camp you're so real, i'm a show reel + fishy incident

[FISHFACE]

Hunting in the river became far less enjoyable as the temperature continued to plummet. The air is nippy and unfriendly, and the water even more so. It has reached a point where the mere idea of fishing caused Fishface's flesh to creep - but on his list of priorities, keeping the clan fed supersedes his own comfort.

Frigid streams trickle down from his figure while he dawdles back to camp. He shivers something nasty, and can hardly contain the sneezes brought on by the water that had entered his nose. And yet, he outfits himself with a look of triumphant delight, for quite the hefty chub is clasped in his jaw. Its stupid-looking face dangles from the corner of his maw, lurching about with every bubbly pawstep. Lanky legs carry the warrior - and his prize back - to the central area, whereupon he heads straight towards the fresh-kill pile to relinquish the catch. The fish falls atop a small heap of rodents and other river creatures, and without a second thought, Fishface pivots around to continue his hunting ventures for the day.

By the time a marked gap is built between him and the fresh-kill pile, a concerning noise emits from that general area. The sound resembles flapping, something thwacking against another thing. He halts in his tracks, and cautiously looks behind him. His eyes almost bulge out of his skull when he sees it.

"It's alive!" he cries, watching the fishy send other pieces of prey airborne as it thrashes around on the ground. It must have been brought back from the realm of death by StarClan itself, he is sure of it. That, or in the midst of his exposure-induced discomfort, he'd forgotten to kill the thing. Whatever the cause, Fishface barrels in the direction of this unfolding issue to right his wrong. But the distance sandwiched between him and the fresh-kill pile is considerable, and it looks as though some of his clanmates were closer to it than him. ​

 

[LILYBLOOM.]

Lilybloom had been coming to get herself some fresh-kill to enjoy but the strange sounds from the pile give her pause. The tortoiseshell holds back, half-expecting a clever rogue to burst from the pile when other bits of prey airborne. "What on-" But she doesn't get to finish the statement before Fishface's comment draw her attention to the still alive fish thriving in the pile. "Did you want me to finish it off for you?" She offers, looking to her clanmate.​

 

[leechpaw.]

..... Observing the ongoings within the camp was a particular interest of his. Others watched birds chirping in the trees, some even studied the distant stars above ― he watched cats like ants scurrying about their little hills, carting food to and fro. Fishface was currently accomplishing just that, wading into the river despite the hypothermic risk. Leechpaw played the role of a silent audience, having tucked himself beneath a hedge nearby. If anyone asked, he could explain it away as studying proper fishing techniques. When the warrior started to lug his impressive catch back to the heart of the camp, the dark-furred apprentice slowly pushed himself to stand and follow a safe distance. Not to eat; he rarely had an appetite. He simply wanted to see the fish up close, a chance to examine specifically how Fishface had dispatched it.

..... His narrowed snout leaned down to the fresh-kill pile, cold eyes searching for the bite mark that should have been around the gills or spine or anywhere. In a split second, before chaos struck, confusion twisted his expression at the lack of one. And then the weighty fishtail forcefully smacked him upside the cheek.

..... Too stunned to recoil by the fish slap, Leechpaw froze in place with wide eyes as the chub flailed around, scattering the pile it should have been limply stacked upon. It was making surprising progress, flipping and struggling its way straight to suffocation. A rare moment of panic seized him, and he fumbled to pin the fish down. Missing once or twice at the fish, Leechpaw batted the fish out of one of its thrashing leaps, holding it down with his claws as it continued to wriggle. His other paw joined the first, claw tips piercing into slimy scales. Petrified with adrenaline, he didn't do much else, only holding the fish down to prevent more chaos.

/ ninja'ed oops​

 

[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw has her prey picked out, nearly cleaned of flesh and fur. The remains of her breakfast lie a broken mess between her forelegs. She's giving her short tortoiseshell fur a long, careful groom, taking her time to stall. After all, she's sure Smokethroat will come looking for her soon, and then her brief moment of leisure will end in a rude halt.

She's not paying any particular attention to the fresh-kill pile now that she's eaten her fill, but she notes with faint admiration the size of Fishface's catch. She thinks about how she might've waited -- looks like Leechpaw or Lilybloom will get to it now.

Or, maybe it'll get to them? Iciclepaw looks up in amazement as the enormous fish begins to flop back to life. Hadn't it been dead? It starts hopping, its hefty tail smacking Leechpaw right across his face.

She lets out strangled laughter. "Fish are just leaping into our mouths today, aren't they?" She wonders if the slap hurt? The thing is terrorizing what's left of the fresh-kill pile, sending bits flying to and fro. Iciclepaw's never seen anything like it.

- ,,​

​

 

[honeypaw]

she had seen a lot of things in her ten moons alive. dead, yet flying prey was not one of them. honeypaw watched, awestruck, as the flapping fish sent kill soaring. she was approaching to see if she could help when the tail end of a fish struck leechpaw. it was hard for her to contain her laughter. not at the dark apprentice of course. it was just funny. the fish were fighting back it seemed.

"are you okay?" she asked leechpaw between giggles and gasps for air. she had managed to calm down a bit, when iciclepaw delivered a one-liner that sent her laughing again.​

[ ONE HAZY PANOPLY ]​

 

[FISHFACE]

"Yes! Kill it- oh no!" he cries to Lilybloom between laboured breaths, only to exclaim in horror when he witnesses his catch smack the ever-living wits out of an apprentice. Stress begins to bubble in his gullet when the reality of his impotence sets in. A youngster harmed in a freak accident, all because he had forgotten to check if his prey was dead. Truly living up to your name, Fishface. Truly.

The chub still clung onto life by the time he came to a skidding halt near the pile, so he plunges his head down in front of Leechpaw's pad and clamps his jaws shut around the fish's face. Then, the silver-furred tom forcibly hauls the creature from underneath the apprentice's paw, before rising to his hind limbs and slamming the poor thing back onto the earth.

"I am so, so sorry," Fishface mewls in apology to Leechpaw, huffing and puffing after that acrobatic spectacle. The oriental tabby tilts his angular noggin down in admission. "Usually, those things stay dead! But this guy had other plans, looks like." Olive-toned eyes wander to the marine animal, which no longer moved or demonstrated any signs of life - but who knows?

Then, he faces the two other apprentices, an awkward look painted onto his features. "Uh, when your mentors teach you to hunt in the river... better pay attention to them, so stuff like this doesn't happen." ​