Cry a River || Turtle & Daisy… Fight? Flirt?

Turtlefang was silent a moment, as he found the courage to- lean in- go on- and. Brush his nose to the cinnamon fur in front of him. A warning tap between the shoulder blades before he deigned to offer a tentative dab with his tongue, as if to test if the water would somehow poison him. But a challenge was a challenge; If Daisyfire really thought he couldn't handle something as mundane as mere grooming, then... he'd just have to go and make it right. Restore the reputation he'd lost. With a weird feeling in his chest, tight and unsure, he began grooming in earnest as the other cat spoke, pleased to have the moment not to address anything but his ongoing battle against a wet back and his own disgusting compliance.

..It became a lot more difficult when he realized that her explanation had ended just as soon as it began, leaving him with far more questions than answers. Even worse, he realized that while preoccupied with the process of swiping over the other cat's pelt, the expanse of brown like a broad target point to guide his motions, it made finding a natural pause for response all the more complicated. The immediate doubt that came to mind, pointing out how useless it was to make decor out of things that would only wilt or how suspicious it'd be for a Sunclan warrior to walk home with something from across the river, was lost on his voice, which had been more or less shackled to the duty of drying down his companion. Frustrating. Perhaps that'd been the other's plan all along. An innocent play just to shut him up? He wouldn't have it. Turtlefang faltered, an abrupt pause to make good on his dubious belief in these so called flower crowns. "If this is really so commonplace, how come you're not wearing one?"

Squinting at the back of Daisyfire's head, he tried only for a moment to envision the aforementioned loop framing the edge of her ears, right where the color faded back in from her otherwise dilute neck. But without much knowledge for flora, it was hard to imagine what it'd look like when he couldn't even shape any specific flower from memory. Harder to imagine a cat wearing an object around on their head like some sort of bumbling twoleg. And for that matter, what purpose did it actually serve? Morale didn't seem to be a strong motivator, not when the flowers were impermanent, destined to break down and die. Aesthetics made no sense- they were cats, they had no need for modifications to their Starclan granted image. Why waste time weaving something so meaningless? But maybe Moonclan was all about impracticality, stubbornly toiling in wetlands which swept them off their paws. Maybe counterintuitive things like flower crowns were just the Moonclan way of thinking. Like asking someone with incentive to harm you to help lick you clean.

A reminder to return to the task at hand.

Turtlefang resumed his grooming, tracing the edge of Daisyfire's saddle without voicing most of these things. He winced a little as a curly tuft sprung back into place as he nudged some soggy overlap back into place, tickling his nose like the tail of a rabbit. As if in personal retribution, he gave it a fierce lick back, flattening the offending hairs at least for the time being. In a murmur half buried among her pelt, he added, "I doubt Moonclan would be very happy to see Sunclan stealing their ornaments."

With such a thorough explanation, it seemed he'd met his match. But then, what was I thinking trying to get the upperpaw on a Moonclan topic I only just discovered? Turtlefang cut his losses, resigned himself to a punishment of slowly shifting over the axis of Daisyfire's spine to start on the other half of her body. Without much to look at from behind the tom, he let his eyes slide shut, using the slope down from his vertebrae as a reference point for direction as he continued to dry. It'd been a long time since he'd had much practice with grooming a pelt that wasn't his own. It hadn't been since.. apprenticeship, probably. Ever since then, things had been...

Well. It was different. Different in the way the saddle was that pale chocolate color instead of a bright apricot, the way it curled after his nose playfully in those strange waves instead of flattening obediently, like the other warrior's final act of rebellion as he dutifully tended to the water. Where it'd started out cold to touch, frosted with starlight, it was quick to begin warming with the gradual work across each ripple of the pointed pelt, quelling the waves down into an evaporating sea foam. Had it been like this before? Probably. In some ways, in spite of how foreign this task felt to Turtlefang, there existed a seed of familiarity somewhere at the very back of his mind. The memory of what it felt like to take care of someone.

The more the cat beneath his muzzle thrummed with excited description, it was hard to believe there was anything better than paint. It made it all the more awkward that Turtlefang struggled to make sense of the words which were spoken with such a passion- The unsettling reality that for all this was worth to Daisyfire, it meant entirely nothing to him. It was more convoluted than the crowns, breaking his mind which attempted to wrap around it. There was no way to show your mind to another cat. Memories and thoughts stayed locked in your head, unable to be transferred for better or worse. The thought of being able to take something so private, so precious, and somehow depict it in the present day.. it seemed more like fantasy. He couldn't even process it. Maybe it was like having a dream? But then, how could you give that to another cat? How could you project it onto stone or wood?

If there was one thing he didn't like, it was feeling stupid. It was frustrating to think that something so important and mind-breaking existed out there, but that he'd had to discover it from an enemy warrior. That even after discovering it, he still had no way of understanding. How could you create visions from physical materials like mud or plant matter? Without realizing it, Turtlefang's grooming had faltered, a darkness shrouding his bothered gaze and leaving behind unfocused answers. "Lie around and complain?" For moment, he genuinely wondered if she was mocking him; To take his confusion and throw it back in his face, asking him to provide his own impossible examples when he didn't even grasp the meaning of her own. But it couldn't be true. Not when he'd spoken like the moon had been hung on a string for him to bat at. Somehow, Daisyfire really seemed to think it was normal to perform feats of magic and create abnormal contraptions among clanmates. So he tried again.

"There's always something that needs being done," He clarified, thinking none too subtly about the wretched warriors who'd swoop around Rabbitblaze begging to go on patrol after patrol. "If there's time to do nothing, then that cat is doing so of their own volition. Even if there's no patrol to go on, there's always going to be prey to hunt or another border to check between rotations. So... you can either put yourself to use or to rest." It was a perfect answer for any Sunclan warrior, the kind of noble resourcefulness that they were all expected to strive for beneath Starclan's approving gaze. He didn't mention, of course, that he more often fell into the latter category. But it was no less true. Turtlefang returned to the fluff of a white shoulder, beginning to edge into already dried territory in his effort to neaten out what had already been cleaned- A half conscious mimic of what he'd have done for himself, given the time and space. Old habits die hard, even when you're dealing with an entirely different set of patches.

What was all this about? Somehow, it felt like their chat about their respective clans had devolved into something else entirely. In an act of rebellion against the growing tension of his charge, Turtlefang continued down the shoulder to begin efforts on the lower back- the last remaining section that necessarily warranted touching. Craning his neck lower, he repositioned into a semi-crouch to take some of the strain off his back, which burnt angrily with the fold of his upper body to groom downwards. It wasn't the only thing that stung; hearing an outsider fuss over the happenings of a clan they weren't even a part of was vexing. What did Daisyfire know about what Sunclan outside of his own window he'd provided? What business did a Moonclan cat have talking about how boring and exhausting it must be to live in Sunclan? The loyalist in the tortie snapped its teeth with fervor, begged for a chance to bite down on vulnerable prey.