Coming Home (Spidey! Get over here!)

[Fernpaw]

In the distance, tall blades of grass began to writhe and swish as an unseen creature past swiftly through them. Actually, swiftly seems to be the wrong word for this particular story. When you're going at a steady 40 mph---and have been for the past 3 or so miles---swiftly doesn't really describe you, but then I don't think the certain feline I'm describing would really care. You could call him swift or sluggish, he'd just laugh in your face. He's that sort of cat. Well, we will continue:

Auburn pelt darted through the blades of grass, slipping through them as easily as a hot knife through butter. Blood-red stocks pounded the ground in a rapid tattoo, the timeless rythm of speed. Ears pressed flat against a chiseled dial, and golden eyes sparkling for joy.

Golden orbs narrowed, whiskers twitching, a red tom streaked into the camp, skidding to a halt in a cloud of dust. Coughing and laughing at the same time, the brute shook the clinging particles of dust from his now dusty pelt. Dragonfang surveyed the plains from which he'd just come across, looking for his mate Spiderthorn.

He grinned, revealing clean, white fangs. Ha! he thought triumphantly. Been eating too much fresh kill than what's good for her. I warned her! She'll thank me now, because she'll come in, dragging that stomach of hers like a sack of potatoes!

Of course, we must remember that Dragonfang had no idea what potatoes were, otherwise he would've chosen a different description for his beloved's stomach. If he could picture her, with a lumpy stomach dragging behind her, he doubtless would've first laughed till he rolled, then rolled till he was absolutely exhausted. The brute had heard the words from an ex-kittypet, and had liked the term very much. Hence, Spiderthorn would come in, dragging her stomach like a sack of potatoes.

[Flintpelt [Spideh]]

[Potahtoooooes x3333]

However, what really happened next was quite a different scene from what Dragonfang had so comically imagined. Very different, in fact.
A slim paw of dark tangerine hues came up to tap the tom's shoulder, sheathed toes pressing onto the reddish brown fur calmly, coming back up to land softly once again in an insistent way, practically yelling into the male's head Turn around, ya fargging idiot. There stood his mate, striped form settled into a comfortable sitting position on the earth just behind him, a wide grin of smug joy spread upon her dazzling pearly whites. Orange eyebrows raised twice in unison, climbing up on the female's face to drop again in quick, agile motions, creating quite a comical effect that added to the obvious sentence shining in her amber oculars.
"Ha ha. Beatcha."
A few moments after the revealing of her victory, Spiderthorn landed a soft paw on the male's shoulder once again, this time keeping it steady in its position, and began laughing heartily, tears running down her cheeks as the air was crushed from her lungs. The chuckles and giggling had been so sudden to come, her senses had not gotten ready, and she was really running out of air. One moment of abatement gave her enough time to suck in another gulp of refreshing wind, and then it started all over again, paw lifting from her mate's shoulder to pound the ground below her. It was hard to tell what was so funny about the moment, but it seemed that the lithe she-cat found it very amusing indeed.
"What's with all the racket?"
Another voice had come up through the gales of laughter now wheezing from Spiderthorn's throat. She was rolling around, clutching her furred chest, aching ribs making more tears fall down her whiskers and drip onto the dry ground, parched by the midday sun. The slim form of an ancient brown tom slipped towards them from the entrance of the elders' den, one earth-hued eyebrow cocked high in a questioning manner. It was obvious that he was asking what the heck was wrong with the orange tabby she-cat tumbling about in the dust, but if he would get an answer to this silent inquiry was not yet assured. After all, he was just another new arrival to the tiny troup of felines who were beginning to come back together.

[Fernpaw]

Dragonfang whirled around, amber eyes startled. At the sight of his mate, the red brute stiffened, placed a paw to his heart and keeled over on his side, eyes wide and staring. Dragonfang was pantomiming having a heart attack.

At the sound of Spiderthorn's peals of laughter, he leaped to his paws, bowing theatrically, "Thank you," he murmured in what he prayed was a modest fashion. "You're too kind. Thank you! Yes, I know!"

His performance was halted by the presence of another feline. He flicked his ears respectfully, dipping his head towards the elder. "I have no idea!" he exclaimed, eyes wide in innocence. "Maybe a seizure? Do you have a Medicine Cat we could take her too?" He winked at the elder, hoping that Spiderthorn would keep laughing and hoping the tom would get an idea of the joke he was about to play.

[Flintpelt [Spideh]]

The old tom shook his head in disbelief, the slight tug of an amused smile obvious at the corner of his earth-hued maw. He had never seen two cats as strange and amiable as these two. It wasn't every day you saw a she-cat screech in laughter after seeing a tom [who seemed to be her mate by the way she was acting] mime a heart attack, even though the little theatrical scene had been quite comical. He chuckled under his breath, his curiosity pricked by this unusual couple, and winked back at the male who had addressed him. Not all elders were as dry or grumpy as most ancient felines became, and this one belonged to those few playful cats. Though he knew his acting skills were pitiful and needed refining, it would be fun to play along with their little game, or at least what looked strongly like one. Beginning to mime concentration, or something close to pondering, he finally let more words slip past his lips.
"Well, I do know one. But how will we carry her?"
"Hey, hey! No need to drag me! I'm fine!"
Spiderthorn scrambled to her feet, a dignified look pasted onto her dark orange features, one leg bent as a paw rested upon her furred chest in a manner that she meant to be proud, though it made her look like a pouting kit even more than ever. She was trying hard to stop herself from laughing out loud at the image that was conjured in her head of herself, standing there covered in dust from head to tailtip, fur standing out even more from her ankles than it usually did [though this detail was hardly visible because of the fact that the rest of her coat was also sticking out, making her look like a fuzzy pincushion], eyes closed in a regal fashion, lower lip curled slightly over upper one. She looked plain ridiculous, even though she did not look half as horrible as she desired. It was better when she did.

[Fernpaw]

Dragonfang swallowed another laugh as his mate scrambled to his paws. He shook his head in mock seriousness, turning to the elder, woe in his voice. "Yes, let's. I hear they have some very up-to-date cuncoctions (sp?) on how to cure a horrible desease called Laughingitis. I heard a cat died of it down there"---by down there Dragonfang meant on Earth---"a sad affair." He shook his head, clucking his tongue sympathetically. He glanced sideways at Spiderthorn, standing to the side, dust clouds billowing from her fur.

The fun-loving tom turned back to the elder, "See what I have to deal with? A cat who doesn't know that I"m trying to save her life. One day, she could be laughing so hard, she'll roll right off a cliff. Then she'll think, 'Oh, why didn't I listen to my dear, kind, wise, gentle, thoughtful,"---Dragonfang smiled sweetly at his mate---"handsome, courageous,"---here the tom struck what he thought to be a heroic pose, paw shielding his eyes from the sun---"caring, considerate, and modest Dragonfang." The tom glared in mock fury at Spiderthorn, "I hope you're happy," he grunted, winking discreetly at the elder. "This kind elder had come out to help you out of the goodness of his heart, and you won't say thank you! Won't even introduce yourself!"

[Flintpelt [Spideh]]

"Sad? Pha!" the orange female laughed roughly, one balled-up paw aiming for her mate's shoulder in a casual gesture of mock. "More like so hilarious the Medicine Cat died from asphyxiation along with him!" she continued, rolling amber oculars in their sockets to intensify the expression of scorn she was trying to build up on her face while also attempting to control the growing grin on her slim features as well as the infectious laughter climbing up her throat like bile, even though it was much more pleasent than this latter. She couldn't help thinking that this situation, where her mate and the ancient brown elder were ganging up on her as she desperately struggled to gain a proud look even while she was completely covered in dust and looking utterly ridiculous in her awkward position, was completely and without a doubt hilarious.
Realizing that she probably did look worse for wear with the thick coating of dry tan-brown particles, she gave a hearty shake of powerful shoulders, the dirt flying off of her pelt in thick choking puffs, from which Dragonfang seemed to back away, standing to the side [I... think x.x]. The old tom who had come to greet them in quite a surprising manner and had soon begun to play along in their games let a faint shake move his small skull, sighing as a slight laugh escaped his maw. Such a strange duo was created by the two cats. Even though it looked as if they kept on throwing insults at each other, it was always in a friendly, joking way, and neither took anything in the wrong manner.
"Scared of a little dust, dear?"
The orange-pelted she-cat had set her rump down firmly on the ground, and slim features had changed their settings to face the tom at her side, the one named Dragonfang, to say this simple sentence. She was referring, of course, to what he had done earlier as she shook herself to regain the shine to her usually immaculately clean fur [though it had been getting quite a few meetings with the ground lately], immediately seeing a way to get back at her mate.
But, of course, Dragonfang always went farther than she ever did. She slapped a paw across her face as he started speaking again, returning the smile he directed at him, though her own revealed slightly more gleaming fangs than a normal smile would have. Snort, roll of the eyes, and she clearly explained that all of these compliments the male gave himself did not even begin to exist, in her eyes, in the tom's pinky finger. However, it was still all play. She would never mean the things she said in those moments, and if she did, they would not be insulting.
"Ah," she mewed finally, "the introduction. I completely forgot."
Sending another savage grin in her mate's direction, and entirely ignoring the mock glare he had sent at her, she turned to the elder, who was now sitting down in front of the two as he waited for a chance to speak.
"My name," she mewed, gesturing towards herself with a grand twirl of her forepaw, "is Spiderthorn. This cat over here," she went on, flicking a claw in the male's direction as if she was not interested in him whatsoever, "is called Dragonfang. May I ask your name?"
"Of course," the elder replied. "Shortleg, at your service. Not a very rewarding name, I know, but you might know me as Shortstar, one-time Leader of ThunderClan. I retired," he finished, explaining why his name was not the same.

[Fernpaw]

Dragonfang coughed, stepping out of the cloud of dust as his mate shook her coat. His chest heaved theatrically as he gasped, appearing to be fighting for air. He gasped in an astonished mew, "Lady! Please keep your noxious fumes to yourself!" Suprressing a grin, he shook the dust from his coat.

Dragonfang screwed up his eyes, hiding the twinkles of amusement that sparkled there. His bottom lip wobbled as he pounded his front paw on the ground, wailing theatrically, "No fair! Me wanted to introduce myself!" Then the massive tom was his usual self, bobbing his head respectfully at the elder. "Forgive my juvenile display, sir," he mewed. He cocked his head to one side, looking at the elder. "Shortstar, huh?" The auburn tom smiled, "I believe I've heard of you, before. How old were you when you retired?"

Dragonfang knew he was treading on thin ice here. Most elders would get snappy, accusing you of being impertinent for inquiring about their age. Somehow, though, Dragonfang could tell this elder was not like that. He seemed like the type who enjoyed a good joke. The tom beamed at the elder, waiting for an answer.

After a while of silence, he looked back over his shoulder at Spiderthorn, and said, "I'm ignoring you for that ghastly display earlier." Ducking his head to hide a grin, the massive striped tom looked back at Shortleg.

[Flintpelt [Spideh]]

Trying to keep down another growing fit of infectious giggles, the orange she-cat cleared her throat with a loud, obvious cough, looking to the side as if not very convincingly ignoring the whining tom as he wailed in a mock imitation of indignancy - or at least what seemed like it. The tom, as he watched them continue in their antics, let the curve of an amused smile creep up his ebony-hued lips, along with the dry chuckle of one who has seen perhaps a moon too many, and is finally enjoying a moment of happy peace. He then returned the nod that the one apparently named Dragonfang had directed towards him, his cranium rising slightly before descending farther down, before adding a sentence of his own to the dialogue.
"Please, call me Shortleg. Even Short will do fine. I have no point in denying my height," he added, glancing down at his abnormally small legs with the curve of a grin adorning his maw. He didn't care much about it, anyway. No one had judged him by appearance when he had been a Leader, nor an elder, except for a few of the more insulting kits. He just hoped these two felines would do the same.
Then the age question came. A silence settled over the group, though quickly broken by the same dark-hued tom, as Shortleg pondered over the question. No, he would not snap and hiss. He just wasn't like that. Instead, putting on a smile that he hoped was not too large on his graying maw, he soon answered the inquiry in his own tones.
"Oh, I dunno. But I sure was old. Perhaps... somewhere in the hundred and ten moons?"
Spiderthorn had been about to reply to her mate's comment ["What ghastly display? My teeth?"] when she had heard the estimation of the ancient tom's age. Right at that moment, the flabbergasted she-cat's lower jaw dropped like a stone in the River, her absolute surprise obvious in the way her amber-toned eyes seemed to bo looking for a way to pop straight out of their sockets.
"Waow."

[Fernpaw]

Dragonfang's eyes nearly popped out of his head, that was old! He felt a breeze in the lower section of his maw, realized his mouth was hanging open, and closed it with a click. Dragonfang whispered loudly at Spiderthorn, fervently hoping Shortey ((eh, short one!)) wouldn't take it the wrong way.

"A hundred and ten moons! I thought he was older!" The tom then grinned, flashing serrated ivories at his mate. He then sprang forward ducking his head respectfully. If they had been humans, the jovial tom would've grabbed the elder's hand and shaken if vigorously. "Pleased to meet you Shortey!" he mewed, his words tumbling over themselves in their haste to get out of his mouth. "Whoowee! You've seen your share of the world, haven't you!"

Dragonfang looked over at Spiderthorn, and clucked at her sympathetically, "Come come now, are you sulking? That's not a very ladylike way to behave, you know." Turning to Shortleg, the tom whispered loudly in his ear, "Just between you and me, Spiderthorn gets flashbacks from her past. Right now, she's reliving a tantrum when she was a kit. Horrible thing it was. Attacked a warrior, she did! You've got to feel sorry for her . . . the warrior, I mean."

[Flintpelt [Spideh]]

[xDDDD
Farg, ya still make me laugh. :33 Teehee. I just luff these two.]

An amused grin appeared on the old tom's face as he saw the amazed expressions on both of his newfound aquaintainces' features. He hadn't expected to make such a.... strong impression. The two looked practically as if he had just said that he had beaten ShadowClan with only his single right paw. Mouthes hanging open like two sacks of potatoes, using Dragonfang's expression [which he had previously used to describe the belly, actually quite flat, of his mate], eyes practically popping straight out from their sockets, they didn't just look surprised, or even impressed ; the right word was flabbergasted. Completely and utterly [without a single shred of doubt] flabbergasted.
Shortleg's eyebrows shot up momentarily as he heard what the crimson-hued tom was saying, and then dropped back down in a mock expression of anger as he understood the game. They were only insults, thrown lightly and without a care, meant to make others laugh rather than give them pain, and he knew it well. Joining into the fun, he pulled the corners of his mouth down and created a strangely comical image of a furious elder [which, we have to point out, he sure wasn't].
"Hey, hey! You naughty kits shouldn't insulcher elders!"
As he spoke, anyone listening could have seen that he had modified his voice as well, transforming it into the strangely deep and still high-pitched, wavering voice that many ancient felines gained along with age, wisdom and bad breath. He was doing an effort to equal the other two, and was actually doing well, even though he thought that his own display was poorly feeble in comparison to the other two's. However, a shrieking peal of laughter from Spiderthorn made his moral rise slightly, since this signified that she found him hilarious indeed.
"Ha... oh farg... hahaha! Ye Great StarClan... heehee... did you see his face?"
Another stream of suppressed chuckles escaped her throat as Dragonfang sprang up to greet the elderly cat.
"And pleased to meet you, Dragonfang!", 'Shortey' answered, chuckling as he let his face go and the grin appeared. "And yes, I have."
Spiderthorn, meanwhile, had finally stopped her hysterics, and pulled her tongue out as Dragonfang accused her of sulking. Muzzle wrinkled and tongue sticking out like a miniature snake from her mouth, she stared at the two conversing toms with a look of comical anger on her face, just as Shortleg had made his own before.
This same elder suppressed a stream of chuckles at what the crimson-toned tom whispered to him, and then answered, almost as if it was the simplest thing in the world,
"Yes, you must."
He was having quite a bit more fun than he usually did, that was for sure.

[Eh-heh... sorreh 'bout the name mistake -_-;]

[Fernpaw]

((Thank you, thank you *bows*))

Dragonfang began to chuckle as the elder pulled down his lips, valiantly fighting the effort to laugh. As Spiderthorn began to hoot, holler, laugh, chuckle, giggle and do all the other genial terms used when describing hysterics, the auburn tom reached up a paw and thumped her heavily on the back.

((Sorry, will finish!))