Private Backwritten The Rustclaws If I lead, would you follow? ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ firefly

[Giavonna "Nonna"]

Show me the ways that you talk
And all of the places you walk

.

If anyone asked, Giavonna was still the same she-cat from all those moons ago. As much in her prime as she ever was… but that was but a comforting lie. One of many lies she told others, and sometimes herself. The truth was harder to swallow. Age had taken its toll. Bones ached, joints stiffened, and tasks that once came easily now asked too much. Experience only carried you so far when your body refused to follow.

She hoped to live a while yet, but time was no longer on her side.

Now she planned for a future without her in it. She swallowed her pride and did what needed to be done—not for herself, but for her family. Giavanna wanted the Rustclaws to outlive her, to persist long after her bones fed the dirt.

She had been watching—waiting. One eye peeled for a successor to fill her shadow. It… was not an easy task. Her nature was that of a fickle beast, but if she only compared them to herself, she'd never choose. None were perfect, least of all she, and certainly not the scraggly misfits that scraped by under her rusted roof.

A dissatisfied sigh slipped from her lips as she gazed over the clearing. A kit gnawed on a shard of rubble while two scrawny soldiers bickered over who took what. They were far from the empire she dreamed of—but oh well. Giavonna loved them no less and gave them no less.

There remained promise, though. Raw gemstones buried beneath grime and hunger. And so—she polished—she smoothed—she waited for the day they would shine. That day was not today, but she saw the faintest sparkle amongst them. One such stone entered her field of view. Weathered blue eyes drifted down to find them, from where the major dangled across the arm of her throne.

Firefly.

Fire indeed, ready to swallow anything in its path. To others, Firefly might seem like just another reckless brute with blood on their breath—but she knew better.

Firefly was a clever one. Knew what they wanted and had the equal means to take it too. But Nonna also saw a wounded creature. An angry, flailing child born from cruelty and mistrust. Giavonna was once one too. Such was the damage of losing everything, time and time again. But she'd not made her selection out of a pathetic sense of camaraderie...

From a throne of pockmarked cushions and jutting springs, she watched the soldier. When those amber eyes finally met her own, the old molly raised a paw, curling it in a slow beckon.

Now was not the time to hesitate; she could only pray that her instinct was correct.

"Come, Firefly," She rasped, already rising from the battered couch where she'd been lounging. Her joints popped as she moved, but she slipped down the trash mound with a measure of grace. Giavonna turned toward the rusted-out monster where she made her den, and called over her shoulder. "I want to speak with you."

@firefly Speech, thoughts/emphasis

132 MOONS

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RUSTCLAWS

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bio

 

[firefly]

The air in the junkyard could be suffocating sometimes. The towers of rubble and trash, the rotting food, the rusted metal– it all molted together into an altogether deeply unpleasant smell. Even after having lived here for several moons now, it still sometimes overwhelms Firefly and leaves them half breathless, like a kit gasping for the first few breaths of air. Today is one of those days; today they feel raw, even their skin is painful. They're too young to feel this worn.

Nevertheless, they hop out of their den, which is not really a den at all– they sleep curled up in the gutted hood of an old monster, no roof over their head, a few blankets messily thrown in, and an old pillow with half the feathers missing in a corner. But they leave that behind for today, stretching aching muscles and flexing tired paws. They wander closer to the center of the camp, eyes scanning their surroundings, acutely aware of everyone and everything, like a moment's unawareness might mean death, which it very well could. It had, for a long time, been the truth of their life. That kind of fear never really leaves you. Once it's sunk its claws in you, it doesn't let go.

Their eyes eventually land on the rotted throne on which the major sits, and sure enough, there she is– in all her aged glory. Her eyes fall on Firefly, who meets them evenly, half expecting a reprimand for something. Perhaps she'd caught wind of the fight… Well, calling it a fight would be over shooting it. Firefly had simply taught a newer member of the Rustclaws what happens when you take more than your share of food. It wasn't their job, not really; that was usually left to the enforcers. But they weren't there, and Firefly was. They shake their head and follow Nonna into her den, dutiful. Or perhaps duty is not the right word for it. It's not duty that ties Firefly to the major, it is debt– a life debt. Had it not been for Nonna, Firefly would've starved to death, or worse. And if there's one thing Firefly hates, it's owing things. So here they are, working it off. Trying to, at least.

"What do you want to talk about, major?" Firefly asks.

 

[Giavonna "Nonna"]

Show me the ways that you talk
And all of the places you walk

.

Nonna slowly plodded down from the garbage pile and across the clearing. She led Firefly to a weathered old monster, its rotten tires sagging beneath a rusting carcass. Draped over the top were various blankets and tarps meant to dampen the light. One of the doors remained forever ajar, hinges rusted open. Nonna pushed her nose through it, curtains parting with a whisper of worn fabric.

Inside, the air was thick—stale with the heated scent of mildew, metal, and something faintly sweet. It was dim, layers of cloth shrouding the windows, though not entirely. Threadbare pillows lined the seats, tattered with age and mottled with stains. In the corner, beneath the seats and sunken into the floorboard, a small stash of trinkets caught what little dusted light filtered through. A hoard of bottle caps, bent coins, brooches, ribbons, and other treasures that any magpie might've drooled over.

Giavanna eased herself onto a crumpled blanket at the end of the cushion, folding her limbs with more refinement than should've been possible for an old cat who'd spent most of her life on the streets.

When Firefly spoke, she scoffed and flicked her paw with distaste. "What is with these formalities?" The corners of her eyes crinkled warmly. "How many moons have you been with me, hm?" Giavonna could answer that. Too many for them to still be calling her by her title. The old molly smiled and patted the seat in front of her. "You will call me Nonna. Now sit."

Giavanna waited until the soldier had seated themselves, only then did she continue speaking. "You've got sharp teeth, ragazza," She said, a glint of amusement behind her eyes. "Sharp enough to take a chunk out of anyone who displeases you. And since our paths crossed, I've let you use those teeth how you like, haven't I? So long as you don't get carried away..."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle like dust. Her twilight eyes cut across the dusted gloom to meet Firefly's. "But don't misunderstand me. I did not bring you here to scold you." To Firefly, it might've sounded like the start of a lecture—but that wasn't what this was. She was well aware of how Firefly conducted themselves and how they were prone to finding trouble. Oh, but what youngster wasn't?

"I want to ask you something." She leaned back slightly, forepaws crossing delicately. Her eyes flicked across the tortie's face—thoughtful, charging her words.

Truth be told, Nonna hadn't expected much from Firefly when she found them. That child—that feeble thing she fed and nursed back to life. That angry, bitter creature that blew sparks with every breath. Giavanna hadn't seen the value then. Even she didn't have that level of foresight.

Much like Firefly, Nonna also preferred to pay her dues. Though it was rare these days that she was the one to owe anything to anyone. Now was the time to find out whether the stone she'd found was a gem… or a piece of coal. "How far would you go, Firefly, if I asked it of you?" She asked, tapping a claw thoughtfully against the cushion. "I saved your life—but how much does that mean to you really?"

Speech, thoughts/emphasis

132 MOONS

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RUSTCLAWS

🌣

SONG

🌣

bio

 

[firefly]

Their eyes narrow slightly as Nonna speaks, lip curling, though they don't interrupt. They did not like calling the older molly by her name; did not like the way it felt, the way it tasted like family they weren't. She did not bring them here to scold them, which is always something. Still, the air in the den seemed to be heavy with something unnamed, something Firefly doesn't like either.

I saved your life—but how much does that mean to you really?

Firefly's eyes narrow further, long ears twitching. How much does it mean? Nonna knew that well enough without them saying it. But she always was one for verbal contracts.

"A life for a life," Firefly says. "My life, to be specific. You do like being specific, Giavonna."

They are trying very hard to gain some ground here, feeling that the conversation might at any moment go somewhere dangerous, somewhere they don't like. What would she ask of them? They would kill if she asked. They've killed before. Killing is not hard; killing is terribly easy, when it comes down to it. It is not hard to kill. As long as you can live with it. And there are worse things to live with– like a debt left unpaid.

"You saved my life. I will give my life to repay that debt, if I must."