The Colony hammers for our hollowed heads ◈━◈━◈ [ OPEN ]

[Smoky.]

In the bygone days, before paternal grit became his prison, Smoky would have refused to watch this colony wither beneath a dimming reign. Every drawn-out dying breath that Fray takes is another that drags down the cats around him. They are all frozen here, and the first snowflakes have yet to fall. Starved, in a sense beyond the pangs of hunger. They're suckling sour milk from the same sickly teat. Yet, there are those around him content to live as such. Content to let the slow bleed take its toll, to die by inches, to crouch low and submit themselves to the elements. A chill is already present. Smoky can feel it now, standing at the maw of the leader's den, looking in. He has a family. A mate to cherish and progeny to protect. He is bound to them, more than he is to Fray. But a single quiet act in the night could fix everything. The ailing patriarch is in no condition to defend himself, much less to realise that it was not his illness that killed him. Smoky would have, were these the bygone days. Instead, the shadow-streaked tom's ears fold flat. His tail-tip flickers, then settles. A shudder runs through him. His eyes shut and his brow knits as the image of a pair of mismatched copper and blue eyes come to mind. Vision returns to him shortly thereafter, and he discards his idle thoughts as though he had never entertained them at all. Halfy would full-on encourage the morbid impulse, and realising this goads a chuckle out of the feline. The sound is soft, almost hollow, and audible to the ears around him as he pivots on his heels to leave the den. A faint smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth. "You'd be disappointed in me if I did," Smoky mumurs. "Probably do it wrong and end up getting caught, or sum'n."

 

[Hum]

"Entertaining some private thoughts?" Hum asked as he passes by Smoky, offering the tom a wry smile as they both exit the den. Hum's been in the colony for moons now, but still has a way with getting on others' nerves in such a way that he doesn't have many friends to call his own - but there was no reason to doubt his loyalties - or perhaps there was, with the way that leadership seemed to be in peril these days. "You know, with everything that isn't being seen to, you might get away with something here or there. I suppose I'd have to report it if you're thinking about stealing prey, though." It was a joke, one said in a flat voice and a blink.

Stretching himself out as they exited the den into the cooling air, Hum stifled a yawn and turned to look at Smoky. There was something about the older tom that made Hum think he might make a good leader, if he had the desire to be one. Unlike Hum - or at least, for now. Hum has no desire to move up in the ranks, take control of a whole colony of cats who were already cursing their ailing leader for his failure to lead - Hum wasn't sure he could ever take something like that on his shoulders.

despiertan hermanos! ᓚ₍ ^. ̫ .^₎ que la mensajera ha llegado.

• OOC .ᐟ
• HUM .ᐟ HE/SHE, COLONY
  .ᐟ peaceful + healing powerplay permitted.
  .ᐟ penned by Archivist - .archivist Discord.

​

 

[Smoky.]

There are ample ways a conversation can begin, but a quip on whatever is preoccupying the listener's mind is not among the more considerate methods. The younger feline's query would nevertheless get its desired effect—Smoky halted mid-stride, and rounded on his haunches to reciprocate the look he received. Despite the seasons that separated them, the tabby's slanting gaze fell short from intimidating; his eyes were narrow from exhaustion, and their sheen was dulled. At least his humour isn't so dead. "Nah'm just- just thinkin' about all the ways I could save the world," a smile was managed, though only briefly before its faint curvature settled on his otherwise impassive features. Smoky would have no way of knowing where his fellow feline's true allegiance lay, whether in the failing ruler or elsewhere, but his message was conveyed without any subtext. "Just took a peak at the ol' guy himself, ya'know. Ain't seen him in a bit." And what an unwell sight the once mighty cat made. Illness was apparent in his eyes alone. One could only guess the degree of frailty his fur concealed. Perhaps it was to everyone's advantage that he remained in seclusion, the colony spared the pitiful display of Fray wasting away in clear sight. Then again, it feels like the colony's wasting away, too. His sentiments went unsaid, although a heavy pause in the midst of his speech may have hinted at what weighed on his heart. A dry laugh passed his lips. "He's looking good," he lies, plainly. "Chipper. Like he could go another hundred moons. Just needs a little pep in his pawsteps and we'll be golden."

 

[eaglepaw]

He wasn't meaning to eavesdrop, but as the sudden speaking of Fray drifted to his ears his head perked off his paws, and a tongue rasped over full grown teeth. A glint of hope cast across the boys eyes, before finally pulling his way forward, slowly.

"You mean that?" Eagle asked, narrowing his eyes as he tried to observe the other, failing to do so very well. "Then- let's do that! Fray can get on his paws again, and and- he can help us not be so hungry!" his cream Head lifted, golden eyes bright.

He was merely a few moons old, almost a year, but he has seen what the hunger has done to others. He has seen that even his own training felt delayed from the lack of food and hunger in his belly. But he tried to be a source of positivity. He wanted so badly to live and let live, and if Fray became healthy again, that meant good things, he was sure of it.

 

[Halfy]

YOU'RE WELCOME BITCH, THE SHOW IS FREE

I DON'T DO THE WALK OF SHAME - I STRUT

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"Pep to his step, daring? Hardly, he's a paw in the grave and we all know it." Never one to mince her words for the sake of feelings of excessive positivity, Halfy had been dwelling on the matter for the past moon and was quite frankly tired of everyone pretending nothing was wrong for the sake of peace of mind. At some point they needed to figure out what to do as they couldn't sustain themselves like this for much longer, but exactly what was beyond her. She had ideas, some far too exhaustive and a little complicated and none really appealing.
Halfy never claimed to be much of a strategist, despite her prim and proper demeanor and sultry way of speaking her manipulation extended to other cats rather than strategy nor the battle field; though she was no less tenacious in that regard.

The bicolor molly sauntered over on light steps, large plume of a tail raised high above the ground and curled into a question-mark like shape at her back as she slid up alongside Smoky and nudged his face with hers in a very brief gesture of affection before she sneered at Hum, black lips curling back to show her teeth. "Steal what prey, dear? At this point if you find anything its simply fair game."
Not that they ever found anything really, a mouse here and there, the occasional bird, sometimes she would go and meow at the twolegplace nests until someone tossed something and once Smoky brought home a strange chewy bark like container full of tiny pieces of meat with an odd crunch; but that aside the pickings were slim. The molly ignored Eagle, an irritated tail flick in the young cat's general direction to the blatant inability to catch sarcasm.
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♥ — I like turning heads - breaking necks — ♥ — Highheels in the morning ♥

• OOC can go here.
• 
  

  

  Halfshade
  ♥ — ShadowClan
  ♥ — She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ♥ — Blue Torbie w/Blue & Orange Eyes.
  #FEA8A8—#8087BD
  

 

[Smoky.]

Smoky all but winces when he realises he's caught Eagle in the crossfire. It is plainly evident in the tom's expression—as unguarded as his young heart, eyes alight and eager to be met any sort of good news—that his spirits were raised. Needlessly, and somewhat cruelly. Lips twist in an awkward downturn, jaw pulled tight and head drawn back a notch. He hesitates, for he does not want to rob the youth of hope, even if it was misleading.

Fortunately, the tom finds that he doesn't need to formulate his next words carefully. His mate is faster, and far more frank. Her enchanting lilt chimes in flippant denial and Smoky pivots to find her haunch rubbing up alongside his. For a brief moment, he allows his face to break into an understated grin, to meet her snark with something droll; "Nah, he just needs a breather. I've seen many cats right their steps after a bit of rest and recuperating."

Brows bend as his eyes go half-lidded, and his words slip out smooth through an amused smirk. He lies with a deliberate flair. Mature and wisened ears would surely perk to the hazy gravity of his tone and grasp the humour hidden within. Wee ones may yet miss the cue.

After a chaste nuzzle against her two-toned forehead, Smoky rises up tall, holding his chest slightly puffed and proud. "That being said," he continues, returning to his regular cadence of speech. Numb, a little dry, and unfettered. "If he's gonna die, he ought'a just get on with it. Damn stubborn old tom. Harder to get rid of than the wind."

A lacklustre flick to one ear and a tired grumble follows shortly afterwards.

 

[SABLE]

It is unabashedly morbid the way his peers have become so comfortable in the ways the speak of their falling leader, and Sable is no different. Every turn of his gaze is another injustice wrought by unfit leadership, every growl in his belly another tear in his love for his fellow colonist. Hawthorne does his best to keep his withering old man alive with pathetic crumbs, selflessly giving up his own satiated belly for his father. It is killing this colony just as much as his father fails to recover, though.

It won't be long, Sable thinks, until he is fearful of theft as much as he is for starvation. His dark gaze lingered on surrounding faces, weighing their prospective desperation. Would he be so brazen as to claw his way through survival? Yes. Quick and brief, the answer is obvious. He is deserving.

"It isn't all his fault, you know." Sable padded forward with a slow, steady gait. "Selfishness keeps him here. Not everyone is ready to let him... be." If Hawthorne expected them to continue waiting around as he fought for the inevitable to happen, an inevitable he clearly isn'tprepared for, he was certainly not ready for the consequences that may follow. For the hypothetical blood already waiting at his paws.

this heart beats cold like the devil his own

• "mew"
• 

  SABLE— he/him ･sixty-two moons ･colonist ; no clan ･penned by gonkpilled

  a black and white tuxedo with dark amber eyes