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Post by Deleted on Mar 2, 2015 18:54:41 GMT -5
Redscar strode confidently towards the medicine cat den, for no other reason than he had been instructed to. If he wasn't blatantly told to go see a medicine cat he would skip the opportunity ten out of ten times, even if he had just come back from a border scuffle with Treeclan. In his mind it had been a good day, what had started out as a boring border patrol had wound up turning into his own little slice of heaven for a few minutes. To make things even better nobody but him had sustained injury, discounting Treeclan cats that was as he saw too it each of them got a mark to remember him by. Eventually they had pulled back and the whole fight could have been deemed pointless, but not to him as he had loved every second of it. The fiery warrior didn't have an aversion to the medicine cats, he actually rather liked Snowheart and thought that Rookfrost was tolerable. He questioned his ethics sometimes but always assumed it had just been hard to transition from warrior to medicine cat, and some of his past life would always be showing through. What he really wanted to avoid was needless fussing over him, if he wasn't going to die he could lick his own wounds and handle his torn out claws all on his own. Don't even get him started on splinters either, how is that deemed a duty worthy of a medicine cat? Redscar figured a warrior could remove their own splinter, they weren't feeble... usually. Stalking into the medicine cat's den he spotted Rookfrost and quickly started spitting out his ailments, as he had always done. He didn't know if the former warrior preferred his methods, but Redscar figured he at least wasted no time. "Left front foot, torn out claw. Right side, large bleeding scratch. Various other scratches and scrapes." It was as if he had done this before... many, many times. Fawn
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Post by Fawn on Mar 3, 2015 9:52:19 GMT -5
⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐
A single curving white claw stirred the contents of a shallow pool, long stalks of horsetail floating in the murky, peaty water near the medicine cat's den. If any cat were looking for a drink, they would have to go elsewhere—unless they happened to prefer the unpalatable taste of horsetail. The den was, Rookfrost regarded with a certain detached satisfaction, empty. No patients to take up nest-space and get underpaw as the black healer worked to keep his tireless paws busy, his mind running far beyond the little dark hole in the ground to the lavender-scented hollow somewhere at the edge of the mountains. To his credit, he was capable of compartmentalizing to so high a degree that he could focus on the tasks at hand, which were promptly sorted into a laundry-list of things that needed to be done, such as soaking the horsetail to draw out its the restorative properties (fighting against the dry heat of Green-Leaf on the moors as well), discard dead or rotten plants from the stores, and replenish his supply of cobwebs.
The sound of approaching pawsteps caused one black ear to swivel, Rookfrost having returned to his den to check on the tansy stores; he paused in his work, listening to see if the pawsteps might pass by the entrance with no thought to coming in. When there was no break in the oncoming footfalls, he resigned himself to a visitor, turning with no sense of surprise to see a young warrior stalk right through to the center of the medicine cat's den (twice expanded to occupy both himself, Snowheart and their ailing Clanmates when necessary), the deep ginger pelt and distinctive facial scar enough to imprint Redscar upon his memory. He was one of the few cats in this Clan who had a name Rookfrost would have more than likely come up with, and therefore could find little fault over.
Every time this particular cat came into the den, he would list his ailments with such efficiency that even Rookfrost could reach deep into the well of what little emotional responses he still possessed, and pull out something close to appreciation. Redscar did not disappoint, and the black tom swept around the various corners of the den, collecting an assortment of herbs and beginning with any wounds that needed immediate attention, a pointed flick of the tail to indicate the warrior was to sit down. There was little sound in the medicine cat's den beyond Rookfrost grinding marigold into a pulp, which he studiously applied to the large scratch Redscar had spoken of; he had no interest in how these injuries were acquired, he was not the sort of cat you shared battle stories with, he had no concept of or interest in glory in battle, and though he could tell you the most precise places to bite or scratch on the feline body, it was born out of a deep understanding of anatomy that had been tried and tested, not any unexpected blood lust.
Redscar had been in his den enough times that Rookfrost did speak, half making an observation and half probing the warrior's thoughts on the matter in that cold monotone he was known for. "You have no intentions of reaching old age, then?" The frequency with which the ginger tom was in here almost seemed to hint at a death wish, of which Rookfrost, again, had no qualms. If a cat wanted to brawl themselves to death, it was a wish that could very quickly be granted, and one he would make no move towards stopping. He was not here to talk others out of their lifestyles or, the laws of nature forbid, their own idiocy.
He was LightningClan's Keeper only in the sense of mending torn flesh and broken bone; he could not cure a cat of poor judgment any more than he could cure them of cowardice.
No wealth no ruin no silver no gold. Nothing satisfies me but your soul.
Word Count: 652 Words
Tags: @poptart
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Post by Deleted on Mar 3, 2015 12:40:39 GMT -5
Redscar gave no indication that he felt the poultice slathered in his wound, he would give no indication that he felt pain at all during his treatment period. It was a game for the fiery warrior, and he relished keeping himself together under such conditions, he had become good at it.This little dance had been had between them many times before, and just as Redscar had become efficient so had Rookfrost. The medicine cat's efficiency was probably unrelated to Redscar, who had just provided the environment for Rookfrost to do his work the best he possibly could. He was used to their meetings being filled with silence, it wasn't an awkward ordeal surprisingly. Rookfrost was so cold and effective it wasn't like being stuck with someone who was floundering around, without said flounder the uncomfortable vibe that could form never did. This time the Black warrior turned medicine cat did speak, and it was a question that Redscar found interesting even if it was easy to answer. "Nope. Live hard, die young." His answer was much less intricate than the question asked, but he didn't feel Rookfrost would care if his answer was four words or only one. The medicine cat would only care if he spoke a single word mor than what was necessary, and he was careful not to cross that line. "I assume Redstar would like me to stay here until I've 'recovered'." Redscar commented using a mocking tone on the last word, "I'm going with the 'let's not and say with did' method, fine with you?" He had things to do a places to see, which was a lie he told himself of course, however he could personally think of many different ways he would prefer spending his time that didn't involve laying around the Medicine Cat den. Fawn
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Post by Fawn on Mar 4, 2015 9:13:02 GMT -5
⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐
"Nope. Live hard, die young."
He flicked an ear at this, a silent acknowledgment of what he considered to be the forest's easiest mantra to live out; it was no difficult feat, of a cat of Redscar's particular kind of determination and lifestyle preferences, to work himself to death, and the black healer understood that they'd someday be holding vigil for this tom likely before Rookfrost reached the end of his own lifespan. Having no desire to keep a patient overnight that wasn't in critical condition or (delightfully) highly infectious, he accepted their conspiratorial agreement with little pause apart from a few obligatory words of caution as he tended to the torn out claw next.
"You will risk damaging your paw beyond fully functioning again if you get this toe infected," then you will live hard, and die both young and in considerable amounts of pain that could've been avoided with proper care. That wasn't to say the ginger tom wasn't in some sort of pain at the present, he seemed to be doing both of them a favor by holding in any expressions of agony; though it was a very large tell with patients who refused to be cooperative in letting him know what hurt and what didn't, there was no need for a rude searching of any injured sites, Redscar had eliminated the need to waste time with such things when he had first arrived.
"I will not order you to stay in camp," icy gray eyes swept over the rest of the warrior, applying chewed marigold poultices here and there as was necessary (some of which were not and could heal on their own, he would not waste herbs on a warrior likely to get into another fight that very same sunhigh). He spoke as he worked, a model of cold efficiency, even more so when they had long ago made it clear that neither of them had much preference for nonsense or any of that 'soothing fusses' the other healers made over their charges. Rather than order him to stay in his nest or some other pointless instructions that would be ignored the moment his back was turned, Rookfrost opted to encourage the tom to be able to treat his own wound, particularly if his mantra was not 'live hard and die soon'. "Rub in wild garlic leaves every two sunrises until healed. Return if it gets infected in spite of precautions." Allowing others to treat themselves would be something that made his job slightly obsolete, but he hardly cared; wild garlic was one of the easiest herbs to find and recognize owing to the powerful, unforgiving scent stirred up when the leaves were chewed or the stalks broken, or the little bulbs of garlic unearthed.
If his instructions were followed, that would prevent Redscar from making an already serious injury worse (though how the cat would hunt without causing himself severe pain, Rookfrost didn't care to waste a second thinking about it), and would prevent them from having to do this little dance of theirs all over again. It was mundane, really; but it was a pattern Rookfrost had grown accustomed to, particularly owing to the ginger warrior's lack of small talk. Rarely did he need to waste his breath with trivial bits of conversation, and Redscar never asked that absurd question that every cat in the Clan seemed determined to ask him once or twice.
What's it like communicating with StarClan? The retort was always the same, and always held back, as acerbic and stinging as the venomous bite of an adder.
Ask me that again, and I will ensure you get the chance to see for yourself.
No wealth no ruin no silver no gold. Nothing satisfies me but your soul.
Word Count: 603 Words
Tags: @poptart
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Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2015 11:07:43 GMT -5
Redscar allowed his wounds to be treated quickly and effectively, and appreciated that poultice was only applied to the wounds that wouldn't heal on their own. He knew that it was necessary and welcomed the medicinal slop when needed as he had no plan to die outside of battle, but he hated how it made his fur spiky and sticky and not being able to lick it off grated on him immensely. All the while he received the same instructions he had heard many times before and would no doubt be hearing again any time soon. "Wild garlic, right same as always." He commented clearly bored of the entire process now, he had been neutral when entering the den but it was clear that the standing around was beginning to wear on him. When infection was mentioned however he figured he would ask , "If it does get infected I have pretty low odds of making it right? So I should probably go pick a fight with a Treeclan patrol and take as many of them with me as I can?" As it was made clear earlier, he had no intention of dying outside of battle and a last stand was his favorite option to entertain. If there was any question about the seriousness of his words the wild gleam his eyes possessed would give a fairly clear answer even if there was a bit of humor in them. He was still far to young to not find a bit of humor in even the darkest parts of his life, as at the end of the day it was the only mechanism he had to cope with a lifestyle he felt had chosen him. Fawn
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Post by Fawn on Mar 7, 2015 9:57:29 GMT -5
⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐
"If it does get infected I have pretty low odds of making it right? So I should probably go pick a fight with a Treeclan patrol and take as many of them with me as I can?"
Had there not been the inquiring intonation at the end of the tom's words, Rookfrost would have ignored them, assuming the ginger warrior was talking to himself—after all, who would ask him, a medicine cat who was meant to be entirely neutral to Clan rivalries, if they should 'go pick a fight with a TreeClan patrol' and try to kill as many of the opposing Clan as they could before they eventually succumbed to their injuries. When it became clear by the pause that Redscar's words were, in fact, directed at him, and worse still, were entirely serious but for a glimmer of humor Rookfrost could not detect (comedy was not his strong suit, nor would it ever be, any comedic social cues were lost upon a cat who could think only rationally and with heavy emotional detachment), the dark healer's suspicions rose to the surface like blood through a small incision, clotting into paranoia.
There was a careful line he walked, between portraying himself as inexorably rude, callous even, and soulless; it was always good that the Clan think of him as the former, not the latter, trust was an important aspect of his false lifestyle as a medicine cat, and though he trusted no one, a certain amount of indulgence into the ignorance of others was sometimes necessary. It was a delicate balance. Redscar, however, seemed to have peeled back a layer of Rookfrost's carefully maintained charade, and had looked at the abyss underneath; now the abyss was looking back at him, determining just when the error had been made, the error that painted him in shades of sociopathy so accurate, a young warrior would go and ask him a question like that. Rookfrost's particular brand of sociopathy took root in curiosity for the sake of intellectual advancement, not obtuse murder for the sake of glory.
This pause initially lasted a heartbeat, and then he let it carry out in affectation of a 'shocked pause', furthering this along with a slight raising of the fur at his shoulders, and a certain frigidity of tone.
"Oh yes," spoke Rookfrost with chilled irony. "Your Clan would undoubtedly appreciate a final homicidal standoff with TreeClan, as you take your last dying breath. Redstar will be singing your praises for many moons after."
Young cats these days. It was an idiotic plan, to the black healer—but he had long ago stopped expecting common sense from any cat of LightningClan. He could not speak of the other four inhabiting the forest, not that it would make much of a difference. Personalities and lifestyles were not so varied across all five Clans that LightningClan was so unusual; at the basic level, there was always going to be one warrior who wanted to go out with a bang, there was always going to be one warrior who owed up to nothing but mediocrity, and there would always be a cat of such unnecessary, suffocating kindness and compassion that Rookfrost considered it a condition in and of itself.
Redscar was, apparently, LightningClan's warrior who wanted to make sure his last few moments in the mortal world were punctuated by an act of violence so great and so pointless, he would plunge his own Clan into quite possibly a war with TreeClan. Well, perhaps it would serve him right. If he was going to do something so chaotic so he could die satisfied, then the only suitable punishment was not being present to fight the upcoming battles that would result of his decisions. Rookfrost stepped back, finished.
Rookfrost did not hope. Rather, he hypothesized two courses of action. One hypothesis involved doing exactly as the scarred cat had said he would, and this was not what Rookfrost personally preferred; the second course of action involved avoiding the situation entirely, which he knew had very little chance of becoming true. It wasn't even out of any sort of benign intentions that he wished to avoid a battle with TreeClan; it had more to do with the carefully crafted charade he was playing with his own Clan. The last thing he wanted was a cat suspecting him of encouraging Redscar to do what he was likely going to do regardless of caution or advice; he did not want that sort of attention brought to the entrance of his den, he did not want to be under the critical, suspicious eye of the Clan.
So he acted as was necessary, carefully stitching back up the tear in the metaphorical fabric of his game with LightningClan, behaving as was expected of a Medicine Cat. Well, minimally.
No wealth no ruin no silver no gold. Nothing satisfies me but your soul.
Word Count: 774 Words
Tags: @poptart
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