A Shadow's Den

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

agatha kitty, just a scratch, chill of death.
[ @The Cannibal ]

there's something about having choice ripped from you that makes you feel. . . small. if he'd been a small bit less seasoned, a bit more naïve, he'd be preaching thanks to this strange loner. he knew, yet, that he was a moth to a flame, and the den of a stranger this far from civilization was no safety.

following the dark pelt in the storm was difficult, but not impossible. his new friend moved like he knew these woods intimately. i should turn, flee this place, stranger's mind suggested, but he shooed the thought, if he's a danger, running will only be cause for irritation. you've made peace with cats far more suspect. keep it together, nightcat.

he was thankful to finally dip under roots and earth into somewhere dry. there's an odd beauty in the macabre, and stranger had half a mind to explore this forest when the storm let up. maybe- but first, he'd bigger problems. when the dark-grey cat spoke, stranger took great care to drink up every word he said, information his greatest weapon.

"yeah, i'd not expected it to get this bad," stranger admitted, a thick southern-esque accent on his words. "i greatly appreciate the shelter from the storm. i'm used to bad weather on the road, but i'd rather play it safe."

hannibal, huh? interesting name- most folks from these parts had interesting names. stranger had to admit, his time in the clan territories had been a great culture shock to him. "well, its a real pleasure to make your acquaintance, hannibal. i do got a name, in fact; but it's a real mouthful and i don't care for it none. call me stranger, or anything you please." while he spoke, he glanced around the den. trying not to intrude, he found a perfectly fine place to sit by the door. on the bright side, the brainfog had cleared a small bit since stepping out of the storm. his ears still rang, and the occasional bright spot swam in his vision, but he'd be just fine in an hour or so. no need to panic, because he didn't predict the pain phase to strike him tonight, thank the spirits.

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign

The lean muscles of the likely older tom cat rippled as Hannibal eased down into a laying position, one that showed his state of ease, one that often also subconsciously put others at ease. Body language, a silent tongue, but if one learned how to use it well, then they could change the air of the room without ever saying a word. His tail curled to his side, forepaws in front of himself and back paws tucked under him. As unthreatening as he could be, he even dutifully faked an easy, unassuming smile. So far, this other loner hadn't came off as rude so he was likely safe. For the time being. But then again, it was a danger for you to assume you were ever safe with this monster.

"I almost consider it a duty to provide shelter to the lost and weary, this forest isn't exactly an easy one to traverse," Hannibal hummed out, eyes never wavering away from the other tom. The fact that they sat near the entrance of the den was picked up and safely tucked away as a mental note on the other. They were keen enough to pick up on their intuition, to sense that there was danger in their choice. But he knew this dance all too well. Walls were made to be dismantled.

"Though I will see that it's better that you came across me, than the others that... Haunt? This territory. Excuse me for the particular use of word, but they really are nothing more than monsters that stalk in the darkness." There was a practiced note of concern and hesitation in his voice to suggest he was a tom that feared whoever these other supposed cats were. "It's never good to be alone in this area. The twisted roots and shadows are a perfect hunting ground for unsavory individuals. And- I don't intend to frighten you by saying it, but you are nothing more than prey to them."

The red mirror's of Hannibal's gaze flickered out of the entrance of the den, watching the roar of the storm. Too much direct eye contact with a cat often made them uneasy, and he very much had a part to play. Manipulation was a fine art, and it was one that Hannibal had spent far too long on perfecting. Stranger would likely never come out of these woods the same. If at all.

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

agatha kitty, just a scratch, chill of death.
[ @The Cannibal ]

stranger picked up on the air of calm kindness, but the itch at the back of his mind remained. he didn’t know what it meant except that it was trying to tell him something. rain pounded the earth outside, an incessant drum of mother nature’s wrath. unlucky was one word that the night-cat embodied wholely; somehow he always managed to get out of the fire and right into the frying pan.

normally, stranger could pick apart deception with logic, but there was nothing- no indicator of falsehoods, no flaws to pick apart hannibal’s perfect lie. it was only natural for someone so used to blatant inconsistancies and lies to relax when he found no surface level mistakes. in all his thirty-or-so odd moons, he’d met many cats. even yet, he was not prepared for the events of this long, stormy night.

“that’s reassuring,” a nervous laugh escaped him. the tension in his shoulders lingered, but it seemed less directed at hannibal and more so to this situation entitely. he wasn’t a fan of needing help- he’d rejected it so strongly in his youth that it lead to him setting out on his own. so, sitting here in a stranger’s den in the midst of a grim forest was far from appealing. it was, at least, more appealing than being in the storm in this supposedly deadly forest that cats- more monster than sane -hunted. maybe. . .

stranger’s gaze followed hannibal’s out into the dounpour.

maybe, while he awaits the rain’s end, he could convince the older tom to share some interesting stories or details- it was a guilty pleasure stranger had, learning of other cat’s cultures, ideals, morals and lives. some days, he felt like he was nothing more than fragile pieces he’d taken from cats he’d met on his travels.

this place isn’t scary, he thought as he watched the bending shilloeuettes of tall pine trees in the distance, its. . . blood. this forest reeks of pain. sad to think that it could be filled with dangers- that the trees were fed on blood and hate. his expression grew solemn as he thought of a time long ago where he lived with his kin in a glorious southern forest, fed with sunlight and warmth- it was so unlike the cold, cruel climate of the north, and the cats that shared the land’s attitude. his brow furrowed in deep thought for a long moment. where he was from, yes there were places dreary, but they felt less scornful and more sad. tragic and solemn, but stranger had never seen a place so. . . dead, while still being alive.

“has this forest always been like this?” stranger asked, voice low and reflective. he looked back to hannibal, “as long as you’ve been here, i mean. i can’t imagine living somewhere that. . . for lack of better words- hates so strongly. that might be confusing- ah, hell. i’m sorry, i don’t know how to say it like the northerners, friend.”

“this forest reeks of pain, doesn’t it?”

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign
In a way, where Stranger was currently, it was much like a cage. Earth surrounding the majority of him while there was a door of furious storm that he could try to brave if he wanted. Then too there was the chain of manners. It would be rude to simply run off after a cat offered such kindness and hospitality. And Hannibal was quite aware of this metaphorical cage he had the other tom in. Now it was a matter of precise scalpel cuts that he'd use to start cracking open the shell and seeing what was underneath. After all, he had all night to do this.

An amiable, but understanding chuckle came from the dark furred tom with fire for eyes at Stranger's nervous laugh. Just a sound to fill the silence and round out the sharp edge of nervousness the other cat's laugh had. But he knew better than to continue speaking, eagerness and hunger was all too much a danger to such a precious operation. All good things to those who wait. So silence fell between the two, Hannibal shifting his weight slightly with a quiet, pleasant sigh. He'd allow for the other to form their thoughts. Let them steer this social encounter for the next round. He could practically see the flit of thoughts with every little twitch on Stranger's face, the slight flicker of his eyes that weren't fully in the present.

The question was interesting, and telling all the same. They were either young enough to have never heard of this area, or they were from somewhere far from the reaches of the clans. Either way, the information was carefully tucked away into his mind while he turned his demeanor to one of thoughtfulness, head canting to the side.

"Pain. Sorrow. Despair. They're all words I would use to describe this place, yes- within those very drops out there that feed into the soul." Hannibal forced his whiskers to quiver, a look of sadness and quiet reflection painting onto his pelt while he stared out into the rain. "It has been so since I have known this place. This was once the territory of a coalition of sorts, a syndicate of cats that sought nothing more than to terrorize the clans, loners, any cat they could get their claws on. The cats still here today are from the shattered remains of that syndicate. The Dusk Syndicate, if it rings any bells to you." Finally he looked back at Stranger.

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

agatha kitty, just a scratch, chill of death.
[ @The Cannibal ]

stranger drank up hannibal's words, carefully storing the information away incase it came of use later. a syndicate? how. . . interesting. he'd known of family groups of cats, and more recently he had learnt of clans, but he wasn't familiar with a syndicate. of course, he knew what it meant, but to hear of one in reality was interesting to him.

he couldn't help it, curiosity got the better of him and he craned his head to watch hannibal with a new intrigue. with one snippet of information, his fear had been stolen and replaced with the intense thirst for knowledge. it was both a vice and a virtue.

"i'm afraid i'm not from around here, i've never heard of any syndicate in all my sunrises. it does intrigue me, however," stranger paused, dipping his head and watching the storm once more (though admittedly, there wasn't much to see and the annoying white lights that swirled in his vision blotted out most of the downpour). it was a sign of fragile trust, to turn ones gaze away from a stranger for those long, deadly moments. the nightcat wasn't stupid, though, and kept his ears alert for the slightest shuffle of movement or pawstep.

stranger of a forgotten night frowned slightly in thought. something hannibal said stuck with him, the cats still here today are from the shattered remains of that syndicate.

"i apologize if this question is to prying, but were you among this dusk syndicate's numbers?" he had to ask, curiosity dictated as much. if he said yes, stranger wouldn't judge- internally, mayhap, as his moral compass was strong and had its own way of viewing things, but he'd never push such things on another regardless of their past. people change, and he was no holy saint himself. he was stained with sin and regret, and it haunted him.

who was he to judge another? he could only judge himself.

as they often say, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. it was not his place. whatever answer may come, it was not his place to pass judgement.

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign

The patience that Hannibal held for these sorts of things could almost be described as the ticking of a grandfather clock. A persistent, steady pendulum, unbreaking and pure in its rhythm. Down here in this dark burrow, sound was all but muffled and yet, for the sake of setting a scene, there was that silent, calming tempo. Thoughts falling in line with the tick of seconds. Information gathered with each breath and twitch of a muscle.

Not from here, and hungry for knowledge.
A note stored away, and a very helpful one at that. A cat that was hungry for knowledge and not keen to the history of the surrounding land would be ripe for molding. Any bit of information, truthful or not, could be given with little fear of being caught in a lie. Anything from here forward would be a story of his own creation to continue chipping away at the pesky mental wall this stranger had.

Hannibal didn't immediately react to the question, aside from the slight, almost dismissive flick of his tail and a small inclination of his head. "That I was. Born into it unfortunately, or maybe that was fortunate. I was not one of the many kidnapped kits that filled their ranks. I was treated better than them, better picks of prey, easier jobs to fulfill about the camp."

The dark-furred tom exhaled his breath. "But you must remember that the world doesn't work entirely in absolutes. Not every cat within that Syndicate was as bad as the clan's made them out to be. When you are born into such a thing, your morals are molded from a very early age. You don't know what you are doing is wrong, or at the very least you don't understand the full scale. Those of us born into the Syndicate were as much victims as those kidnapped, our self images skewed, or minds hardly our own. I'd almost have considered as fanatical in what we did. It is only now that I realize... Where exactly we fell within the gradient."

Remorse. What a fun emotion to act out, it had become one of his favorite acts, it was the one that won hearts. Lowered guards. A cat that felt remorse was one that could be perceived as 'good', as one that could be redeemed for their past actions. This tale that he told Stranger was filled with partial truths, as any good lie was. Just enough to garner sympathy, to mold his image to better suit what it would take to lower Stranger's guard. He had a plan for this tom now, and it was forming the more he dug his metaphorical claws in. Yes, Stranger would be a tool for him.

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

agatha kitty, just a scratch, chill of death.
[ @The Cannibal ]

information was a beautiful, delicious ambrosia. it could give you power if you wanted it, but too much could poison you. stranger reveled in it like a guilty addiction, and devoured every morsel offered to him. it drove him more than wanderlust, more than fear. it lit a fire in his chest that very few other things could.

guilt was one of two things stronger, and it was constant. a low hum in the back of his mind. it ate at him, but it kept him level. kept him rational. it destroyed any spite or revenge within him and left only remorseful understanding. he was a peaceful cat, and he had guilt to thank for it.

he didn't want to be the cat he was forged to be. he wouldn't allow it, so to say that hannibal's words rung true to him too would be an understatement.

"i don't judge who you've been- years, moons or seconds. who you were and who you are are two very different people, and the world is cruel, difference is punished and obedience is rewarded," he sighed, shaking his head, "i cannot judge you, hannibal, because i've dark sins of my own to bare."

stranger blinked a few times as his vision cleared a bit. thank the skies, he wouldn't have to navigate when the rain passes with bleary colorful lights blocking his sight.

"i'd much sooner die than become a hypocrite, and i'd sooner die than be who i once was." stranger said, a bit more conviction in his tone now. there was no going back- only forwards. his path was his alone to walk, and only he knew where it had been. only he would see it to its end.

the lean, too-thin tomcat fully turned to hannibal, fully ready now to indulge in their increasingly interesting conversation.

"morals are subjective and fragile things, but we hold them so dear- at least, i do. it's peculiar, isn't it, how eager cats are to enforce their world view on another? i can't imagine trying to change someone to suit my ideal reality."

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign

There were times that Hannibal made calculated decisions, and there were others were luck was truly on his side. In this moment, calling upon remorse and sympathy, it was mostly luck. A shot in the dark that this individual would feel so closely to such an act. There had been the chance that the other cat would have hated him regardless of the 'remorse' act he put on, or that they truly didn't care. But this was exceptionally good, it was like striking a support pillar in the wall. He had found the weakness, the way in, all he had to do was apply pressure, but not too quickly. A careful game this was, for if he acted too much, acted too perfect, then the game would be over and progress would be lost.

A guilty conscious. Accepting of moral grayness.
More mental notes were taken regarding the psychological state of the other, once more tucked away in the growing profile of Stranger. There was no time to make additional notes, for the conversation must resume, and resume fluidly.

An appreciative look crossed his face at Stranger's words, his head dipping in a silent form of thanks upon the declaration that the other would not judge him. There was a sound that mirrored something akin to a sigh of relief that gusted out of Hannibal at the same moment. "I wish other cats held the same mindset as you. But everyone is entitled to their own perceptions."

Shifting his weight, Hannibal lifted his head once more to be level with Stranger, meeting his gaze directly for a brief moment. It was always the hard part, the eyes, he could never truly mimic emotion with them. They were empty despite all of the act that he was putting on. Mirrors of the emptiness inside, the cold calculating emptiness. But he never held a gaze too long, not only because it was unnatural to do so, but because he didn't want to give the other the time to notice just how cold his red gaze was.

"Morals are as ever changing and different per cat as ripples upon the surface of a puddle. Much the same is each of our perceptions. And they can be changed just as quickly with something as small as a breeze, or a leaf skimming across the surface." He offered a faint, almost reminiscent smile as he looked at his paws.

"Speaking of perceptions, have you had the dissatisfaction of meeting with the clans yet?" There was careful choice of his words, for he fully intended to use Stranger against the clans. So first must the dark light be painted.

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

agatha kitty, just a scratch, chill of death.
[ @The Cannibal ]

stranger inclined his head towards hannibal as he spoke, respecting his input. "the world'd be a much better place if we all just let eachother live our lives. less killin' and fightin', too." it was on words like that- killing, fighting -that his accent really picked up. it was rumbly and low, sounding distinctly south-west ish.

the mention of the clans seemed to have brought a fond, recent memory to the forefront of stranger's mind, and he hummed a deep, low melody for a brief second before answering. "i wouldn't say i've met the clans, but i've met an individual from one."

he paused, and then continued, "i wouldn't say it was a dissatisfaction, per-se, but i've yet to meet many who reside within the clans. i had the pleasure of having a lovely chat with a molly from shadowclan. she was very intruiging indeed,"

stranger had been (and honestly still was) a bit enchanted by the she-cat when he had met her, but their interaction was recent and their parting had left little room for continuation. however intrigued by her he had been, he'd have to set aside the hope within him as she had a clan to serve, and he a path to tread. their shared time had been a great conversation and he had learnt a scarce few things about the clans- or at least one: shadowclan. she'd told him of the dictator-like leader, and the battles with the other clans. he hadn't been able to learn much of their culture as he was too caught up in their chat at the time.

his whiskers twitched when he realized he was smiling, and he forced himself to obtain a calm, thoughtful look. getting all friendly with a clan cat couldn't be great news, and he didn't want to tear himself apart when eventually he'd leave. he'd been through this a million-and-one times in too many places, falling hard and fast for toms and mollies alike only to inevitably get frightened and take off. this was a bad idea, and he knew it.

back to the conversation at hand. stranger tilted his head, "why do you ask, i mean? are they all unpleasant?"

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign

Initially fond of the clans but a perception that can be changed.
Hannibal was silent as Stranger regaled him with his run in with a clan cat, his head occasionally nodding to show that he was still listening. The tip of his tail sluggishly ticked back and forth as the tom weighed his decision of where he would take this. It wouldn't be overly hard to start to change someone's view of the clans, even if their initial interaction was good. Especially if they know nothing of the history, or of any of the cats that make up their ranks.

"Well, recall what I said of absolutes," he reminded gently with a minor smile that crinkled the edges of his fiery eyes. "No, not all of them are unpleasant. However I have found that many regard the clans with... A reverence that I do not think they deserve." And it was there that he let his smile falter into a frown, using this time to tuck his front paws under himself. That final little movement to show that he had no intention of harming Stranger, no claws to be seen.

"In fact, I would almost come to say that they are as bloodthirsty and ruthless as the Syndicate once was. It is only the fact that they have been here longer, and have greater numbers, that tends to sway many individuals to see them positively. Perhaps by fear, or coercion, I cannot say for certain. They will do most anything to welcome you into their ranks, promising you food and protection so long as you are keen to fight their battles." The frown on Hannibal's face deepened the accentuate the feeling that he was an individual who had seen the darker side of the clans. All a part of the act to sway Stranger's view of the clans, a seed of doubt.

"I would be... Careful. Of them. I have come to watch them for some time. Though you are free to form your own opinion of course."
That was a lie. Hannibal would be sure to mold Stranger, he would change his viewpoint to something that he could use. Under the guise of a friendly, remorseful loner, he would get close to this cat. And once he had him comfortably at his side, he would use him against the clans. It was time those fickle tensions were tested.