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Post by flighty on Jan 23, 2011 9:41:27 GMT -8
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His pawsteps were silent as he made his way
across the earth, looking around himself
uneasily. Green-grey gaze flickered about
warily. He wasn't sure about where he was. He
was worried that someone might not welcome
him. What if they'd heard the stories of him?
But... no, they wouldn't know. Though he might
be massive and muscular, and covered in
scars and very intimidating, they wouldn't have
heard the horror stories of his past. Recalling
these memories himself, he winced internally.
His history was not full of peace and happiness.
He wasn't pleased with it.
In fact, he hated himself for what he'd done.
So many times...so many cats, dead because of
him. So much blood that stained his paws, the
images that will never leave his mind. Never to
make him the innocent young tom he once was.
He sat down, swishing his thick, fluffy silver tail
around his paws. He had a few still-healing scratches
on his muzzle. The tom curled up on his side,
whiskers twitching. He didn't even quite know his
name.
When he was younger, he was Creekpaw. Then
he was Moon. Then he was Moonflake. Now, he
was just confused. Who, truly, was he? He had to
fight every day to keep Moon from resurfacing. It
was a daily struggle not to murder. How could he
have let himself get like this? He hated what he'd
become. He could never forgive himself for killing
so many innocent lives. He tried to rassure himself
quietly, praying that no one was close neough to
hear his words.
"I did not kill innocent lives." Now he stopped,
because it wasn't true. He had killed innocent lives.
"No, I did kill innocents. My brothers were innocent.
Breezefur's kits were innocent. I have killed the
innocent. But not purposely. I never meant to. It
was only those that were conspiring against their
leaders that I killed purposely. I saved hudnreds of
lives." Though the words seemed to uplift him a little,
they still felt heavy in his heart. He'd still killed. There
was no way past that.
He pushed himself up onto his paws, padding forward
quietly. He'd find a new home now, and quit his killing
once and for all. He'd find a new family, build a new
life, and hide his past away from everyone and
everything. His secrets would forever be safe. He
couldn't let it happen again. It was just too hard.
His silver pelt glittered in the sunlight as it shone
down on him. His pawsteps were quiet, and his green
eyes were shining brilliantly. It was time to start
fresh and new. He practiced a few stalking moves
while he went along, freshening up his skills and getting
himself used to the environment.
Moonflake broke into a run, his long strides eating up
across the ground. He threw his weight backwards,
skidding to a halt. He smelled cat-scent. Quickly, he
smoothed his ruffled pelt and lifted his muzzle. Stale.
He sighed in disappointment. He was always finding
stale scents, because of his sensitive nose. But,
wait... was that a fresh scent drifting along the breeze?
Words: 540
Muse: Good.
Other: Anybody who wants to find him can. Remember, he's covered in scars and he's a big cat.
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Post by lee on Jan 23, 2011 13:04:17 GMT -8
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It seemed that Smoketail had lately been wandering off on his own a great deal. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest move to make but he found it relaxing to not be worrying about running into another cat and having to talk to them. He didn't really know much of anyone, even in his own Clan. Maybe it was because he spent most of his time just listening and not talking, and half the time his listening consisted of eavesdropping where the other party didn't even know he was listening. Never-the-less, the fact remained that he was out on his own, ears trained for the slightest sounds and mouth open, testing the air every time the thought crossed his mind.
He had paused to take a break and catch his breath, resting next to one of the various mounds of dirt that could be seen sporadically throughout the Drylands. This very fact was probably the only reason he hadn't been spotted by the other cat in the vicinity, who he was unaware of until the sound of his running reached his ears. By the time the smaller tom was aware of his presence, however, he had stopped and caught Smoketail's scent.
Smoketail peered around the edge of the dirt pile and caught sight of him, along with the wafting scent of him. He was not a familiar cat, at all, and he was quite frightening to behold. Smoketail would never claim to be a brave cat. He didn't think he was a coward, but he didn't think running up and challenging this cat was a particularly bright idea. Twitching his tail in worry he tried to think of what to do. Obviously the cat was trespassing, so Smoketail had to do something. However, he couldn't really overpower the other cat if it came to that so he had to think about what to do. Which he hated doing. If only he had come out with a patrol or something-something in which he wasn't the leader! However, with no one else with him, he was the leader of the little excursion . Even if it only consisted of him.
Argh! The mental exclamation was all he dared utter, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself. He couldn't just leave-besides the fact that it wouldn't have been right, the big tom would probably see him.
It was around then that the idea occurred to him. Smoketail was far to shy to just walk up to someone ask what they were doing, but Branchstar-who Smoketail, though he hadn't personally spoken more than a few words to the cat, wouldn't have hesitated. At least, not in Smoketail's mind. So he decided that, since he had to do something, he'd pretend he was just like Branchstar.
If he'd thought about it a bit more he might have realized that wouldn't work, since he had no idea how to be a leader (or even, really, a proper SoulClan cat, in that he thought before acting far too much).
Puffing out his chest he took a deep breath and stalked out from behind his temporary shelter. Stalking being the operative word, being as nervousness had pretty much locked his legs straight and he had a hard time bending them. His tail had puffed out but was not erect, instead sweeping along behind him. He looked fairly ridiculous, which was only amplified when he tried to speak.
"W-W-Who are y-you?" He tried to ignore the stutter. The fact that his voice had barely been above a whisper was also ignored. Truth be told, Smoketail was fairly proud of himself for even being able to speak. Talking to a new cat was almost scarier than confronting this large, frightening stranger!
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Post by flighty on Jan 23, 2011 13:51:50 GMT -8
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The large silver tom shifted his paws, his emerald
gaze falling upon the cinder-grey tom that stepped
out to confront him. He watched as the tom
padded over, stiff-legged. He settled down, sweeping
his tail around his pale forepaws, unsheathing
his claws beneath the soft, fluffy fur of his tail.
Then the tom spoke.
"W-W-Who are y-you?"
Moonflake stiffened, his claws digging hard into
the ground. Not because he was unsure
of how to answer, but because this
tom reminded him of someone. The unsure voice,
the caution, the dark grey fur, the golden eyes....
Everything, exactly the same as Breezefur.
Exactly the same as Moonflake's brother.
The one that he'd killed out of anger. The tom
stood up abruptly, turning around and taking a
deep breath to try to calm himself. It was pretty
pointless, really. This tom had asked him a question,
and he had to answer, no matter how much the
warrior reminded him of his brother. He turned
back around slowly, long, pale whiskers quivering.
The little tufts of fur at the ends of his ears
twitched as he replied in a quiet voice.
"My name is Moonflake." He meowed quietly. He
did not say more. Nothing more, nothing less. He
shut his mouth and looked off into the distance. He
was never one for words, and he didn't trust the
stranger enough with anything more then a name.
Though names were powerful, and he felt uneasy
about giving his to this newcomer. He was unsure
about where he was, but refused to ask. All that
he could be sure of was that his thoughts were his
own, and his own alone.
A thought spun through his head, a random,
silly thought. Something that his brother, Breezefur,
had told him once. Before he'd...been murdered...
The word is the thing. Control the word, and you
control the thing. Moonflake didn't know why this
thought cam to him, and he didn't care. It was a
memory of his brother, and it hurt. He shoved
the thought away roughly, his eyes narrowing into
slits. His claws buried themselves deeper into the
ground.
Then he remembered the tom. Flicking his
plume irritably, he looked at the tom, sighing.
"Don't worry." He growled, taking a few steps
past the cinder-grey tom. "I can find my own
way to your camp. But you can go ahead and
'escort me there' if you'd like." He felt bad about
snapping the words out, but it wasn't his fault.
The tom reminded him too much of his brother.
Moonflake shook his head, sniffing around to
find a scent trail heading back toward the camp.
He paused, not finding anything, and sat down.
If only, if only. Words and thoughts whirled
through his mind. And then his darker side
spoke up.
Oh, come on. Just do it! It'd be so easy.
Slit his throat and wander around. Find more
victims. You know that you want to...
The dark voices hissed in his mind. It was
really just his thoughts, echoing through his
brain, but he refused to listen to himself.
"No!" He snarled, slamming his paw against
the ground. His muscles stiffened and he
glanced back at the warrior. "Shut up." He
hissed under his breath. "I'm better then that."
He stood up and stalked back over to the tom.
"Take me to your leader." He growled angrily.
He wasn't mad at the tom anymore, he was
furious with himself. Because, though he resented
it all with a vengeance, he had to admit, in
a tiny portion of his brain...
He did want to. A small part of him was
so tempted to murder the tom standing
beside him.
But he was better then that. And he had to
fight away the urge, with every paw step.
Every last ounce of his strength. He was
starting a new life now. He wouldn't let it get
mucked up again.
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Post by lee on Jan 23, 2011 14:24:21 GMT -8
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Smoketail couldn't know the memories he brought to mind for the other tom-all he could know was that Moonflake was angry. He didn't know if that was just the way the other cat was, or if it had something to do with something Smoketail had said or done, and to be quite frank, Smoketail didn't really care or want to find out. He wanted to be away from this frightening cat who spoke to himself and hit the ground and was, in general, terrifying.
Maybe he didn't know that Moonflake was fighting not to murder him, but he did recognize the danger that he could be in if Moonflake wanted to harm him. That knowledge was enough to cause Smoketail to be even more cautious than he normally was around strangers, keeping the distance between them as wide as he could and still be heard by the tom.
Oddly enough, however, he was relieved when the tom gave him something to do. Being told what to do seemed to back up his own convictions. Even though he had already known that all he could really do if the other cat hadn't attacked him was to bring him to Branchstar, being told to do that very thing just made him feel better about it. It would have been even better if it wasn't someone from outside the Clan telling him, but that wasn't exactly possible at the current time.
As he had stood there, flinching whenever Moonflake spoke or made a quick movement-like when he had turned around, which had confused Smoketail greatly, or when he hit the ground-Smoketail's fur had flattened, no longer puffed up. He was still stiff-legged, but he looked more like himself and less like a kit trying to frighten off something bigger than it.
"Ah...it's...Uh, this w-way." He didn't say anything about the tom not having been able to find a scent trail back to the camp-although he had recognized the attempt. Somehow, he just didn't think that would have been very wise. Instead he settled for heading back towards the camp, although he hated having his back towards the other cat. He settled for walking off to the side and in front, casting anxious glances over his shoulders often. He set a fairly fast pace, wanting to be alone and with the responsibility for
Moonflake for as little time as possible. "Ah. I'm...That is, my n-name...Um, Smoketail."
Somehow he doubted it really mattered that he had introduced himself, but it just seemed odd to know the other cat's name and for the tom to not know his. Besides, what if there was some reason that the other cat needed to call out to him? He couldn't just say "You!", after all. Smoketail would probably just think that another cat had appeared.
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Post by flighty on Jan 23, 2011 19:36:24 GMT -8
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Moonflake shifted his paws. He could see the
dark tom's confusion, and fright. He chuckled
under his breath, and then sighed. Cats were
always afraid of him. Because he was big and
all scarred up. He'd been in a lot of fights, and
many of them ended with him barely injured.
Some, however, he'd been seriously hurt. These
fights were what caused the big scars. This is
also what caused everyone to be afraid of him,
even if they had no idea what he was capable of.
His ears twitched upward as the tom spoke in his
jittery, scared, stuttering way. His grey-green gaze
narrowed in on Smoketail as he padded past, leading
the way. He seemed less skittish now, and his fur had
flattened out. Well, that was a good sign. At least he
wasn't utterly terrified anymore. Moonflake sighed and
stood, following the tom at an even distance, not wanting
to push him too far and scare him even more.
Ah...it's...Uh, this w-way. The tom had mewed to him as
he walked. Well. That was pretty obvious. It seemed the
tom was still nervous. Moonflake didn't try to smooth
things over. He'd probably just make it worse. And he really
didn't want to go all murderous again. That was the past and
behind him now. His whiskers quivered as the tom spoke again,
this time telling Moonflake his name.
Ah. I'm...That is, my n-name...Um, Smoketail.
Moonflake shook his head slightly, wondering absently
about this tom's upbringing. Had he gone through
any emotional trauma? What made him so skittish? Was
he naturally scared, or had something changed him? The
way Moonflake himself had been changed... but not so bloody
and dastardly. The large silver tom tipped his scarred muzzle
slightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Smoketail." It was all he
said. It was all he wanted to say. And it was partially true.
He was glad to finally have someone around him again,
even if it was difficult. But it was still company, and scared
company is better then none.
Most of the time, at least.
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Post by lee on Jan 25, 2011 9:24:44 GMT -8
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Silence accompanied the two as they made their way towards the SoulClan camp, Smoketail not bothering to speak again. He wasn't much for conversation anyways and what was he supposed to talk to the large tom about anyways? In any case, the gray tom would only stutter over his words. He probably thinks SoulClan is made up of scared cats now... Which couldn't be further from the truth. Most of them wouldn't have hesitated to challenge him, and they certainly wouldn't have stumbled all over their words when they did! But there it was-he wasn't them. Really, he didn't know why he was so shy and had such a hard time carrying on a conversation, or speaking at all really.
From what he had learned from his father, it couldn't have been because his mother had been that way. She seemed to have been utterly likable, which meant she had to have been charismatic, or else even his father wouldn't have done what he did to a she-cat as dark as she had truly been. He spared a bit of time to wonder if his siblings, whom he'd never met, were as shy as he was. Somehow he doubted it. He didn't really know though and he probably wouldn't ever know. He doubted he'd ever meet them either. Not that he would know if he did meet them.
Smoketail still cast glances over his shoulder, but now that conversation had ceased the only nervousness he showed was his wariness of the big tom. Moonflake was frightening, there was no getting around that, but he currently seemed safe enough. The SoulClan cat wouldn't want to get any closer to him, no, but at least he didn't seem to need to worry about the new cat attacking him out of the blue. A hazy line in the distance marked the end of the Drylands, meaning the camp wasn't too much further away.
With that knowledge Smoketail began to hope that maybe a patrol would notice them and come take the big tom off of his paws. Maybe he would even be so lucky as to have Branchstar be around, which would mean Smoketail would have completed his task! "Almost...there..." He made sure to speak while glancing back at the tom, not wanting to have to repeat himself because the wind had carried his words away.
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Post by mousy677 on Jan 26, 2011 12:10:46 GMT -8
A single shadow passed over the earth towards the Dryland, and Branchstar, the leader of SoulClan, crossed the earth, listlessly following a rat. Since the death of his mate and the mate of his cousin, he hadn't really wanted to be active at all, and so he had lurked around a lot of the time, but there were... there were still things for him to do, he supposed.
It was just finding them that was the problem.
Lavasoul rarely seemed to require his help (but he would still flirt with his deputy, given half a chance. Generally over a piece of fresh-kill), and, while there was no medicine cat, the Clan was fine. The warriors were happy, the apprentice was happy and there were no kits, so... well, he hunted, he occasionally headed meetings, but very little else.
He rather wanted to know what the strange upstanding things in SoulClan's camp were. He had, once or twice, observed a human approach one, dressed in what looked like the feathers of a crow, and leave a bunch of flowers by one of the markers. The flowers weren't edible (Bramblefoot had tried one when he was Bramblekit. It hadn't gone down so well) and they weren't herbs, so they couldn't have been for the cats. So, what were they for? Sure, he had other jobs, but it was an interesting - if somewhat puzzling - thing to ponder.
He should get Bramblefoot to follow one of the Twolegs in their monser; creep in to it or similar. Then he might find out. Or he could pursuade his friend to tell him if he had seen them (the Twoleg, that is) before, although he very much doubted whether or not Bramblefoot would willingly do so.
So, if the Twolegs didn't want to feed SoulClan and they didn't want to heal them, did they want to -
Poison them?!
The thought shot through Branchstar's mind, as he thought back to how Bramblekit had vomited almost instantly as he had eaten the flower. Sure, he had been a kit, but...
No.
Snarling, he shook the thought from his mind, and continued onwards, giving up the chase of the rat. They had enough food to sustain them for leafbare (at the moment, at least), after all.
As he let the rat continue on its travels to wherever it so happened to be going, he caught sight of one of his warriors (Smoketail) talking to a large, scarred tom-cat. He snarled, realizing that this cat wasn't a part of SoulClan.
"Smoketail," he snarled, padding over to the two toms. "I hope he isn't giving you any trouble?"
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Post by flighty on Jan 26, 2011 16:09:42 GMT -8
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As they walked, thoughts spun through Moonflake's mind, whirling around cruelly. Images of his brother's body, splayed out across the soft, sandy earth of camp, throat slashed. These were dredged up from the deep dark corner of his head, pulled to the front, and he couldn't force them away. It was as though the darkness was threatening to take him over, yet again. His muscles were tense as he strained against the urge, battling it away furiously. His savior was Smoketail's words, telling him that they were almost there. Moonflake nodded quietly to let him know that he'd heard.
Why was he always like this? Driving against himself, pushing others away, terrifying them...? It was a worthless battle, and sometimes he felt like curling up in a dark place and staying there until death claimed him. The only thing that kept his paws moving was the quiet, nagging thought in the back of his head- What about the rest of the world? He could do so much good, if he tried to use his intimidating self against the bad guys. He could help a Clan so very well, with his sensitive tracking skills, amazing fighting powers, powerful hunting... However much these thoughts invited him...
He still worried about his weakness. He didn't have a strong resolve. Sure, he was strong physically and great at keeping secrets, but when it came down to it, he relied so much on his strength to fight his battles. He had pride and courage, but he always seemed to use it to fight battles instead of walking away. Like a live bomb, ready to explode at any moment. Like a grenade that's pin had been pulled. One silent paw held it down, keeping it from going off, but if that paw became weakened or distracted...so much desctruction could occur. Did he really want to be in a Clan's camp when that happened?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sleek scent that touched his nose. Moonflake stopped imediately, claws digging deep into the earth as the other tom approached. He quickly came to the conclusion that this was Smoketail's leader. His ears flickered, slightly surprised at the harshness in Branchstar's voice, since the tom was speaking to Smoketail rather then Moonflake himself. He'd expected snarls directed toward him, but toward the tom that had done the right thing? Jeez, maybe this Clan wouldn't be so great after all. He couldn't have someone growling at him and snapping him around all the time. That wouldn't be good. It would set off the grenade.
And the grenade needed to stay untriggered. He'd have to find someone, soon, to help him hold the tab of the grenade and keep it from going off.
Might as well start searching in this Clan.
Moonflake fell silent, sitting down and appearing calm, though his mind was blazing and some of the fire showed in his eyes, sparking furiously. No matter how much he struggled to hide it, some of the fire would always show through.
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Post by lee on Jan 27, 2011 16:12:45 GMT -8
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Smoketail was longingly thinking of being on his own again, having felt that he'd had quite enough socializing for the day (even if it was with a large cat such as Moonflake, whom wasn't even familiar to the shy cat), when a familiar scent shook him from his thoughts. Not that he had been too deep in them, being as he was keeping a careful eye on his current companion, if you could use the word in the current situation. His tail became less like a leaden thing attached to him and more like a true part of him, no longer hanging limply but with a bit of life as he began to hope-and yes!
Smoketail, had he been a vocal cat, very well might have purred in relief. Not only was another cat from his clan approaching, but it was Branchstar! Smoketail wouldn't have to search him out, leading the large cat behind him. He wouldn't have to make the decisions now. Smoketail was a very happy cat. A nervous one, to be sure, but happy.
Of course, unless one knew Smoketail it would have been hard to tell that he was more than just a bit more relaxed. After all, he respected Branchstar-in fact, he dreamed of being as confident as the SoulClan leader. Not that he would ever have told any one that, much less the leader himself. "Oh, ah...N-no. I mean...Uh, not really. H-he wanted to see you. So...I, uh, was bringing him." The stuttered sentence was spoken with Smoketail avoiding eye contact. "Um...He was f-further out in the Drylands..."
There. That was everything he had to say right? Falling silent he moved off to the side some, glancing between Branchstar and Moonflake.
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Post by Juniper on Feb 12, 2011 13:01:31 GMT -8
A fierce and fat rat scurried along the painted wood of the Twoleg Domain. Its hefty paws scrabbled against the cracked earth; a pink tail swatted the dust behind it. The sun shone on its thin fur, making the rusty pelt gleam eerily. It shuffled and snuffled about, wide ears flicking as if ticks were gnawing it. A twin set of dark eyes watched this from a ways, its gaze unwavering. Gray tabby pelt, sleek and shining, emerged from beneath a wooden construction. Small paws loped lightly to the rat. Its eyes calculated the distance before it sprang and killed the prey.
Triumphant with her catch, Adderpaw clamped her jaws around its smelly body and bounded back to camp. She followed a stone trail to the fresh-kill pile, whereupon she carefully laid the dead rat. It was in a smooth boxy obstruction. Little indents and crevices marked strange symbols upon its sides. A peeling substance in a multitude of colors decorated both interior and exterior. It was a mystery to why it was there, but it certainly had a purpose. Adderpaw gave the well-stocked pile a satisfied nod (as if it were some living thing), and wandered off.
A golden tabby swept past the young apprentice as she went to search for her mentor. Surprised, she twisted around and watched as her leader, Branchstar, move to greet two approaching cats. Light paws leapt closer, and she saw the misty tabby form of Smoketail. He was accompanied by an older, scar-riddled tom who was a stranger to her. Curiousity tingling her nerves, she trailed after the dark brown leader. As she neared the trio, harsh words met her tender ears. Branchstar’s lips were curled; his fangs bared as he glared at the intruder. The silvery pelted stranger seemed undaunted by this aggressive display. Adderpaw admired his ability to stare into the frightening face of Branchstar unwaveringly. That took an enormous amount of courage.
The two exchanged hostile glares before the stuttering voice of Smoketail shattered the tension. At this, Adderpaw let escape an amused purr. Unlike most SoulClan cats, the smoky Warrior was the most timid and easily terrified. It was rather fun sometimes to provoke him. She padded up to the three, ignoring the fact that it was dangerous to do so. “Hey,” she greeted the scarred cat. “You’re not from around are you? Who is he anyways?” Her last inquiry was directed at the spitting mad Branchstar.
Word Count 408
Tags Moonflake, Smoketail, and Branchstar
Ooc Who’s replying next?
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Post by flighty on Feb 15, 2011 16:44:30 GMT -8
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The silver tom blinked lazily as Smoketail stuttered out his words. His eyes glittered in amusement. He'd have to teach the tom what it meant to be a warrior. He was about to address the leader when a young apprentice came trotting up, seemingly unfazed by his appearance. His whiskers twitched ever so slightly. He could sense her respect for the leader, and his ears flickered curiously as she spoke to him.
"Brave actions for one so young. There aren't many who would confront me with questions." A deep purr rumbled in his chest as he gazed at Adderpaw, shifting his weight into his haunches. His eyes glittered as they swept over the apprentice, taking in every detail. Her stance, her voice, her expression... She was a mighty one, that was certain. But, from the smell of herbs on her fur, he assumed she was not the apprentice of a great warrior.
He listened to her question, whiskers quivering. "I come from far away places, young apprentice. I'm careful about my secrets, though, and my past is the greatest one I've ever held. Careful about your questions, apprentice. Even some of things that I could tell you would haunt your thoughts for moons." He murmured, his eyes distant.
While he spoke, his own thoughts wandered, toward memories that had haunted him for years, not just moons. Images of his brother, sprawled out in camp, blood staining his claws. Without thinking, he unsheathed his claws, digging them into the ground as a number began to repeat itself in his mind.
127.
127.
127.
127 bites.
127 swipes.
127 cats, all dead.
He'd killed 127 cats, starting when he was a new warrior and had killed his brother. No, no, then there was the Clan that he'd led an attack against- better make that about 135. A cat who'd lived twice could kill many, many times. After the first ten, you start to think it's not so bad. Just the usual, really. The normal day for you- wake up, eat, stretch, hunt, kill- murder, assassinate, whatever you wanted to call it- and then go to sleep and begin again the next day.
Always wanted by Clans, your name called out with demands of blood, cats screaming for you to die, only to find their throats slashed in the next second.... Being a killer is dirty work. But is it still wrong when you enjoy it?
No. It's worse then wrong. It's... sadistic.... to kill, and to enjoy it... He was a sadistic, torturous tom. And he kept these memories to cause himself pain. So he was not only sadistic, but masochistic.
He was a screwed up tom, with a screwed up past, and a screwed up mind. Nothing could set him right, could it?
Possibly. If he met the right cat. Maybe, he could get back on the path to righteousness. But he'd need to let go of his pain first.
He sighed, yawning and twitching his whiskers as he thought about this. He smiled slightly as he gazed at Adderpaw, recalling his own days as a young, carefree apprentice. Ahh. That had been the life.
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Post by Juniper on Feb 28, 2011 17:22:21 GMT -8
Adderpaw cricked her head to the right in a curious fashion. Eyes a muted, jaded green regarded the scarred cat in front of her. She gave a solemn nod at his praise, as if she was accustomed to such flattery. The intruder seemed to shift a bit and stare off somewhere StarClan only knew. His eyes burned with intensity, and Adderpaw was intelligent enough to rationalize that questioning his thoughts meant a certain painful death. Then he seemed to gather himself to his wits and replied. She listened with tawny gray ears pricked, her curiosity piqued by the mysterious way in which he talked.
She racked her brains for something intelligible to say and managed to query, “Do you always talk that way?” It was blunt, it was rude, and it was quite typical of the brassy little feline. But he seemed to withdraw again, eyes glazed. Adderpaw rashly stuck a paw before his nose, swinging in back and forth like a pendulum and noted no reaction. So she scooted closer and prodded his side, ensuring that her claws were sheathed and would not accidentally reopen an old wound. When the older loner finally seemed to awaken and rouse to the present, he smiled at her. The tawny tabby apprentice watched with narrowed eyes. It was the very smile one might see playing across the scaly lips of a crocodile before it snapped one’s neck, or the triumphant beam as the last foe’s body was gutted. But it also held traces of sadness, regret, longing for the past… This old cat sure is a complex creature, she thought. She returned his smile, though it was contorted and slightly more malevolent. More of a grimace or smirk really, but this was also a trademark characteristic of the sassy she-cat.
“So… I don’t believe I know your name,” she announced brightly, dark emerald eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m Adderpaw by the way. And you are…?” She was gracious enough, at least, to pause before revealing her name. She spoke it with uncertainty, as if not sure she should give away such a vital piece of personal information like it was some half-gnawed rat bone. And she wasn’t sure either that this battle-scarred feline would truthfully, candidly, reveal his true name. Which would be a bit awkward if she were to talk to him. Hmm… Carefully she assessed his appearance – the cloudy pale furs that framed a short muzzle, the wicked scars ripping across his legs and body, the bulge of rippling muscles, and the piercing eyes that seemed to penetrate her thoughts. She decided he wasn’t terribly attractive. Sure, females might be tripping over themselves to win over his protection, but he sure wasn’t handsome. Adderpaw considered on calling him Uglyscar, but that was rude. Maybe… Whitescar?
Her eyes appraising the healing scars lining his powerful body, she interrupted, “Alright cut the formalities already. I’ll just call you Ug- uh, I mean Whitescar for now. If you don’t wish to tell me your real name.” She nodded with satisfaction at having got over that. She glanced at the other two SoulClan cats accompanying him. If anything went wrong, she was sure she could be of use with her reliable battle skills. “So what exactly is your purpose here, may I ask?” she wondered aloud evenly.
Word Count 554
Tags Branchstar, Smoketail, and Moonflake [aka Whitescar]
OoC She’s very creative with names as you can see.
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