Her mother always said she stood out like a flame in ashfield. Though her performances varied, her loyalties wavered, and her front stumbled, that would never change. A rumor or two wouldn't stop a tom’s eyes from being caught in her round, cloying own. They sit (two lily pads) still and pretty, but reveal more than she’d like to show.
LIKES || attention, kits, and toms DISLIKES || backstabbers, dogmatic views on the code, and swimming. STRENGTHS || storytelling, memory, tracking, and manipulation. WEAKNESS || honesty, independence, and trust. DREAMS || to be admired and envied, to have a respectable litter, and to possess a high status mate. FEARS || losing more family, her clan loyalty being (publicly) questioned, and rejection.
[+] bubbly, charismatic, clever, insightful. [-] immature, short-sighted, dramatic, insecure, a chronic liar, and a gossiper.
The heart of clan life is a boring, boring grind. Poppy can’t find a single task that hasn’t bore her into oblivion; sans chatting with her clan mates. Poppy meets them all (or all worth talking to_ with a smile that could melt snow. her giggle is a (generously given) high titter, her eyes bright with excitement, and her jokes sharp but aimed at herself.
but from her mouth, an unpolished word is rarely found. no one would want to share the company of a she-cat with a flittery, cruel mind.
she doubts herself, and then turns the self sears outward-after all, it’s too easy to find the faults of others.
a ‘no’ is unacceptable. for a small moment, she’ll question herself (am i unbearable?), until her mind saves the pain and turns the jab outward (no, you are).
her mind is a rush. when threatened, her emotions heave like a rat swallowed whole. . self-awareness is far away, she is only feeling, and though she might not know why, she will lash and lash until they feel a smidgen of what she does now. irritate her by dragging her out to something asinine? pressure her to do something she doesn’t wish to? she wouldn’t dare speak outright, but she will remember that act and pay the deed forward. (fix this shit)
the lies have become so easy that time has only made them more elaborate. no catches today? no, she had not been grooming down her every stray hair (again), she’d spent the time curled in a burrow after catching a fox scent (and would appreciate more sympathy, next time).
their secrets and stories are where the fun lies. what is there to do, but talk?
others c well, but she could charm a boy or two to do the hunting for her. a couple of tears over stress and
her mother’s bubbling laugh and the kicks of her sibling’s feet make up the memory of Poppynose’s kithood. her father (large and striped) may have batted her nose. it was different in her apprentice days; he’d hide in any corner that would fit him to make her yelp, and he’d hitch her on back rides. Now, she’d rather push away the memories altogether.
stern, emotionless, boring—why was that stupid old coot given to her? oh, but no one liked him—her mother would pull her aside and assure her so, when she came back home with watery eyes and sore paws. poppy soon learned that wet eyes could get her many things. fail a catch, and a little tom would sneak her one of his. forget her old mentor—he was senile and paranoid. she made sure to tell everyone she could that, especially after his sharp eyes would rove her extra catches. it was the toms’ decision to give them to her, what harm was being done?
the attention felt good, too. so, she may have exaggerated the good qualities in her admirers. created a story or two about the little rat that tried to tell on her “stealing.” clan life was so, so droll—if anything, she was doing the apprentice’s a favor by spicing up their monotonous lives.
her grin was a little too wide, when she saw that pinched look on old Fox’s face when she caught three voles before him. like he’d chewed on some rotten poultice.i’m not useless, i just like my fun.
of all the toms she charmed, poppy felt nothing for them. she liked games.
thin but muscles frame, haunting eyes—poppy would stare, and stare, and stare. he’s it. she’s be the leader’s mate. his perfect, young little thing. they’d be such a beautiful pair—with a stunning little litter that made the other queens huff their chests in jealousy.
but not everyone shared her enamorment. starclan chose him to guide us. how could we defy his guidance? everyday, she prayed his dreams would work, that his vision would bring them to glory as he promised. but everyday, that future seemed more unlikely. those moons poppy kept her head down—pretending to be neutral, but clinging to a sick dream that Bonestar would prevail. and then-her father became one of the casualties. his fault?
their world was upended when bonestar’a sister crushed his throat. never liked her. fangstar rose, and so did her aunt, again. new life. just as she swallowed that dream, it soured in her stomach.
of all the cats that came and went, the scandals she caused and bridges she burned, poppy always had her mother to curl beside. when her tears, her anxieties, her failures became too much—her mother would groom down her fur and hum confidence back into her.
but then she was lost. gone, gone gone. but still here. who could she cry to about her father now?
she raged and yowled at the husk to recognize her. cry and cry and cry—but now, nothing changed. eventually, as with bone, her heart hardened, and she avoided contact with the she-cat.