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Post by scarredface on Jun 25, 2011 14:49:57 GMT -5
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a king with no crown,
EVEN PROPHETS FORGAVE HIS CROOKED WAY |
[/div] He can't stop running, can't stop, there are white teeth flashing in the shadows and peeks of flame-red fur, snarls and yowls crashing like falling limbs, crimson soaking the grass... Screams of terror, a hoarse, burbling cry of "RUN!," the realization that all is lost and the adrenaline that ensues...
A tabby tom opens his eye. It gleams a diluted blue, the other clawed shut by old battle wounds. His head is high, his stance serene as he surveys the area about him.
The grass is rich emerald and unstained, cattails swaying lazily in the breeze; the scene at the waterfront is calm, a juxtaposition of his memory. That's all it is anymore. It's nothing but a memory, a tragedy long forgotten in the sands of time. It's something not even the elders discuss any longer...to most, it's as though it never happened. But to Scarredface...he hasn't forgotten. He'll never forget.
He shakes out his pelt as though it'll dislodge his worries, arches his back in a keen stretch, and strides to the edge of the river. He walks along the sand, leaving pawprints in the damp ground, until the water laps his paws. Here he sits where the water brushes his fur, and takes to silently watching the river and the territory across it. It's dawn, leaving this sandy expanse free of mentors and apprentices, allowing peace to seep into the horizon; Scarredface watches the rippling water with his one blue eye, contemplative.
His Clan is his sole need and want, but why does he feel so alone sometimes? As though he's a stranger in his own Clan... Perhaps it's the memories that haunt him, his mangled face, his unnerving name. Would he even befriend himself, if he were them? Perhaps not...but it doesn't matter. He is a warrior. That is his sole purpose.
Still, it'd be nice to break the silence with a little friendly chatter at least sometimes. Maybe if he receives an apprentice, such a problem will be solved. He hopes for that day. Until then, though, his time is mostly unoccupied and his silence unbroken.
He heaves a slow sigh and tilts his head up to watch the steady lightening of the sky. It's getting warmer with every breath of time that passes, and soon this river will be graced with the company of the future warriors that train here. Scarredface swipes the water with a paw, lightly, watching the silt cloud up and settle again on the riverbed. The river may not be a talkative companion, but he's never been much for talking, anyway. TAGGED: WHOEVER WORD COUNT: 433 NOTES: not that great, meh. [/div] [/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by palesmoke on Jun 26, 2011 1:33:05 GMT -5
p a l e s m o k e In that twilight of the morning, as the moon began to fade and the sun trudged upward in sky though not quite able to banish the darkness of the night, a cat rose. Spotted with black, orange and grey, thickly muscled body oddly quiet as it picked itself away from the sleeping cats, Palesmoke didn’t even take notice of them. This morning was his time, the time to hunt in the river though albeit slightly reckless to hunt in the night especially when the river grew swollen with water during Greenleaf. Pale eyes, glanced lazily along the camp, some cats were awake, or where those shadows playing tricks on his mind? Shrugging off any thought’s he head for the water, the sun still lingering on the edge as if afraid to give light to the world. Yet it did not matter, he was a cat he could see just as well in the dark as in the light, but not as well in oncoming morning dusk.
Before him, hiding behind the sand was the blue river, struggling past the rocks and tree roots buried beneath the water. Dangerous, much more so than the snow, badger, foxes or twolegs, because one could never tell just how fast or deep the water was not until it was too late, he rather liked this idea. Palesmoke had spent countless moons knowing this river, its depths, the rocks underneath, he liked to think he knew this river. Maybe that’s why he spent so much time in it; instead of having a friend he had the river. In its own way it talked, the bubbling of water hinted at rocks underneath, the lethargic movement had fish. An old warrior found solace in knowing.
Smokey tail waved in the air anticipating his next move, quickly now, moving across the sand, onto firm ground, easier to jump into the water. Black liquid swam before his eyes, swirling with foam and creatures, so dark at night. It would be icy but he was ready, diving in with grace that unsuited him on land. Water hit against the pelt, the current was rough pulling him this way and that way he allowed it, paddling with strong leg’s to keep steady. Sun was now rising, the water gleamed pale gold and pink, eventually looking like a fierce red flame that swept all along Riverclan territory. Picking up speed he swam to the shore, shaking his wet fur eagerly in the sunlight, it had become a ritual during Greenleaf, something to keep going. Apprentice’s usually trained here during the day; he avoided them in the early morning. All those squeaky voices drilled into his head, they were loud, annoying and stupid. Let other’s train them; he would give his mind more important task such as hunting and protecting the clan.
Along the shore was another warrior, younger than him, face mangled with scars. Brown tabby sitting in the sand, reminding Palesmoke of him, at first the tom padded away back to camp but hesitated. A mood, so very fickle, grasped him, the desire to talk. Still wet with river water he padded loudly behind Scarredface to allow the tom time to leave if he wished. Settling a few tail lengths away, carefully wrapping his tail around his paws, he fixed the warrior with his pale yellow eyes. “Calming isn’t it, to watch the sun rise. But what brings a young warrior here I wonder.” Amusement glinted in his eyes, but quickly gone as he faced back to the sun. Already his fur was drying, today started off well.
comment: hope you don't mind, they seem really similar so I thought they might get along. [/justify][/blockquote] |
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Post by scarredface on Jun 28, 2011 12:15:06 GMT -5
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a king with no crown,
EVEN PROPHETS FORGAVE HIS CROOKED WAY |
[/div] The air had been so still...it was as though the world had paused, contemplative, and waited there with him for something he wasn't sure of. Then, interrupting his thoughts, a sudden gust of wind buffered Scarredface's thick tabby fur and on cue a muscular, dappled form launched from the grass somewhere behind him and splashed with surprising grace into the water.
In the wake of foamy spray, shock gripped Scarredface in a clawed grasp. He felt as though the breath had been wrung from his chest. The dappled fur, the well-muscled limbs...he could feel his heart wrench in his chest. Mottledfoot? He nearly moaned the name aloud, but stopped himself: Mottledfoot was long gone, washed away by the sands of time. Regardless, the similarity to his late mentor was nearly heartbreaking. He could still see the blood splash the ground, the vacant blue eyes....the death of Mottledfoot at the paws of a rogue fox, the same one that mauled his face and left him with his tragic look and name. It was all too much, suddenly, like the thoughts were claws scoring his fur over and over, leaving him helpless to fight it and wounded by their vicious assault. For a brief moment, he wondered if this was normal.
Part of him wanted to flee, his peace disturbed, memories stirred. But he ignored his own desperation and tried to be courteous...it wasn't this tom's fault that he struck a chord. He wasn't to know, and even if he were it wasn't like he could change the colour of his pelt, or somehow look different. A cat was a cat. And so he didn't move, even when the tom padded up behind him, approach unmasked. Even when he sat mere tail-lengths away, wrapping his grey tail around his paws. Instead he only stared at the calming water, ignoring the trembles of long-gone terror that still sometimes gripped his limbs. He could be civil, he could be...nice. Maybe it would distract him. Maybe it would help him forget.
"Calming, isn't it, to watch the sun rise. But what brings a young warrior here, I wonder?"
Scarredface twitched his whiskers in faint, almost morose amusement. Young warrior...the tom was right: he was not old in terms of moons. But sometimes, when these times occurred more often than he'd have liked, he felt almost like an elder. It was almost funny, like a bad, untasteful joke. He tilted his head up to look at the sky, the sun having risen and streaking it with egglike yellows and whites. It almost hurt his eye now to look at it.
"Sometimes," he said carefully, "the river is a better listener than any cat." And for a moment, he left it at that.
Speaking wasn't really Scarredface's strong point. Even now, his voice was curt and solemn, as though prepared to cut the conversation off at any moment. In reality, he didn't mind speaking then - perhaps it was the atmosphere, or his need to distract himself from his own worries, or perhaps it was merely because this tom seemed to sympathize somehow - but he was always careful never to let out too much information. He prided himself on being strong, and the worries that gnawed at him were anything but a testament to his strength. Besides, no one else needed to bother with his memories; he could handle them himself. They were no one's problem but his own.
"I imagine you're not here just to take a quick dip, either," Scarredface murmured conversationally, flicking his tail and glancing over his shoulder at the tortoiseshell tom. "Or am I wrong?" TAGGED: PALESMOKE! WORD COUNT: 610 NOTES: YAY AWKWARD CONVO. [/div] [/td][/tr][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by lotuspelt on Jul 10, 2011 11:36:56 GMT -5
 when i'm not sure what i'm living for
when i'm not sure who i amShe did not mean to intrude. This was a fact strongly stated by...herself. These days Lotuspelt kept mainly to herself. The friends she made twelve moons ago left her. Stubborn as she was, she'd never admit it. Stubborn as she was, she never got close to anybody else in RiverClan. So certain they'd up and abandon her. Friends did not abandon friends. Lunarfang. Silvercreek. She even missed that rogue Whimperheart. Family is more important she found herself thinking more and more. Never used to be that way. RiverClan and old life balanced, the line distinctive. Now family winning her over. Should she really keep this up? Well, Spottedpaw's training. That was important. Once the training was over, perhaps she should go back to being a rogue. Her father always welcomed her back. She wouldn't be...alone. The white cat hissed under her breath. RiverClan would be right after all. Pure blood this, pure blood that. She'd been with this Clan for a year - never got called on being a rogue even - though maybe they were right. Lotuspelt could not ignore the carefree ways Clan life brought. Separated from kin did not seem right. And what matter did blood have?
Perhaps this was a day for reflection.
In her mindless wander through the territory, she stumbled upon two fellow warriors of RiverClan. She did not catch their conversation, too involved in her own battle of the wits. Head down, shoulders shot up and violently pointed, blue eyes narrowed and her mouth working frantically with unspoken words; she looked quite irritated. Though her short fur was not spiked, to anybody else the warrior was livid in features. That or quite mad. 'Stumble' had been a polite term. The usually graceful she-cat almost ran into a multi-colored pelt. A peach nose brushed the other cat's fur, startling her. Jumping backward, a look of shock replaced her previous expression. No, no. She did not mean to intrude. In fact, Lotuspelt didn't even know they were there.
A younger Lotuspelt would have snapped something along the lines of 'watch where you're sitting, fleabag!' Ah, those were the rogue days... and early Clan days too! Instead she fixed the tortoiseshell tom with a hard stare, as if daring him to make a comment about her clumsiness. It was a work in progress but progress had been made. No longer as rude.
"So" she waved a peach tail, flicking her irritation away. Flustered had never been a game plan. No, it was more of annoyance. "what are you doing over there?" she motioned to the tabby, searching the data banks upstairs for a name. She just... couldn't remember any of these two's names. It was a flaw living in a Clan; at least for a former rogue. Rogues didn't have to know many names. Or maybe it was just her. Short memory. That was it. Maybe she didn't bother to know anybody's name unless it was important.
That's it her inner voice stated.
"Do either of you mind if I hunt here?" she stated bluntly, blue eyes searching each toms' face. Practice, a little brush up on skill, was needed when she taught Spottedpaw to fish. It had been forever. Plus... The she-cat weaved around the tortie to sit a few paces away from the tabby. RiverClan wasn't going to feed itself. It could try but a name was a name. Cats made the name. If these two toms wanted to sit around gossiping, let them.
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OOC: mind if I jump in?
LYRICS: temptation waits, garbage
WORDS: 583
LOTUSEH TAGS: palesmoke, scarredface
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