Open Prompt Event Camp SNACK THAT SMILES BACK ✦ STRANGE REFLECTION

[MIREPURR]

In time, all settles. Mirepurr's chest heaves with the cold, refreshing air being herded into their lungs — the temperature keeps their mind fresh, in sharp contrast to humid summers that make them sweat and wish to curl up to sleep somewhere cool. With a twitch of their whiskers in contained amusement, they can't help but compare ShadowClan affairs to specks of dust, floating slowly in rays of light. No matter the amount, those always finally reach the ground and settle... just like the political matters lately that have so far only served to cause Mirepurr anxiety.

The marsh starts to feel like home. It's really theirs now, thanks to Sablestar, and it is about time they, too, start to enjoy it despite the bloody history. Cats so young they still have kit-fluff sticking to their form reminds Mirepurr of what matters most; cats like Stoatkit, Lightkit and Tusslekit. Even the bigger and fierce ones like Fleapaw... those make it all worth it.

Today, Mirepurr focuses on themself. They had taken it easy, apart from an early morning hunt to ensure no belly goes hungry. One must first take care of their own selves before being able to help others.

Today, the drizzle is so light that they barely feel it due to their thick coat, but ShadowClan's home feels it all the same. Leaves that had not withered from the frigid air droop now under the weight of raindrops; puddles gather in the occasional dips in camp. Mirepurr shakes the wetness from one paw only to lower it into the mud once more, creeping up on one of these self-forming pools.

Blue eyes stare back. Mirepurr's reflection is only broken by the gentle yet incessant pour. And yet... something tells them to keep looking, to make unnerving eye contact with themself, until...

"Woah-"

Their tail fluffs up and comes to their aid — it acts like a shield in front of their body —, but it only serves to accidentally dip into the puddle and thus create a spray.

"What was that?"

Mirepurr exclaims, swearing that somebody else had peered up at them from the ground. That can't be possible, though... there is nobody right next to them, and they surely would have noticed a kit or apprentice sneaking up on them. With now less confident steps, they approach the puddle once more, but there is nothing interesting about it. It's just an innocent puddle.

Mirepurr feels eyes on themself, and they sheepishly meet the gaze of whoever had stumbled upon their silly show.

"I think I'm seeing things."

Embarrassment keeps them warm against the weather.

SHADOWCLAN HAUNTING PROMPT
your character uses the reflection of a puddle to try and clear the muck off their face, and they swear they can see another face but- they blink- it's gone

 

[cicadabuzz]

CICADABUZZ, 27 moons / shc + med. cat
a SH cinnamon tabby/chocolate tortie chimera w/ black eyes
parent to deathberrykit, hemlockkit, mistletoekit
a reserved, pragmatic healer driven by duty rather than sentiment

Cicadabuzz watches from the cover of a nearby bramble, their pale gaze steady, unreadable. The drizzle weaves a soft, whispering rhythm against the sodden earth, and they move with it—fluid, unhurried, their paws pressing into the damp soil without sound. They had not meant to linger, but the sight of Mirepurr staring so intently into the puddle had given them pause. There had been something about it, about the stillness of their reflection before they startled, as if some deeper truth had stirred beneath the surface of the water. Cicadabuzz does not believe in omens the way some do, but they recognize a moment when it lingers heavier than it should. They step forward now, emerging into view with the same quiet ease, their coat blending into the marsh's muted tones. Raindrops cling to their whiskers, catch on the leaves that brush against their pelt as they move. Their expression does not shift when Mirepurr turns toward them, flustered, ears slightly back with the remnants of whatever had unsettled them.

"I think I'm seeing things."

Cicadabuzz lets the words settle between them like the raindrops slipping from leaf to earth. They do not immediately answer. Instead, they lower their gaze to the puddle, scanning its surface as if they, too, might catch whatever had startled Mirepurr. The water is restless in the drizzle, rippling outward in small disturbances. It reflects nothing now except the trembling sky and the dark outline of their own form. "Perhaps you are." Their voice is level, neither dismissive nor indulgent. "Or perhaps not." They flick their tail, dislodging a few clinging drops of water. It is not a comforting statement, nor is it meant to be. They do not deal in reassurances for the sake of easing worry; they deal in possibilities. Mirepurr's reaction was real, and real things have causes, even if they are not immediately understood.

Cicadabuzz studies them now, noting the lingering tension in their fur, the way their paws seem poised between retreat and investigation. They are uncertain, rattled. Whatever they had seen—or thought they had seen—had struck something deeper than just a trick of the light. The marsh around them exhales, heavy with the scent of damp earth and leaf rot. A distant croak of a frog punctuates the quiet. Cicadabuzz finally moves, stepping closer, their paws sinking slightly into the mud. They lower their nose toward the puddle, their breath barely disturbing its surface.