[making waves] SlugxRolo

[Slug !]

It was a hot new-leaf day and the sun was only making things worse. This was not a good time to have dark fur, not one bit. But if Mothwhisker couldn't get it across to the sky that scorching one's pelt off was completely and totally inappropriate, he would have to find another way. So he did, though Mothwhisker reckoned that none of his clanmates would appreciate him smelling like fish when they went to settle in for the night. "Cold! Very cold! Coldcold!" he splashed around in the stream. If he scared off all the prey in a hundred yard radius, that wasn't his problem. His problem was overheating and he cared not a lick for the hunters in the surrounding area. Though it was most certainly freezing, but it felt insanely good on his too-dry skin. Honestly, he would be purring if it wasn't for the all the water he kept swallowing. It was a shallow stream, but he was an embarrassingly small cat and it was hard not to slip on the bed of pebbles. Who could blame him? ...Well, perhaps all of StreamClan, but they didn't count. For obvious reasons. "Why don't I just grow fins while I'm at it?" Mothwhisker huffed, dog-paddling (how absurd!) to keep his head above water. "I'd get less ridicule for that." Which was the unfortunate truth. Of course, talking to one's self was not appropriate, either. But no one would fancy a chit-chat with a crazy, badly swimming tom, would they? So it didn't matter if he was being appropriate or not, see? Unless they were that kind of cat. Er, Mothwhisker would have to rethink that one. And the swimming lessons. That, too. [bg=596666][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Rolo]

Frostpaw winced as she lowered herself into the cool water, lying upon the pebbles in the shallowest part of the stream on the boarder between Fogclan and Streamclan territory. She had to admit it. She was in pain. She'd tried to block out all of it, but it really had caught up with her. The wound Rowanheart had given her was deeper than the norm, probably down to his inherent hatred of her. She probably deserved it, with her continuous mocking of him, bu- No, she didn't deserve it. She couldn't slip into their way of thinking. She'd been an irritation, but all that should earn was a harsh telling off. She'd never raised a claw against her clanmates, after all. Frostpaw growled. Her mind wasn't as sharp as she was used to. It felt clouded and misty, which was probably down to the hunger. All she wanted to do right then was to curl up on a log (outside camp in the sun, of course) and go to sleep, but she knew she needed to bathe her wound to give it the best chance of healing properly. She might not be in favour of herbs or prayer, but she wasn't idiotic enough to do completely deny she had any wounds at all. Rolling over slightly, she placed her most recent wound in the stream and let the water soothe it. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing and allowing her mind to switch off. She was tired. Tired of thinking. And then some mousebrain came splashing in. Unfortunately, swimming (flailing) up the stream, they were splashing wildly, talking to themselves, spouting some nonsense about how they should grow fins. Unfortunately, Frostpaw, who would normally have responded to such hilarity with the glee of a court jester, found the water being sprayed on her pelt distinctly unfunny. "Please." She said loudly, "Don't grow fins, they won't do much good for you. With that technique, you wouldn't even be able to swim with them. Grow gills instead. You'll be able to swim underwater and your clan may even be able to put up with you, because you won't spout such nonsense. You'd only be able to stand there opening and shutting your mouth like a fish which, though perhaps more worthy of ridicule, would be no where near as annoying." There was her own normal humour there, but it was hidden under layers of bitterness and meanness. Frostpaw immediately knew she'd overstepped the line, but she couldn't bring herself to care about it. And then she did. The regime was getting to her, and she was beginning to be judgemental and overly harsh to cats that didn't deserve it. "I don't mean it." she said softly, "Just... don't splash me." Speaking

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[Slug !]

The cold, sharp voice hit him like an ice sickle to the spine. It hurt, probably more than words should ever allow. Ears flattening, he managed to keep his footing long enough to look over his shoulder, blinking the water from his eyes as he looked at the she-cat. And suddenly, Mothwhisker realized how trivial that pain was. "I don't mean it. Just... don't splash me." His eyes rounded at the wounds and bloody water, following the red coloring back to the stained pelt of mismatched white. "You're hurt!" came flying out of his mouth, right before his paw slipped through a loose pile of pebbles and Mothwhisker did a graceless faceplant into the water. He burbled for a little bit, scrabbling closer to the shallows before finally surfacing with a gasp. Cold! his brain told him, like he needed reminding. "I'm sorry," Mothwhisker wheezed, feeling horrible. Never mind her insults or bad disposition; she was hurt and she had said she was sorry, hadn't she? He wasn't quite sure why he was apologizing, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time. His mind raced, tumbled and then came together in a jumbled mass of thoughts and ideas. "I'll be right back," he babbled to her, giving himself a little shake. "I'll--I don't know, I'll be right back." And he was off and running, not a clue in his mind as to what he was suppose to be doing. Wounds? Wounds? He didn't know anything about healing, I don't know! Maybe he could put leaves on her and it would slow the bleeding? Big leaves, yes. No. Maybe. Gah. "Gingerstar is going to kill me," he breathed, because yes, his leader was something to fear. That and her temper. But she couldn't kill him if she didn't know, right? Right. So he wouldn't say anything about the FogClanner. Are you just going to leave her there, Mothwhisker? That's not very polite... Well, no, that wasn't, but he didn't know what to do. He was a warrior. A ferocious, water-eating warrior who seemed to trip every five seconds. He didn't know anything about herbs and the like, or tending wounds or this is a cat not of your own clan, do you realize this? Yes, Gingerstar was going to kill him, but that was okay because then he wouldn't have to grow gills. Food, you half-wit. Have you no sense? "Oh, right," he jabbered to no one in particular. Maybe the air? "Thank you, brain." What he brought back was two small mice and a cricket. Mothwhisker could have done better, but he had practically scared off all the prey in the forest with his outrageous swimming. He hoped she wouldn't mind, though. It was better than nothing, right? Of course! "Miss? Miss? he said around his catch, stumbling into view. Oh, there she was! Good, she hadn't left yet, because she's hurt, half-wit. He dropped the fresh kill in front of her, feeling too much like an apprentice waiting for his mentor's approval. Ah, those were some bad days. Mothwhisker wasn't fond of any of those memories, not at all. "I don't know anything about healing I'm sorry," he rushed out, nudging a mouse closer to her. Wasn't she cold in that water? "But you look skinny." Now is not the time to be commenting on the she-cat's weight, you half-wit. Oh, well. Mothwhisker hoped she didn't mind that either. [bg=596666][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Rolo]

The tom's reaction to her comments was not exactly what she expected. The comments, originally meant to drive the tom off or at least shut him up and stop him from splashing her, seemed to do nothing to quieten the tom up. That said, she suspected that nothing she could have said would have shut him up anyway. He watched his gaze scan her body, and the alert shimmer in his eyes. He then said the obvious, and proceeded to splash her even more. She was about to protest, when he emerged from the water, apologising and telling her to wait there. And then he was gone. Frostpaw blinked. Who in Earth's name was this tom? He'd smelt of Pineclan but he didn't act at all like a Pineclanner. He wasn't aloof, he wasn't snarky... no, he wasn't even admirable, as all other Pineclanners he'd met were. He was just a cat who couldn't swim, and who didn't look like his head could contain interllectual thoughts (no matter, he obviously would never be able to word them anyway). In fact, she was sure there was something wrong with that cat. Very wrong. She continued staring after him for a few more minutes, before shaking her head and returning to cleaning her wounds. She dipped her head in the water briefly to clear it before getting out and setting to work with her tongue, noting the condition of every one. It was something she did several times a day now, and she always kept a watch on the ones that looked most likely to cause her trouble. And then the top reappeared, carrying prey. He dropped it in front of her like an apprentice presenting the results of his first hunt to an elder and looked at her expectantly. Frostpaw was confused, to say the least. After all the abuse she'd taken from her clanmates, this cat was acting in a manner she no longer recognised as existing. It was selfless, utterly selfless. Completely stupid, considering he was from a rival clan, but so goodwilled and innocent it didn't seem possible. And as if the situation wasn't bemusing enough, she had no idea what to think about it. Every action he'd made, every part of his being and aspect of personality had irritated her. She hated those who were eager to please, those who had no true amount of backbone. However, at the same time, he had broken the code to help one who was in need, without, it seemed, any real thought. That was admirable in itself. She despised herself for it, but she probably, in all likeliness, liked the tom. She looked at the prey before her, and her hunger returned. But she couldn't eat without replying to him. Saying something, at very least, like she normally did. And then he talked of healing, and she snorted and found something to say. "Thank Earth you didn't fetch me any herbs. I don't use them anyway, so don't apologise." She looked up at him. "You're right, though. I am hungry, but I couldn't manage two mice. Take one?" Speaking

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[Slug !]

"Thank Earth you didn't fetch me any herbs. I don't use them anyway, so don't apologise." Well, that was oddly Pineclan of her, but who was Mothwhisker to judge? He was the actual Pineclanner--which, he supposed, made him evil out of the two of them. No judgement involved, see? "You're right, though. I am hungry, but I couldn't manage two mice. Take one?" How could he have been so mousebrained?! She was thin as is; what possessed him to get two mice? Stop panicking, you half-wit, it's just a mouse. "No, I want you to have it," he told her, flustered. "For you to take back to your clan, in case they smell the freshkill on you. I don't want you to get in trouble--" and that was true, he realized. He didn't want this she-cat to get 'chewed out' when she in such an injured state as is. Bringing back prey could wrap up the odd ends, such as that awkward question of I smell mouse on you, but where is your catch? Yeah, that would go over well. And speaking of her injuries... "Miss, your..." Mothwhisker pulled the cricket closer to him, suddenly feeling like an intruder. It was none of his business, but it confused him all the same. He had already demanded that she take the extra mouse back, but her wounds and scent puzzled him. She was FogClan, but why was she so close to PineClan? Surely her own clan could take better care of her than half-wit Mothwhisker? There was no other scent of animal on her, or another clanner--just her own scent. Crisp, clean, and FogClan. Maybe she needed help being taken back to her camp-- oh, dear stars above, don't you dare--are you insane?! Just a little. "Do... can you get back to your camp on your own?" he asked, and then scrounged up his clutzy, screw-ball courage and added: "If you let me, I can help you back. They must be worried by now--you've been... here for a while." Well, that could have been said better. [bg=596666][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Rolo]

Frostpaw listened to the tom's demands and suggestions with bitter amusement and with a very distinct realisation that he hadn't a clue what circumstances she was facing. With any other clan, they might be sensible, even advisable, but with her own, and being Frostpaw, most of them would put her at a distinct disadvantage. But she admired the sentiment, and, had she the words or the manner to thank the tom for it, she would have done so profusely. Unfortunately, she was in pain and the suggestions were too funny for her not to reply in her usual sarcastic manner. "Tom, even if I took back a life's supply of mice, I'd still get in trouble. They'd probably assumed that I'd taken it from Pineclan or had summoned a cat from the dark forest to catch them for me." She rolled her eyes, at her clan's idiocy more than Mothwhisker. "And to say that they won't be worried that I've gone missing... well, that's a pretty huge understatement. They'd probably celebrate if I got ripped apart by a badger. I could get back to camp if I wanted to, don't worry. It's just that these days, I've learnt it's just better to keep out of their way as much as possible. Sure, I have to go back to camp to sleep, because it's too cold to sleep out of the apprentice den, but the rest of the time... well, I can be wherever I want, so long as I have an excuse to be here. Not that those work particularly often..." She remembered then that, whatever she did, she'd be punished when she got back to camp this time. She'd run away in the middle of a telling off, without stating explicitly that she was going to hunt. That was at least two sinwounds, with perhaps a third for disrespect. Shame, she was beginning to tire of being in pain all the time. "But yeah, if you don't mind me lingering on the edge of your territory, I'm going to stick around here for a while. And eat your mouse. Thanks for that." Speaking

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[Slug !]

"Tom, even if I took back a life's supply of mice, I'd still get in trouble. They'd probably assumed that I'd taken it from Pineclan or had summoned a cat from the dark forest to catch them for me." Oh... well, then. ”I understand,” Mothwhisker mewed, feeling embarrassed. He flopped down next to her (with a respectful distance between them, of course). He crunched on the cricket, making quick work of it. "Because you’re injured and it would be suspicious if you brought back freshkill in your condition—“ And then her next words made Mothwhisker cringe and flatten his ears, gold eyes wide and... well, upset. What kind of clan didn’t care for their own? In fact, now that he thought about it, what kind of clan would let this she-cat leave in the state that she was in? Or not care about her well-being? It was no business of his, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that she was hurt, or forgotten so easily. He didn’t like the way that her wounds looked like they were made by a cat and that there was no other scent but Fogclan and some of his own mixed with hers. It’s not that he hadn’t noticed these details before. He just hadn’t fully comprehend what they implied, especially when he had been so busy hunting and worrying about the sarcastic white she-cat. "But yeah, if you don't mind me lingering on the edge of your territory, I'm going to stick around here for a while. And eat your mouse. Thanks for that." ”Y-you’re welcome!” He blurted, still staring at her like she’d brought forth the End Of The World. ”And—oh, gosh, stars, I’m sorry. That was rude of me to say that I know what you’re going through, very rude. Of course I don’t know, I—“ Who hurt you? Why did they hurt you? Did you do something wrong? Or did you do nothing at all? He didn’t want to think about the last one. ”You can stay here,” Mothwhisker went on, pawing and kneading at the ground. It was a nervous gesture, awkward and uncertain. Should he ask what happened? Stay out of her business? Ignore everything entirely? ”You can stay here as long as you like. Er, well, not as long as you like, understandably, but I won’t make you leave and—I. Uhm. I will... I...” What could he do for her? What more could he do for her? He had already caught her freshkill, which was a big no-no. She was part of a rival clan and he was well aware that Gingerstar would tear him a new one if she ever found out. He would have to take another swim, maybe roll around in some fungus for a while. Mothwhisker didn’t have to concentrate too hard to notice that he had a whiff of Fogclan about him, so he needed... to take precautions, if what he was about to suggest was going to have any chance of running smoothly. ”You said that your clan didn’t care if were gone for long periods of time, right? Right. I can make you a small place to stay—somewhere safe. Er, smelly. With fungus. And I’ll scent mark it! The dawn patrol won’t know you’re here if I do that andandand you can stay there until tomorrow morning so you won’t have to go tonight so you won’t hurt yourself or anything and when I next see you I’ll have fresh kill and then you can gohomeisthatokay?” He inhaled precious oxygen, feeling slightly dizzy. He was mad. Oh, stars, he could get in serious trouble for this, but it would be worth it. Ease his mind. Lesson the worries and wonders he had about the Fogclanner. That and the sky was already darkening. Soon it would be night and Mothwhisker wouldn’t be able to handle the thought of this she-cat traveling back to her clan when she was so injured and tired. He wouldn’t stand for it. What if a badger got her? Or a fox? ”You must think I’m crazy, or stupid, or just really hopeless,” he rambled, with no where to stop or go. ”A real chatterbox. And I don’t even know you’re name—or you, mine, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve been rude and demanding and you don’t know me.” He lifts his chin, staring at her with a sudden intensity that surprised himself. Mothwhisker with a backbone? Him? Perish the thought. ”But I don’t want you to get hurt more than you already have. I know it’s not my business. I know I don’t have a say in what you do. But I think you’d fair better if you went along with my ideas. You can be safe.” Maybe that was a little too much. No, wait, that was a “little” too much. Who was he to tell her what to do? Mothwhisker may be a warrior, but he was from another clan and he knew little to nothing about her. He had no advice to give beyond telling himself to shut up. ”You can claw me in the face if you want to, if it makes you feel any better. I know I deserve it. I’m Mothwhisker.” What an absolutely horrible way to introduce himself. [bg=596666][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]