milk cartons & bones : gallery
#1
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SPIDERSTORM, windclan warrior
FROGPAW, shadowclan apprentice

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#2
( SPIDERSTORM * windclan )
30 M/O ♂ WARRIOR
name: spiderkit spiderpaw spiderstorm
          ↳ -storm was given for his dynamic nature.
gender: cisgender male
orientation: bisexual
alignment: chaotic good

          ↳ brief description: a short, thick-furred black-and-white tom of stocky build, with dull green eyes and mild scarring along the cheek and flank.

( + ) quick-witted, resolute, good-natured
( - ) moody, impulsive, diffident, introspective
         
— he doesn't say much. never has. even in kittenhood, he was remarkably quiet, remarkably still; now, as the black-and-white tom sits, his posture is unnervingly straight, and his jaw is clenched tight. he maintains eye contact for a moment, and then returns it to his feet. "spiderstorm," he says, in a voice deeper than one would assume belonged to such a small tom. he gestures to himself with a white-tipped tail, and then his gaze, still fleeting, drifts upward again. "it's nice to meet you." of course, he doesn't really mean it. he's never been much of a socialite― it's mumbled, half-hearted, enough to maintain a guise of politeness but distant enough to discourage any further questioning.

alas: he's out of luck. the cat on the receiving end leans in close, and continues speaking. tell me about yourself. she asks with a purr. spiderstorm feels a tremble creep up his spine, and the twinge in his features betrays his discomfort. he opens his mouth in protest, but stops himself before any words escape him. she asked nicely, he reminds himself, and he nods agreement. okay, i guess. i'll bite. his jaw begins to move before he can arrange something coherent: a chorus of ums and uhs, and then, "uh. i'm windclan, through and through," that's the first genuine thing he's said; even bashful spiderstorm can't conceal the seedling of a smile. he loves his clan more than anything. his loyalty is all he's ever known, and if he isn't careful, he'll waste the whole afternoon rattling off the names of every great warrior to have ever roamed the moor... but the moment passes, and his eyes dull and his brows furrow. a frown poisons spiderstorm's features.

oh, yeah― she's waiting for him to say something else. bright pink spills across his cheeks, and he fumbles for something to fill the silence. "i don't like to talk much." he admits― his words come out a little half-baked, and his lack of eye contact makes him seem somewhat hostile. spiderstorm massages the ground with his feet, his embarrassment growing warmer underneath his pelt. he can feel his companion pulling away, and he can't bring himself to stop her; instead, the temptation grows within him, and he relents to the thought which crosses him next.

"what's that?" one ear perks up, feigning perception. his mouth falls ajar, analyzing a noise nobody made. his companion looks at him quizzically. "somebody's calling me," spiderstorm announces, and starts off in the opposite direction, leaving a very confused molly in his wake.

         
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#3


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