sensitive topics Your Father's Son | Public Outburst

[Laurelgrin]

It reeked, everywhere Laurelgrin turned, ever since he was a kitten. Death.

As an apprentice he could make himself sick sometimes with the way fear gripped him over the subject. Even when he was younger, as a kit, maybe he didn't see it but he was a piece in the death of many cats. Every slash of Granitepelt's claws, Laurelgrin couldn't help but feel a reverberation. It was nonsensical and yet it echoed. His kitnapping felt like the linchpin, after that the world was darkness. Even before that, if she hadn't been pregnant the chances of Halfshade surviving her illness were likely high.

It clung to him. That's the point.

He swerved through cats, everyone seeming to find the same time to eat their prey. Cat were everywhere, sharing prey, grooming, chatting. It seemed like every other cat in the clan was having a good day. Laurelgrin hadn't had a good day since maybe he was made a warrior, he couldn't really remember otherwise. The tom had been made a husk, nothing behind his eyes and he couldn't claim a real thought besides hunger, thirst or fatigue in the past few moons. He patrolled the clan, he was a body, a warrior, he would bring prey to the elders and queens. He didn't speak though, he didn't attend vigils, as soon as warrior duties were completed he retired to his nest. A far different nest than the one he made when he fist moved to the apprentice den. He remembered it well, deliberately made, with attention and pride. His current bed was falling apart, he had received a couple pointed comments on how old and stale it was beginning to smell and yet he hadn't gotten around to changing it.

This was life now, without his father, without his sister, without his mother. It didn't hurt, that's what he told himself at least. How could it when his paws felt numb and so did his head. He went to the fresh-kill pile, he was hungry. He stood back from the pile surveying which piece of prey he should take. There was a lot of frog it seemed like, and the thought of eating one of them twisted his stomach. It's then that he spots a mouse, perfect. For a brief second, he forgets for a second, focused on this prey.

He was too slow though, a cat he can't even identify in the moment takes the mouse. The world pauses for a second. The hunger of his stomach, the fatigue in his bones, the cloudiness in his brain, the loss of his father... the injustice. It boils over, the linchpin is pulled.

"WERE YOU DROPPED AS A KITTEN?" the tabby roars at the offender "THAT WAS MY MOUSE! AND YOU STOLE IT!" His face is straight in front of the mouse-thief's, his hackles raise and there is no smothering this fire "Well? Are you just going sit there looking stupid, or are you going to do something?!"His claws flex into the dirt. Was this really it? Was this his breaking point?

"speech"
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[Swansong]

⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ Death is a spectre that has long since latched itself upon their family. Not all are able to embrace it, as Swansong has - and even she struggles, at times. At the least, the ghost of a warrior had time to live before its cold grasp took hold. Her rebirth, the stars' infection upon her body, it did not come until apprenticeship. She had been a blissful creature, once upon a time, more concerned with the best spot to take a nap than any matters of mortality.

Laurelgrin is not so lucky. Death marked his very arrival into the world. He never knew the softness of his mother's fur, that balm which soothed all the worries of a yet-innocent Swankit.

Perhaps, she thinks, this is why the stars chose her. As the youngest of Halfshade's kittens were marked with death's curse - as the queen herself was taken by the night - Swansong was given a new purpose. To care, to heal. To guide those for whom the coldness of tragedy clings too painfully.

"Laurelgrin," they trill, voice delicate as gossamer thread.

He has become little more than a ghost as of late. They know the feeling well, know that empty look in his eyes. Silence claims his throat, aimlessness his paws. He is wasting away, a corpse of a cat. Death has taken each of them in turn, some long before their time.

Now he bristles, fire alight in the molten shades of his eyes. He is his father's mirror, and they see it in those grief-laden drops of orange. Here, a spark of life. He is more than a hollow shell; the brother they never quite got to know is still there in the racing beats of his heart.

They pull themself closer, not quite rising from where they had reclined. Their voice is a gentle murmur. "That... is your clanmate, not an enemy. You need not waste your anger..." Just close enough - a feathery tail brushes along their brother's side. To soothe, they hope, not startle. They do not seek to admonish, only comfort.

"We are all hungry, dear..." they remind him, offering a hesitant smile. "Perhaps... You would like to share my snipe, instead...? I have just begun to defeather it..." And their tail pulls from his side, gesturing to the abandoned snipe and its strewn feathers.

‎‎┌── BUT NO ONE❜S REALLY THERE ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ DOES THAT MEAN IT❜S DONE IN VAIN? ──┐‎

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  "SPEECH"

• 
  SWANSONG ☾ she / they, warrior of shadowclan, eighteen moons.
  ★ a pale, silky-furred cream tabby with droopy blue eyes.
  ★ dreamy and detached, known for her perpetual sleepiness.
  ★ halfshade x smogstar, littermate to applejaw, garlicheart, & ashenfall.
  ★ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ★ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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[SALAMANDERSNAP]

Its all she can do to not intervene on the situation, watching as the NPC clanmate slunk away, cowering under the outburst from Laurelgrin. Pathetic. Cowering under the yelling from a clanmate scared them away that easily? Salamandersnap made a mental note not to count on them should they ever need a paw in battle. Swansong is quick to swoop in and offer comfort to her brother, and only then does she deem it appropriate to approach the fresh-kill pile. Of course she wasn't affected by the outburst. Emotions were a complicated thing, and she was one of the least qualified cats in the clan to handle emotions from others.

"Does anyone know how to catch anything other than a frog these days?" Seemingly echoing Laurelgrins own thoughts, she digs through the pile with a paw, disapproval written across the black smoke's face as she searched for something specific. After several moments of listening to the siblings back and forth, she finally finds it. A fat, juicy lizard hidden under a stack of frogs. Snatching it up before anyone had the chance to steal it from her, she pads off to a sunny spot in camp where she begins to eat, occasionally glancing up at the pair of Laurelgrin and Swansong.

I AM THICK TAR ON THE INSIDE BURNING ☽｡⋆ DO YOU REMEMBER ME

• ooc. —​

• 

• SALAMANDERSNAP
  ↪ salamandersnap / cisgender female (she/her)
  ↪ 24 moons / ages realistically on the 19th
  ↪ shadowclan warrior
  ↪ lh black smoke
  ↪ "speech" / thoughts
  ↪ peaceful/healing actions may be powerplayed / attack in underline & @/account
  ↪ note: all thoughts/actions are based off ic opinions only !!
  ↪ penned by halimede
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[Snowlark.]

[ ༻❄༺ ] Death has been something that plagued Shadowclan as a whole, from when they were kits to even now... it surrounded them. They have witnessed many parish over the moons, and yet nothing hurts more than losing family. Snowlark had been young when he lost his kin to yellowcough and was fortunate enough to never had siblings who also had to suffer through that pain like Laurelgrin or his own kin had to and yet, Snowlark silently wanted to understand the other's pain. To see the former to wither into an empty shell worried the warrior greatly. Growing up with the tom, Snowlark felt a sort of... aquainted bond with Laurelgrin and to see him outburst over someone taking a mouse he was going after, only for Swansong to swoop in to comfort her younger brother.

Salamandersnap seemed to do nothing for the situation while the poor cat who got snipped at was quick to flee leaving Snowlark to let a soft sigh move past his lips before approaching with a warm look in his yellow gaze. "If you ever have a taste for anything that isn't frog. I'll try to hunt something down for you if you ever ask" Snowlark stated in an offering yet warm tone, trying to pull a gentle smile onto his lips before settling down hoping to be another reliable form of comfort to the other warrior. After all, both had grown up during the harshness of Shadowclan and have faced many troubles that laid within the clan, they should rely on each other, even if its something as small as prey.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── Where I am going is right where I am ──┐‎

• "speak""Thoughts"
• 
  Snowlark ❄ He/Him, warrior of Shadowclan, 14 moons.
  ⭃ Lithe long hair blue lynx sepia with high white, and yellow eyes. Stubby tail, permanent resting bitch face
  ⭃ Hailfreckle x Mudsplash
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted (ask first) / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by Ryn ↛ @/Rynnaro on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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