Posts by brindlemist

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

As Stagheart asks his question, Brindlepaw's first thought is the river, of course. Bubbles formed on the surface of water, typically when the water was disturbed in some way, or when a breath was blown below the surface. Why wouldn't these be different? Then, she thinks, why would they be the same? They were clearly different from their typical counterparts. Her previous conclusion was that they formed as they typically do and that the wind had somehow carried them from the water to here, but the wind, while persistent, has remained rather gentle. If a calm wind could produce this, then why hasn't it happened before? Not the wind, then.

She looks up towards a bubble that has drifted close, then turns her attention towards where it had come from. If she followed the way they came from, Brindlepaw would reach ThunderClan, if she continued, SkyClan, and then eventually twolegplace. Was it coming from twolegplace? The bubbles had proven themselves to be rather fragile, could they truly make it all the way here from all that way? Brindlepaw had her doubts. No, somewhere closer then. But where? Brindlepaw closes her eyes for a moment, imagines herself walking towards the ThunderClan border, reaching the thunderpath and-

Oh.

"They are coming from the thunderpath. Twolegs are causing them." For some reason. The bubbles didn't look dangerous, so Brindlepaw had to assume they were being made because they were pretty to look at or temptingly fun to pop. Tanglekit's voice draws her attention then, and Brindlepaw watches idly as she attempts to catch the bubble. A bit like trying to grab butterflies, far too prone to breaking to be kept. "Maybe if you try a gentler touch, it wouldn't fall apart?" She offers Tanglekit, mostly because she wants to see if the other will fall for that. Another thought occurs to Brindlepaw, then. The bubbles left moisture behind when they broke, could they be drank?

Brindlepaw runs so she is beneath one of the bubbles, her muscles visibly bunching below her pelt, then leaps straight upwards, teeth clacking together in her attempt to bite the bubble. She falls short, lands gracefully, then immediately jumps once more. This time, she is able to get her mouth on it. The bubble predictably breaks and when Brindlepaw lands this time it is markedly with less grace than the first. The bubble had tasted terribly bitter, certainly more than just water, then. Brindlepaw's face scrunches in disgust, her whiskers pressed flat against her cheeks and her tongue licking at the roof of her mouth in an effort to dispel the taste from her mouth.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

There is a simplicity to days like this. Silent, intent on watching the slow crawl of a junebug, Brindlepaw had not seen the first hit, but the sounds of motion prompt her into looking up. An impromptu spar has started between Foxflame and Stagheart. Brindlepaw was younger than the siblings, couldn't recall a time when they all would wrestle one another in the mouth of the nursery, but she also wasn't surprised by this. It was how she has always known them, and so Brindlepaw spares the two of them a sidelong look and then returns her attention to the junebug. Admittedly, it is comparatively boring, and Brindlepaw abandons it quickly in favor of watching the spar.

She stays along the sidelines, remaining of her feet in case she finds herself needing to dodge any errant strikes. Brindlepaw's feathery tail stands upright, moving in a gentle sway behind her as she watches the two brothers, but otherwise Brindlepaw doesn't emote. Would either of them want to spar with her, when they were done? Neither of them would turn Brindlepaw away if she asked, of this she was certain, but would they want to? Polite appeasement was a curiosity to Brindlepaw, something worth looking into. "I want next," Brindlepaw announces to the two brothers.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

It was undeniable that Brindlepaw rather enjoyed the concept of telling others what to do. She wanted others to not only hear her words but to listen to them, to understand them as Brindlepaw wished them to be understood. So when opportunity struck for Brindlepaw to pass out the weekly tasks, she was quick to pounce. Her claws had been itching for the sort of actions claws desired; Brindlepaw had been sure to keep them sharp just in case any other opportunities were to arise. There were limits to what she could tell her clanmates to do, this Brindlepaw knew, but how much fun would it be to find the limits? (she reminds herself to be reasonable, she must be reasonable. impulsiveness is an unbecoming trait.) "Come now, weekly tasks here. There is much that is in need of being done."

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

One by one they come to her, and Brindlepaw reminds herself once more that there are limits to what she can tell them to do. That searching for those limits is not conducive to any long-term plans. "Do you think StarClan is punishing us, Canarysong?" She asks, sharp eyes trained on Canarysong, on her face, on the white tips to her paws. Not waiting, not caring for an answer, Brindlepaw turns bodily away from Canarysong before the other could answer her, whether it be a positive of negative response, "I think someone should make certain they hear us. Host a prayer, make others join you in it. They cannot ignore us all." They could, and they would, if Brindlepaw were to go off the past couple of moons.

Done with Canarysong, Brindlepaw pads to a stop in front of Ratshadow. Stays silent for a touch longer than what could be considered polite before speaking, "Why not take a patrol to an allied clan that we don't share a border with? It's harder to check on them with all of that other-clan between us and them, and without this moons gathering, we are a bit in the dark as to what is going on with them, aren't we? It would just be a show of goodwill between us and them."

Brindlepaw faces Stagheart. Amused, she notes that he never had grown into his legs, as Brindlepaw thought would happen, "How would you feel about a race? From camp to the burnt sycamore, then back again?" It was one Brindlepaw wouldn't be able to take part in, but speed had never been one of Brindlepaw's talents, so likely it was better this way.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

Two vs two? Whose side was Brindlepaw supposed to be on? She remains still, then ultimately decides to interpret two vs two as free-for-all until otherwise proven different. With that in mind, Brindlepaw considers her best potential target. With Foxflame and Stagheart in a tangle without anyone with a clear advantage over the other, Brindlepaw cannot decide who she would rather target first. There was always Canarysong, but hadn't she said she would only spectate? If Brindlepaw were to pounce, would she join in? It was worth a try. The worst that could happen was that Canarysong would rebuff her attempt, direct her towards Foxflame and Stagheart.

Her size had prevented Brindlepaw from truly applying any effort on learning how to be stealthy, having dismissed it as an impossibility the moment her body had decided to start stretching every which way. No, Brindlepaw couldn't sneak, her target would always know it was to be a target, but there was something enjoyable about that detail to Brindlepaw. She wouldn't be stealthy, she wouldn't be quick, but she could be precise in her motion and she could be fluid.

Brindlepaw lowers her body, curled ears pinned back to her neck and her head held low. She angles herself so that, while still looking at Canarysong, it is her right flank facing the senior warrior. The points of her shoulder bones form twin ridges on her back, the slope to her back highlighted by her hunkered position. Her tail moves in excited twitches, the only motion her body gives beyond the steady in-out of her breath. A clear indication of Brindlepaw's intentions, she waits for Canarysong to make her move.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

Having been relegated to the nursery, the conversation between Stagheart and Goldenkit stirs Brindlepaw. She knows, knows she is more than this. In time, she will outgrow, will shed like a reptile from it's skin, and she will be seen. For now she rebuilds herself, creates a reflection she likes to see, and plays by whatever rules Briarstar wishes to impose. Sleeps in the nursery, and has her sleep disturbed by the movements of the often overeager kits. Brindlepaw rises, creeps from the nursery on quiet steps, stopping at it's mouth. Funny how now is when Stagheart has decided it prudent to whisper.

"All you can hope for is a mentor who enjoys your company," She intones, looks from Stagheart to the gathered kits. Would he be receiving one as an apprentice? He was still young, but Brindlepaw could easily imagine Stagheart enjoying teaching those younger than him the ways of clan life. Her blue eyes glide over Callakit, settle on Goldenkit. How soon was her ceremony?

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

It's an itch under her pelt that will not abate no matter how often she scratches, rubs her flanks against harsh surfaces. A flea burrowed, crawling around her fascia. Can she be faulted? Can Brindlepaw really be faulted when there is this? She is sure it's a feeling strong enough that, had anyone else been afflicted, they would surely have succumb to frustration. They would have screamed and thrashed and, and demanded and demanded and demanded. It's that the confines of camp are far too tight and it's that Brindlepaw wasn't made for this. Something innate in her wants to recoil, wants to snap. This punishment, to sleep in the nursery, to stay within camp, is a farce and ShadowClan is a farce and Brindlepaw cannot believe she is playing along.

(how dare they how dare they when brindlepaw is so much more how dare they brindlepaw is more important she is more than this how dare they HOW DARE-)

Outwardly, Brindlepaw remains impassive. An anger, a resentment, burbles in her chest at the injustice of it all, and yet Brindlepaw doesn't so much as twitch as if a fly had tried to land on her whiskers. Being stuck in camp makes her feel like the back of her brain is growing rot. She needs something new, something exciting. Something other than the monotony of tending to the elders and sleeping. Brindlepaw needs something fun, as if fun isn't what started punishment. She needs fun, and two more toys have decided to join. A serendipitous and terrible coincidence that Brindlepaw feels she must take advantage of before she loses it.

Siblings with unusual eyes, eyes of differing colors. Brindlepaw recalls a parent she only got to know in death who shared in this trait, thinks of her own eyes, (such a sharp blue, but both the same color.) and she thinks she should introduce herself. A contradiction of a stony face and fluid motion, Brindlepaw approaches one of them with the vague thought that eventually she may learn to care enough about the two siblings to commit their names to memory. "So it's true then," She speaks in a voice divorced from emotion, flat and without inflection. Peers closer, perhaps standing closer than what could be considered polite by a stranger, "Your eyes..." They would make a lovely trophy, "You must live an incredible life, being one blessed so closely by StarClan."

Morningsplash & Ashenkit

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

She takes delicate steps as if walking on the glint of a cobweb, cold eyes focused. It's like seeing a ghost, like finding the impression left in the ground by a long gone leaf. Brindlepaw thinks what everyone thinks, that this tom looks familiar. That he speaks familiar, that deja vu is echoing inside her skull in time with her heart. Bramblelight, Brindlepaw had been infatuated with in the beginning, only to later find it was the adornments she had loved. The cat beneath those reinforced claws and collar of teeth was unfortunately lackluster. Brindlepaw listens, intent on Bramblepaw's words, thinks with a sardonic curl to her mind's voice, Well met, old friend.

Brindlepaw has to consciously remind herself not to smile, not to grimace; doesn't know what expression her face wants to twist into.

StarClan blesses her in new and exciting ways. Brindlepaw could work with this. It doesn't matter to her whether or not this actually Bramblelight because Bramblepaw is a close enough approximation. She could work with this and he could be glorious. He could be better than what he was. Already, Bramblepaw is defensive of his heritage, already jokes about being a leader. How does he expect to get there from medicine cat apprentice?

Stagheart's presence startles Brindlepaw into a half-step. She'd been too focused, her world too narrow. Why butterflies, he asks, and Brindlepaw finds that she shouldn't be surprised that's what Stagheart fixated on. The facts Stagheart deems shareable are not all that telling, things Brindlepaw would have been able to guess with an okay accuracy. Things that weren't worth knowing. The process of eating was far too cumbersome for Brindlepaw to choose a favorite thing to eat, let alone a least favorite.

Her attention slides easily to Sunlightpaw, the first she feels she hasn't already met. Curt, this one is. Worth looking into. Was it that he didn't like to speak of himself, or was it that there wasn't much of him to speak of? (maybe he is like her, a smaller part of brindlepaw thinks. he isn't, she knows, but it's fun to indulge in hope every now and again,) "Nice to meet you, Sunlightpaw," Her unchanging voice carries the words more than it says them, presenting rather than feeling. Pointedly, she does not greet Bramblepaw or Stagheart, she already knows them.

Brindlepaw's broken silence means it's her turn to continue, "I am Brindlepaw. My ears have always been like this, as far as I am aware." Never mistake my lack of hostility for kindness, "I am an appreciator of beautiful things, but what I find beautiful and what others find beautiful often differs dramatically. I don't mind, it is possible that, if you are lucky, you may some day see the world as I do."

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

Did she want to help? No, not at all. Brindlepaw was tired of busywork, was tired of camp. This was beneath her, Brindlepaw was so far above cleaning camp that the clouds were far closer to this task than Brindlepaw was. But, (and wasn't that an annoying concept: but. however. yet. if something was a certain way, brindlepaw would prefer it without an addendum. but, but, but, she understood that was life, that she would have to duck her head and accept it,) Brindlepaw was trying to build an image of herself. Her work had started internal, but it was time for her to start projecting that work outward.

Start making an effort.

Ugh.

It had been Firedawn she had disrespected, in what feels like moons ago but truthfully hasn't been that long. As much as Brindlepaw wasn't sorry and would likely repeat her previous actions if she knew there wouldn't be consequence, she would have to play nice, play repentant. Wasn't that a laugh? Brindlepaw's strides are steady and long as she approaches Firedawn, feet placed in a careful line, as if walking across a thin fence. "I can offer my assistance as well," She says, not looking at Firedawn. Hopefully the senior warrior would take it as an awkwardly offered olive branch.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

It was rare that Brindlepaw got to witness illness. The path of medicine was not Brindlepaw's to follow, as curious as she was about it. Gingerpaw had walked her through most of the herbs, but the variety of differing uses each had quickly made much of the information blur together in her mind. She joins the small crowd around Stagheart, leans over him, unafraid of catching whatever he has. Places a paw to his side, as if attempting to rouse Stagheart from sleep. He just doesn't have enough strength, it looks like. There are herbs for that. She closes her eyes, can picture an even stack of dried, little leaves, can smell something sweet in a watery way.

That had been the trouble when Gingerpaw had taught her. She knows the names of plants well enough when they are out on the territory, but it's as if the exist as something else entirely when they have been plucked. A daisy leaf only looks like a daisy leaf when it is attached to the flower. This trouble even existed with herbs that had distinctive parts. It was frustrating to not know something, even if Brindlepaw has accepted she is no medicine cat. Wait- is it daisy leaves she's picturing? No, no, they don't have that scent. Wait, the scent! What has that-? "Burnet," She says aloud, answering her own question.

Unaware that this isn't a simple bought of lethargy due to some minor cold, Brindlepaw continues, "That's an herb for strength." She doesn't make any attempt to elaborate as to why she had decided to share such information. If Brindlepaw were medicine cat, she would give anyone who wasn't severely ill burnet, and then they'd be able to go about their days without being so... wilted. Oliveslip and Bramblepaw wouldn't do that, however, and so Brindlepaw made no move to explain her treatment ideas.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

"I never said you thought of them as such," It's the first hint of emotion in her voice, cloying and patronizing. The emotion is gone by the time she speaks again, a return to form, a retreat to what she knows, "How you feel or don't feel about something doesn't change how it is. Do you understand, or should I repeat myself?" There are many things she says in the ways she says them, in the carefully plucked words. Emotion is just as much of a tool as the lack of. At first, speaking like a warrior who is dismissing a kit's story: That's very nice but the grown-ups are talking, (i wasn't actually listening, this is just to placate you for long enough that i can say what i wanted to say,)

Next are her emotionless words, spoken without affect but sharp nonetheless. Saying plainly that not only does Brindlepaw not believe the other to be smart enough to get it at first, but also that Brindlepaw believes this point obvious enough to not be worth putting in the effort injecting emotion into her voice requires. You aren't bright, I know it and you know it, and so it is not worth pointing out (but in my own way, i am drawing attention to it. do you see?)

"If you think a leaf is a root, it doesn't stop being a leaf. It isn't the eyes that are the blessing, anyway. They are merely the sign of such." Brindlepaw had followed as the other had moved, never allowing the distance between them to grow. Persistent and pedantic, "We have a belief here, about eyes. It's said that the color of your eyes is the same as whichever StarClanner is watching over you. Eyes of differing colors means you have two guardians as opposed to one. Even if you hadn't that belief wherever you come from, it's still true for you, because destiny has brought you here, with us. You were always meant to be here just as much as you were always meant to be watched over by our StarClan."

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

Task assigned, Brindlepaw nods her head, the slight flare of her nostrils the only outward sign of her annoyance. She turns, prepared to take her supply run, when Daisykit appears, asking to join. "Stagheart has repaired the dens? He is talented." Without affectation, exact meaning can be difficult to discern. The difference between sarcastic and genuine is lost without the tip of her voice pointing either way. Brindlepaw's cool eyes track over Daisykit, then Callakit, before landing on Stagheart at last. Brindlepaw had decided her dislike for him some time ago, but was he aware of that? If he did know, did that knowledge make her voice land differently to his ears?

She turns, suddenly disinterested. In Stagheart, in Firedawn, in this. It was a test as to what Brindlepaw could endure, and as much as she wanted to clench her teeth, Brindlepaw does little more than allow her ears to fall from their perfectly neutral angle. "If it is no trouble, I could use assistance. Daisykit should come with me." She does not turn to Daisykit as she says this, nor does she Firedawn, or Stagheart, or anyone else. Instead her gaze remains fixed in empty area, a blank space between bodies.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

Anger is a hot iron to her heart, gripping her with such suddenness that Brindlepaw is unable to prevent a single lash of her tail. Other reactions are suppressed, a curl of her claws into the ground beneath, a flicker of her ears as they almost fold back. Was this a test? Did Firedawn forget? It's Firedawn's fault, it's her fault and if she forgot- "If this is because kits cannot leave camp-" Something like a warning tone had wormed it's way into her voice, which Brindlepaw swallows down. Back to impassive, back to perfect. Nothing less was acceptable from her, "-might I remind you that I am as restricted as they are." Brindlepaw had assumed she would be scouring camp for whatever it was she would be using, had assumed it would be difficult but doable because she's Brindlepaw and she could, but.

Was this meant to be a trap? Did Firedawn think Brindlepaw would leap at the chance to leave, did she think she could catch her in a rule break? Anger is not a productive emotion, it doesn't do anything beyond make Brindlepaw slip from her carefully composed persona. It isn't productive, but it feels righteous, holy. (this is your fault, brindlepaw thinks with such fire that it burns her. was this to humiliate her? was firedawn as exacting as brindlepaw? no, no, firedawn had done nothing more than forget. troublesome, troublesome. brindlepaw has to make sure she takes up more space in the minds of her clanmates,) "What am I supposed to do instead?"

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

There were some things that were meant to be.

Brindlepaw had been finishing off a mouse, picking at the bones, when Grizzlypaw had arrived through camp's entrance. Bloodied and every bit of what he was supposed to be, he did not linger to explain why, instead going directly to the medicine den. Brindlepaw's imagination supplies the details, perhaps inaccurate, but exciting nonetheless. She waits a moment, inspecting the bones to see if they had anything left to give her, then buries them sloppily, and pursues Grizzlypaw. Her shadow falls on his paws when she approaches, it beckons her closer still to him, yet Brindlepaw remains in her place, silhouetted against the sky.

(i see you, brindlepaw thinks, and thinks of a body on the thunderpath. there is no blood scent to color the air, nothing but a strange, warbling plea for help and the pressing need for brindlepaw to know this broken stranger. a hollow feeling when she realizes this is something she cannot do.) "Eventful day," Brindlepaw notes. "I have my doubts that all of that had been yours," She adds in reference to the blood that had darkened his pelt. "You should share your story before someone else does so for you. Whatever someone else may come up with may not put you under a flattering light. Wouldn't want the gossip passed around to leave out your good side." Her blue eyes flash to the pitted, scarred side of his face, before returning to a more neutral position, a soft curl of a smile on her mouth.

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

Oh, the innocence of asking which bit of prey she could take. The things Brindlepaw would have told May, had she the opportunity to. Instead, she is relegated to watching from the sidelines, left to think of missed opportunities. May could be good fun yet, fun Brindlepaw was intent to have. She slides easily into the space Crowsleep had been, her sharp blue eyes fixed on May. "You're of kittypet blood, correct?" Brindlepaw prompts, forgoing an introduction entirely. Brindlepaw wiggles her own ears in an attempt to draw May's attention to them, to show that there was something the two of them had in common. "We can share something, if you would like," Her flat tone makes it sound far less like an invitation and moreso like a command, "and after, I will show you a little more of the camp."

ShadowClan apprentice | American Curl mix | brown and ginger tortoiseshell | tags

So. ShadowClan was without a medicine cat apprentice once more. A shame, that was. Brindlepaw admittedly had a curiosity for the position, but it was not a path meant for her. No, her destiny was one greater than what such a role could offer. Maybe Grizzlypaw had felt the same thing, maybe he had left because he saw a future of confinement? Or maybe it was that he was a fickle being, cursed to flit from clan to clan just as he had in a previous life? It felt like a waste of something, somehow, and there was an immature part of Brindlepaw that wished to follow. Where would he have gone? Brindlepaw had a hunch, hunches, but no facts. Possibilities, stories born of her own imagination. A thought of what Grizzlypaw could have been, a thought that she could have helped.

"I look forward to seeing him once more," Because Brindlepaw hasn't a doubt that she will, that they all will. Maybe he will prove himself a nuisance to ShadowClan sometime later? Whatever is to happen, it is bound to be interesting, bound to be fun. "ShadowClan will have questions," Brindlepaw has questions, although likely just as pointed as those of her peers, they are so for differing reasons, "and I cannot help but wonder if he has answers? Someone best tell Oliveslip she's in want for an apprentice once more."