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Brittle Path half limped, half hopped her way to the healing den. She had stepped on something awful on her patrol; she’d pulled it out, and besides sharp, it had been unidentifiable. Metal, probably. She had done her best to care for it immediately, licking it and keeping her weight off it on her way back.
She stepped up into the back, looking for a keeper on duty. No one. She flicked an ear, thinking it odd. She stepped back out, and sat down to wait. She licked her paw, soothing the stinging, throbbing, devilish pain in her pad. Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to look at the keeper crawling out from under the hood. Robinlight.
Brittle Path narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She’d recognize the other molly immediately, forever and always. She stood up and began walking away, stiffly with agitation, now, rather than pain.
“Did you need something?” Robinlight asked.
Brittle Path knew the keeper didn’t recognize her from behind. To her, from behind, she was one of several skinny, dark tabby toms in the Wanderers. Robinlight wouldn’t have asked if she knew it was her walking away. Brittle Path knew she should keep walking. She should ignore her.
“Not from you,” Brittle Path said, uncharacteristically coldly, and swung her head around to glare at the other molly.
“Oh, you.” Robinlight’s lip drew back in disgust.
“Yeah, me.” Brittle rolled her eyes and scoffed. “What are the chances that you’re the only one available? Out of, what? A dozen keepers?”
“Too high, clearly. What do you want?”
What did she want? Why had she bothered to say something? Why hadn’t she kept walking?
“I need treatment, but I’d rather wait than let you touch me, Tweetybird.” The once affectionate name for the molly was sour, bitter; rancid, even. She clenched her jaw. She wished she could set her on fire with a look. It was an awful thought, one that she'd regret having later; but Brittle Path hated that, despite everything, her attraction to Robinlight persisted.
The nickname elicited a definite reaction in the torbie: there was a burning hatred in her bright blue eyes and an ever so slight bristling of her thick coat. To be seen from the outside, though, it wouldn't draw attention. Not like the way Brittle Path frequently felt things.
“As if I'd ever touch you again. Your delusions might be contagious.” A scoff.
“My delusions?” Brittle Path laughed. “Oh, sweet dreams, you're right! I have a penis! Whatever will I do?” She said with overly dramatic, feigned worry. “At some point, you become the delusional one. You're nastier than some of the nastiest toms out there that think a molly is only good for kits. I might be useless to them in that regard, but at least they can insult me correctly, Robinlight.” There was a very particular disgust as she said the other molly's suffix. She rolled her eyes. “What a name you chose.”
“And you're sure living up to yours. You've been out a lot. I hear you're spending that time with a housecat.” There was a beat of silence before Robinlight added: “Just like your father.” There was a smug satisfaction in the insult, but it hadn't been quick enough.
“First of all, my mother is the only one qualified to say that to me; you never even met him,” Brittle Path snapped back quickly. “Second, don't you have better things to do than keep track of me? It's not your job and it's real weird.” It was her turn to pause, clicking her tongue a few times as she debated letting the rest of her thoughts loose.
“Yeah, you know what,” she said, deciding it was worth it. “You don’t believe in anything, you only value appearances. Your name is just part of that. You want cats to view you as this sweet, kind, gentle darling molly, but that's not what you are. You're a manipulative liar, clinging to anyone who will give you approval like a wet leaf.” Brittle Path narrowed her eyes, a feeling of contentment burning in her chest as Robinlight shrank back.
“I don't know whose opinions you absorbed or when, but we were friends at one point whether you like it or not now. I don't know why you're angry, but it's not my problem. I was always only myself, and I was always open about who and what that meant. If it was reeaally always a problem, you could've been mean about it and saved us both months of time and agony. Instead, all the times I know I checked in, asked about boundaries, you always told me we were fine and good, and promised you'd tell me if I crossed a line.” Brittle Path took a breath, her nose flaring.
“You're allowed to change your mind about things,” she said much more kindly than she'd been speaking previously. “Sometimes, that's really all it is. But I'm not going to let you convince me or anyone else that I'm stupid, or irrational, or worthless, or disloyal. I know who I am and I have my convictions. You don't know me anymore. If you'd like to insult me in a way that matters, you should try again when you have confidence and can be quicker on the offensive.” Brittle Path finished, waited, watched critically.
Robinlight was thoroughly offended. Her thick pelt was fluffier than it had been and she had sort of shrunk into it, as if she were hiding under a blanket. She scowled at Brittle Path, her glare sharper than her claws and teeth; it was certainly sharper than her tongue because she was floundering. She opened and closed her mouth, and then frowned, failing to come up with any kind of rebuttal.
“And the confidence to defend yourself,” she added, her tone somewhere between bitter and disappointed.
Brittle Path turned sharply on her heel and walked stiffly away, unwilling to give her former friend any more attention. It was clear there wouldn't be more exchanged between them presently, and what Robinlight did in the wake of her monologue concerned her exactly none. Her business consisted of watching for a different keeper. And, perhaps, considering that ripping into Robinlight like she had was dissatisfying.