Open Shipyard MISERY & CONQUEST // complaining

[downy]

The night is over. Some of the cats left to find new shelter, away from the rain, whilst others clustered together, tighter, beneath the thinning canopies of the sparse tree line. Even overturned water-monsters would not provide as much shelter from the storm, and given the risk of them toppling right-side-down entirely... most cats avoided even the temptation. They were left to their own devices as the sun rose, the clouds thinning to lessen the storm but still remain an ice-cold trickle. Leafbare continues to be unkind to the cats of the beachfront, now daring to freeze the pelts of those who could not dry. Which... was so many of them.

"This is... insane," Downy laments to Tide, and frankly anyone who had ears. She tucks in close to her sibling, her thick pelt still thoroughly soaked and now matting into thin shards of ice. The molly didn't bother to move far from the thickest mass of cats, hopeful that in the very least, they could harbor warmth in one another's existence.

The misery continues, voiced by the former kittypet. "I'm beginning to think I'm a bad omen, y'know?" She draws her tongue over her shoulder to no avail, "This storm has been the worst of it, but - a moon ago, was it? When Dove came and told us about that big 'ole fight? And then..." Downy groans, leaning her weight into her pale pelted sibling, growing more agitated when warmth doesn't immediately worm its way into her cold, cold fur. "... Clans was it? They had grouped up, and taken bits of the land as their own. And when I - we - finally got there... she said cats had died to make it work. She said it like I had killed them myself. Me!"

Downy pauses, blue eyes glancing back and forth along the horizon line. "Maybe we should head back that way," she murmurs. "They can't have taken all the land. Maybe there's a little pocket we can live in instead... or maybe it'll flood as soon as we get there. That'd be my luck, wouldn't it?"

 

[Bay]

Bay had not been unfortunate enough to have an entire roof fall on him during a good night's sleep, courtesy of his distaste for physical closeness during his most vulnerable times. Some of the cats here have been growing awfully close... and though Bay finds several faces familiar now, he would rather keep to himself and avoid a headache. Still; in some ways, he depends on them like they depend on him. The proximity and a shred of similar mindset can lead to an exchange of favors. It is essential for survival.

So when the storm had picked up instead of dying down, only for a terrible creaking and screaming of wood to roar above the angriest of winds-

Bay simply had to come.

He is here still, feeling just a little bit off-kilter when mismatched eyes look over those who had gotten hurt, or simply hadn't yet gotten over the terrifying experience. There had been no such disaster before, not that he could remember since his time here. Is it just bad luck or a preview into the future?

His ear flicks when bits of conversation carry over to him. Bay can't quite remember this one's name, but that doesn't entirely matter: he overhears, and that means he has to chime in.

"You're kidding, right?"

The expression he makes — reminiscent of taking a huge bite out of fish that had been sitting in the sun for too long — doesn't yet betray how he feels about such a suggestion.

"If they reacted like that just because you were in the wrong place, wrong time... can't imagine they would be letting anyone share what's still left."

Bay would be lying if he claimed the idea isn't at least a little bit enticing. These Clans... are they mighty or simple fools? Perhaps he is too judgmental, and Downy has the right idea; they must be still hurt after that battle, and too weak to retaliate as a result.

 

[Smokewreath]

all you have is your

FIRE

─〃

⟢

The shed is in rubble, piles of loose rotted boards and rusting metal tin overlaid and stacked like the towers his kits would make with flat shells; they always toppled over eventually. It was a wonder this place had held out as long as it did, a tomb now for some, a reminder of loss for others. He can scent copper in the air and can't tell what is the sea brine and rattling metal debris and what is the blood of cats wounded in their panicked flight to safety. One could swear they see blood droplets on the ground still, but they could have just as well been the sprinkling of rain; the storm now an almost mocking drizzle.

His single orange eye wanders to where the whiny she-cat's gaze drifts, the forest in the distance where the wild cat colony resided. There was only the one group of cats there and his fur bristles at the memory of them desperately encroaching on this area seeking food; though now that he thought about it...they had not done so since had they? It had never crossed Smoke's mind that he'd not seen those forest fools roaming this way any longer. They either died or-war? His ears flicked, his thoughts drifting idly to the desperation on faces that once mirrored his own, cats died and he supposed they had room now or had branched out further. Either way, it couldn't be worse than what was happening here and he rose to stand and walk away, tail lashing in irritation as he passed by Bay and headed back to the docks where his family was currently sheltering for the night, thankfully the tide was low once the storm passed but it would not remain that way for long.

Smoke closed his eyes, sighing deeply, the ocean was always an unstable thing, soothing ripples one day and waves that curved like claws and ripped cats from the shore the next. There was nothing left for them here, prey dwindling, no shelter, cats turning one another, their desperation leading to fate's as cruel as Clay's mother. No, he wasn't about to sit here and wait for death. Something had to change.

─ & the place you need to reach.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

& if I fall, I fall

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

• 

  Smoke

  
  — Future RiverClanner (Shipcat)
  — He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  — Solid black tom w/vitiligo and one orange eye.
  #ff7d46
  
  

 

[willowburn]

(☾) curled next to smoke, willow hums a soft tune, head on her paws, letting the drizzle coat her misty dark fur. her brother provides slight warmth - he was always the fiery one - but he is on edge, tail lashing through murmurings from their surroundings. she is sure he thinks of the children, as she does, and she watches through half closed eyes as his ember gaze seeks the shore once more. they linger here only to converse with the cats who shelter amongst the low hanging trees. willow doesn't like that her brother has chosen to shelter away from the mass tonight, but he is too unsettled to bother arguing with.

the voice of the fluffy furred she-cat breaks the solemn silence, and willow swings her head, meeting sky hued eyes with her own fern green. ah. the molly who had ruined her catch the other day. an odd pair, these two make, their lush fur stuck up and icicle ridden. they look soft - too soft for the docks, or for the colony the molly now speaks of. when she had met them before, they had stunk of twolegplace. kittypets.

former, rather.

interest sparks in willow's brain as downy continues to speak, and although tufted ears flick at the complaining tone, she listens, ponders. it's not the worst idea, finding a place far from the ashes of the shipyard to call home. still, bay has a good point - these clans sound vicious. humming, willow draws herself up to a sitting position, gaze flitting to her brother as he sneers and disappears away towards their temporary home. turning back to downy, willow tilts their head. "we have numbers too," she points out. "how many cats did you see?"

WITH THE ECHOING HYMN ☾ OF MY FELLOW PASSERINE

• // " #979c88"
• 
• WILLOW ☾ SHE / THEY, SHIP-YARD CAT. 30 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a lithe black smoke feline with ghost striping and leaf green eyes. long smoky fur dashed through with grey and white adorns her frame, sliced across by darker stripes that frame her face and legs. eyes like sage, brilliantly green, gaze with an intelligent look. she is scarred across the bridge of her angular nose.