Genie in a Bottle [OPEN]

Wildfang was in a hissy mood. The sun hadn't truly shone outside in moons, just a dark, dingy gray and what seemed to be endless snow. Was this a joke? Who had angered Starclan enough that this was warranted? She'd take their eyes and their eyes and cram their tails down their throats. She glanced outside the nursery and spotted Bloodstar returning from a hunting patrol. Probably his fault... that or his bratty, ratty delinquent kits. She hissed at him quietly, though he wasn't paying attention to what was going on in the nursery anyway. In a huff, she angled herself away from the entrance to the nursery and curled up into a tighter C shape to try and conserve heat. She wasn't built for this kind of weather! Wasn't newleaf supposed to be here by now? Seriously, whose ears did she need to tear off to summon the sun? Because she'd do it.

She heard pawsteps at the nursery entrance and her ear swiveled quickly, agitated immediately. Lynxpetal was asleep further back in so it wasn't her... which meant it was someone who had no business being here. She heard a voice clear his throat... A tom. "Ugh!" She snapped as she whirled on the gray tabby at the entrance. Her tail lashed furiously and a growl rumbled in her throat. Whatever the poor warrior was about to say died in his throat. He could only stare, now unsure of what to do with his jaws parted mid-word.

"Did I invite you here? Did Lynxpetal? No Bluestripe, no one did! So take your unwanted and unasked for self elsewhere. I'm sure there are foxes and badgers to go fight. I suggest you make yourself useful and go do that." And with that, he was dismissed. She turned away, ending the conversation. She was normally not quite so blunt, but Bluestripe had been oodling at her for moons. She was over it. As if that crooked smiling fool even had a chance! The arrogance of that tom... At least he had the good sense to shove off.

... Or did he? Was that the sound of pawsteps again??? STILL??? Wildfang spun on him again, a louder growl ripping from her throat.... Oh... That was... that wasn't Bluestripe...

"Oh... hello!" She quickly put on a smile, big, toothy and... very forced.

Commotion near the nursery caught Newtspring's ear immediately as he ducked through the entrance to camp, a thin squirrel dangling from his voice. With lack of anything better to do and always eager to sit in on drama, he hurried to the fresh-kill pile, dropping his catch off as quickly as he could. Some poor tom was slinking off with his tail between his legs, and as Newtspring stepped into his paw prints, the queen that had sent him scrambling wheeled right back around, growl bubbling in her throat.

"Hey, thanks for not spittin' on me," he rumbled, voice rough and amused. "You smilin' or barin' your teeth? Either way, it's not gonna scare me." A laugh chased his words, and the large tom swept his tail through the snow, clearing a space for himself to settle back onto his haunches. Looking fully comfortable and smug as ever, he went on, "What's got you yowlin' halfway across the forest? Fox break into the nursery, or you just wake up on the cold side'a your nest?"

Wildfang's smile slowly disappeared the more Newtspring talked at her. Yes... at her. Son of the leader... probably thought he was special because of that or something. As far as she was concerned he was an illegitimate bastard son anyway, half Shadowclan for crying out loud! As for his comments... she would still need to tactful despite her feelings towards this tom. She let out a short laugh before she spoke.

"Well in order for there to be a cold side of the nursery there would have to be a warm spot somewhere." Her tone was dancing right on the line that separated genuine conversation from haughty sarcasm. Before Newtspring had much time to decide whether she was being insulting or not, she was already talking again.

"Though I think I would prefer a fox in the nursery than that aggravating tom." She lashed her tail at the thought of Bluestripe coming back. "At least it might be a slightly prettier face or at the very least a different one." Not to mention could potentially shake the life right out of him. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Did you need anything, Newtspring? You're not here to stare at me all slack-jawed like the rest of them are you?" She didn't bother hiding the boredom and annoyance in her voice. Truth be told, no toms, or even she-cats, in Skyclan caught her eye. They were there... they existed... but they were all equally unworthy of her time or attention. If she didn't revere the code and Starclan so much she would have left Skyclan long ago. She would do her duty and provide the clan with a fresh supply of warriors as often as she could... but only because it was her job. Well... and the kits were adorable too.

The conundrum between Wildfang and Bluestripe would have been enough to wake the entire Clan. Well, simply Wildfang could easily wake the entire Clan. As such, young Myrtlekit became victim to having his nap interrupted. It's not like he cared all that much anyways, he had to be awake more as he got older. How would he be able to train into a warrior if he only slept all day?

His long fur was certainly a blessing in the frigid cold, and he did his best to keep it to a perfect silkiness. Some of the other kits had teased him about his mild obsession with keeping tangles out of his fur, calling him a she-cat. It certainly bothered him a bit, but in the end, he slept much more comfortably since his fur never had any snow or ice stuck to it. Shaking out his long, tricolored pelt, the young tom stood and sleepily pranced over to the entrance to the nursery.

"Who's out there, Wildfang? Should I fight them?" His small voice certainly called out his half-awake state. Truth be told, even if the queen did attempt to get him to fight an intruder, he wouldn't be able to do much damage. At this age, he certainly was much better acting as a miniature nest than at doing damage.

Wildfang's comment about the fox earned a thin laugh from the large tom, nose wrinkling with the sound. "'Ey, don't say things like that. Whaddaya gonna do when a fox really sticks its nose in there? Bad things come when ya call'em, ya'know." Newtspring rolled his shoulders, forcing a grimace to look as if the action pained him. "Last time I ran into one'a those, I think it threw me 'cross the forest. I'm not gettin' into it if ya bring bad luck 'round here." He laughed again, smooth and easy. An ear twitched vaguely at Wildfang's tone, but he only blinked amiably. She was welcome to try her hardest to send him away, but he was going to have his fun messing with her first. "Slack-jawed? Nah, you got the wrong cat. Ain't any of you pretty 'nough for me to drool over. Not when I'm around." Well... his tail whisked absently through the snow. Maybe he'd trot after Orchidmask like a love-lorn apprentice– maybe. She was pretty, at least, and good company too.

That was besides the point. The mottled tabby was about to comment further, until a little voice piped up, shuffling forth between Wildfang's paws. Newtspring blinked, snorted, then lowered himself down to be eye level with Myrtlekit as he stumbled forward. "This who ya think's gonna protect you from that fox, Wildfang? Well, 'M certainly shakin'. 'M sure you'll send that fox runnin', kit."

"'xcuse me," The sudden intoning, though slurred and partially obscured by a tightly-clinched mouthful of carefully accrued moss and other equally delightful downy trinkets, offered a needed respite from... whatever was currently chafing between Newtspring and Wildfang.

The gentle scuffing of well-trodden snow otherwise heralding the shifting approach of scruffy Elkpaw, posture and approach awkward and gaiting under the additional weight of her chores, as she made to wriggle past Newtspring; pale gaze studiously fixed upon a point of no contact with any of the prickling attendees currently crowding the exceedingly limited space offered by the Nursery. She held little love in her heart for the numbing task of appropriately collecting and distributing bedding, for it was a task given to her more often than not in these recent times of exceptionally poor weather, but the thought of handling such a chore during strange bickering made her all the more ruffled. "'thorry," She mumbled again, chin bearing down awkwardly into the hollow point of her chest as she made to keep the feathers and moss from raining down upon Wildfang and Myrtlekit, as she attempted to steer clear from the Queen.

Elkpaw could hardly tell if the flush building within the rounded points of her ears stemmed from the prospect of earning a scorning, or because the potential deriding was coming from a pretty older molly.