Post by flynn • on Jan 12, 2014 5:09:32 GMT -6
mousestep
i could be ball and chain; a satin noose
NAME: Mousestep
AGE: 12 moons
GENDER: She-cat
CLAN: ShadowClan
RANK: Warrior
around your neck: so breathe, if you can.
SHORT DESCRIPTION:
A small dusty-brown she-cat with bronze-coloured eyes.
APPEARANCE:
Mousestep is a warrior who lives up to her name. She's not tiny, but anything less than average stands out and she's used being teased about her stature. It helps that her sister, Fawnleap, was always smaller too, so they've learned how to deal with insults, whether veiled in comedy or otherwise. The two are almost identical in size and shape, except that Fawnleap is a little more muscular than her sister from all her bouncing, and Mousestep has a paler face. If Fawnleap would just sit still and Mousestep would stop scowling, the two would be almost identical.
Her coat is short and fairly fine, meaning that leafbare is naturally her least-favourite season, and her delicate paws are always half frozen when it snows. Still, she likes the dusty brown of her coat: it suits her bright, bronze-coloured eyes, and it's fairly good camouflage no matter what the weather's doing. She does sometimes wish for TigerClan stripes, but no-one ever got anywhere by wishing. Her face and paws are a slightly darker brown but are still paler than her sister's similar markings. According to ShadowClan's proud tradition, she's never been afraid of getting her paws dirty, or eating things that other clans might turn their noses up at. Her sharp little teeth will make quick work of any food that's offered her. If there's one thing that Mousestep can do, surprising in someone her size, it's eat.
Her build is what in a human might be called 'svelte'; her parents' beauty (and size) was definitely hereditary in this case. Unlike her namesake, Mousestep's limbs are all of a graceful length and, while she's far from the strongest cat, they're serviceable for catching quick prey. Being so small, birds of prey are a constant concern for the little warrior and she knows that one could carry her off fairly easily. If she weren't so smug, maybe she'd be flighty or pay more attention to the skies. At any rate, it's a good thing that, true to her name, she has the quietest paws of any cat she knows.
In fact, with her colouring and a delicate-looking build, Mousestep might almost be called 'pretty'. If she'd stop narrowing them so often, she'd have almond-shaped eyes of a burnished bronze; if they weren't so often flattened in disdain, you'd see her ears are large and expressive; and if she'd stop wrinkling her nose or snarling, maybe you'd recognise a pretty, delicately snubbed muzzle. That, unfortunately, is a lot of ifs.
Her coat is short and fairly fine, meaning that leafbare is naturally her least-favourite season, and her delicate paws are always half frozen when it snows. Still, she likes the dusty brown of her coat: it suits her bright, bronze-coloured eyes, and it's fairly good camouflage no matter what the weather's doing. She does sometimes wish for TigerClan stripes, but no-one ever got anywhere by wishing. Her face and paws are a slightly darker brown but are still paler than her sister's similar markings. According to ShadowClan's proud tradition, she's never been afraid of getting her paws dirty, or eating things that other clans might turn their noses up at. Her sharp little teeth will make quick work of any food that's offered her. If there's one thing that Mousestep can do, surprising in someone her size, it's eat.
Her build is what in a human might be called 'svelte'; her parents' beauty (and size) was definitely hereditary in this case. Unlike her namesake, Mousestep's limbs are all of a graceful length and, while she's far from the strongest cat, they're serviceable for catching quick prey. Being so small, birds of prey are a constant concern for the little warrior and she knows that one could carry her off fairly easily. If she weren't so smug, maybe she'd be flighty or pay more attention to the skies. At any rate, it's a good thing that, true to her name, she has the quietest paws of any cat she knows.
In fact, with her colouring and a delicate-looking build, Mousestep might almost be called 'pretty'. If she'd stop narrowing them so often, she'd have almond-shaped eyes of a burnished bronze; if they weren't so often flattened in disdain, you'd see her ears are large and expressive; and if she'd stop wrinkling her nose or snarling, maybe you'd recognise a pretty, delicately snubbed muzzle. That, unfortunately, is a lot of ifs.
i don't mean anything by being cruel
STRENGTHS:
- Observant - You’ll not slip much by her.
- Quick wit - an acid tongue and not afraid of giving demonstrations
- Skilled fighter.
- Good hunter, due to the following.
- Extremely quiet step.
WEAKNESSES:
- Pride - maybe it's best called 'vanity': she won't tolerate slights, even imaginary ones.
- Obtuse - she doesn't always recognise everything she sees for what it is.
- Foolhardy - there is literally no concern for her own well-being.
- Selfish.
- Small size
PERSONALITY:
Mousestep is what might best be described as snarky-- or maybe the word is 'sourpuss'. She hates inane chitchat with a passion bordering on excessive, which she is happy to verbalise when stressed-- "No, I will not talk about your foxdung of a day, what, it's exactly the same as yesterday: kits giving you trouble, no sleep, does it look like I care?" That would be one of her favourite phrases: 'does it look like I care?' is her go-to whenever a conversation veers away from the point. The acerbic temper doesn't stop there: to the list of things she hates add queens, kits, apprentices, elders, cats telling her what to do, cats who act like they know better than her, cats who won't speak up, cats who won't quiet down... of all the cats she's met, Mousestep probably hates all of them-- and probably gave them a reason to hate her right back.
Of course, hating inane chit-chat means that whatever angry spew she's working at behind her eyes, it doesn't always come out of her mouth. That's probably the reason that her sister's nickname for her (Mousebile) didn't become permanent when she was made a warrior. No, whatever Mousestep likes to say, it’s usually the refined stuff, the cutting words she knows hit a tender area-- if it's not going to get a reaction, what's the point? And even when it’s less important to her pride that she cut someone else down to size, her regular talk is usually littered with expletives. She just doesn't see the need to hold back where the cursing is concerned-- it's forever by StarClan's dirtpile this and foxdung that, even in front of the elders. Well, maybe not all the elders.
Mousestep does have one good thing going for her: if she'd put aside her snarky temperament for a minute, she's actually not a bad little actor, or conversationalist. Maybe, if she'd stop treating everything like a potential threat, she'd find that a pretty face and a quick tongue can get you more places than she's considered. It's not as if she didn't pay attention when the other she-cats and toms were enjoying their romantic trysts-- more that Mousestep always found something to dislike in the other toms. They were too dense, too obsessed with training, too slow, too proud, laughed at her size; but mostly, whatever else she complained about, there was one thing she hated most. No challenge.
Stuck-up and self-centred, Mousestep has never seen a reason to care for her clanmates: certainly she’ll keep in step, following her deputy’s orders and not going out of her way to cause trouble, but her fellow warriors she sees as old enough to care for themselves-- and therefore to nurse their own hurt feelings. She expects no soft treatment and will give none. In fights, though she lacks the physical size of most of her clanmates, she will give no quarter as long as she can stand. This is not the cat to come to if you want a shoulder to cry on.
Her respect is earned by blood and sweat-- blood being her family, and sweat being those who are willing to put in the hard hours to earn it. There are, of course, different levels of respect. Her family she respects as her elders, her betters (in every sense) and those who gave her life and who will tolerate her when no-one else can: for her part she is completely devoted to them. Family always comes first. For those who outrank her (the senior warriors, the deputy and the leader), her ‘respect’ is merely increased tolerance and a curbing of that legendary tongue: it is the rank alone that demands her respect, not necessarily the cat who holds it.
And yet, there are other forms of respect. Her ego means that she won’t appreciate talking with someone that she doesn’t see as being able to equal or better her in some way, and usually that means someone with a tongue as sharp as her own.
She does have a few cats that she hates slightly less than the rest of the world: her family. Her parents have only ever overheard her acid tongue purely by accident: for them, Mousestep is happy to do anything (though the uninitiated will find even this version recalcitrant and stubborn). Her sister, Fawnleap, is the other. The two were the only kits in their litter and, somehow, (probably due entirely to Fawnleap's infinitely more generous and loving personality) managed to grow up almost inseparable. Their relationship is extremely odd: the amount of teasing that goes on can seem deadly serious to other cats and it’s considered a wonder that they ever talk to each other at all. But Fawnleap and Mousestep know it’s all in good fun, and Mousestep is secretly grateful to 'ickle babby Fawnface' for being there to let off some steam with.
Of course, hating inane chit-chat means that whatever angry spew she's working at behind her eyes, it doesn't always come out of her mouth. That's probably the reason that her sister's nickname for her (Mousebile) didn't become permanent when she was made a warrior. No, whatever Mousestep likes to say, it’s usually the refined stuff, the cutting words she knows hit a tender area-- if it's not going to get a reaction, what's the point? And even when it’s less important to her pride that she cut someone else down to size, her regular talk is usually littered with expletives. She just doesn't see the need to hold back where the cursing is concerned-- it's forever by StarClan's dirtpile this and foxdung that, even in front of the elders. Well, maybe not all the elders.
Mousestep does have one good thing going for her: if she'd put aside her snarky temperament for a minute, she's actually not a bad little actor, or conversationalist. Maybe, if she'd stop treating everything like a potential threat, she'd find that a pretty face and a quick tongue can get you more places than she's considered. It's not as if she didn't pay attention when the other she-cats and toms were enjoying their romantic trysts-- more that Mousestep always found something to dislike in the other toms. They were too dense, too obsessed with training, too slow, too proud, laughed at her size; but mostly, whatever else she complained about, there was one thing she hated most. No challenge.
Stuck-up and self-centred, Mousestep has never seen a reason to care for her clanmates: certainly she’ll keep in step, following her deputy’s orders and not going out of her way to cause trouble, but her fellow warriors she sees as old enough to care for themselves-- and therefore to nurse their own hurt feelings. She expects no soft treatment and will give none. In fights, though she lacks the physical size of most of her clanmates, she will give no quarter as long as she can stand. This is not the cat to come to if you want a shoulder to cry on.
Her respect is earned by blood and sweat-- blood being her family, and sweat being those who are willing to put in the hard hours to earn it. There are, of course, different levels of respect. Her family she respects as her elders, her betters (in every sense) and those who gave her life and who will tolerate her when no-one else can: for her part she is completely devoted to them. Family always comes first. For those who outrank her (the senior warriors, the deputy and the leader), her ‘respect’ is merely increased tolerance and a curbing of that legendary tongue: it is the rank alone that demands her respect, not necessarily the cat who holds it.
And yet, there are other forms of respect. Her ego means that she won’t appreciate talking with someone that she doesn’t see as being able to equal or better her in some way, and usually that means someone with a tongue as sharp as her own.
She does have a few cats that she hates slightly less than the rest of the world: her family. Her parents have only ever overheard her acid tongue purely by accident: for them, Mousestep is happy to do anything (though the uninitiated will find even this version recalcitrant and stubborn). Her sister, Fawnleap, is the other. The two were the only kits in their litter and, somehow, (probably due entirely to Fawnleap's infinitely more generous and loving personality) managed to grow up almost inseparable. Their relationship is extremely odd: the amount of teasing that goes on can seem deadly serious to other cats and it’s considered a wonder that they ever talk to each other at all. But Fawnleap and Mousestep know it’s all in good fun, and Mousestep is secretly grateful to 'ickle babby Fawnface' for being there to let off some steam with.
to be kind; it's more than that.
MOTHER: Dustwhisker
FATHER: Mudfoot
SIBLINGS: Fawnleap
OTHER FAMILY: --
(there are some grandparents floating around somewhere and therefore probably an aunt or uncle, maybe a cousin)
MENTOR: Toadspots
HISTORY:
Fawnleap and Mousestep were the natural outcome of a long, passionate romance-- one the depth and strength of which that the other clans would have been surprised by, given ShadowClan’s reputation as wicked and unfeeling. The two apprentices were born to very young parents, Mudfoot and Dustwhisker, whose romance had been pure, simple and complete ever since the two had been apprentices together.
They were, like their parents, very small kits: dusty brown, identical in size, and gave no indication at all of the cats the two would grow up to be.
And grow they did-- well, metaphorically speaking at least. Mousekit’s earliest days were spent distancing herself from anyone who tried to touch her, clamping down with toothless jaws on any paw that strayed too close. Fawnkit was much more affectionate, forever snuggling into her mother’s side and rubbing her sightless face against her father’s paws whenever he came to visit. This was a trend that didn’t change much as their eyes opened (baby blue that would soon fade to pale, gleaming yellow), with Mousekit rejecting her family’s attempts at physical contact. Their parents used to joke that Mousekit was getting left out, even as the blue-eyed monster tried to nip or claw anyone who invaded her personal space.
As older kits, it was Fawnkit who took an interest in the other kittens and was the first to make friends. The sisters had been on uncertain ground before then, but it seemed like this was where their relationship was destined to stall. For all Dustwhisker’s urging, Mousekit actively rejected her mother’s attempts to push her daughter into playing… but she did hide in the foliage around camp and watch Fawnkit and her friends with narrowed yellow eyes. And really, wasn’t it always going to be Fawnleap who pulled her sister out of her shell? One day, when the darker sister was playing outside and Mousekit was sitting in one of her favourite spots, plotting to jump out and tackle her sister as she went past, she was spotted. The two of them were caught in a claws-sheathed war, Fawnkit opening well by tackling her sister to the floor and standing on her shoulders, but Mousekit recovering and wriggling out. They lost the enthusiasm for physical fighting very quickly and stood there, just mewing in high-pitched anger at each other, until the other kits came to see what was going on and Mousekit, grudgingly, joined the fun. The two of them, no matter what their failings and fall-outs, remained close ever since.
It was the day of apprenticeship that Mousekit was waiting for. Cooped up in the nursery, subjected to a mother’s bathing and scolding and ordering and a father’s praising and hugging and commanding, that was not her idea of fun. She wanted to be a warrior --unlike her sister. Fawnkit’s nightmares were the first thing the little warrior can remember actually being concerned about, and despite their both being fully-fledged warriors now, Mousestep still worries about her sister and fighting.
She was apprenticed with her sister, and while Fawnpaw received the imposing-looking warrior Sandfur, her own mentor was… less spectacular. Toadspots was a scrawny tortoiseshell she-cat; and Mousepaw took one look at her mentor and wrinkled her nose as tightly as it would allow. This was not a cat she wanted to learn from. But whatever first impressions told her, Toadspots was a warrior with strong ideas about apprentices-- indeed, she had had two before. The warrior was confident that she could handle one more sour-looking apprentice.
Mousepaw’s first day under that name saw her separated from her sister, and that put her into a foul enough mood to begin with. Toadspots took her on the traditional run of the territory, but the she-cat also held the view that it was never too early to start learning, and wasted no time in throwing her apprentice off the deep end. She quickly found in Mousepaw a hard-headed apprentice who was dreadful at taking criticism and hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do with herself. It is a testament to the warrior’s patience that she did not drag Mousepaw back to camp by her ear then and there and demand someone else take on that dreadful apprentice. Toadspots’ patience and sternly-worded threats (which Mousepaw quickly learned were not idle) were the only thing that got Mousepaw to learn anything at all that day. With time, patience and effort, Toadspots would manage to refine her raw and undisciplined apprentice into a warrior worthy of the title-- but not before Mousepaw gave her more than her fair share of silver hairs.
(If such things interest you, Mousepaw vividly remembers Toadspots’ first imaginative punishment for her. Her mentor sat in the corner of ShadowClan camp, grinning the smuggest grin she’d ever seen. Meanwhile, Mousepaw plastered a hideous facsimile of a smile to her face and walked up to each cat as they finished with their fresh-kill. “Please, let me take that for you,” she had to mew, sweetly and politely. Those were not words in Mousepaw’s vocabulary-- and even at that age she had been cultivating a very colourful one. Every time Mousepaw failed to engage in at least another few seconds of pleasant conversation, she would catch Toadspot’s smile fading, her eyes narrowing, and have to go back and finish the exercise. Burying her small mountain of other people’s leftovers was a walk across WindClan by comparison.)
In her kithood, unlike some of the other kits, Mousekit had grown up with no reason to visit the elders’ den or the medicine cat. Apprentice duties were to be her first taste of those worlds. Toadspots usually preferred her unusual punishments to the tired old clean-the-elders-den or help-the-medicine-cat routine, and since already she had two fine warriors to her credit, the leader was willing to oblige her.
Mousepaw never exactly enjoyed any aspect of her training. She never came to adore her mentor as Fawnleap did, and she never took any pleasure in critique, or learning, or even getting up in the morning for that matter. But Mousepaw did have a naturally soft tread, and her mentor seized on that, persuading Mousepaw to work on her step in her own time. Being able to sneak up on her clanmates proved a useful and often hilarious skill, so it was little wonder that this was an area where Mousepaw excelled. Once that was down, hunting became a darn sight easier. She would never come to love it as her sister did, but she appreciated it: it was therapeutic and, unlike sparring, it usually ended with her sinking her teeth into some creature's miserable neck. She came to enjoy fighting most because it was an area where she received the most praise-- and because it was the only area of her training where Toadspots exhorted her to be less enthusiastic. Fighting was therapeutic too, in its own way: the cat before her was target practice only, something that she could lose herself in the reading of, a thing whose feelings she didn't need to concern herself about and whose only designation was enemy. She learned every one of her fighting moves by heart, as all warriors do, and did her utmost to flow through each one as fast and efficiently as she could: the ability to predict her opponent's movement and trick, lure, rearrange and then defeat. It wasn't individual technique that fascinated her so much as the quick switch, the fluid movement. What as a kit she'd dismissed as uncouth morons hitting each other until one stopped could be beautiful, even useful. Her tongue was a thing that she could refine as much as her technique.
Most mentors manage to instil virtues into their apprentices, by the simple fact of being who they are or the way they teach. Toadspots taught technique, discipline and a good work ethic, but as far as persuading her apprentice of the importance of the warrior code or the value of dedicating yourself to your clan, these were lessons that Mousepaw either forgot or actively resisted. The only thing Mousepaw ever wanted or needed was her family. The other apprentices laughed at her and her sister-- because they were small, because Fawnpaw didn't like fighting: any reason, really. All the toms were stupid and all the she-cats too. Still, even if her loyalties aren't to ShadowClan first, Mousestep managed to embody the virtues that every clan's nightmare ShadowClan warrior embodies: a silent tread, a love of battle and no compunctions about the warrior code in the pursuit of what she wants.
Her warrior ceremony came following a much more important meeting with her mentor. Toadspots had done the traditional testing of an apprentice too often to know that the system was unnecessary: if your apprentice was ready, you knew, and that was all there was to it. Instead, she sat her apprentice down on the furthest edge of ShadowClan and stared at her for a few minutes. Mousepaw couldn't pass up the opportunity to wave a paw in front of her mentor's face and mew, "Anyone in there?"
Toadspots pushed her apprentice's paw out of the way.
"Mousepaw." she sighed, shook her head. "You'll be trouble for ShadowClan, I hope you appreciate that."
Right on cue, the apprentice grinned a slit-eyed grin: "Aww, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
She was summarily ignored; Toadspots never rose to the bait any more, but that didn't mean that Mousepaw couldn't see her squirming inside.
"The leader is going to make you swear to uphold the warrior code tomorrow," the she-cat murmured.
Mousepaw rolled her eyes and began to rattle off the list: "Defend ShadowClan; no trespassing; feed the weaklings before yourself; no killing the pretty mice unless you want nomnoms; apprentices must be six moons old; vigils; deputies must have had as many apprentices as Toadspots, blah blah, blah, and again I say blah." She flicked her tail, scowled. "I get it. Listen to a bunch of old dead guys."
"And defend ShadowClan at the cost of your life."
"Too cheap. What about at the cost of your life?" the apprentice dead-panned.
Toadspots hissed through her teeth. "For once won't you listen, Mousepaw! I'm going to keep you an apprentice until you can accept the importance of this vow."
Mousepaw stared at her mentor through narrowed eyes, gauging her seriousness. Her mentor seemed perfectly resolute, but by this time Mousepaw knew better.
"That's not a punishment for me," the apprentice meowed coolly. "That seems more like punishment for you."
She spotted Toadspot's flinch before the warrior could stop herself and pressed on, "Perfect miss Toadspots, with her two amazing apprentices now wonderful ShadowClan warriors! What's wrong with her now, hmm?" she adopted a lightly sing-song tone, laced with venom. "Is she getting old? Is she getting tired? Don't you think it's time the poor old dear retired?"
She could see how deep her words were cutting in Toadspots' eyes. She tried so hard to conceal her feelings, dear Toadspots, but six moons getting to know a cat went both ways. And Mousepaw knew what her mentor feared most.
The apprentice pulled a face of mock surprise. "But doesn't she so want to be deputy? Hasn't she worked so hard? Well, if she can't manage just one little apprentice, how will she deal with a whole clan? No," and her voice dropped into a honeyed purr. "No, Toadspots has had it. Bramblescar would be a much better choice."
In Toadspots' measured stare, one that wouldn't quite meet the apprentice's eyes, Mousepaw knew that she had her.
And so it was that, in spite of Mousestep's numerous character flaws, Toadspots wouldn't speak up. The two were probably equally glad to see the back of each other. Toadspots is still hoping for that promotion, but Mousestep is free of her mentor and free to do as she will. And with Fawnleap by her side and a warrior name of her own, freedom has never tasted so sweet.
They were, like their parents, very small kits: dusty brown, identical in size, and gave no indication at all of the cats the two would grow up to be.
And grow they did-- well, metaphorically speaking at least. Mousekit’s earliest days were spent distancing herself from anyone who tried to touch her, clamping down with toothless jaws on any paw that strayed too close. Fawnkit was much more affectionate, forever snuggling into her mother’s side and rubbing her sightless face against her father’s paws whenever he came to visit. This was a trend that didn’t change much as their eyes opened (baby blue that would soon fade to pale, gleaming yellow), with Mousekit rejecting her family’s attempts at physical contact. Their parents used to joke that Mousekit was getting left out, even as the blue-eyed monster tried to nip or claw anyone who invaded her personal space.
As older kits, it was Fawnkit who took an interest in the other kittens and was the first to make friends. The sisters had been on uncertain ground before then, but it seemed like this was where their relationship was destined to stall. For all Dustwhisker’s urging, Mousekit actively rejected her mother’s attempts to push her daughter into playing… but she did hide in the foliage around camp and watch Fawnkit and her friends with narrowed yellow eyes. And really, wasn’t it always going to be Fawnleap who pulled her sister out of her shell? One day, when the darker sister was playing outside and Mousekit was sitting in one of her favourite spots, plotting to jump out and tackle her sister as she went past, she was spotted. The two of them were caught in a claws-sheathed war, Fawnkit opening well by tackling her sister to the floor and standing on her shoulders, but Mousekit recovering and wriggling out. They lost the enthusiasm for physical fighting very quickly and stood there, just mewing in high-pitched anger at each other, until the other kits came to see what was going on and Mousekit, grudgingly, joined the fun. The two of them, no matter what their failings and fall-outs, remained close ever since.
It was the day of apprenticeship that Mousekit was waiting for. Cooped up in the nursery, subjected to a mother’s bathing and scolding and ordering and a father’s praising and hugging and commanding, that was not her idea of fun. She wanted to be a warrior --unlike her sister. Fawnkit’s nightmares were the first thing the little warrior can remember actually being concerned about, and despite their both being fully-fledged warriors now, Mousestep still worries about her sister and fighting.
She was apprenticed with her sister, and while Fawnpaw received the imposing-looking warrior Sandfur, her own mentor was… less spectacular. Toadspots was a scrawny tortoiseshell she-cat; and Mousepaw took one look at her mentor and wrinkled her nose as tightly as it would allow. This was not a cat she wanted to learn from. But whatever first impressions told her, Toadspots was a warrior with strong ideas about apprentices-- indeed, she had had two before. The warrior was confident that she could handle one more sour-looking apprentice.
Mousepaw’s first day under that name saw her separated from her sister, and that put her into a foul enough mood to begin with. Toadspots took her on the traditional run of the territory, but the she-cat also held the view that it was never too early to start learning, and wasted no time in throwing her apprentice off the deep end. She quickly found in Mousepaw a hard-headed apprentice who was dreadful at taking criticism and hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do with herself. It is a testament to the warrior’s patience that she did not drag Mousepaw back to camp by her ear then and there and demand someone else take on that dreadful apprentice. Toadspots’ patience and sternly-worded threats (which Mousepaw quickly learned were not idle) were the only thing that got Mousepaw to learn anything at all that day. With time, patience and effort, Toadspots would manage to refine her raw and undisciplined apprentice into a warrior worthy of the title-- but not before Mousepaw gave her more than her fair share of silver hairs.
(If such things interest you, Mousepaw vividly remembers Toadspots’ first imaginative punishment for her. Her mentor sat in the corner of ShadowClan camp, grinning the smuggest grin she’d ever seen. Meanwhile, Mousepaw plastered a hideous facsimile of a smile to her face and walked up to each cat as they finished with their fresh-kill. “Please, let me take that for you,” she had to mew, sweetly and politely. Those were not words in Mousepaw’s vocabulary-- and even at that age she had been cultivating a very colourful one. Every time Mousepaw failed to engage in at least another few seconds of pleasant conversation, she would catch Toadspot’s smile fading, her eyes narrowing, and have to go back and finish the exercise. Burying her small mountain of other people’s leftovers was a walk across WindClan by comparison.)
In her kithood, unlike some of the other kits, Mousekit had grown up with no reason to visit the elders’ den or the medicine cat. Apprentice duties were to be her first taste of those worlds. Toadspots usually preferred her unusual punishments to the tired old clean-the-elders-den or help-the-medicine-cat routine, and since already she had two fine warriors to her credit, the leader was willing to oblige her.
Mousepaw never exactly enjoyed any aspect of her training. She never came to adore her mentor as Fawnleap did, and she never took any pleasure in critique, or learning, or even getting up in the morning for that matter. But Mousepaw did have a naturally soft tread, and her mentor seized on that, persuading Mousepaw to work on her step in her own time. Being able to sneak up on her clanmates proved a useful and often hilarious skill, so it was little wonder that this was an area where Mousepaw excelled. Once that was down, hunting became a darn sight easier. She would never come to love it as her sister did, but she appreciated it: it was therapeutic and, unlike sparring, it usually ended with her sinking her teeth into some creature's miserable neck. She came to enjoy fighting most because it was an area where she received the most praise-- and because it was the only area of her training where Toadspots exhorted her to be less enthusiastic. Fighting was therapeutic too, in its own way: the cat before her was target practice only, something that she could lose herself in the reading of, a thing whose feelings she didn't need to concern herself about and whose only designation was enemy. She learned every one of her fighting moves by heart, as all warriors do, and did her utmost to flow through each one as fast and efficiently as she could: the ability to predict her opponent's movement and trick, lure, rearrange and then defeat. It wasn't individual technique that fascinated her so much as the quick switch, the fluid movement. What as a kit she'd dismissed as uncouth morons hitting each other until one stopped could be beautiful, even useful. Her tongue was a thing that she could refine as much as her technique.
Most mentors manage to instil virtues into their apprentices, by the simple fact of being who they are or the way they teach. Toadspots taught technique, discipline and a good work ethic, but as far as persuading her apprentice of the importance of the warrior code or the value of dedicating yourself to your clan, these were lessons that Mousepaw either forgot or actively resisted. The only thing Mousepaw ever wanted or needed was her family. The other apprentices laughed at her and her sister-- because they were small, because Fawnpaw didn't like fighting: any reason, really. All the toms were stupid and all the she-cats too. Still, even if her loyalties aren't to ShadowClan first, Mousestep managed to embody the virtues that every clan's nightmare ShadowClan warrior embodies: a silent tread, a love of battle and no compunctions about the warrior code in the pursuit of what she wants.
Her warrior ceremony came following a much more important meeting with her mentor. Toadspots had done the traditional testing of an apprentice too often to know that the system was unnecessary: if your apprentice was ready, you knew, and that was all there was to it. Instead, she sat her apprentice down on the furthest edge of ShadowClan and stared at her for a few minutes. Mousepaw couldn't pass up the opportunity to wave a paw in front of her mentor's face and mew, "Anyone in there?"
Toadspots pushed her apprentice's paw out of the way.
"Mousepaw." she sighed, shook her head. "You'll be trouble for ShadowClan, I hope you appreciate that."
Right on cue, the apprentice grinned a slit-eyed grin: "Aww, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
She was summarily ignored; Toadspots never rose to the bait any more, but that didn't mean that Mousepaw couldn't see her squirming inside.
"The leader is going to make you swear to uphold the warrior code tomorrow," the she-cat murmured.
Mousepaw rolled her eyes and began to rattle off the list: "Defend ShadowClan; no trespassing; feed the weaklings before yourself; no killing the pretty mice unless you want nomnoms; apprentices must be six moons old; vigils; deputies must have had as many apprentices as Toadspots, blah blah, blah, and again I say blah." She flicked her tail, scowled. "I get it. Listen to a bunch of old dead guys."
"And defend ShadowClan at the cost of your life."
"Too cheap. What about at the cost of your life?" the apprentice dead-panned.
Toadspots hissed through her teeth. "For once won't you listen, Mousepaw! I'm going to keep you an apprentice until you can accept the importance of this vow."
Mousepaw stared at her mentor through narrowed eyes, gauging her seriousness. Her mentor seemed perfectly resolute, but by this time Mousepaw knew better.
"That's not a punishment for me," the apprentice meowed coolly. "That seems more like punishment for you."
She spotted Toadspot's flinch before the warrior could stop herself and pressed on, "Perfect miss Toadspots, with her two amazing apprentices now wonderful ShadowClan warriors! What's wrong with her now, hmm?" she adopted a lightly sing-song tone, laced with venom. "Is she getting old? Is she getting tired? Don't you think it's time the poor old dear retired?"
She could see how deep her words were cutting in Toadspots' eyes. She tried so hard to conceal her feelings, dear Toadspots, but six moons getting to know a cat went both ways. And Mousepaw knew what her mentor feared most.
The apprentice pulled a face of mock surprise. "But doesn't she so want to be deputy? Hasn't she worked so hard? Well, if she can't manage just one little apprentice, how will she deal with a whole clan? No," and her voice dropped into a honeyed purr. "No, Toadspots has had it. Bramblescar would be a much better choice."
In Toadspots' measured stare, one that wouldn't quite meet the apprentice's eyes, Mousepaw knew that she had her.
And so it was that, in spite of Mousestep's numerous character flaws, Toadspots wouldn't speak up. The two were probably equally glad to see the back of each other. Toadspots is still hoping for that promotion, but Mousestep is free of her mentor and free to do as she will. And with Fawnleap by her side and a warrior name of her own, freedom has never tasted so sweet.
no i'm not kidding: it's tough enough to verbalise, or sympathise.
ROLE-PLAYER: Flynn, Fallen, Manuka~
WRITING SAMPLE:
See Ashrose.
Lyrics: Breather by Stellar*
