looks like rain (tango)

[gray]

All around, distinctive signs of new-leaf blossomed forth—quite literally, in some cases. Each season had its own unique scent, a strange thing, really. Green-leaf smelled of impending thunderstorms and dry-baked ground. Leaf-fall smelled like crunchy fallen leaves while leaf-bare had a tang of ice—the temperature cold had its own scent, oddly enough. Today, however, smelled distinctly like new-leaf—blooming heather, growing grass, and most importantly… fresh herbs. All around were the fragrances of coltsfoot, tansy, horsetail, borage, catmint; impending battles made the herbs smell even sweeter with the knowledge that soon, there would be a use.

A lithe gray shape padded lightly over the rocks and the heather; a rather stiff breeze parted his fur and ruffled his whiskers, tickled his sensitive ear fur, and brought to him many mingled scents. He itched to be fighting as he had many seasons ago, with his beautifully evil-tempered mentor at his side and the blood of unworthy coddled cats on his claws. At times when thoughts of fighting drew his attention to his feet, he still considered it a wonder his paws functioned. He had, after all, nearly died in the snow losing heat through his paws as a kit. His gray fur fluffed against the breeze, his feet still miraculously functional, it was obvious why his name was Cinderfoot.

Cinderfoot tapped his paw—his very much not frozen paw –against the ground. He had so very many herbs to collect for Barkface today, but no assistance. He had until sundown to get back to camp with the quota of fresh plants. However, he suddenly realized how much of the day had already passed him by, and irritably wondered how he would manage to finish.

After all, an unfinished job was quite disgraceful.

Flicking his whiskers crossly, Cinderfoot huffed and decided he’d just have to work quickly. No stopping, no musings, no thinking up of wordplays to himself. “Complete focus,” he muttered to himself. At least it was new-leaf; plants shouldn’t be too difficult to find in the newly warm weather. He glanced up to gauge his time, noticing the fat gray clouds that the wind pushed in. Now a heady, heavy feeling of imminent rain permeated the air. “Should be an interesting day,” he decided.

word count // 376
ooc comments // I am finally done
tags // tango

[TANGO]

Mousedapple trotted proudly over the grassy earth, her gray tail held tall and fluffed out, a banner that could be seen from a good distance---after all, she liked to announce her presence. The pretty tortie always moved complete confidence: even with her mouth stuffed full of the small rabbit she had caught, her nose was held high in the air, and her muscles swaggered back and forth in a way that emphasized her unique coat and lithe frame. The bunny, which could hardly have been more than a couple moons old, looked like an accessory in her mouth, one she pulled off quite well, in her own humble opinion.

She loved newleaf. The prey was easy to catch, the land became alive with budding foliage, and the weather was just delicious. (Leafbare was just so harsh on a girl's coat. Mousedapple absolutely hated it!) She had been excited to get out of camp this morning and explore the territory, possibly sunbathe even, but the weather had other plans. The sky was growing darker, and there was the faintest taste of rain in the air, so naturally, the young warrior had decided to head for shelter before the coming storm ruined her prey and her hair.

She was halfway to camp when she caught sight of a gray bundle of fur out roaming the moors. Her ears perked up when she recognized the medicine cat apprentice. "Thiduhfuht!" she attempted to yell through the meat in her jaws. She dropped the rabbit and tried again. "Cinderfoot! Hello!" she called, her tail waving. She jogged toward him.

"Whatever are you doing out here?" She liked to talk with flourishes. In her head, it made her sound more feminine and refined. After all, sometimes those warriors could be such heathens!

"Not hunting, I hope!" she said with a glance at his paws. It was a medicine cat's privilege to be hunted for, and she wondered why Cinderfoot might choose that over staying in the cozy camp looking after sick kits.

[gray]

A promisingly unfurled patch of pale green leaves topped by delicate star-shaped blue flowers stood out against the muted dusty shades of taupe and brown—the heather hadn’t quite managed to flower yet. Soon, however, probably within the moon, the heather would bloom into a variety of dusty violet and vibrant purple flowers. Now, did heather have any medicinal value—there was an interesting question. Cinderfoot couldn’t recall; maybe he would have to test that theory out. He eagerly reached for the cluster of borage—carefully, now, he reminded himself –knowing that Barkface would be pleased with the stalks; a beautiful specimen with both leaves and flowers in excellent condition was always welcome. He wrinkled his nose at an unexpected scent—“That’s not borage!” he muttered furiously to himself.

To clarify, Cinderfoot hadn’t meant the plant. The plant was very obviously borage. The leaves were the right color, the stalks the right thickness. The distinctively star-shaped flowers were also the characteristic shade of blue that signified a borage plant. No, Cinderfoot knew the plant was borage. However, something suddenly didn’t smell like borage. It wasn’t an unpleasant scent—merely unexpected, unanticipated. The scent was rather sweet, like a mixture of summer heather and spring wildflowers. And very much unlike borage.

A loud mumble caught his attention; Cinderfoot left off on his herb collecting, temporarily putting his task on hold. “Cinderfoot! Hello!”

[/s] Suddenly, as the mumbling cat crested the shallowly sloping hill, he spotted a familiarly plumed tail waving a greeting to him. A very pretty unusually colored she-cat soon followed the fluffy tail; she was a very unique gray tortoiseshell with pale bluish eyes—or maybe they were green. “Whatever are you doing out here? Not hunting, I hope!” Cinderfoot mentally cringed—the infernal she-cat spoke so flamboyantly and had such a high opinion of herself; she wasn’t even a proper warrior. She could hardly fight her way out of a tangle of weak sapling branches. It was a wonder she’d ever gained a warrior name.

Mousedapple was the she-cat’s name, christened for her unique coloring and distinctive pattern. The name suited her—it was all about appearances, no storytelling needed to explain such as with his own suffix. She hardly ever did anything useful, except maybe hunt—as long as the prey wasn’t too quick or clever; Cinderfoot knew her to be one to spend the day in the sunshine, grooming and talking. As a former warrior, Cinderfoot had become accustomed to bitter confrontation on a regular basis. The typically uneventful, largely non-violent life of a medicine cat was sometimes more than he could bear. Only clever word games, puzzles, and new mixtures kept Cinderfoot sane on days like those—days like this. Seeing a warrior—even a ‘warrior’ –who would rather become a kittypet just killed him inside.

Cinderfoot sighed much more angrily than he’d intended; although he would never admit it, his temper nearly always bested any good intentions he might have, and he certainly had a very poor handle on it. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he said, rather acerbically. Some days, he deeply regretted taking on the apprenticeship with Barkface—however, he was a firm believer in StarClan and would never break his oath to them. He always trusted, respected, and owed his life to Barkface, a debt he would spend the rest of his life gladly repaying.

word count // 565
ooc comments // I think I’m really gonna like this xD
tags // tango

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[TANGO]

Mousedapple rolled her eyes at the gray tom's bitter tone. Honestly, what was his problem? He always seemed cranky when she spoke to him, or at least attempted to speak to him, and if she didn't know better, she would almost say that he didn't like her. But luckily, Mousedapple wasn't the kind of cat who worried about things like that. If he didn't like her--and that was a big if--well, then it was simply because he didn't know her well enough. And why should he? She wasn't the kind of cat to get herself all scraped up roughhousing with those ShadowClan ruffians. I mean, there are some warriors who'll pick a fight just to get a new scar, the she-cat thought scornfully. But I'm certainly not one of them.

What does it look like I'm doing? Mousedapple mulled the words over, looking back at the tom standing in a pile of borage and then up at the dark gray sky. "It looks like you're standing around waiting for your paws to get wet," she concluded, throwing her own hint of sarcasm into the mix. If he could talk to her like she was stupid, why couldn't she do the same to him? She swished her feathery tail in a sassy motion.

"And while I'm sure you just look even more handsome dripping wet," she continued, throwing in a flattering purr, "the rain does cause some lasting trauma to your pelt---not to mention your silly herbs, which I highly doubt will any good soaking wet." She fixed her big, blue eyes on him and watched him calmly. As she stared, the scent of her juicy rabbit crept into her thoughts. It would get ruined out here once the rain set in, and mushy rabbit made the worse dinner.

"You can stay out here if you want, she said, adding silently, you crazy grump, "but I'm getting my freshkill back to camp before my rabbit turns into fish.". She headed off in the direction of her prey, but her ears stayed tuned to the tom, wondering if he was actually planning on standing out here all day...

[gray]

Satisfied that his less-than-friendly remark would discourage further conversation, Cinderfoot reached once more for the beautifully budding borage. He gently grasped it by the stem, pulling it carefully out of the ground; it looked just as promising in his jaws as it had in the ground. He placed it by his paws—marveling again at their constitution –and reached for another borage, working until he had a generous pile of the stems and star-shaped flowers. Unfortunately, the mouse-brained she-cat was still there, still detracting from the day with her absolutely irritating fragility. Mousedapple threw her head back, looking at the sky—which, by the way, was darkening even more by the minute as the brisk wind picked up, pushing angry thunderclouds across the sky. “It looks like you’re standing around waiting for your paws to get wet,” replied Mousedapple disdainfully, whisking her tail to drive home her point of nonchalant sarcasm. Despite his best efforts—which were rather dismal –Cinderfoot felt his hackles rise. He never had control of his temper and the gray she-cat just grated on his nerves.

Much to his dismay, Mousedapple continued speaking. “And while I’m sure you look even more handsome dripping wet—” the dainty tortoiseshell’s voice changed from a sarcastic bite to a silky, flirtatious purr, “—the rain does cause some lasting trauma to your pelt—not to mention your silly herbs, which I highly doubt will be any good soaking wet.” Her eyes peered up at him, almost imploringly, almost hypnotically. Although infinitely bothersome, Mousedapple was an extraordinarily pretty cat—useless, self-righteous, and showy, yes, but extraordinarily pretty.

Unfortunately for her, Mousedapple had chosen the wrong angle. Cinderfoot rounded on her furiously. “Excuse you sorely!” he snapped. “I seem to recall a certain battered young apprentice biting off more than she could chew with a rather ornery rogue, visiting the medicine cat den in dire need of herbs! Herbs are hardly a laughing matter, seeing as they save the miserable skins of weaklings who can’t fight!” He snorted and assessed his verbal hit—he’d played the age card, reminded Mousedapple that she had a mere thirteen moons compared to his twenty-four; along with age he had pulled rank on her, asserting his dominance as the all-important medicinal successor, while she was easily replaceable. Much more easily replaceable than some, he thought contemptuously. To top it off, he had also implied her ineptitude. He felt thoroughly satisfied with her verbal score, although later reflected that he should have known better. Last time, Mousedapple had continued talking anyways.

“You can stay out here, if you want, but I’m getting my freshkill back to camp before my rabbit turns into a fish,” she finished dismissively. Cinderfoot hoped she’d heard his displeased little monologue. Then, he flicked his tail amusedly, seeing a perfect opportunity to degrade the she-cat. He called after her as she returned to her piece of freshkill. “Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Mousedapple,” he said, allowing his amusement to leak into his voice. “Seeing as you’re not busy, it would be your great honor to help me collect herbs.” He watched the crest of the shallow hill, considerably pleased with himself.

word count // 527
ooc comments // none
tags // tango

[TANGO]

The she-cat couldn't hide her displeasure. Her tail drooped, and her ears flatted back against her head. It wasn't a flattering look, and had she been in control of herself, it wasn't a face she would be making. But Cinderfoot knew exactly how to drive her crazy. First, he dared to bring up that run-in with those awful rogues! She had thought she'd handled herself quite well and she had certainly been grateful for those herbs! She hadn't been trying to imply that he was useless, but the grumpy tom seemed determined to interpret everything she said in the worst way possible.

And then... and then... Oh, she could just hiss! He was going to make her stay out here in the rain?! She hadn't even felt a droplet yet and her coat was already frizzed out from the humidity. She would just look horrid if she stayed out here! And her rabbit would be ruined... And oh, this was simply awful!

It wasn't that she minded helping, she thought as she dropped the rabbit once again and turned back around to face the medicine cat apprentice. When he wasn't insulting her, she rather liked Cinderfoot. He had been awfully heroic when she was practically on her deathbed with a cold, and he had taken good care of her after the rogue attack as well, and of course, she liked to be able to help the clan out by gathering up the herbs they needed to stay strong and healthy. (A healthy clan was a beautiful clan.) But of all days! The rain and the humidity was just too much for her to handle!

"I'm not an apprentice anymore, you can't just tell me what to do!" she rattled, losing her cool for a moment. But one look at the tom told her she wasn't getting out of this mess for her life. She closed her eyes for a moment and composed herself. When she opened them, she had smothered her contempt with an extra large dose of generosity. If she were going to be out here, she might as well make it look as if it were her choice.

"Fine, darling." she purred. "If you wanted my help, you could've just asked, you know. Now, where, exactly, do we start?" Of course, she wanted to get to work as quickly as possible. With any luck, she could be back before her pelt was totally ruined.

[gray]

Violence was a rather strange thing. It brought pleasure to the aggressive and greatly pained the hearts of the gentle, scared the spineless and grieved the medicine cats—well, most of the medicine cats. Cinderfoot reveled in it, reliving his own warrior days through the stories of others and letting himself feel his own aggression whenever he was alone. On days when he simply couldn’t become violent for fear of the brutality growing too fiercely to contain, this quiet aggravation of another somehow released the gray tom. Possibly, it had something to do with how it empowered him—although, of course, in no way did he realize that. But whatever it was, Cinderfoot found a strange solace in knocking others off guard. He was rewarded with a rather unattractive facial expression from Mousedapple as she turned back towards him, as though unable to believe that he would do such as thing as require help from the Clan—something he was entitled to anyways.

“I’m not an apprentice anymore, you can’t just tell me what to do!”

[/s] hissed the dappled tortoiseshell furiously. She clearly didn’t enjoy the belittling as much as Cinderfoot did. For the life of him, he couldn’t possibly imagine why. Privately, he found her sudden loss of control to be quite interesting—so she did have a rough, uncultivated side to her. He fixed her with a piercing pale-eyed glare; she closed her eyes and a visible change came over her demeanor. “Fine, darling,” she sighed with a purr, “If you wanted my help, you could’ve just asked, you know. Now, where, exactly, do we start?” Pfft, as if. Cinderfoot knew that had he been polite—and therefore lenient in any way –Mousedapple would have walked all over him, and Cinderfoot was not a cat who stood for anything of that sort. He was dominant. Always.

“Right, well, I reckon I have nearly enough borage for now,” the gray tom said in a clipped tone. “See that patch over there?” he gestured with his tail to the left and slightly behind him. “That’s goldenrod. You can identify it by how tall it is, the narrow leaves, and the yellow cluster flowers. An obnoxious shade of yellow,” he clarified, finding it necessary to impress upon the she-cat how much he hated that particular shade of yellow. He moved over to the clump of goldenrod, cringing at the very yellowness of it that seemed to defy the color-leeching properties of the dark clouds above. “Now, what we need is the whole plant—roots and all. It’s chewed into a pulp and used in a poultice—usually utilized in a mixture of several herbs –to treat wounds. What you do is gently paw away the soil around it—” Cinderfoot demonstrated on a particularly tall plant, making a shallow ditch around it –“and carefully grasp it by the stem with your teeth.” He carefully grasped it by the stem with his teeth. “Den,” he said thickly through the mouthful of herb, “you puhll ih uhp sthlowly.” Suddenly conscious of how utterly ridiculous he must’ve sounded with the stem of the accursed yellow plant in his mouth, he slowly pulled it up in one smooth motion, depositing the perfect herb by his paws. “Not too difficult,” he said dismissively. “If you do it wrong, the herb is useless because it’s damaged. Let’s see how you do.” Mousedapple would, no doubt, catch the underlying challenge in his words. After all, she hated feeling stupid as much as he did.

word count // 585
ooc comments // sorry for being so long-winded! xD
tags // tango

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[TANGO]

Once she had received her instructions, the pretty she-cat set instantly to her task without sparing any words. There was still resentment lingering in her thick pelt, but she was now resigned to her fate, and she figured that as long as the rain was holding out she might as well cooperate. Although let's just see if he can keep me out here once those clouds let go! she thought. It would probably ruin the herbs anyway, the rain. Even if Cinderfoot didn't want to admit that.

The plant was easy enough to spot. Even with the tom's judgmental gaze wreaking havoc on her nerves (she preferred to work without an audience), Mousedapple quickly locked in on a big patch of yellow some tail-lengths away. She trotted over to it and gently sniffed the bright yellow leaves of the herb. She rather liked the color, she thought as she began to paw at the earth just as Cinderfoot had done. The golden leaves would look good in her fur, the yellow complimenting her pelt, and as she dug a little deeper, she wondered how these leaves would end up being used. She grimaced as she imagined the gruesome wounds the goldenrod poultice might be used on. Poor souls. This yellow plant might be the only thing between life and death for one of them some day.

With that thought in mind, Mousedapple carefully put her maw around the base of the stem and pulled with great precision. She concentrated hard on her work, knowing that if she messed up she would not only face shame from Cinderfoot but from the entire clan.

But even when Mousedapple really wanted to do something right, she never could seem to get it on the first try. Messing up was just in her nature, because she just got so carried away... She pulled up the stems with a greater force than they needed, and the plant snapped in her mouth, leaving her with one pile of leaves and one pile of tangled roots.

Embarrassment crept over her and her tail drooped in shame. "Mousedung," she muttered, praying to StarClan that Cinderfoot had suddenly gone blind. Oh, he'd never forgive her now!

ooc: I love that you write a lot, and I really like reading you're posts! I'd be right there with ya, but I didn't flesh her out enough in her bio, so I'm struggling writing longer posts. I usually rely on my bios for character development rather than IC, and now I know why. >.<

[gray]

Several other patches of herbs awaited the medicine cat, lurking nearby with their many varied scents and perfumes, uses, and colors. New-leaf was such a wonderful time to collect herbs, and the wind that still kicked up fiercely brought with it a sharp, clean scent to the air, making every scent the gray tomcat caught magnify in strength and clarity. The same fascination that had always come over him when he was a sickly kit in the nursery with Barkface came over him again now, and his paws itched to do something strange that they rarely wished to do—create, heal, comfort, and protect. Although brutal and fearless, pitiless and sometimes cruel, Cinderfoot had an unexpected nurturing side, especially when it came to kits; he loved kits dearly and could never explain why. Perhaps it was the promise and potential they contained within their small, fuzzy bodies, or their willingness to accept new ideals. Maybe their gullibility was a bit endearing. Whatever it was, Cinderfoot would always strive to protect kits above all others. Besides, warriors could fend for themselves—most warriors, that was.

Which brought him back to the unfortunate present and out of his peaceful—oddly, unusually, atypically peaceful –musings.

The bitterly spat word ‘mousedung’ represented his unwilling worker’s failings and the reason why she would make for a considerably deplorable medicine cat. He glanced over at the pretty tortoiseshell she-cat, stifling a sigh of disdain and resignation. She dropped a mangled stem of horsetail in shame, the look on her face just one hundred percent hilarious. She flattened her ears.

Cinderfoot would never be able to explain why, rather than keeping with his standoffish nature, he let out a snort of laughter instead. “Mousedapple,” he called out in an unusually pleasant tone of voice, “make no attempts to cover a mistake. Simply admit to it and learn.” Pleasant, by typical definition, was friendly and congenial. However, the temperamental gray warrior—er, former warrior –didn’t do ‘friendly’ or ‘congenial’. In reality, his tone was more… less acerbic, not as insulting or demeaning. He padded over to the she-cat, thinking that, since she seemed to throw herself at him often, he may as well play her game—or, more enjoyably, convince her that he was playing her game while in actuality, she was playing his. He nudged aside her paw and demonstrated again. “See? Not exactly complicated—nothing like fighting for your life,” he added, unable to resist the veiled barb. “Go slowly—patience, in the long run, accomplishes more.” An ironic statement coming from a violent and intolerant cat such as him, but Cinderfoot of course ignored the irony, hoping that Mousedapple would just choose to follow his lead and ignore it—or maybe that she wouldn’t catch it at all. Meanwhile, he caught a distinct sharp scent that spelled out the coming rain. Surely, the first raindrops would fall within the next half hour. A grayish twilight blanketed the moors, and it certainly wasn’t because the sun was setting. Impatience filled Cinderfoot once more as he realized that recruiting Mousedapple to help him collect herbs had probably only slowed him down. He turned away abruptly and began skillfully tugging up horsetail with a speed that obviously contradicted his earlier words of caution and patience.

word count // 547
ooc comments // yay, thank you! ^^ it’s okay, Mousdapple is kind of just Cinder’s poor, unfortunate pawn right now(: I find her quite fascinating, though
tags // tango

[TANGO]

Mousedapple stood perfectly still as she awaited her death sentence, a sunken gray powderpuff amidst the tall sunny goldenrods. Certainly, Cinderfoot would be angry---even if it had been his idea to make her help in the first place. She could have told him that she probably wouldn't be very good at picking herbs, not under this kind of pressure, but she doubted that he would have listened. Still, she knew he would most certainly be upset with her.

And then it came...

Mousedapple. She cringed, awaiting his wrath. Make no attempts to cover a mistake. Simply admit to it and learn.

The she-cat's frozen form slowly thawed. What in StarClan's name?! Where was the mordacity, the judgement? Was it possible that Cinderfoot had a civilized side, a genteel... Oh, but that was going too far. Cinderfoot could never be genteel, but she had suspected, when he had treated her wounds before, that there was something gallant about him, something heroic... But he did such a good job of smothering it! Until that very moment, she had quite forgotten he could be capable of something so mature as wisdom!

When he nudged her aside rather than shoving, the young warrior nearly fell over from shock. Take it in stride, Mousedapple! she instructed herself firmly, gathering her wits about her more quickly than she could ever hope to gather that goldenrod.

She blinked her big eyes gratefully at him as he helped her out with the plants. "Why thank you!" she purred sweetly. She appreciated his help, even if she didn't completely trust the advice he offered with it. He seemed to move at a rapid pace through the pattern, but then again, she supposed he was more skilled at combing through herbs than she was. When he left her on her own, she returned to the task with care, although she couldn't help her eye from wandering over in Cinderfoot's direction...

Dig, dig, dig... she thought, hoping putting the instructions to a tune in her head would help her work. Bite, bite, bite... Her teeth delicately closed around the rough stem. Pull, pull, pull... And this time, it worked! The goldenrod came right out of the ground, roots and all. Mousedapple let out a satisfied little mew.

Instilled with confidence from her first success, she set to work again. Dig, dig, dig... Bite, bite, bite... Pull, pull, pull... she chanted, and up came another bunch of beautiful yellow bundles.

"Cinderfoot, I think I'm getting the hang of it!" she said brightly. The note of appreciation was unmistakable in her voice, but she didn't dawdle to get the medicine cat's attention. Her eyes returned to the goldenrod, and she couldn't help herself... She nuzzled the yellow leaves as she pushed together the herbs she had already dug up. She knew the clan needed this plant, but maybe, if she played her cards right, she could manage to keep a single flower to put in her pelt...

[gray]

Noticing that the tortoiseshell she-cat had frozen in place upon the utterance of words from his mouth, Cinderfoot had to strongly resist the urge to roll his eyes. Had he paid more attention to his Clanmates and especially cats of other Clans as he aged, he would have noticed the subtle changes in the way others treated him. When he was an apprentice, many scoffed and wondered if he would ever become a decent warrior—he was, after all, only an orphan with frozen off paws. Then, as his brutality became obvious, some laughed because they figured it was a show of bravado. However, once it became clear that the wiry gray tom could scare the fur off a badger, others began stepping carefully around him. As stated before, things were subtle but it was still clear that Cinderfoot was feared. He certainly had earned that reputation, though, so whenever he noticed, he cared not one ounce. That didn’t mean he liked it, though, or understood it—he saw absolutely no reason to be so afraid of him; he was, after all, quite good at keeping his head.

Aren’t I?

He shook his head clear of the thought because he decided he didn’t care—in reality, he had no handle on his temper whatsoever but had no idea of the fact. Ignoring the one-dimensional she-cat once more, Cinderfoot bundled together the herbs he had already gathered. Suddenly, a bright call of, “Cinderfoot, I think I’m getting the hang of it!”

[/I]interrupted his careful organization. Mousedapple had obviously mastered the very basic task of pulling a plant from the ground.

Giving in to the urge to roll his eyes, the gray tom halfway turned towards the diluted tortoiseshell and dryly said, “Congratulations. Now perhaps you will relinquish the plant to me rather than leave it stuck in your fur…?” By StarClan, this cat was aggravating. However, she was quite pretty; she was young and gullible and so obviously interested in him. “Not that it doesn’t look lovely on you,” he continued, “but I rather think Barkface would appreciate it in his stores.” He narrowed his pale eyes slightly. This would certainly be a fun game to play. Mousedapple would also be easy to get rid of once he was bored again. For now, however, he had found ample entertainment from the fluffy she-cat and most likely would for some time.

Padding a little closer, he flicked his tail casually along her flank; it was a simple movement, easily passed off as accidentally, but something he knew would drive Mousedapple crazy. She was a confident and poised feline, certain in her abilities to charm others. Had he been any other cat, Cinderfoot supposed, he would have been on her like a… well, rather like a medicine cat to herbs. He knew that he would have no feelings for her, nor would he care what she would think of him when he grew tired of her, but he didn’t exactly care. An entertaining game every once and a while never did a medicine cat harm. He had no intentions of taking her as a mate—or anyone else, for that matter. Subconsciously, the gray-furred medicine cat apprentice knew there was something wrong with him—he seemed incapable of emotions. The closest thing to an emotion he had ever had, besides rage or hatred, was the sudden stinging emptiness left when he realized Fireflower was dead. Shaking off his thoughts, he twitched his whiskers and joined Mousedapple at the patch of horsetail, all the while inwardly cringing at the obnoxiously yellow plant.

word count // 598
ooc comments // ohmigawd, I just love this thread, can’t you tell xD
tags // tango

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[TANGO]

Congratulations. Now perhaps you will relinquish the plant to me rather than leave it stuck in your fur…?

Her heart sunk at the harsh words, although Mousedapple wasn't quite sure what she had been expecting... She knew Cinderfoot could be gentlemanly, but of course he didn't want to. He resisted kindness with all his power...which was why his next words took her by surprise.

Not that it doesn’t look lovely on you.

Instantly, she perked up, the compliment going to her head with more potency than any herb the medicine cat apprentice could offer her. Her heart was beating so thoroughly that she barely heard the rest of his sentence, picking up only something about Barkface's herb stores...

There was a seedling of an idea sprouting in her mind as Cinderfoot approached her again. There was indeed nothing she liked better than a good project, and perhaps if she could just... But her thoughts were interrupted by the touch of the tom's tail against her flank. The tortoiseshell purred softly at the obvious flirtation, and her whiskers twitched in contentment at the realization that no tom could resist her charm. That thought brought her idea to the front of her mind once more.

She didn't want to admit her idea out loud, not even "out loud" in her thoughts... Cinderfoot was a medicine cat apprentice, sworn to abstain from taking mates. It was part of the warrior code, a decorum she wasn't interested in challenging. But what if she could use her charm for good? What if she could use it to benefit the entire clan, not just herself? Wouldn't StarClan want that? Because with all her creative vision, she could see the gallant tom buried deep down within Cinderfoot, and she couldn't help thinking a feminine touch could help transform the cranky healer into a truly debonair hero for the clan, a medicine cat to be admired instead of feared... Surely, the clan would do better if they didn't have to fear being mocked or scolded when going to the medicine den for treatment. And of course, Mousedapple herself would appreciate the chance to get close to the tom who had, she believed, saved her life with his treatment.

But she had been staring at Cinderfoot for too long. Mousedapple looked away quickly in an unusual bout of shyness. Say something! she urged herself, but of course, she refused to say just anything. Nothing plain would help her cause... And because her gaze had fallen on the goldenrod, the life-saving herb she was supposed to be collecting, Mousedapple knew exactly what to say.

She began to paw through the grass, as if hunting down more goldenrod. Casually, she mewed, "You have all the clan's lives in your paws. Doesn't it just make you nervous?" She had passed him up, so now she looked over her shoulder at him with her doe eyes. "You're so brave." She made sure to incorporate the right amount of awe in her voice so it was just the right amount of flattery she was aiming for, not enough to go to his head, but enough to let him know she was impressed. She looked away, pawing through the grass again, as if to show him she wasn't too interested in his response.

ooc: These two are so fun together! Mousedapple's gonna be even more fun after he's broken her heart. ^^

[gray]

The instantaneous change—the pricked ears, the straightened posture, the brightened eyes –were obvious at once. Cinderfoot felt equal parts irritated and amused by Mousedapple’s extreme sensitivity to all that he said and did. His one sentence—hardly flirtatious in the slightest, honestly –had brought about an entirely different cat. Ordinarily, he knew, she was the one receiving such reactions from others. A simple, carefully placed word by the tortoiseshell she-cat had driven many toms wild. However, Mousedapple suddenly averted her gaze in an unexpected, uncharacteristic display of bashfulness. Typically, the gray tomcat would have gone for Mousedapple much sooner, what with her prettiness and malleability. However, she had always been too… weak, too… well, she had never been enough of a warrior, enough of a fighter. But now she seemed willing—eager, even –to play a game.

Cinderfoot loved games.

She began speaking as she searched for more herbs, a task that Cinderfoot did without thinking by now. He could search for, find, and pluck plants from the earth easily and with hardly any effort. “You have all the Clan’s lives in your paws. Doesn’t it just make you nervous?”

[/I] she said after a casual silence. Deeming the statement unworthy of reply, the ornery gray tom merely snorted. He, Cinderfoot, former apprentice of Fireflower, nervous? Never! The only time he had ever been nervous, felt any fear at all, was when he had been certain he was going to die after the fateful battle that took Fireflower. That battle altered the course of his entire life. The injured apprentice Cinderpaw had sworn to StarClan—whom he firmly and deeply believed in –that he would serve his Clan as medicine cat should they choose to spare him. And they had, resulting in his present position. “You’re so brave.”[/i] Mousedapple sounded genuinely impressed.

Rolling his eyes in a sudden fit of temper, he spat, “Rejecting the honorable life of a warrior is far from brave. It looks like I only chose this path to avoid getting hurt. I know the real reason I renounced the life of a warrior, but do others know? Of course not! They prefer to bumble through life, eyes closed, noticing nothing. Learning nothing. Being nothing.” He turned away and violently ripped a clump of something—he paid no heed to what it was –from the ground. Still, the herb was pristine. Even in his anger, he could always do his job. “Now I have to watch while everyone else leads the life I am better suited for while they act like it means nothing.” Flicking his whiskers irritably as though shaking off his emotions, Cinderfoot was thoroughly annoyed with himself for revealing so much to simple Mousedapple. Then again, he reflected, she would probably gush over him now and tell him what a wounded hero he was. That might be nice to hear.

word count // 471
ooc comments // yay, I’m back :3
tags // tango

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[TANGO]

Mousedapple's mental capacity was one of the many things that prevented her from being a truly good warrior. Like a butterfly that floated from flower to flower, her mind rambled in ways that were ill-suited to the gravity of clanlife. As she waited eagerly for her words to sink in and for Cinderfoot to form a response, her eyes wandered over the grass and she began to wonder how much goldenrod they actually needed. There seemed to be only a few more plants immediately nearby and she didn't wish to travel even further from camp in search of the herb before the rain set in. Funny, but she had almost completely forgotten about the storm as she had wrapped herself up in Cinderfoot's personality and only now did she remember to glance nervously at the sky.

She didn't have time to fret over the single fat droplet that hit her squarely on the nose before the tom began to speak. "Rejecting the honorable life of a warrior is far from brave. It looks like I only chose this path to avoid getting hurt. I know the real reason I renounced the life of a warrior, but do others know? Of course not! They prefer to bumble through life, eyes closed, noticing nothing. Learning nothing. Being nothing."

This wordy outburst shocked Mousedapple, who had prepared herself for the short and cranky response that the medicine cat normally gave. She believed this was the most he had ever said to her at once, and it appeared that he was not quite finished yet. He finished with a passionate outburst, "Now I have to watch while everyone else leads the life I am better suited for while they act like it means nothing."

Such a passionate response! Her curiosity was piqued. Yes indeed there was more to WindClan's prickly medicine cat than met the eye. How fascinating. She decided to test his boundaries, see how long this bout of openness would last. At worst, she supposed he would snap at her, and at best, she might learn more about the true Cinderfoot, the one she considered gallant.

It was the first outburst of his that really bothered her. Though she could no longer recall his exact words, she remembered the gist. Did he not think himself brave? She, of all cats, knew the pain of thinking that the Clan found her a coward, useless. She didn't want any cat to feel that way and least of all the medicine cat apprentice, one of the most valuable members of the Clan. "You knew that giving up your status as a warrior might make you a coward in some cats' eyes and you did it anyway. I think that's very brave," she sympathized softly. She called to mind Spottedleaf's death and the damage it had done to ThunderClan. Who could doubt that the medicine cat was far more important than warriors? Even if their particular medicine cat was on the cranky side...

It struck her now that she, like the cats he was complaining about, hadn't the faintest idea why Cinderfoot had chosen to be a medicine cat. She didn't know much about his history, except for the few rumors she had heard whispered around camp and she wasn't sure that she trusted the gossip. She took a breath of courage and posed, "If you felt better suited to be a warrior... Why did you become a medicine cat apprentice, then?"

[gray]

His tirade left him feeling oddly drained and rather world-weary. The fat raindrops that began to sporadically patter down seemed so appropriate with his current mood. He felt about as interesting as the thick woolen gray clouds, and reflected that he was probably twice as angry as they were—especially since the rain would saturate the herbs that he and Mousedapple had just collected. Cinderfoot glanced up at the sky and hissed furiously, cursing the entire wasteful day in general as he scrambled to gather up his borage leaves, wishing that Mousedapple had even a quarter amount of brains as she did looks. If she were intelligent at all, she’d have begun bundling up the accursed goldenrod—ah, StarClan curse it all, he’d just blame the goldenrod for it all. Everything seemed to go wrong around that stupid yellow plant that made him so upset.

The softness of her voice forced Cinderfoot to cease his frantic herb gathering and listen. Her tone was gentle and full of pity. “I don’t need your pity,” he growled, throwing Mousedapple a scorching glare. He snorted in disgust and resumed his earlier task, moving closer to her as he gathered the goldenrod. He froze when he heard the pretty she-cat take in a big breath: “If you felt better suited to be a warrior…”

[/I] she said uncertainly, “why did you become a medicine cat apprentice, then?”[/I] The question was extraordinarily unexpected; no one ever asked. They all assumed—that they knew everything, that they had him figured out, that they understood. But they were all wrong, they were always wrong. Coming from Mousedapple, it was even more unexpected. She was reputed to be shallow, so why would she care?

Still, he couldn’t ignore the question. It was the question that, for so, so long, he had desperately needed someone to ask. Without realizing it, he wanted someone to ask that question so badly it was like needing to breathe. Barkface, in his wise way, had simply understood. But no one had ever asked. Another raindrop spattered onto Cinderfoot’s gray pelt, but he set the borage and goldenrod down and stood with his belly over the herbs in hopes they stayed dry. “I had no choice, really. In order to keep my life, I had to give it up.” He could still see that battle whenever he closed his eyes and in his dreams, he could even smell the blood and fear, hear the shrieks and cries, and taste the tang of death. When he slept, he saw Fireflower’s death replayed over and over again.

It was so terrible that she had died knowing he was a disappointment. Now she got to watch him every day from the heavens and look down at him, seeing him play out his life as a healer. He was so far from the fearless warrior she had shaped him to be. But I didn’t wish to join you yet, he appealed silently. He loved herbs. They were so fascinating, how they combined and reacted, how they worked to repair and to heal. And yet, he hadn’t felt alive since that battle. He hadn’t wanted to die, but had giving up everything he’d ever known been worth it? “Here,” he said curtly to Mousedapple. “Take the stupid goldenrod. If these herbs get soaked…” He trailed off irritably and picked up the borage in his mouth.

Was this worth it?

word count // 575
ooc comments // ooh, look, Cinder is full of self-doubt today :3
tags // tango

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