gave all I could give but it never really was enough

[Ziera]

// @implimm | I gave too much - I sold my soul - I'm waiting for my pay in full

Some days proved better than others. Moments of being okay arrived in short bursts then vanished with the tide, unpredictable and tumultuous ever since Bright’s death. Smudgepaw’s murder. Sweetsong tearing his shoulders open, Ottersplash and Olivenose joining the expanding list of dead, and Plumstorm outing them as murderers to the entire clan - including his kit sister.

Funny thing, maddening almost, about that last bit. When Plumstorm exposed their sins no one gave a damn. Stormtalon anticipated some semblance of a fallout, pushback, judgement, anything—if not from the clan as a whole then from its peacekeepers—but each time he waited for a bitter look? Perhaps some bristling fur, cold shoulders? None existed save for in the shadows of his own self-projection. He didn’t know why.

Could be the cats disgusted by Stormtalon’s existence avoided him. (He didn't care.) Maybe RiverClan sunk so far no one batted an eye at unprompted violence anymore, as they did at first. Short-term memory. Apathetic. They all forgot, but Stormtalon didn’t; he dreamed of images spliced in chaotic pieces, strung together in more life and color than Storm ever wanted to experience again. Silence made it so much worse. Externally the storm may have calmed, but its ominous clouds never fully rolled away and gradually, Stormtalon’s mind turned on him. Hostile. Intrusive. Like that night with Frozenberry but it happened more often, the lapses in control.

Today wasn’t a ‘better’ day. Restlessness overtook the silver black tom with manic fury. He sat outside the RiverClan entrance, away from prying looks (with too little hatred inside them), braving solitude—his betrayer. His tail moved like a snake, curling slow before flicking out again, then repeat. Stormtalon's eyes flashed vehement green while replaying the gathering over and over in his mind. It unsettled him. Confused him. Snakeheart and Kestrelstar were two peas in a pod all right, perfectly in sync with one another, aligned in their blind idiocy.

Not even touching Kestrelstar’s spectacle—what did Snakeheart hope to achieve with his suspicious, emotion-driven rebuttal? Fallacy after fallacy. Attacking Icicleripple’s character, asserting himself as senior in experience, hurtling insults like bullets instead of a simple denial. Well. If Snake’s goal was to sound as guilty as he possibly could, tarnish any future credibility when the truth came out, then yes. He did a marvelous job of it.

Considering this…bond forming between them, the younger tom’s senseless actions lingered with Stormtalon more than if their relationship had been safe, neutral detachment. He saw the way Dawnstar eyed Snakeheart up there. Like he was one false move away from being decapitated. In truth, the ShadowClan leader was both capable and opportunistic and she could damn well do it. This time the misguided kid was safe, but next time? Stars. Storm should’ve pumped the breaks on their friendship long ago; Snake seemed intent on self-destruction and he was tired of losing cats who mattered to him. Tired of being tired, tired of keeping everyone alive and okay to the point of losing his own pulse.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. Time passed strangely when you stopped sleeping. Moonlight illuminated his pelt and the scars on his back, trickling through the foliage as Stormtalon watched, and with a soft hiss he resolved to wait for morning.

[plum]

@Ziera | don't speak 'less you have to - why you always seem in a bad mood?

What did it matter anymore? In the world, there was not a single soul left to hear the words of this cat. Neither the muttered, quiet confessions, nor the bellowed cries of sheer exhaustion and desperation.

Plumstorm was silent now.

Because in the world, not a single soul remained to hear her.

Reflection was always something the silver she-cat reserved for moments where solitude ensnared her- Soft and serene scenes that soothed her, that coaxed her out of her mind.

Walking now, Plumstorm separates herself from it all- Clan, peers, reality. Her paws walking over soil and grass tread off the edge of the known Everything into dreams, into light and a lot of shadow. Her eyes stop taking in her surroundings. She sees instead, everything that used to be. Their world as they knew it, the faces they used to see and the happy, carefree thoughts they used to have. RiverClan, when it wasn't recoiling into a frightened, darkened mass.

The sun shone and warmed her face in her dream, and somewhere behind her, a gentle voice touched her ears, beckoning her to turn, to come back. To stay there. Who was it? Why should she stay?

Oh, but this was all so lovely again.

Her heart aches fiercely, and for a moment the silver cat believes that she would turn around and become ensnared in this fantasy. But she catches herself, and she lets out a soft and solemn sigh. This sunshine and this world wasn't hers- no longer, at least. Plumstorm shuts her eyes to the dreamy illusion and in another heartbeat, awakens.

Crawling out of her nest as if the effort of that alone was everything to the molly, Plumstorm stretches her body out.

Icy hues flash in the dark, but she surmounts no one is awake and exist the den. It was well into the night. Her dream had not spirited her away for nearly long enough, and while that was somewhat regretful in itself for her (these days she grew wearier and wearier doing less and less) Plumstorm was glad.

Turning her visage up, she takes in the sight of Silverpelt. Peace wraps its long, luxuriously heavy tail around her.

She sighs and makes her way to the entrance of camp.

The cat is understandably startled when she brushes by Stormtalon on the way. Bristling at first, it takes a heartbeat to settle herself.

"You," she breathes, a taut and malformed smile curling across her face like an ugly scar, a wretched thing- Forced, of course. "I'm standing on the edge of the world and it's you I find." Her words might have made little sense, but they held such a hollow and melancholic tone that it would be difficult to ignore the potential meaning behind them.

They'd been alienated, the both of them. Yet in her outcry in an attempt to grasp at anything and pull herself back into something resembling better, Plumstorm made something painfully clear to herself and to Stormtalon. RiverClan was not as they had known it to be before. She stares at the tom who sat alone, likely for far too long, and she finds herself loosening. The marred smile withers. Her fur lies flat. Her eyes fall.

"It's you I find," she repeats with defeat.

[Ziera]

// @implimm | they're acting vicious out there - there's lots of demons out here

Unwelcome pawsteps reached Stormtalon’s ears before anything dared enter his line of vision—soft, dainty, barely there. Stars. Exasperation tasted like bitter herbs. The silence was bad enough, but in the tom’s opinion, pretenders ranked lower. How much would this stranger tolerate? Willing them to walk past him (and not fooled for a second it would work), the tabby stashed grey paws under his chest like one might protect an injured limb. His tail slowed to a cautious halt from its occasional swish back and forth, a stiffness overtaking his body that had nothing to do with evening chill.

But it wasn’t a stranger. Not Silvercloud wanting to hunt, nor Rowanmist enlisting his help to deal with a rogue pebble. No Wavebreak with her aggravating cheek appeared, Dawnwhisper or disenchanted Junipersong. Instead, green eyes met pools of serene blue, eerie to him in the pale light and Storm knew it was her. Twin outcast, another of Kestrelstar’s weapons. His unwitting partner in crime.

A tight, unflattering smile marred Plumstorm's pretty face at the sight of him, but Storm chose to focus in on the gentle accusation: ‘you’. It’s you I find. He didn’t understand the need of poetic language to say your existence repels me--always having preferred blunt concision himself--but perhaps that was just who she was: a melancholic tragedy. Romanticized by self-perception, gracing the earth with her regal, ethereal presence. Whether or not it was too steep a judgement Stormtalon had no idea; ever since that night with poison claws, Plumstorm’s motives were about as clear to him as fog.

Still. It surprised Stormtalon how fast his body relaxed. While her speckled fur eventually smoothed, that sour smile melting into resignation, Plumstorm’s disappointment remained and he was sucked into its gravity—oddly refreshed by the candidness there. If anyone in this damned clan saw him in all of his mistakes and contradictions it was her. There existed a twisted comfort in this knowledge.

For a moment he stared at her just questioning his own apathy. Maybe Stormtalon should be angry at the feline who drove a wedge between him and Iriskit, the cat who thrust his sins into the light of day for everyone to see, but no ire materialized. “And who,” Storm murmured, tone somber as the stillness around them, “were you hoping to find instead? Not like you have anyone left.” Did he know it for sure? No. For a moment he thought it might have been written in her eyes before they fell.

[plum]

@Ziera | i'm sorry i can't help you, somebody should've had your back

There was no reason to make believe anymore. She was too exhausted to put on another play. "Oh, just fine! Stretching my legs! Haha." The mere passing idea of spewing something like that made her feel far more inclined to go back to bed and forget this for the night.

She says nothing for several long heartbeats, though it wasn't unwillingness or discomfort that prevented an answer from passing her lips. Who was she hoping to find? Plumstorm had found herself stumped. She gazes down, then returns her focus onto Stormtalon and shakes her head.

"You're right. I'd have hoped to find Ottersplash." There was no use in concealing anything- There was nothing to conceal, really. They'd almost become friends, if they weren't already just by being confidants to one another. She learned of his secrets, and he'd learned of hers. Now if they were truly so secret, she wasn't in the position to discover. If Ottersplash was truly so happy all the time, perhaps those golden lies covered more than just pretend happiness.

For a split second, Saltpaw crosses her mind. Her apprentice had vanished, too, though in this case the silver cat could only pray he'd run. Run away to live as a miserable, fearful loner someplace warm. Someplace safe. He was kind, or seemed to be.

Everyone Plumstorm came to know beyond a passing "hello" chose to disappear not so long after becoming acquainted. So, no.

She had no one left.

"Instead, I have Stormtalon. The Clan gentlecat. Someone everyone likes, if they don't love him. Precious family, precious friends. A smile for everyone, a shoulder for all." She didn't know him in the slightest, but she'd probably hit the mark a smidge. A frown works its way across her pale lips. "But what about you?"

Tipping her head, Plumstorm regards the other warrior. "Were you hoping to see one particular face?"

[Ziera]

// @implimm | I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry if it got that bad

Ottersplash, dead and gone. So he had been right. Plumstorm had no one. A moment of quiet passed between them like mist rolling over waves, and Storm allowed it, taking a moment to envision the large orange tom. “I never liked him.”

Too happy. The smiles, the kindness, constant socializing – it couldn’t all be real. Perhaps not appropriate thoughts to have of a dead cat, especially one who died fighting for their clan. Should he romanticize the good qualities as was customary when speaking and thinking of those passed on? Those sorts of omissions, Those lies told to make harrowing circumstances less so, well. They offered little comfort to Stormtalon. Perhaps the idealist beside him would disagree.

The cynical warrior didn’t recognize himself inside her imagery, bright and saccharine; Plumstorm's characterization was so completely off Stormtalon immediately dismissed it as being a hefty dose of sarcasm. He turned, unaffected, facing her once again.

“Don’t make me sick. I’ve already seen the inside of Snakeheart’s den enough for a lifetime.” Phantom pain stung his shoulders at the thought. Stormtalon readjusted his sitting position, tail gliding over the dusty earth. He only looked away again at her following question. It hurt worse.

To answer or ignore—a decision to be made in the next several seconds. In the end Storm was just as pitiful as Plum. Spiting logic, still hoping to catch a glimpse of eyes he could not see, hear a voice he would not hear, longing for familial warmth that could not touch him beyond the grave. The stillness Brightpaw left behind hooked into him like icy talons never to be dislodged.

An extra pause. “No one, my brother... I haven't decided..” Stormtalon’s voice sounded both hollow and full of something he couldn’t quite describe. It wouldn’t matter in the end if he was honest or not, he supposed: Storm would run out of words too quickly. Perhaps he should blame the tides, as Frozenberry suggested. A snarky, embittered spark flickered up in Stormtalon’s eyes as he considered it further. “Even if Starclan existed, I doubt he'd want anything to do with me after what we did.”

An image flashed in his mind of Brightpaw’s fuzzy black fur and shy, happy smile, but also of a ThunderClan apprentice. Sitting there, smiling at him...just visible over his brother’s shoulder. Stormtalon didn’t know if he could stomach a reunion like that. Perhaps the same was true of Plumstorm’s Ottersplash. He shoved the thought away.

At first Stormtalon had mourned the loss of solitude with Plumstorm’s approach even if it shredded him these days, but well. A distraction might be…helpful. It also helped that in some ways she fascinated him. “You were quite vocal at the last meeting,” Storm began without much ceremony or demonstrated care, one way or another. The thing nagging on his mind out here bubbled to the surface. “Did anyone treat you differently?” Was Plumstorm’s experience as strange as his own?

[plum]

[ @Ziera - lyric lyric lyric ]

"I don't believe I asked," the silver cat snaps bitterly. "I never liked him." What a foul and downright uncalled for thing to say to her. Wistful regret churned into biting rage, though the worst of this feeling only lasts a heartbeat. Lashing her tail with evident repulsion, Plumstorm narrows her eyes upon her Clanmate, the tom she'd considered the closest thing she had to an ally around here. "You never knew him." And neither did she, which she definitely wasn't going to come out and say. She didn't have the opportunity to know the Ottersplash their Clanmates knew, but the Ottersplash she met was good in a way no one here seemed to realize.

His clear displeasure, or at least nonchalance, at the titles she'd bestowed upon him was humorous, really. Plumstorm observes his expression as he speaks, and the tone of his voice gets to her. She laughs- Though not happily, no, this wasn't what one would do if the moment was too joyous to contain. It was a cold and mocking laugh, shrill with the pleasure of having possibly unnerved Stormtalon. What sweet retribution!

"Well, decide faster," the warrior says to him. "This isn't something you mull over for ages, it's something you feel immediately. If you want to see your brother, then perhaps you will." She didn't quite feel like arguing with Stormtalon on StarClan and its existence, though. She doesn't pursue the conversation either, leaving her part on the subject where it was.

Perhaps he would leave her be, then. The hollow pang of loneliness had left the molly, and now she found herself really wanting to be alone again. But Stormtalon chose to bring up the meeting, and she realizes that this encounter would stretch on longer than desired- Unless she chose to turn and leave, but- One had to commit.

"No," Plumstorm says curtly. "Not really. But then again, these cats all seem a few whiskers short of intelligent. No differently, but that's because they've still all bet their faith on our wonderful, do-no-wrong leader. Well, what a load of fox dung, huh. I'm sure you're relieved, though. You still get the good life, no one gives a damn."