Post by KIWITAIL on Oct 23, 2016 22:21:31 GMT
He was angry.
Of course, that's a vague statement to make; anger is a multi faceted emotion and, indeed, when it came to the bitter warrior known as Kiwitail, it was prone to rearing its ugly head in the most unique of ways. Alas, a failed hunt had him slinking almost shamefully back into the depths of camp, a knot of coiled rage burning deep inside his chest. For StarClan's sake, who knew an injured mouse could run so fast? Bollocks, the whole lot of it. Some innocuous conspiracy to curdle his mood even further, no doubt. It wouldn't at all surprise him if that was the case, at this point.
But I digress. Yes, Kiwitail was mad, and perhaps that is an understatement, for one look at his hunched shoulders and the sour glint alight in his frosted green eyes, and one wouldn't at all be mistaken in just how awful a mood this young cat had found himself tangled within. The moors dipped to the wide open hollow of WindClan camp, and his paws tread a worn path as he slipped back down into its comforting expanse. Already he could feel their eyes burning scorched holes beneath his skin - some might say he was just being paranoid, but he didn't miss a kitten's glance as it skirted over his form, or a wandering apprentice's mocking murmur as he brushed past on his way out of Camp.
They were judging him. He could practically smell their discernment.
It was with this that, snorting out an aggravated huff, the tomcat picked up his pace and sprung to a halt by the fresh kill pile. He rounded a few times on his tail, treading a perfect circle, until finally he collapsed into a tight ball of absolute salty annoyance, made clear by the way his tail tip twitched and flicked, and the scowl woven taught upon his lips.
Maybe he was asking for it - making a big show of himself in the middle of camp, well, it was bound to attract a few wandering eyes. Of course it wasn't his fault, no, not at all - every glance he was spared held a mocking innuendo, and even the most minute of looks had his flesh crawling like maggots writhed beneath his fur. Don't come over, don't come over...Alone time - he needed it, more than anything else right now.
Of course, the middle of Camp wasn't exactly the most private of places to have a tantrum, but I digress.
Of course, that's a vague statement to make; anger is a multi faceted emotion and, indeed, when it came to the bitter warrior known as Kiwitail, it was prone to rearing its ugly head in the most unique of ways. Alas, a failed hunt had him slinking almost shamefully back into the depths of camp, a knot of coiled rage burning deep inside his chest. For StarClan's sake, who knew an injured mouse could run so fast? Bollocks, the whole lot of it. Some innocuous conspiracy to curdle his mood even further, no doubt. It wouldn't at all surprise him if that was the case, at this point.
But I digress. Yes, Kiwitail was mad, and perhaps that is an understatement, for one look at his hunched shoulders and the sour glint alight in his frosted green eyes, and one wouldn't at all be mistaken in just how awful a mood this young cat had found himself tangled within. The moors dipped to the wide open hollow of WindClan camp, and his paws tread a worn path as he slipped back down into its comforting expanse. Already he could feel their eyes burning scorched holes beneath his skin - some might say he was just being paranoid, but he didn't miss a kitten's glance as it skirted over his form, or a wandering apprentice's mocking murmur as he brushed past on his way out of Camp.
They were judging him. He could practically smell their discernment.
It was with this that, snorting out an aggravated huff, the tomcat picked up his pace and sprung to a halt by the fresh kill pile. He rounded a few times on his tail, treading a perfect circle, until finally he collapsed into a tight ball of absolute salty annoyance, made clear by the way his tail tip twitched and flicked, and the scowl woven taught upon his lips.
Maybe he was asking for it - making a big show of himself in the middle of camp, well, it was bound to attract a few wandering eyes. Of course it wasn't his fault, no, not at all - every glance he was spared held a mocking innuendo, and even the most minute of looks had his flesh crawling like maggots writhed beneath his fur. Don't come over, don't come over...Alone time - he needed it, more than anything else right now.
Of course, the middle of Camp wasn't exactly the most private of places to have a tantrum, but I digress.
words: 438 | tagged: @open | ooc: wake me up inside [can't wake up] wake me up inside [save me] edgelord2000 strikes again
