In which Ghoulmask may or may not have an unhealthy infatuation with the angsty marquess, Hawthorncrown. “Look, baby, all I’m saying is that whatever you’re putting down, I’m not picking it up. It’s nothing against you or what you’re putting down, it’s just that I don’t like–” There was a snarl as the she-cat he’d been following turned on him and attempted a swat at him that, admittedly, was poorly aimed before she vanished into the soldiers den and he shrugged, refusing to follow her inside. He hadn’t actually cared all that much anyway, he just needed to put on enough of a show that he wouldn’t look like the bad guy. Shaking out his pelt, he hummed and looked around the camp. He was fairly confident that any hopes and expectations his clan had placed upon him once he’d been named leader were thrown out of the window as soon as they saw him in action. He wasn’t leader material. He wasn’t even sure what leader material actually was. His mother certainly hadn’t been leader material and she’d been plucked out of thin air and sat on the throne. And her deputy… And then that deputy afterward… Yeah, it was all just a major let down. So why were they all so upset that he was the same way? He lifted a paw and licked the top, swiping it over his ears before stopping. What was that– He gave an experiment sniff of his armpit. Nope, definitely not. He hadn’t smelt that good in ages. So what was– Ahh… Drool began to pool in his mouth as his eyes locked on the fresh prey that had been set upon the pile. Warm prey. It had been so long since he’d had a nice, juicy piece of meat, he was practically dying for it. Not literally, but he could certainly make an attempt at looking like it. He glanced to each side before padding forward, at least until he stopped and frowned at the she-cat who’d managed to snag it first. How dare– “Excuse me,” he started, padding forward with a frown, “but I think you’ll find that that’s actually mine.”