN'T BREAK MY SPIRIT ]​

 

[fleabounce]

“The youth will allow themselves to be eaten by foxes whether we watch them or not. It is part of their countless charms,” Fleabounce nods in self-agreement as she speaks and squints at Scorchfrost in wry amusement, “I’ve appointed myself the solemn duty of trying to talk sense into them. I haven’t seen progress yet, but I’m sure in a few dozen more moons I’ll see a sensible decision.”

Age had found Fleabounce abruptly; what feels like such a short time ago she had made the very same youth-addled choices that she now judges. There would have been no amount of warnings from well-meaning older peers that would have swayed a younger Flea from her every foolish and misinformed impulse. Experience proves itself to be both the natural benefit and burden of aging.

“This is good enough…” Fleabounce repeats, not in agreement, but in sudden, somber contemplation. The soft moss beneath her, the green scented breeze that whistles in the empty spaces—even the flakes of woodrot that drop occasionally from the pockmarked ceiling. All of it sings familiar in a life that is otherwise completely different than the one Fleabounce had once planned.

“I’m a believer in appreciating the world as it is,” Fleabounce settled on. She doesn’t continue with the but, that follows in her mind. She can appreciate the quiet moments with a friend—she shouldn’t need more than that, but ambition is just different type of idealism, and it has infected Fleabounce from a young age. She already knows that she wants more than enough.​

SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ▫ CHOCOLATE TORTOISESHELL WITH AN UNUSUALLY SHORT TAIL

LOW HEARING ▫ 84 MOONS ▫ TAGS​

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[scorchfrost]

" I wouldn't hold your breath on it. " He'd seen generations of young cats grow up before him, all as unwise (or more-so) as the last. He was almost proud when he saw his clanmates make it through the day without a life-altering injury or total breakdown.

He knew, just as well as Fleabounce, that he had not been immune to the folly of youth. He'd made many choices that he now wouldn't, done things he'd never stop thinking about, but he hadn't known any better. He'd been rash, quick to anger and quicker to justify it. He'd gone off of the experience he'd had, let his trauma and turmoil run his life, and dealt with the fallout as best as he could. He knew better now, but he was sure that he'd know better in a few days, a few months, any time beyond this very moment. If he was granted with a longer life, his retrospection would make him feel as foolish now as when he was a kit.

He'd gotten older and he didn't feel that much different, really. He'd always thought he'd grow up to be some wise, unfaltering hero. He hadn't known about warriors back then, but if he had? he'd have wanted to be one. His imagination had seen him feeding everyone, fighting every battle, and being surrounded by a loving family. He thought he did well, tried to live up to his once unreachable goals, but there was always the sense that he was falling short. He never caught enough to fill the fresh-kill pile, he let his words guide his conflicts and lost often, and he was as alone now as he was then.

He'd lost so much over the years and never gained it, or anything similar, back. There was a hole in his heart, a distance he felt from his clanmates, that he'd never been able to close.

" I, uh.. " What was he even about to say? Fleabounce didn't need to know this. " Would it- I.. would it be unreasonable to say that I wish I was still young? " He'd berated the youth so much that he felt like this was plain stupid to say. " I had so much fire. I was ready to take on the world and change everything. " He didn't know when that had changed. It had happened so slowly, event by heartbreaking event, that he hadn't noticed it. " I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm glad that I've got Shadowclan now, extremely glad, but I sometimes think that I- wish that I had more. " There weren't enough patrols to fill the absence he felt. He could work all day, hit the ground running from the moment he woke to the moment he collapsed, but it was never enough to drown it out. " It's foolish, I know, but I think about it a lot.. perhaps too much. "
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[ YOU CAN'T BREAK MY SPIRIT ]​

 

[fleabounce]

The hesitation catches Fleabounce's attention more than it should. Scorchfrost's stammers, and Fleabounce doesn't lean closer—not visibly—but the whole of her sharpens: a spider feeling the first uncertain twinges of step on its web. He speaks of regret, or of something near enough to be confused as such. Could it be regret when it is over what hasn't been done rather than what has? Is there a word narrow enough for this feeling? It is a strange and bitter thing to be jealous of a version of yourself.

"This has to be enough," Fleabounce concludes, "Because otherwise your story would be a tragedy, living the rest of your life with not enough." The difference between being content and accepting malcontent. There is nothing unusually gentle about Fleabounce's voice; it comes in the same careful and measured pace as it always does as she continues, "I know what you mean, but I do not dwell on it. What-ifs will drown you if you allow them."

Scorchfrost has shared a part of himself—Fleabounce knows she should likewise. As happy as she is to speak, it is unusually difficult for her to pry something more than hollow half-truths from behind her teeth.

"My first home is a place I am no longer welcome. I had a habit of burning through other's goodwill back then—I wanted the world, and there was little I wouldn't do to get it," Fleabounce looks away from Scorchfrost for only a moment. Habits are not so easily broken, "But I was too focused on pushing myself forward to notice the mess I'd made behind me." It was like she was jumping from one branch to the one higher—it was like each leap broke the branch beneath her. At the time she had only seen the sky. She hadn't thought of the limit of the tree until she was at the peak.

"But when I indulge in my own what-ifs..." It is Fleabounce's turn to hesitate. It isn't like her to trail off; she stalls by running her tongue over her teeth as if in thought, despite already knowing what she is to say, "When I think of how I could have done things differently, my choices aren't that far from how they had been." The climb would be more careful, but it would still be towards unreachable heights—even knowing how it ends.

Fleabounce shifts then. Her forepaws emerge from where they had been folded beneath her chest and cross at her front, "I think we need to get out of this den. It's done something to our heads. We are talking about life as if we have lived all of it—but I know I intend to wake up tomorrow, and I suspect the same of you." Nothing between Fleabounce and forwards, always forwards.​

SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ▫ CHOCOLATE TORTOISESHELL WITH AN UNUSUALLY SHORT TAIL

LOW HEARING ▫ 84 MOONS ▫ TAGS​

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[scorchfrost]

" Yeah.. yeah, you're right. " As always, Fleabounce was right. The den was feeling stifling, the walls were closing in around them, and they would go delirious if they stayed. Maybe this was why elders went odd after some time, saying ridiculous things and lashing out at cats that tried to help them. Scorchfrost would've counted himself among their ranks if he was here too much longer. His heart was already skipping, his chest constricting, and an odd shaky feeling was settling itself in.

Words didn't usually rattle him this much but he was ready to do something, anything, else. " Lets go on a walk. I'd say that between the two of us, we're good to head off into the night. " He chuckled weakly. " I know a great place to walk, especially on a bright night like this. "
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[ YOU CAN'T BREAK MY SPIRIT ]​