"Tomatoes are in the same family as some of the world's deadliest poisons. That just goes to show how rebellious tomatoes are." "What about how the apple can fall far from the tree?" "No, sometimes the tomato falls from the plant."
A meeting. It felt like less than a day ago when Miss Grandmama gave her her name beneath the peak; when she went from Sleepypaw to Sleepysunrise, when she pulled her mama close in a celebratory hug and returned the affection, when Miss Grandmama named her an enforcer mere moments after. It still felt like a dream, as if this would be ripped away from her at any moment – the care, the results. A taste of something greater before the punishment for her murders came raining down, but she had to ban that thought away. They said she did good. Did she do good? She wondered. She ought to practice more, get better. Until then, Sleepysunrise focused her mind on the leader atop the branch, looking a little… Odd, moreso than normal. Had something happened?
Staring wasn't quite the right word for what Gladepaw did.
His eyes rested, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft, enthused with casual, inviting warmth instead of the harsh austerity of a stubborn hauteur. They betrayed no sullied secrets about his thoughts—reserved they may be—except a glimmer of soft admiration for the cats spread before him. Perhaps, then, it was his face that gave away his intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if he meant to. His ears flicked, his façade bleeding into congeniality; a smile brightened his eyes.
He'd never excelled at distancing himself with such stubborn apathy from studying his environment as the warriors moons older than him did—always caught up in the dappled pools of sunlight on rich barks, the stalwart trunks that only shifted with impressive duress. Realizing he'd completely failed to uphold the icy sheer of austerity the emboldened warriors around him did, Gladepaw's eyes drifted elsewhere, flashing diligently overly the amassing cats called by Dawnstar; he'd joined them from the den, slinking from its shadows like some serpent to join the brightened day (at least, he'd like to think of it that way; the momentary nap itself was great). He sat stiffly on the ground, as if he had taken root in the ground like some stubborn plant too bitter to die.
Unfortunately, Gladepaw was as hopeless in being a plant ignored in the ground as he was in complete stoicism. A fruitless endeavor of his; despite his demure demeanor, there was a way of offhand joy laced with quiet confidence permeating his ways. As if even faced with some insurmountable obstacle, he could find some inane, insipid thing to smile about.
That was why energy buzzed in him. It begged him to move, revealing itself in the pattern of his tail sweeping behind him—it was his flaw, his hamartia in his otherwise subdued ways...but, well, this brand of curiosity hadn't killed this cat yet, right? Perhaps that was why he stared. Both because he refused to move from his current vantage point (a purely...tactical choice, he was sure, and not at all because it was comfortable), but because at this moment, rather than risk the ire of his clan-mates through such transgressions of incessant and undying curiosity, sitting still was currently his best option. Isolated, quiet—potentially—but still, sometimes he liked that. He didn't stare, that was just rude; Gladepaw was anything but rude, except indulging in badinage and subterfuge every so often. He just...watched, observed. When there was nothing else to do, he settled back.
The announcement appeared crucial, and so Gladepaw weathered with soul-wrenching patience the period of shuffling, arranging, and silence that followed the opening of the assembly. Focus on something, Glade, don't be obnoxious. And so, instead of not-staring at the others, he focused on something simple.
Grimpeak.
It cut an imposing figure in the midst of their camp—ruined, jagged bark creeping with a patchwork of verdant moss cradled in the furrows worn by age, as if it was reclaiming the tree as a testament of wild, anarchic nature. Where once its existence served to draw the upward towards its highest canopy—and then, even higher—now it stood torn by age and weather, cat and claw. Once grand, twice created by nature and its ways into something of authority. That's how Dawnstar sits up there. With authority, with iron in her eyes. It was a powerful sight. Shadowclan had claimed this place as their own sanctuary, enforcing upon this ruined tree the edict that through black heavens and sun-lit days, it would stand sentry to them—a stoic guardian of so many souls.
In a way, Gladepaw found it comforting. The russet-speckled cat concluded his watchfulness with an assured smile, more for himself than any other cats, and waited for the announcement to commence. Dawnstar, for one, looked simultaneously fierce and worn.
But he didn't stare too long, of course.
Last edited by lethean; July 23rd, 2024 at 09:56 PM.
Wispypaw I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere
But you can't catch me now + she/her + No purrks
Another day meant that there was yet another meeting for grandma to call everyone forward. Wispypaw couldn't tell what their grandmother looked like or her current ailments but they could tell she sounded mad just by what she was hearing. The paw wondered what could have gotten her so angry for today, a stupid clanmate? Did someone get another clan mad? Or did the loudmouth finally snap a nerve that she had left standing? Wispy was a bit unsure of the last bit; they hadn't heard their voice in some time nor felt their presence nearby. For all they knew the loudmouth could've found a way to invade dreams and be a nuisance there, dear god help them if that were to happen. Wispypaw would purposely stay awake if it meant not to get bothered by her. The giant dark fluff ball chose a spot randomly like always since they didn't bother trying to 'look' for one. So sitting in random spots was the go-to method in her movements, sometimes they got lucky with what spot they were sitting at. Wispy could tell that several cats they either sat within the past or were comfortable with were already gathered but today she stayed in their spot. This meeting they would have to come to them if they sought to keep company this time around.
Shadow Fiend: Inactive | Beefed Up (T3) | Ultimate Predator: Inactive | Hulk SMASH! [Inactive]
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CW: Dissociation
The Spectre was in an odd mood. Not quite angry, but not that great either. It was an unfamiliar feeling that filled his head, something that he wasn’t accustomed to. He was feeling… sentimental. He wanted to spend some more time with his kits since there were so few of the original batch left. Of course, he wouldn’t openly admit this, but that’s how he was feeling. Perhaps he’d bother Quillpaw later… the young tom always entertained him one way or another – an amusing little lad he was. The Spectre was sure that with just a little bit of guidance in the right direction and an attitude adjustment (perhaps he should force him to do some battle training), the apprentice would be a great addition to the ranks of ShadowClan.
That was neither here nor there though. Hearing Dawnstar calling for the clan, the massive tom stepped out of the warrior’s den and made his way beneath the Grimpeak. The first thign he noticed was that the Queen of Mean seemed very very very irritated. That was… not good. Oh well! Not his problem at the moment. Next, was Wispypaw! Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to spend too much time with his daughter lately but he was planning on remedying that in this moment. Like a shadow the dark-furred tom wove within the crowd before squeezing through and making his presence known as he sat next to Wispypaw. Leaning down, he purred softly ”Your grandmother seems pretty irritated, huh?” He asked, starting conversation.
__________________
Little Disclaimer: I live in EST (UTC-5) and my sleep schedule is completely messed up, so posts may be erratic My Characters
YIKES Dawnstsr seemed angry. She almost never seemed in a good mood when calling meetings, but this was perhaps a whole new level. One Shrewstep hadn’t seen since the dark, early days of her leadership. It made him nervous. There wasn’t much to be done though, he had to be present but not provocative. A quick little scuttle into the gathering crowd, and the small, tailless tom had taken a seat, gazing rapt at the leader. He really hoped this wasn’t the day she lost it. (Open)
__________________
All hail the Rat Queen's!!
Shrewstep has Silver Tongue and Mind Reader purrks
Pit has Just a Scratch and Beefed Up Tier 2
Wispypaw I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere
But you can't catch me now + she/her + No purrks
Wispypaw might not be able to bear witness to someone approaching them with their eyes, but they could feel it. Feeling someone else's presence nearby was like another sense for them, it was their way to expect the unexpected. That and they were grown pretty tired of being caught off guard by everyone coming up on them with no sound. It was also a necessary skill if the paw wanted to avoid getting screamed at by loudmouth. God they did not want to deal with their nonstop talking and their general form of being loud at this meeting. If Wispypaw had to deal with hearing their voice over grandma's voice, they were sure they would go and choke them out for everyone's safety. A slow blink was all they got in return to hearing their father take a spot next to them, this was a first. Every meeting that they have attended was either them sitting alone, or with either cinder or mosshead. Not once did they get approached by either of their parents nor did they go searching for them. Which was kinda hard to do since both were with some other sibling or another cat and the last Wispypaw checked they weren't keen on interrupting conversations. "Mmm, whatever could it be? Did someone do something stupid again?"
Staring wasn't quite the right word for what Gladepaw did.
His eyes rested, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft, enthused with casual, inviting warmth instead of the harsh austerity of a stubborn hauteur. They betrayed no sullied secrets about his thoughts—reserved they may be—except a glimmer of soft admiration for the cats spread before him. Perhaps, then, it was his face that gave away his intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if he meant to. His ears flicked, his façade bleeding into congeniality; a smile brightened his eyes.
He'd never excelled at distancing himself with such stubborn apathy from studying his environment as the warriors moons older than him did—always caught up in the dappled pools of sunlight on rich barks, the stalwart trunks that only shifted with impressive duress. Realizing he'd completely failed to uphold the icy sheer of austerity the emboldened warriors around him did, Gladepaw's eyes drifted elsewhere, flashing diligently overly the amassing cats called by Dawnstar; he'd joined them from the den, slinking from its shadows like some serpent to join the brightened day (at least, he'd like to think of it that way; the momentary nap itself was great). He sat stiffly on the ground, as if he had taken root in the ground like some stubborn plant too bitter to die.
Unfortunately, Gladepaw was as hopeless in being a plant ignored in the ground as he was in complete stoicism. A fruitless endeavor of his; despite his demure demeanor, there was a way of offhand joy laced with quiet confidence permeating his ways. As if even faced with some insurmountable obstacle, he could find some inane, insipid thing to smile about.
That was why energy buzzed in him. It begged him to move, revealing itself in the pattern of his tail sweeping behind him—it was his flaw, his hamartia in his otherwise subdued ways...but, well, this brand of curiosity hadn't killed this cat yet, right? Perhaps that was why he stared. Both because he refused to move from his current vantage point (a purely...tactical choice, he was sure, and not at all because it was comfortable), but because at this moment, rather than risk the ire of his clan-mates through such transgressions of incessant and undying curiosity, sitting still was currently his best option. Isolated, quiet—potentially—but still, sometimes he liked that. He didn't stare, that was just rude; Gladepaw was anything but rude, except indulging in badinage and subterfuge every so often. He just...watched, observed. When there was nothing else to do, he settled back.
The announcement appeared crucial, and so Gladepaw weathered with soul-wrenching patience the period of shuffling, arranging, and silence that followed the opening of the assembly. Focus on something, Glade, don't be obnoxious. And so, instead of not-staring at the others, he focused on something simple.
Grimpeak.
It cut an imposing figure in the midst of their camp—ruined, jagged bark creeping with a patchwork of verdant moss cradled in the furrows worn by age, as if it was reclaiming the tree as a testament of wild, anarchic nature. Where once its existence served to draw the upward towards its highest canopy—and then, even higher—now it stood torn by age and weather, cat and claw. Once grand, twice created by nature and its ways into something of authority. That's how Dawnstar sits up there. With authority, with iron in her eyes. It was a powerful sight. Shadowclan had claimed this place as their own sanctuary, enforcing upon this ruined tree the edict that through black heavens and sun-lit days, it would stand sentry to them—a stoic guardian of so many souls.
In a way, Gladepaw found it comforting. The russet-speckled cat concluded his watchfulness with an assured smile, more for himself than any other cats, and waited for the announcement to commence. Dawnstar, for one, looked simultaneously fierce and worn.
But he didn't stare too long, of course.
Mudslide
She, Her\Warrior\15 moons\Shadowclan
"I miss the yellow. I miss the yellin' and the shake downs."
The tall and lengthy warrior pushed herself from her mossbed. She had been planning on getting to sleep on time tonight, but Dawnstar had others plans, as she always did. Her jaws hinged open with a low yawn before she weaved through the crowd of cats, searching for one fleeting familiar face. But, the dark pelted tortoiseshell was nowhere in sight. Mudslide slumped, her neutral expression shifting into one of worry. Her mask was cracking... She needed... Wait. Focus.
Her eyes closed, eyelids sliding over her blue eyes in a calm and natural gesture. The worry that fluttered onto her face like the flap of a hummingbird was gone as quickly as it came, plummeting down, down, down into her heart. Don't let them know, don't let them see (be the good girl you always have to be - let it go lyric). If they don't know, they can't hurt you. And if they manage to hurt you, hurt them twice as hard.
Multicoloured paws padded onto the ground in soft thuds. Rhythmic and calculated, just as all things should be. No surprises, so tears, so bubbling wails, no unavoidable fears. But life wasn't like that. It gave, and it took. Life had no mercy, yet much beauty. A life worth living? Sure. Mudslide would live. Not for herself, but for the cats that cared about her and the cats she cared about.
She hadn't expected to walk closer to the Grimpeak this meeting. In fact, she usually stayed at the edge of the clearing, away from the staring the loud and buzzing noise. But there was this calm that she felt. Something that Mudslide thought was impossible within the borders of Shadowclan. Calm? Haha! Funny. But it was there, and one certain apprentice held it in their paws. Or in their "aura", she guessed.
Such a calm was welcomed by Mudslide, so she sat next to the apprentice, leaving breathing air between the two of them. She didn't give the apprentice anything more than an acknowledging glance. But no words were exchanged. Just how she liked it.
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❝And the cats kill one by one!❞
- Hartebeest by Yalokre
The Commander made his way beneath the Grimpeak, taking up his typical spot in the front of the crowd. His gaze would settle on the seething leader. Something seemed off with her, but being as oblivious as he normally was to emotions and other obscure things, he simply shrugged her bitter mood off as another bad day for the clan. Someone else die? Got murdered? Something along those lines? Something he'd hadn't been informed about, yet.
[open]
[Fogwatcher]
ShadowClan Warrior
Flock Together [T1] | Bilingual [T1] | The Collector
Fogwatcher wasted no time running to the call of the queen. His lithe body melting into the crowd of cats that were gathering. He'd note the anger radiating off the leader and glance around the crowd, searching for any clues on what was going on.
rookfire lifted himself onto mostly stable paws at dawnstars call, this gathering he felt considerably better than last, the shoulder was still troubling and that night still came around to haunt him when he was at his lowest, but at least the enforcer could strut up to take a place by the grimpeak with confidence instead of barely hanging onto conscions this time. leaning into brief distraction, rookfire let his eyes linger on darkfall and wispypaw for a few breaths, wondering just how much he was yet to learn about the relations of each shadowclan member, i mean, one ought to at least know who is related to who right? with a bit more curiosity, his eyes caught sight of a lithe tom he had seen with mossfreckle before and decided to find his place next to fogwatcher before he could decide it was a bad idea after all. "morning. fogwatcher right?"
[ @SuspiciousMindz ]
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roachflare had been a bit under the weather as of late, more so distracted than anything else, caught in his own thoughts.. that kind of thing.. but distant none the less so when dawnstars call echoed in the clearing and the dark tortie caught sight of mudslide, he hurried to catch up to her. "mud!" the smaller feline chirped, announcing his presence before pressing fluffy dark pelt to short brown-cream one. the sight of his friend had lightened his mood considerably and he felt like he was buzzing with energy, almost falling over while attempting to scratch a spot in the crook between neck and head. "dawnstar doesnt seem ta' be in the best mood, dont you think?" roachflare thought out loud, paying not an ounce of attention to the apprentice sat next to mudslide, in fact, he didnt even look at them.
[ @Marigoldwhisper ; @lethean ]
Owlthroat
he/him | Shadowclan Warrior | 39 moons Beefed Up T1 - Just A Scratch - Silver Tongue The Dancing Bird
Owlthroat’s tail twitched slightly with agitation as his brother answered for him. He didn’t want his new friendship being pushed over the edge. Knowing dealing with himself was bad enough, let alone him and his brothers sardonic remarks. Shooting an open smile towards Tuftedtusk, as he gestured towards his brother. ”I should’ve introduced you before, he’s the last remaining sibling”, the tom jested and chuckled darkly.
It wasn’t that it didn’t bother him deeply, just that his persona was so much more important to him in a twisted sort of way. Ravenkit, his younger brother didn’t sting quite as bad as they were only young, it was a blurred memory. But Olivepaw, his sister always cut him deeply. It wasn’t fair how she’d been snatched right out from under them, such a sweet cat. With so much promise, unlike himself and Flytail. They were always stained, two sides of the same bloodied coin.
He shook away the thoughts, warmth returning back into his usually clouded yellow eyes. Flickering his gaze around the Grimpeak. Something caught his eye, Dawnstar. She didn’t look quite like she typically did but he couldn’t place his paw entirely on it. Then it clicked, she was pudgy, belly swelled. Dawnstar certainly wasn’t one for a bit of lazy weight gain. She must be pregnant, an internal groan rocked through his body. Another horde of baby terrors, walking around the place thinking they owned Shadowclan just because of their all powerful mother. This would be nightmarish, a hormonal leader and squealing menaces. He wasn’t fond of her current lineage any way, yet more fuel was added to the fire.
”Is she pregnant?’ Owlthroat rumbled, not caring if other cats heard. Maybe she’d take his tongue for blurting it outloud, especially his thoughts on her offspring. The thought didn’t bother him too much, that would be an entertaining fight the tom mused. Not that he’d stand much of a chance, as competent of a fighter as he was, not many held a light to their leader.
It would certainly be interesting how they turned out. Blood thirsty maniacs? Or reasonable diplomats? The latter being highly unlikely. Owlthroat seemed ignorant of his own claw lust and head spinning ego, after all it was permissible when it came to him. Always holding the belief he could just do it better. Wasn’t that inspiring.
Re: ShadowClan Grimpeak
