take these broken wings and learn to fly [magpiestar]

( WORDS ) 1037 ( TAGGED ) MAGPIESTAR ( MUSE );good

Oh. His jaw opened, allowing his catch to roll out and make an audible thump as it hit the ground, wings bending awkwardly. Dusthawk had to admit, his heart was pumping a little faster than normal. It wasn't because he had been rebellious: the tom was all too used to his father dragging him out like a bad kit and ranting to him about how he was such a horrendous disappointment and needed to take things seriously and was a brat and surely all of RiverClan would collapse because of his own stupidity and yadda yadda yadda. It was because, for once, he hadn't even known he'd been committing a crime. At least a more reasonable explanation for his anxiety had been given, albeit by an unwelcome messenger. Mouse-brain. How on Earth could it just slip his mind, like-like some stupid apprentice? He hoped to StarClan Ratmask hadn't been on that patrol. Looking like such an idiot to him...but he, nor any cat from that group, was sitting there (StarClan, this was going to be a conversation, wasn't it?) with their so crudely obvious accusations gushing all over the place.

In his shock, Dusthawk stayed stiff, back to his father. He used the position to compose himself and close his widened eyes, and feel his rushing heartbeat settle to a normal pace. Whatever adrenaline he may have had quickly washed away, replaced with a more acidic tang. A low, resentful bite snapped from his maw. "Hello to you too."

Dusthawk felt the urge to let out his claws; it seemed the only time he spoke alone with the illustrious Magpiestar was when he occasionally screwed up. Sure, the thought of spending pal time with his father was uncomfortable, and he'd reject it in an instant, but...the offer would be nice, wouldn't it? Play around with is imagination, hey, maybe even pull a heart string. But Dusthawk knew for sure now the only time he and his father would have an encounter lacking in toxicity or baited words was when the old tom fell over. And even then, he'd be surrounded by his sobbing kin until he felt so irked he'd have to leave, and surely be criticized for doing so by whoever took up the role as disciplinarian. What a lovely life he had to lead, followed around by his stupid kin like a flock of screeching crows.

With a sucked in breath, Dusthawk turned, steeling himself. Then, his head tipped upward to look his father indignantly in the eyes, soft blues meeting the sturdy green. He wanted to radiate the fact that Magpiestar would get anything today but an apology; and what more could his father expect?

Despite his attempt at a tough skin, Dusthawk felt the clutch of anxiety. Everything about his father's look made him feel out of place. Large, exaggerated by the stupid, black-and-white fur, and with an aged meanness. He remembered, when very young, the outer-clan apprentices he'd gossip with at gatherings. No matter how hard he tried to avoid the topic, the mighty Magpiestar would come up and thus his special lineage. Their reaction? That's your father? Yes, he, sky-eyed, bristly furred, and oddly pelted Dusthawk was the son of the giant, dark puff-ball sitting on the great oak. He, the dull-minded, foul-mouthed, screw-up was the child of an oh-so prestigious, noble tom and in one of the most well known families in the forest. Not that you could tell; he stood out horrendously from his family with his looks. The only thing he had in common with his father was a coincidental face fleck not even in the same place. Where he came from (and they often weren't just referring to his pelt) baffled most, and for him, had buried deep the sense of a pariah that weeded upward every day.

In truth, Dusthawk's bitterness had often had to take the form of grumbles, at least to his father. He couldn't go on screeching his hate even in his big den, for the young warrior knew his voice had a tendency to...carry. But now they were alone. Dusthawk wasn't going to blame himself for any word that slipped from his maw; it didn't have to be this way. If it wasn't himself, Magpiestar's son, this whole thing wouldn't have mattered. The leader wouldn't have personally dragged himself out to scold him like a kit. His father didn't even really care, about him did he? He just wanted to keep up his sterling reputation, to look like he could control everything by keeping his family in line. 

Now, for his reply. Dusthawk didn't mull over it at all. The tom always considered himself earnest, and in his odd way, was. But he had trouble with giving relevant information, or rather, 'pleasing' information. What others wanted to hear was beyond him; his maw was a shoot directly from his sentiments. What else could that be but a gift? He wasn't some fox-faced liar, or hid anything away like a shy kit.

"I felt like hunting," he snapped, though he'd rather have hissed, "get another son for the job."

His anger was bringing words currently curt, for his harrowed emotions were a mere prick compared to his larger tantrums. He could create symphonies of insults when really off the wire. Dusthawk was about to leave that be, when an assumption entered his mind. The tom snorted; a forced, ugly noise that dripped with loathing. "But you've already done that, haven't you?"

The voice that questioned RiverClan's leader was laced with accusation. They say a parent shouldn't have favorites, but to Dusthawk it was obvious his father strode on that rule like the dirt below when it came to himself. By the Dark Forest, he had named his niece a deputy. Even someone utterly cut off from Magpiestar's attention (how difficult to achieve) had garnered more approval than himself. Not that he wanted it, and he swore he would spit in his father's face if the elder ever tried to give some shallow compliment. As if that could make up for all the moons he hadn't.

magpiestar is beautiful shh don't listen to dust

( WORDS ) 654 ( TAGGED ) MAGPIESTAR ( MUSE );good

Part of him was surprised at the extent of his father's control. His words were cold, near detached, and his rigid figure only showed subtle irritation. Did his own words hold such little weight? It was like he was a kit all over again, who's misdeeds were so small they were followed by a cool scolding, and then he was left to his own devices again. It pushed his anger, married with a little pang of...not hurt. Obviously his father couldn't do that any more. No, it was mere discomfort. Clawing at his chest and stinging badly. Well, it didn't matter. Because his father's anger was like a storm, while his own was a blast of lightning. Magpiestar's needed building. Time to form into the threatening thing it was but giving oh so many hints to its coming. However, what slipped from Dusthawk's maw was a some disastrous cry, the result of what obviously was a mere discomfort pang.

"But I was-"

Trying to do right, a stupid RiverClan duty. He was angry with himself, just a little, for practicing so hard to catch those dumb birds and stand out...in a decent way. It was stupid and kittish and he wasn't even decent at it. How had he convinced himself as an apprentice it would make a difference? Perhaps, in his odd desperation, his eyes had widened.

But the tom cut himself off, biting his lip and allowing himself to simmer. Dusthawk had detected the mewl in his voice, a sad plea, and stopped the pathetic words before they could complete. He wasn't begging anymore for his father's illustrious approval, like a stupid kit. He was done with squandering below Magpiestar's feet. Now, more than ever, he just wanted to be left alone. No more constant badgering from his father and his family. No more vain, silly attempts to make himself look decent. StarClan, why not no more RiverClan? It had become a place where his duties were done just to avoid punishment than any enjoyment. It seemed so good now, to wander off wherever he wished, let the sound of the tides carry him off and soothe all this ridiculous anger, that with every clash with his father, made no signs of slinking away. Let the wind and the water and the sand beneath be all he needed. No one to impress, listen to, no orders to fail. But some emotional stubbornness kept him here, or was it fear? He didn't want to mull it over anymore, for it just made his emotions and thoughts mesh uncomfortably and bring little answers to himself. However, the dream of clarity had imprinted itself to the back of his mind.

Gah, the familiarity to father's words made him want to roll his eyes. At this point in his life, Dusthawk could probably recite every word Magpiestar uttered right back to him. The whole speech about family and duty and honor and oh just send him to a quick death. Irritation mixed with his anger, bubbling together in a foul concoction that made his next words spit out quick and violently, like stray, flying droplets from a noxious, boiling tub.

"Save it. Doesn't the leader of RiverClan have more important duties to attend to? What did you think you'd get other than a ruffled coat by chasing me out here? The illusion that you care?" Dusthawk snapped, eyes now narrowed. Of course, he knew the answer to that question. But he wanted to see how his father's silver tongue could twist it into something noble. He was the stray bird, with black, wild feathers, that struggled and thrashed against its companions on the two-leg's wire. All things would be in order, neat and pristine and reputable, if it weren't for his fox mouth and eager claws. 

dust is so dramatic. computer came home early ^_^