[FinchxFrost] If i walk, would you run? [Talking]

[Whiskers]

Yet…

Finchpaw rolled this word around in his mind. It was small, but quite significant to him. Because he could feel deep down that he was going to pull away. The cords tying him to Fogclan were beginning to tear, and though sometimes his father stepped in to repair them, there was another tie now, and it was stronger than the others. This little lecture from Frostpaw only reminded him of its hold on him.

Ah, the lecture. At first, Finchpaw had been taken back. His ears had fallen flat on his head as Frostpaw rounded on him, giving him a stern, serious gaze as she forced him to look at her straight on. A shiver—not from the cold—had run through his spine at that moment. Frostpaw had the innate skill of doing that to him, whether she was being intimidating, or if she was yelling, or if she was just speaking. Towards the end, though, Finchpaw felt an odd urge to smile. Because she was right. And wrong, simultaneously.

She was right that he was not ready to give up his father or his brother. The dedication he felt toward them was weakening, but he still loved them. He still enjoyed them—when he didn’t have to creep around on his toes and watch what he said.

But, he did want to live like her. To be brave and open and bright—it was admirable and Finchpaw would never stop wanting that courage. Though he would not enjoy the alienation, Finchpaw now saw that he has forgotten a key factor to living like Frostpaw. If he lived like Frostpaw, he could still be happy. Because he wouldn’t be alone. And neither would Frostpaw, anymore.

As soon as she finished, he let his smile run free and he shook his head at himself. He did need to stop worrying, or he’d be an elder before he himself even knew it. This was one of those rare times that Finchpaw paid attention to his brother’s voice in his head, telling him to “cut loose” and “act like a real tom for once.”

”No. Not yet,” he answered her with newfound confidence in himself, to one day find the courage to make his own path. Here, with Frostpaw, he could believe himself; hopefully he would still feel the same way when they parted. It was always harder without Frostpaw by his side.

”Buuut….for now, we’re two cats, skipping out on our duties…with plenty of time on our paws,” Finchpaw stood up and stretched his body, looking up at Frostpaw with a mischievous spark in his eyes, a flickering flame that resembled that of her brother’s. An idea was blossoming and when Finchpaw got an idea, it would not be ignored. He nudged Frostpaw’s shoulder playfully, before prancing around the she-cat like a newborn fawn, clumsy…yet somehow, endearing. He wore ridiculous fairly well.

“What do you say, Frostpaw?” He kicked up a leaf into her face and his smile settled into a challenging smirk—a rare expression for a tom like Finchpaw. ”Up for some kittish fun?”

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw didn't care to watch Finchpaw after she spoke. The silence was enough for her to know that the tom was thinking about what she had just said, no doubt analysing every tiny aspect of his life.

She studied the surroundings, waiting for him to finish. She had consigned herself to a long wait and an accompanying heartfelt speech at the end.

But he was done sooner than she expected. Instead of a long talk about his feeling... he answered with 3 words. It made her blink in surprise. This was Finchpaw she was talking to, wasn't it?

She had been expecting a long follow up... but no. Instead he stated the obvious and got off of the floor, shooting her a rather... unusual look. What was it he was...

Then he nudged her, making her freeze subconciously, watching his every move with a wary look upon her face. Prancing around her like a kit, he seemed to be... beckoning her? What exactly was he doing? Was he purposely being mouse-brained? There seemed to be no intent to his actions, so surely he couldn't be doing this for no reason.

Then he revealed it. He wanted to... have 'kittish fun'?

Never before had Frostpaw felt that the gift of comprehension was beyond her grasp. Here... she was lost for words, so completely dumbfounded she had no clue what she was supposed to reply with. She felt so utterly akward... so utterly useless. Couldn't they have a debate instead?

She sat in silence, feeling somewhat intimidated by the tom's actions. What was she supposed to do?

She remained silent for much too long, with a look of complete puzzlement upon her face, to cover up her faults. There was nothing for it but to ask...

"How exactly..." She started, "What do you do?"

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw had expected the silence from Frostpaw. He was actually expecting a scoff from her. A smirk, maybe, accompanied by a “what do you take me for?” or a “you can’t be serious”. In fact, as soon as the words had left his muzzle, a good half of him, the logical half, wanted to drag them back in. But for some reason (maybe it was the winter air that was getting to him, or the high from tricking Firepaw, or maybe it was just Frostpaw’s effect on him in general) his other half was winning the fight. And…Finchpaw didn’t really mind that his more emotional, sillier side was winning. It was nice, actually, to be more like this around someone other than Firepaw.

So Finchpaw didn’t take back his words. He let them sit in the air, and he did not lose any confidence when Frostpaw fell into a deep and worrisome silence. He prepared himself for the blow. He prepared himself to recover from whatever jarring comment she would send his way. It wouldn’t be too bad, he figured, as he believed that Frostpaw wouldn’t completely rip him apart. They were friends. Strange ones, yet, but friends nonetheless, so he wouldn’t take any offense to her refusal.

Frostpaw finally moved, her expression nearly unreadable. Finchpaw sat down for this, right in front of her, and he tilted his head to the side expectantly. Here it comes…

“How exactly…What do you do?” And then Frostpaw’s carefully composed face crumbled into a look of mystification, as if the idea…really was very foreign to her. It seemed so outlandish to Finchpaw…but it was true.

She really didn’t know.

Finchpaw first felt the wave of shock that pricked his ears and widened his eyes. Then, the tinge of sadness washed over him. Every time Finchpaw thought he could feel no more sadness for Frostpaw, she managed to surprise him with something…something like this. It was small, insignificant maybe but… to not know how to play! It was a joy all kits should experience before they had to grow up. And Frostpaw had not, for whatever reason. He knew that she had come to the clan when she was an older kit, and that she had no siblings. And true, she was not very social even when she was a kit. If only they had been friends back then too. Finchpaw could have shown her the best games. Moss ball, leader fighting, pounce practice, racing-round-the-queen, scavenger hunt, hide-and-seek…

Finchpaw brushed these thoughts aside. He could do nothing about his kithood or her kithood. He would just have to teach her now, it seemed. If she would let him. (Though if she refused, he’d still try and force her. It’s what a good friend would do, right? Right.)

“You do what you want,” Finchpaw told her with an easy smile. “That’s what makes it so wonderful. I can’t believe you’ve never played before! Never hunted leaves? Not even one playfight?!” And he fell into a crouch then, looking up at her with round eyes. He wiggled his haunches comically.
“Tell me you’ve playfought before,” Finchpaw scratched at the ground with his claws, still crouched. “Not a fake battle with my dad, but a tumble with a denmate. When you pretend you’re some other warrior…like a famous leader, or something. I know, it seems trivial, but once you try it…it’s very fun.” He hinted with another smile.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw watched the look of pity cross over his face, and despite herself she sighed quietly. Why did cats have to pity her so much? Was she really someone to feel sorry for? Regardless of what many cats instantly supposed, she was absolutely fine. There was no need to pity her for her lifestyle, beliefs or past. Her life was her life.

However, she curbed her comments as she waited for him to actually speak. Perhaps he'd redeem himself.

As the tom spoke, she wanted to growl at him for making her feel like she'd missed out on something important. Though she knew it was good humoured, she still felt as if his words were inspired by a heartfelt sorrow that she had missed out. Though she couldn't quite grasp why, it irritated her immensely.

However, for the sake of the ginger-haired medicine cat, she would try and remain patient. He was trying to... tell her something here, convey some important idea to her. As she had listened when her mentor spoke faithful gibberish, she would listen to this and learn from it... it her most abstract way.

Strangely, as he spoke to her passionately about this unusual idea, Frostpaw found herself grasping the concept with relative ease. Well, she thought she had anyway. Perhaps she had missed the point of it, but she was pretty sure the idea had clicked on some level.

"Hmm..." She mumbled, musing to herself, "This play idea... it doesn't have to be physical, does it? If it's something trivial but something you enjoy doing, that means playing could be anything, right? If that is the case," She grinned cheekily, "I never stop playing."

She smiled at Finchpaw, a devious twinkle adorning her eyes. Her tail lashed from side to side, a bubbling delight filling her mind.

"I like words, Finchpaw." She mewed, voice low, "I always have. From the moment I learnt to talk, I loved using them, toying with them. They fascinate me."

She giggled, remembering her younger self. "When I was younger, I would use them just because I wanted to. I'd start a fight against my mother, taunting her with my words just to puzzle her. It would be over something trivial, but I would fight my corner as if losing would kill me... just to use words. I liked getting one over on that mousebrained cat, winning over her... and in the end it was entirely innocent," her eyes glinted, "but I'm not sure she knew that."

She chuckled, grinning wildly, "Could that be something that classifies as 'playing'?" She asked sincerely, "Because if it is, I don't think I've ever been serious."

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw lifted himself from his playful position so he stood straight and he met Frostpaw's eyes with his own. There it was-- Frostpaw, the way he had first met her. Devilish, cunning, intriguing, wonderful. This attitude was what had drawn him to her in the first place, and what had sealed him to the ground and kept their first conversation going. Some thought this attitude annoying or pompous; his father hated it with every bone in his body. But Finchpaw thought it clever, found it engaging. And he nearly purred when he heard it in her voice and saw the spark of it in her eye. While he wanted to, someday, get to know the softer Frostpaw, he was more than happy to have this one too.

Strange, he thought, how I separate them in my mind. Happy Frostpaw, Serious Frostpaw-- they're all the same cat. It was a out-of-place thought. He would have to figure out why he did this...but not now. He would ponder that thought when he was bored and all alone in the medicine cat den.

"Well it's not exactly what I meant," Finchpaw said in an even, genuinely happy tone. He had a ridiculous smile on as his thoughts lingered on memories of their first conversation. "But, yes, that is a form of playing, Frostpaw. One you are extremely good at."

Ah, had she ever lost at that game? Finchpaw didn't even know if he had played it with her. They had debated, yes, but it was different than what Frostpaw did with Rowanheart. Or was it? Finchpaw knew he held his own against Frostpaw better than his father ever could... so maybe it wasn't as different as he thought. If so, then he could be playing her game now.

At least he wasn't completely and utterly failing like some other cats he knew. The idea that he had managed to...well, not win, but not lose, was something he would take secret pride in. Not that winning or losing was that important. Finchpaw was not highly competitive, that was Firepaw. Finchpaw was content with merely participating in the fun.

He did wish that Frostpaw would play with him though-- his kind of game, not her own. Finchpaw didn't know why he desired this. The sun wasn't even shining, the air was bitter and cold; most cats would want to curl up in the den on a day like this. It wasn't the weather... it was just the fact he had the opportunity, Finchpaw figured. He did not know when he would get such an opportunity again. And most importantly, he didn't know if the opportunity would be with Frostpaw. They had never played as kits, they had wasted moons saying not a word to each other-- that was it!

Finchpaw wanted to tumble around with Frostpaw in the autumn leaves. He wanted to disrupt the forest life with Frostpaw and chase away all the prey with silly laughter. It was to make up for lost time...it was because it was her and really, no other reason. But was it too much to wish for at this point? He had not known Frostpaw that long and sometimes he felt like he was barely cracking her shell. If she was reluctant to play, he would just have to respect that. A talk was nice. A talk... a talk was wonderful.

He could always coax Firepaw into a playfight later, he supposed... if Firepaw was speaking to him and if he wasn't stuck in that damn den with Brightnose. But even if he managed to do that, the playfight wouldn't satisfy. It wouldn't be the same.

But Finchpaw resolved that he would not be disappointed anyway. This was Frostpaw and he would take everything he got from her happily. He was just grateful he had managed to get out of camp with her, so why ask for more at this point? There would be other days and other stolen hours.

"So you were every bit of a handful back then as you are now," he teased lightly. "I can't say I'm surprised. The way you use words...it's a talent, Frostpaw, and just as useful as a talent for hunting or fighting. Maybe if I had your tongue, I could scare away my father as well."

"Though you might find it interesting to know that back when I was a kit, I caused a little trouble for Rowanheart. I was just as outspoken as you," Finchpaw remembered those days with a fond chuckle. He shook his head. His "outspokenness" had got him where he was today. "I gave my father headaches, as he repeated lectures about Starclan over and over and over just to satisfy my "confused" mind. We would have made quite a team back then, if we had spoken."

Finchpaw nearly mentioned the time he had almost walked over to say hello to her, but he decided against it. It may lead to the question of why he chickened out in the first place...and he hardly wanted to answer that. Finchpaw didn't even know if he could.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw grinned, the warmth behind her smile matching Finchpaw's. As the tom admitted that she had indeed been playing (fancy that?), a curious thought struck her mind.

Was she not the only one who saw the world in such a ridiculous way? Frostpaw had always thought that every cat around her saw life as a serious thing, something that needed to be planned for, full of accidents waiting to happen and teeming with unwritten rules that must always be obeyed. She'd never understood those cats, she'd never fully grasped how she-cats like Mistpelt, who believed everyone must think and act in a certain way to be 'correct', could believe life was full of so many restrictions. The idea that life must be lived a certain way, that you should be a certain person, was mouse-brained - she of all cats should know that well. So, perhaps that was why she had had difficulty with connecting with others. Forging a link with those so utterly stuck in a web of complex regulations and expectations (meaning pretty much all of feline kind) was frustrating as she neither cared for or respected these conventions. She'd fight her way past them, use unorthodox means while interacting with cats, and they'd hate her... because she was bending law around herself to effect them in whatever way she wanted. Then, because she was so utterly... playful and because they were reacting so seriously to a few well-placed words, she'd get frustrated with them, fed up and completely bored. Who wants to talk to a cat when you know how they'll react and how they'll counter, that they'll always follow a set path with their thinking?

However, maybe, just maybe, she'd been incorrect in assuming every cat was the same. Frostpaw hadn't been taught to play, she had not been taught to rebel. Although she had not known she was doing it, she had come to do so in her own unique way, regardless. Could it be that cats started off the way she did, with free minds and free though, but that as life went on, their ability to do so faded? Could it be that all cats had the ability to play within them, to forget that life was serious and simply live? If that was true, it was more important that she showed cats how to play again than she had first imagined.

She continued to smile, "Heh, it seems I have learnt to play without knowing it. And without being taught. Strange that. Perhaps all cats know how to do it really... they just don't know they're doing it."

Her eyes sparkled with good humor, her signature smirk crossing her face, "It's also strange that both of us come from such a similar background and that we both rebelled." She chuckled, "Maybe I was wrong in assuming that all cats are conformists... maybe they're not. What if all cats are rebels at heart, they start off as free-thinkers but get caught up in following? I'd always thought that cats must be taught to ignore the rules, that they must learn how to follow their own path... but maybe they just need to rediscover themselves, just as you did with me. They just need to see life as a joke... learn how to play again..."

She giggled, shaking her head. "Yes, I've always been a handful. Proud to be a handful, too. And I should be talented with words by now, I've had more than enough practice." She twitched her whiskers playfully, feeling a buzz of delight left over from her discovery a moment before.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw often wondered what it would be like to read Frostpaw’s mind, to look into her thoughts and see, with his own eyes, what was going on in there. She was just always such a mystery and it was near torture for Finchpaw to watch her think and not know what it was she was thinking of. Especially times like now, when her eyes deepened and her brow creased. Finchpaw had watched Frostpaw think enough times to recognize that these details meant she had just fallen into a bout of deep thought. When she was going to reenter his world was an obscurity. Whether she was going to tell him about her thoughts was an uncertainty.

Yet if he had that uncanny ability to read minds—no, not read all minds, just Frostpaw’s mind—than Finchpaw knew that he would feel…better. About everything. More secure in himself when he was around her and more confident about their relationship. Relationship? Friendship? …Alliance? There wasn’t a real word for it at this point, though Finchpaw would proudly call her his friend if asked by anyone but Rowanheart.

Finchpaw was broken out of his daze as soon as Frostpaw spoke, with a peculiar smile gracing her lips. Her little smile, strange as it was, inspired Finchpaw’s muzzle to do the same. Frostpaw’s smiles were too few for his liking, but he loved seeing them.

Lucky for Finchpaw, Frostpaw satiated his curiosity with the details of her own mind and he soaked up every last bit that she provided.

“You’re absolutely correct, Frostpaw,” Finchpaw confirmed her own musing. Truly, he felt that she was definitely right. After all, what had he been before her? A mindless follower that’s who—a slave to his father’s wishes and to his brother’s whims, a servant of his clan. Frostpaw came and all that changed.

“As kits… as kits we have not a care in the world. It is when fear is introduced—fear of punishment, specifically— that we begin to conform to the social standard in our clans. That’s how it was for me anyway,” Finchpaw’s smile faltered slightly. He was no stranger to fear. “You are a good teacher though. If more cats would actually listen to you and forget their fear… well, I think they would like what they’d hear.”

“I’m glad you’ve taught me how to ‘play,’ at least,” and Finchpaw’s smile came back full force. HIs next thought was more bold, and he hesitated. She hadn't exactly turned him down the first time, so maybe he would have more luck this time? Finchpaw decided to take the plunge and try, try again.

“Maybe one day I'll teach you how to play my way.”

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw listened attentively, to what Finchpaw had to say.

Although unavoidably disappointed by the first line (although she really couldn't fathom why. Surely she should be happy he agreed wholeheartedly with her?), Finchpaw made an interesting point.

"Perhaps that's it, then." Frostpaw murmured softly, "Cats are too afraid of the repercussions that comes about from being themselves... it would make sense. Not many know that all imprisonments are temporary and those who disapprove of them are not worth bothering about... If I hadn't figured that out, I'd probably have become a mouse-brained sheep who worshipped her own mother."

She stuck her tongue in distaste. Yuck. That truly was a horrifying thought. Now she knew she'd rather have her mother's hatred than her conditional love any day.

As for Finchpaw's next point, that thought had sent more curious musings through her mind. She was a good teacher? Why would she want to be a teacher? The idea brought her back to the idea of mentoring an apprentice, which she knew she should be doing right now (but she wasn't because Rowanheart was an arrogant badger and Owlstar... was stupid beyond words), which made her shudder. Rowanheart's mentoring had left her believing that having a mentor, a cat to teach you, was a bad thing. The rememberance of being told what to believe, how to believe and how to live continuously irritated her. No, she'd rather not be a self-important cat who claimed they knew enough about the world and how to breathe. She'd be much too like Rowanheart... much too like her mother if she preached her way as if it was the only one to 'willing to learn' kits. The best learning she had ever done had been through thinking and observing, learning subconsciously through the cats she admired.

If she ever got the chance, she would not be the conventional teacher, she promised herself. She'd never judge, she'd never preach about her path... she'd simply ask cats to question their own logic. She'd get them to think on the world as she had and would attempt to always respect them, no matter how much they differed to her or how difficult they were. Basically, she would be what Rowanheart wasn't.

"Heh," She said, her tail sweeping from side to side as she thought, "I'm not sure I'm a teacher. If cats learn from me, that's their business. I shall set them my example but never teach them to follow it. I'm not sure many cats would appreciate my methods either." She chuckled, "I get the feeling cats like to be instructed and they'd get none of that from me, they'd have to infer everything."

She chuckled again, "And as for your suggestion that'll you'll teach me to play your way one day, I doubt it if you're suggesting I will walk your path or live your way. That's impossible and I'm not sure I'd enjoy it," She smirked cheekily, "But if you're talking about playing, perhaps you will."

She thought for a moment.

"I'd perhaps enjoy that."

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw, of course, wholeheartedly disagreed with Frostpaw that she was not a teacher. She was, even if she did not think it. They were all teachers, in their own respective places-- after all, each cat had an effect on another, no matter how big or small. Every action made an impact on someone, and if that impact was big enough, then that someone would learn something. Well, ideally they would, Finchpaw thought with an annoyed flick of his ear. His father was stubbornly against learning at every turn. So there were certain cats, yes, who truly could not be taught because they were not open to it.

Still. Frostpaw was an influential cat. Her very presence changed Fogclan every day. Maybe the lessons currently coming across were not the best ones, but they were lessons nonetheless. And if given the chance, Finchpaw could see Frostpaw being a fabulous teacher. Her respone just confirmed that opinion.

"And I think that's the best kind of teacher, Frostpaw. The kind that lets its students think for themselves-- just presenting them with an idea and challenging them to think about it is a form of teaching." Finchpaw argued-- no, it wasn't an argument, he was very firm in this opinion of her. Maybe he was wrong but...he didn't feel wrong.

In fact, picturing himself under Frostpaw's tutelage, Finchpaw could see himself thriving. He already was her student in some respects, though it was honestly really weird to think of himself like that, since mentors were...something else, the relationship between student and teacher a different one. He would never talk to Brightnose about things like this, never would dare, so Finchpaw was definitely happier being Frostpaw's friend and not her apprentice.

Though if he was her apprentice...things would never get boring at least.

Finchpaw smirked at the last bit. Frostpaw could never, would never, live the way he did. If for some reason she ever decided to lie like he did, to pretend to be someone that she was not, he would beg her not to. But he wouldn't have to worry about that, since the idea was so ludicrous it was not even worth pondering about.

He was however, ecstatic that Frostpaw had pondered his proposal again. His ears perked up, and he let out a purr. How silly he was, and how easy it was to make him happy sometimes.

"I guarantee you will. One day, of course," Finchpaw grinned.

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