The Scars Still Sting | Wasptongue Intro

[Wasptongue]

{$title} Intro

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How many moons had it been?

She counted them in her head as she sat weaving new, broken twigs into the mess of multicolored fur she had. Her eyes distant, clouded with thoughts not on her actual actions. It had been so long. The counting was getting fuzzy as she dipped down past when she was ten moons old.

It was a small fluffy fragment of a memory. Bigger paws weaving little flowers into her fur. The smile on her face as looked up, a thin tortoiseshell face smiling back. Her eyes fluttered, coming back out of the fog of remembrance. Funny how she kept doing this, weaving objects into her fur, even after. It was the one thing she kept close to her heart. The one thing that let her feel close to her.

Her mother. She remembered her mother would tell her stories. Often about how she was gifted with the name "Wasp'. In fact, this story was the origin of Wasptongue's whole litter having the names of stinging insects. Something to do with her father, trying to impress her mother, startled a wasp nest while showing off. He had been stung relentlessly. Now she was fifteen moons...and that story felt more like a fairytale than ever.

Wasptongue lifted her head from what she was doing. She was struggling to get the leaves and berries to sit right in her fur. She wondered if her sister was around. She usually knew Wasp's gruff tones and would figure out quickly she wanted help. She just didn't often want to say it out loud. Her father taught her early on how that goes.

Their father had changed since their mother's accident. One day their mother was here, a ray of sunshine that warmed your heart to the brim. The next moment she was snatched by a fox. She had been on a hunt, alone. It had been sunset by the time anyone knew something was wrong. Perhaps complacent in the comfort that so many other cats were around.

Wasp grimaced, nose pinching into an even crease over her muzzle. They should have known better by now. Wasp's grandmother and her father's older brother both suffered the same fate. Taken by a much larger, hungrier beast. Perhaps that was why Wasptongue found herself keeping tabs on her siblings. Counting the markers, positions of the sun, to be sure they were safe. If they were late from a patrol or the like, Wasp was usually the first to go looking for the patrol. Sometimes getting told off when she stopped a specific duty at the time.

Wasp's father was a different matter. There was a large rift between the children and their sire. Since the death of their sweet matriarch, the tom had no time left over for his three kits. Wasp learned fast how much her problems and emotions were not tolerated around the male. So instead she busied herself with those worth her time. Her little sister in particular. Wasp was firmly in the belief her brother could handle himself. Though it didn't stop her from swinging by to check on him when he seemed particularly off. The torbie let out a long heavy sigh. Her thick haunches shifting her bulky weight.

Unlike her little sister, Wasptongue was gifted with the same bulkiness as her father. She had accepted she wasn't that pretty. At least to her own phrase of the word. She regarded herself as more akin to rugged. She didn't quite believe she could ever be as adorable as her sister seemed to be. A short half tail, covered in long plush fur, and a set of sharp curved ears she sported in kind with her siblings. Her fur decorated with scars, one in particular slashed across her face. They were badges from her battles. Another moment she would be able to look over the broken fragments of her family. Her curved ears slid back as her half-lidded, bored eyes searched for her sister. Hoping that the calico would help her fix the silly little leaves that now sat awkwardly on her head and hips.

 

[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 Wasptongue from the edge of the clearing, their gaze as steady and unreadable as ever. The torbie's frustration is evident, though she masks it well. Her movements are purposeful but tense, like she's trying too hard not to care, and yet, here she is. Cicadabuzz understands this ritual well. The act of threading the past into the present, as if it might somehow hold everything together. They, too, have learned to carry their memories in the weight of dried herbs and petals pressed into their fur. Not because it comforts them, but because it grounds them, ties them to something beyond the endless turning of time. Still, Cicadabuzz does not step forward immediately. They are not the sort to rush into another's grief, nor do they believe in soft words to ease wounds that have long since hardened into scars. Instead, they simply observe, taking in the way Wasptongue's ears twitch with impatience, the way her haunches shift restlessly beneath her thick pelt. She is not one for asking, not even when she needs it.

Cicadabuzz respects that.

So when they finally approach, it is without preamble. They settle beside Wasptongue with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who has never once hurried for another's comfort. Their paw reaches out, plucking a misplaced leaf from her fur with careful precision. "You've tangled them wrong," they murmur, voice low and even. Not a criticism, simply a fact. Their claws work deftly, untwisting and resetting the arrangement with the efficiency of someone who has spent seasons weaving herbs for storage, binding leaves into neat bundles. For a moment, there is only the quiet rustle of their work, the steady touch of Cicadabuzz's paws against Wasptongue's thick coat. They do not ask about the memories that weigh on her. Instead, they finish their work, stepping back to inspect it with a slight tilt of their head. It is neater now, the leaves and berries woven properly, sitting flush against Wasptongue's fur rather than awkwardly atop it. Cicadabuzz does not smile, but there is a certain satisfaction in their expression. A job well done. A moment acknowledged, if not spoken outright.

They glance at Wasptongue then, unreadable as ever. "If you want it done properly next time, you'll have to ask."

 

[Wasptongue]

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Wasptongue was at first startled by the approach. Her head jerking up slightly, causing the leaves behind her ear to tilt awkwardly. It was a quick motion, instinctual. She wasn't much for others in her space. Though for some reason she tolerated it well. Her sister being a prime example of her indifference. So when Ciadabuzz reached over silently to fix the awkward weaving in her fur, Wasp only leaned her hefty body slight to allow polite access. Her expression reverting to that of a grumpy child. She would never admit to it though. After all she didn't have much time to be a kit. Not with the father she had...

"Hmph" she grunted in response to the claim she tangled them wrong. Yeah she was used to fact she did SOMTHING wrong. Her ears swiveled back, trying not to be in the way. She let them help. After all what use was there throwing a fit right now. She didn't have the energy. Her green eyes flicked up when they were done. Noting the expression as perhaps now she didn't look like a bird with un-preened feathers.

"...Fat chance..." She muttered to them as they said she would have the ask next time. She hated asking for help. Her father instilled that part of her fairly early. She would rather put that energy to what she found useful. Usually everything but, caring for her own well-being. She often passed it off as duty. But deep down...everything she did was in hopes that someone would connect with her. Friend, rival...anything it didn't matter. With her siblings having their own lives outside of her. Wasp felt so incredibly lonely. Wanting something but, taught from birth closeness hurts and to fear it's pain.

"...Thanks or...Whatever." She cringed at herself for sounding like a moody apprentice. But she couldn't figure out what to say on top of that. She was so awkward around everyone. Even her siblings yet, they were the ones who knew what she actually meant. She shifted softly back and forth mumbling a little before she actually raised her voice.

"You see my lil' sis anywhere lately...she was supposed to be here a while ago." Of course her conversation piece was about her sister. If it hadn't been then her brother would be the subject. She felt like a kit clinging to her siblings for some sort of grounding in social society.

"Just...asking..."