pafp yet here I breathe &+ chatting

[WASPRATTLE.]

He only looks to pass the time.

The world is stuck. And yet it wouldn't stop moving. One step after the other. One at a time, and yet, he couldn't hope to predict it all. Things are strange within this new camp. RiverClan busied themselves all the same, but it was not quite right. Was not the same sense as home as before. Roaring waters. Didn't everyone want to go home? Cicada's death only sealed the kiss of bad luck. He has not been sleepless in quite some time, not so rattled in quite some time.

He does not want to undo all he's done for reclusiveness' sake. He keeps to the outdoors, dreary as it could be. Clouds trailed the sky. Thankfully, no storm in sight, but still there to hang above them. Perhaps he is no better than them. His ears seem to endlessly ring. Drooping ears and clenched jaw; far cry from the face he had first met them with. The face he wore on so many days. Murmuring in his skull keeps him from irredeemable mess. Fix yourself. His spine is still straight. The fog in his eyes never lasts. He is here, still. Still here.

Talking was good medicine, someone had told him, once. Slow, there's a slow drag of his head. A subject is found, in familiar spotted flanks. He hopes he does not look as ghastly as his feels.

Their makeshift nursery is in view. Jumping off point from nothing. His head barely moves, but he looks at her all the same. Half-lidded gaze; golden, at the edges. "You're fond of little ones, are you not?" A sudden chill, and he shivers. Momentarily, he's afraid, and he is not sure why. Again, he straightens. It occurs to him too late, that he may not be wanted, much less, his questions. Rattle of his cords, he clears his throat. "Pardon."

But the silence is already broken. Made-up rules of his own. That's all that propels him forward. He cannot quite look at her, but still, he speaks. "I met a mother and her kit, once" Words flow before the moral is made. Aimless, really. "Einzelkind. Only one. They were wanderers, too. Mother doted. The little one hardly listened. No place to go." Just barely, can he feel the easing of his nerves. "But they were always at home with each other, I suppose." Inkling of thought. He purses his lips.

ooc translations

• please wait for @BUCKGAIT. ... go off
  
• only child
  

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[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

it is no secret of buck's fondness for kits, nor is it surprising to much of the clan that the deputy protects the nursery so heavily. she knows it does no good to aid her grief, but she has caraway and her new kin to care for. she should be finding comfort in it. the burning envy she had felt when caraway had first found out their pregnancy...all the way to the arrival of the kits themselves...had subsided some. she is comforted by the scent of milk, by the playful nature of those within. she adores the kits, but always keeps her distance. it's out of fear. the fear she'd ruin something for them, if she were to break in front of them.

the deputy's head turns sharply to be greeted by wasprattle, talking idly at her. she much prefers cicada's brother. at first, she had feared that he would be just as insufferable, but he keeps his distance from buck enough that she's grown to tolerate him. bright cerulean eyes lock him in place, piercing through him, before diverting her attention back to the nursery. "i am. but who isn't in this clan?" it's answered softly, different from her usual sharp-tongued responses.

the silence only permeates for a second, and then wasp speaks once more. she turns again, listening to him speak on some tale. something familiar. familiar enough, to remind her of what she misses more than anything in the world. "do you...know what happened with them?" her words are slowed and her drawl is obvious now, while her focus is aimed at her paws. for only a sparse three moons had buck truly known joy. yet it has stuck with her for so long. by now, fawn would have been made a warrior. she would have loved it here. never alone, and they would have welcomed her bright personality with open arms. it still pains her, to have outlived her own kit. it's something that should never happen, and she should have never had to have returned the small babe to the earth.

"i had one. once." she doesn't know why she's telling him. no one else if aware of fawn's existence aside from willowroot and lightningstone. she did not speak of her late daughter often, but not out of a lack of care. "brightest thing to touch the earth." she looks within the nursery once more. a heaviness trapped within her throat, making it hard to swallow. she truly believed innocence had died with fawn. when she looks into the eyes of kits, she can never find the birth of heaven within them. they are innocent and small, and she loves them, but they aren't fawn. they aren't her fawn.
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[WASPRATTLE.]

He has her attention, a piercing day's blue alongside his twin suns. There's a prickling feeling for but a moment. Concern that the question was too sudden; unwanted. It is not shown on his face, and never has to be. She humors him, and he acknowledges this with a subtle dip of his head. What she says is true, he supposes. RiverClan's youth was nearly blessed in this way. Quiet. A nice life. For the most part, anyhow.

Neither of them speak with much vigor. Life's events could never be forgotten so quickly. Tiredness weighs upon them both. "I do not," perhaps regretfully, he replies. It had only been another passing face at the time; perhaps that was still all it was. But in this moment, he can't help but mourn the lack of an answer. "I only hope the world continued to be kind to them." The deputy is looking to her paws now, and Wasprattle carefully observes. To himself, he keeps. His tail remains tucked close to his own feet.

At the mention, he blinks; a surprise. It is not that he deserves to know. Despite his season amongst the rivers, he remains a stranger in many ways. And he knows, a mother's love is unlike any other. He has seen it. He has felt it, although strained. And it seemed it never truly died, with the way she spoke now. Perhaps its selfish curiosity that pushes him further. Is it ever much more than that? "What happened?" He tries to blink kindly, despite himself.

ooc translations

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[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

he questions further, she cannot blame him for doing so. "i was young and naive," her attention is far off, a spectator to her own past. watching what she will grow to regret most in her life. "i thought i had nothing to lose. i wanted so badly to be strong...that i ended up sacrificing my daughter. i was not careful enough." and that is it. it is the simplest and plainest truth. buck was pregnant when she should not have been, she doubts that even if she had been calm, her daughter would have been born anything but small and weak, but at the least, she'd be alive. buck would have spent the rest of her days serving her, sheltering and protecting her. had the molly known that her time with her fawn was limited, she would have done so much more. told her more stories, let her know how much her mother had adored the very ground she walked on. apologized sooner, for the fate she had cursed her with.


"i hope life was kinder to them than it was to us." the topic is woeful, and buck does not aid it to let it be brighter. there's nothing hopeful or joyful about it. plain and simple, this is the death of her child. even more simpler, she is confessing to her sins. a part of her wants wasp to understand what she is saying, another wants him to damn her. she knows there is no amount of martyrism that will bring her back, but it feels better. her parents warned her of being a daughter; of being a curse. sometimes, she wished she had listened. "i'm sorry to make the topic so dark. we should be happy. there's kits in the clan." she should be happy. but there is still a hole left in her. and it will never be filled. ​

 

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

I had one, once.

The sentence, dropping from their deputy’s mouth, shocks Snakeblink into attentiveness. He had been grooming himself nearby, following Wasprattle and Buckgait’s discussion with one distracted ear, the rumble of their voice a peaceful backdrop to his own thoughts, but that single admission has him zeroing on the pair. Thankfully they do not seem to have noticed him: he knows how Buckgait feels about him ‘lurking’.

He had only been paying enough attention to get a vague grasp of the subject matter, but now he listens intently as Wasprattle’s gentle, detached manners coax the deputy into speaking about her past. What she tells him has Snakeblink’s heart tightening in his chest, second-hand grief sour at the back of his throat. The guilt in her voice is painful to behold in a molly as proud and as strong as Buckgait.

Snakeblink has never been a father, never known that all-encompassing love that parents feel for their kits — let alone what it feels like to lose one. He cannot help Buckgait with this grief. But he remembers losing his siblings, losing his mother, remembers the way it felt like instead of rising to the stars they climbed between his ribs and settled there, heavy and sharp, to be felt whenever he takes a breath. He remembers how much he’d longed for someone else to shoulder that burden, and he wonders if Buckgait will allow him to help with hers.

He’s rolled onto his paws before he can finish convincing himself that she’d rather bite off his face than have him prod at the tender parts of her heart. If all else fails, hunting him down might prove a sufficient distraction from the heaviness clinging to her shoulders. Wasprattle might even stand in her way and give Snakeblink a fighting chance — or at least a head start.

”I apologize, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he murmurs as he pads closer to the two. He settles a tail-length from them both and asks, ”But would you… tell us more about her? Your daughter, what she was like?”

Love doesn’t die with them. He knows that much. It helps, sometimes, to remember the life before the ghosts.
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — 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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[WASPRATTLE.]

He waits, and he listens. Her voice drifts wary across the wind. There is much he could assume, and yet it's spelled clearly, somehow. He does not press. His tail flicks, soft acknowledgment. He wonders if his mother had feared that very same fate. At least he lives to hear the tale today. His head bows in silence, understanding.

"There are few things that anyone should not be," He tells her. It's a saying he vaguely remembers, picked up from another, somewhere down the line. He sees no need for emotions to be held as tightly as they were. With others you care for, or even others you do not, it is often helpful to them. Helpful to you both. "Sad is not one of them. Allow yourself to mourn." of course, he does not know how long it has been. It is not important to him, any such way. A love like that never dies, so he's been told.

A sidelong glance is spared to the dark form slithering at the edges of his vision. Welcome presence, any such way. To Snakeblink, he nods in greeting. No need to apologize, really. Though– maybe... Maybe it is too straightforward. Wasprattle's judgment is skewed. A searching eye comes to Buckgait, the change in face minute.

ooc translations

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[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

she is silent for the most part, reflecting upon a past life. the passage of time is strange, and a life can turn so quickly. soon, snakeblink intrudes on the two, though she had guessed that this conversation wasn't exactly private. she stills at his question, tensing at his interest. it is not that buck doesn't wish to speak of fawn, no, she wished she could spend her days rambling about the girl. yet, it was highly personal. something that buck is often not with her clanmates. preferring a comfortable boundary, nothing too heavy unless the situation commands for it.

she assumed, it was allowed here. expected, even. river-tainted eyes cling to the form of the slinking tom. looking for a sign of cruelty within, but finds nothing but gentle curiosity. and perhaps it would do her good to speak. not be so haunted by this ever-arching grief, how it consumes and swallows her. tears her apart, makes her cruel and selfish. buck can still feel the top of her ears burning from shame and guilt when viewing caraway and their kits. how she had reacted to her faux sister's pregnancy reveal.

allow yourself to mourn, comes wasprattle's gente rasp. she wants to tell him that she has. she had been mourning since the second her daughter had left her. she is haunted by her grief. a breath leaves the molly, ready to tear at the silence that permeates the conversation.

"'named her fawn." slow, distant eyes. she peers down and she sees the child before her, wet with life and squirming. alive. "sweetest thing. her father was somethin' horrible, i was somethin' damned. don't know how we got her." her kit plays before her and presents her with gifts of the river. smooth pebbles, fish scales, fallen feathers and loose materials for bird nests. "she didn't know how to be harsh. my girl was so kind...i think she could solve any fight." not with brute force like her mother. not with the callous and merciless nature buck held. she thinks if fawn had a simple conversation with anyone...they'd simply be better.

it worked with buck, at the least.

the molly shields her eyes from the two toms, the familiar burn resting and threatening to spill over. though, she supposes that she had nothing to loose. not ever her reputation at this point.

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[koispots]

Koi doesn't mean to overhear as shes passing by, but its Buck speaking and naturally it has her attention. What Koi doesn't expect is to hear her speak so fondly... And of a kitten. Buck had a kitten, in times past. Brightest thing to touch the earth, she says and Koi's heart aches, for once theres no cruel tug of jealousy. Only pity. Only the realization that Buck is a cat too, a living being and not some unreachable thought on a pedestal. Koi tilts her head up as she stops.

And she listens. To all of it. Theres shame that burns under her fur at the thought of eavesdropping and theres humility. But... Koi can't find it in her to turn away. Loss was a fickle thing, and death only took, never gave. Koi adverts her eyes. She knows this, it took her mother. And Buck knows it, shes not sure what happened to... Fawn. It suits the kitten, a name that only Buck would give her. But she can only guess what happened and why she isn't here besides Bucks side today. She should be.

"Sorry," Koi murmurs as she pads over, large ears angled backwards. She'd sit besides Buck, a silent vow that she was there. And Koi would always be there. Buck... She was stronger than Koipaw thought, stronger than Koipaw gave her credit for. Koipaw, though young, could not imagine losing a bundle of joy. "She sounds like... a sweet kid." Koi wants to say more but it dies at the tip of her tongue. She's not good with words. "A joy." she swallows hard. I think she'd be proud of the cat you are today. Unspoken it is, but her eyes look away once more. "What was her favorite color?" Koi finally asks, urging Buck to go on. Koi would listen all day if Buck wanted to talk about Fawn.​

"speech"​