[ti]Open[/ti]idle worship

[Dofferz!]

He was really lucky to be alive still. Starclan, he was supposed to be dead moons ago. Starting way back when the mountain caught ablaze. For the grey, grumpy, gristly tabby, he was like a walking Starclan cat, but as much as the younger cats liked to say it, he wasn't dead yet. He was still kicking, and until he took his last breath, he was going to complain. He was going to make apprentices do his bidding. He was- greyears' mind trailed off as he coughed. Bloodshot eyes stared across the clearing as his chin rested on tired paws.

To make matters worse, rumor had also began to spread about five new kits in the clan.. how wonderful was that? Currently he was the oldest cat in that clan. He had seen all the clan born cats grow up from kits into warriors. He had watched them rise through the ranks. And same went with the--he shuddered--loners, rogues, and kitty pets taken in. Contaminating warrior blood with kitty pet slop as they somehow reproduced. He was just glad that he had pure Warrior Blood running strong in his veins.

He shivered.
This place wasn't as warm as his boulder.
He really missed his boulder back on the mountain.

It also didn't help his demanding sleep cycle as cats murmured and spoke and gossiped all around. It wasn't at all healthy for the elder to receive anything other than eighteen or more hours of sleep per day. So, desperate to receive the rest he deserved, Greyears would pull his lips back and bear his old teeth, snapping "starclan, shut up!" to the noisy felines around him. "do ya'll ever stop yapping? Gimme some respect you fox-heart!"

[silverfang218]

Shadowgaze had been resting nearby after a series of hunting patrols; his little nap was interrupted by Greyears’ voice, with its typical complaining tone. He raises his head and cracks open one violet eye to figure out what Greyears has taken offense to this time only to notice the felines chatting nearby… though at least some of the chatting has paused because of Greyears’ grump.

He sits up with a stretch, before addressing the elder. “Oh come on Greyears. Can hardly fault cats for having friends.” Shadow jokes, implying that Grey has none… which is probably true unless the elder considers Shadow a friend… which he probably does not. He moves a bit closer to the elder, intending to ruffle the fur of his once-rival some more.

[LupTacco]

By all accounts it was a truly pleasant day- sun out, warm air, and plenty of life in the forest. So of course Mumblepaw would be caught by the medicine cat to care for the elders today- or rather, to pluck ticks from their backs since the wave of warm weather had drawn them back out. Her nose wrinkled up at the scent of the mouse bile she carried, keeping the stick held firmly forward in her jaws. Getting that stuff in one's fur was never a good time, since it tasted as bad as it smelled. Hopefully I'll have some real warrior duties tomorrow, she grimaced. The elders' den was abuzz with gossiping old cats and the occasional visitor- that is, aside from one cat.

The cranky old tom Greyears was perched on the warmest spot in camp which she had no doubts wasn't warm enough, just as no hare was plump enough and no moss soft enough. She dipped her head curtly but technically politely at the ancient cat and rested the bile stick on an oblong pebble on the ground, pinning it with a paw. "I have to check you for bugs," she mewed stiffly, her voice high pitched in an effort to make it audible to him. Maybe if you stopped yelling yourself...