ᵗᶤʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒᶰᶤᵍʰᵗ

Write a story about keeping up appearances. Bonus points if it isn't for the sake of vanity.

A story for Tuesday's contest. ^^ Hope you enjoy.
EDIT;; Reposted from old forums ;3

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The times are hard.

So they all say. But if you ask me, it's not the times we should blame.

It's a dark night, despite the full moon that seems bigger than usual. There's not a cloud, yet the stars still shine dimly, lacking the strength to twinkle. They hang limply in the sky, too tired for . . .

Well, anything.

I close my eyes and release my warm breath into the cold, thin air, trying to chase away the weariness clogged up my bones. I feel old.

Sleepless nights have made my dark fur brittle and rough, while exhaustion has made my head too heavy to lift. With effort, I raise it up anyway, forcing the bones in my stiff neck to snap into place. They crack and send pain all the way down my spine.

I can't even wince.

Cats mill on the island, meowing eagerly and sniffing noses, their purrs so loud they shake my insides, or at least what's left of them. I've always been lean, but this last moon has made me hollow. My stomach- shrunken to the size of a pea- is just rolling around in this empty shell.

Warriors part as I pass, recognizing me and noting my presence with only mild interest. They turn back to their conversations, and for once it's a good thing to be this recognizable. Everyone's so used to me that they don't pay attention anymore.

Of course, if I wasn't this characteristic, I wouldn't have to be out here anyway. I could just crouch somewhere on the edge and get a bit of rest instead.

I grit my teeth when pain slashes through my foreleg's tendons.

So much for my sharp tongue. Funny, I never thought it'd cost me anything more than another enemy warrior hating me more than usual.

The dark, Windclan tabby sits near two other toms, discussing something in annoyed voices. But his yellow eyes notice me immediately, and I can see the scowl appear on his muzzle.

I ignore it, stop my stiff body in front of him and swish my tail. "Well, well."

Forcing myself to speak so loudly is like dragging claws down my own throat. Thankfully, I don't have to hide my grimace. The pain makes it that much easier to pretend distaste.

"What a lovely night it was until I saw your face, rat-breath."

His scowl deepens. I see his two companion shift uneasily, but catch a glimmer in the calico's eye. No doubt that tom is only here in the hope that he'll witness one of our legendary confrontations. Bile rises to my throat.

The full moon shines above us, pale and sad in the chilly night air.

"Scorchfang." His snort is full of contempt, but I can see the challenge in his gaze. "You went out of your way to insult me again; you shouldn't have."

Sniffing, I swing my head higher, feeling satisfaction for the first time when my bones quietly crack. Weariness seems to fade a bit. "Sadly, the urge is too strong to resist. I finally feel like I'm doing something worthwhile with my time."

A cold breeze ruffles his gray, striped fur. It slices through my black pelt and sends shivers of exhilaration down my back. Around us, cats are still talking, but eyes turn to follow our exchange. That boasting Shadowclan shecat and raggy Windclanner. What are they saying this time?

"It must be boring to sit on one's flea-bitten rump all day,-"

Heh. Right now, my rump's more boney than fleabitten. If I had any fleas, I'd bring them to the fresh-kill pile.

"-but then again, kittypets do manage somehow."

I smile sweetly at him, dry fur irritating the corners of my mouth when I move it. "I'm sure they do. How's the prey running on your mangy moor, fox-heart?"

He snickers, yellow eyes gleaming brighter than the moon. Brighter than the stars. Brighter than any color on this dim, dry island or my grim territory. "Faster than you are, that's for sure, snail-paws."

"That's why you haven't caught any, mange-pelt? Maybe rats should stick to trash."

Wait, didn't I tell him something similar the first time we spoke?

On the Gathering long ago, when that young shadowclan warrior with blazing eyes had confidently walked over to Windclan's side of the island, and every cat's curious eye had focused on her. She had held her head proudly high that night, and it had been as natural as breathing.

Long, long ago, that young shecat didn't have to fake her contempt.

Now, tonight, a smirk spreads over his muzzle, and I feel deja vu stab my heart. The words don't even leave his mouth before I repeat them in my mind and soul, sudden nostalgia crashing over me.

"So then why are you here?"

Because my clan has just had about the worst moon in its history.

Because we've been told to act nice and happy, so that everyone thinks everything's fine.

Because my Starclan-forsaken leader wants to make sure that I don't give us away by suddenly resigning from my moonly ritual.

Because my confident insults keep every cat's eye on me and you, so the half-starved state of my clanmates might pass unnoticed if I just act like everything's all right and
I pretend that I still hate you.

But I don't. Starclan, I'm too tired to hate you anymore. You're the last cat I have in this world.

You're the only thing that's still the same.
Still the same mouse-brained traitor, who never once reacted to one of my mouse-brained insults.

"How's your hunting, mange-face?"

I spoke those words so loudly that every cat fell silent and just stared at the two of us. You narrowed your yellow eyes, and I don't think I ever saw such mistrust as that on your face back then.

"Good enough, young mousebrain."

I don't think my prideful glare even wavered at the insult.
Wait, insult?

No . . . just the truth.

"Really? Well, well, you learned to hunt rabbits after all. Or did you?" I still remember how it felt to don that mocking smile, before I fired my last shot.

Wonderful.

"After all, rats should stick to trash."

"So why are you here?"

"Just couldn't stop myself from confronting the infamous traitor, I guess."

"Because it's nice to have something that doesn't change."

He blinks at me, caught off guard. The lean built of a Windclan warrior looks good on him, those sharp eyes and laid back ears, along with ruffled, grey tabby fur that blends into the shadows. Similar to my own.

Shadowclan fur.

I brush past him, ignoring the startled look in his yellow eyes. His fur is softer than mine, but still rough. I wonder if he sees how old I've gotten. My tired, grouchy eyes. My stiff fur, stiff steps, stiff habits. The bones that snap when I move too fast.

He looks just the same as always. Like the moons don't affect him, just because he sleeps under their careful glow.

The dim stars will watch over him tonight as well, while cold winds rustle the branches over my head.

What a thing to chose.

I limp over to the other deputies, suddenly weary again. Some leader yowls out the call, but I barely hear it. Cats move around me, shivering in the chill, their steps crunching on the gritty ground.

Pearstar radiates happiness as he talks with satisfaction about the blessings Starclan has given us, mentioning with sorrow the cats who left for Silverpelt. He makes it sound as if they died peacefully, perhaps serving their clan.

Everyone listens, smiling slightly and whispering among themselves. Except for my clanmates, of course.

There a few new apprentices from Riverclan, big-eyed and awestruck. Cats cheer their names.

And I?

I straighten my stiff back, wrap my raggy tail over gaunt paws, and set my sight on the cats before me, looking down on their open, eager faces. Maybe some hollow sounds leave my dried up throat.

Here I am, just staring dumbly at this sea of excited cats.

Gotta keep up appearances.