A Shadow's Den

[The Cannibal]

@Snakebite13

A typical response, natural, to attempt to increase ones size to ward off a predator or another cat. And maybe it would have worked on another kitten, or something his own size. But not Hannibal. His expression didn't change at all, instead his cold, fiery eyes scraped over the kit for every last detail. The scar, the general appearance and fitness of the kit, how he spoke and any detail that changed with certain responses.

A smile curled onto the dark tom's muzzle and the neutral, empty look of the tom changed into a warm one. To a kit, and to less astute cats, it would look incredibly genuine. Moving his tail off of his paws, he'd brush the tip of it against Thunder's nose.
"I'm not going to hurt you Thunder. I'm here to protect you against the dangers of the forest you've wandered in to. This is my home, and it can be very dangerous for kits like you to be wandering in with no idea where they are. Only the last kit wasn't so lucky to have me around to find them."

There was a warm note in the toms voice as he spoke, he sounded as genuine as his smile seemed. It's taken very many long moons to practice, but Hannibal was getting better and better at mimicking the emotions of normal cats. The more he studied them, the more he learned of small nuances and tricks of making the act seem more and more real.

[shaae_26]

Originally Posted by The Cannibal

@Snakebite13

A typical response, natural, to attempt to increase ones size to ward off a predator or another cat. And maybe it would have worked on another kitten, or something his own size. But not Hannibal. His expression didn't change at all, instead his cold, fiery eyes scraped over the kit for every last detail. The scar, the general appearance and fitness of the kit, how he spoke and any detail that changed with certain responses.

A smile curled onto the dark tom's muzzle and the neutral, empty look of the tom changed into a warm one. To a kit, and to less astute cats, it would look incredibly genuine. Moving his tail off of his paws, he'd brush the tip of it against Thunder's nose.
"I'm not going to hurt you Thunder. I'm here to protect you against the dangers of the forest you've wandered in to. This is my home, and it can be very dangerous for kits like you to be wandering in with no idea where they are. Only the last kit wasn't so lucky to have me around to find them."

There was a warm note in the toms voice as he spoke, he sounded as genuine as his smile seemed. It's taken very many long moons to practice, but Hannibal was getting better and better at mimicking the emotions of normal cats. The more he studied them, the more he learned of small nuances and tricks of making the act seem more and more real.

Thunder let his body relax. "Really?" He mewed. The cat now seemed nice, not the cold chill he had given before. It confused Thunder, but he was so gullible he believed him. "Can I have your name then? Or should I just call you Savior?" He asked

[The Cannibal]

@Snakebite13

To be truthful, the first mistake was unintentional. Hannibal wasn't completely decided on whether he'd kill this kit at first, thus a mask wasn't appropriated. That cold husk that Thunder first saw was the single most dangerous point that he could have sat through, his life hanging on the balance of whether Hannibal would put on a mask of emotion or not.
But it's not like a kit would think about that, or even realize what was going on. Thunder likely would soon forget the image of that stony, empty look the grey tom initially had, his memory going to be formed around what mask he wore now. The feeling of confusion would fade.

"Savior is too kind of a name, my name is Hannibal," the tom meowed out with that pleasant look that he had donned. Slowly laying down, the loner would keep his eyes focused on the young kit.
"Now Thunder, would you mind telling me why you were wandering here? Surely these woods didn't seem like a good place to play, did they?"

[shaae_26]

Originally Posted by The Cannibal

@Snakebite13

To be truthful, the first mistake was unintentional. Hannibal wasn't completely decided on whether he'd kill this kit at first, thus a mask wasn't appropriated. That cold husk that Thunder first saw was the single most dangerous point that he could have sat through, his life hanging on the balance of whether Hannibal would put on a mask of emotion or not.
But it's not like a kit would think about that, or even realize what was going on. Thunder likely would soon forget the image of that stony, empty look the grey tom initially had, his memory going to be formed around what mask he wore now. The feeling of confusion would fade.

"Savior is too kind of a name, my name is Hannibal," the tom meowed out with that pleasant look that he had donned. Slowly laying down, the loner would keep his eyes focused on the young kit.
"Now Thunder, would you mind telling me why you were wandering here? Surely these woods didn't seem like a good place to play, did they?"

"Hannibal..." Thunder repeated his name a few times. He thought it sounded cool. "I came here because my sister dared me too. And I was brave so I accepted it. Then you grabbed me and I got scared..." He mewed.

[The Cannibal]

@Snakebite13

To think he came here on a dare. Sealed his fate over something so very trivial. Who would have thought. But that's often how it works, especially in the loner world. Maybe it would have been better that Thunder was picked off by a hawk, stolen away by a fox, or eaten alive by a badger. It'd be better than what he was going to go through with Hannibal. And there was always the threat of when Thunder stopped holding Hannibal's attention. When Hannibal had adequately satiated himself with whatever psychological experiment he planned on inflicting upon the growing cat, they would become nothing more than the next meal. Or, and this is a very rare matter, Hannibal would let them live. Watch them stumble through the world with no semblance of self. A husk of a cat. How would the clans react to that?

"I see, you thought you were brave. This taught you a very important lesson. Do you think bravery is a good thing to have? Are you happy with where you are?" With a kit so young, it'd be easy to pick apart whatever meager semblance of personality they had formed. It'd be all too easy to reform them into something new. Give it a moon, maybe two. Thunder would be wholly changed.

Hannibal spoke with that same smile though, no condescending note in his voice. He seemed to be simply asking questions. His paws crossed easily in front of him.

[shaae_26]

Originally Posted by The Cannibal

@Snakebite13

To think he came here on a dare. Sealed his fate over something so very trivial. Who would have thought. But that's often how it works, especially in the loner world. Maybe it would have been better that Thunder was picked off by a hawk, stolen away by a fox, or eaten alive by a badger. It'd be better than what he was going to go through with Hannibal. And there was always the threat of when Thunder stopped holding Hannibal's attention. When Hannibal had adequately satiated himself with whatever psychological experiment he planned on inflicting upon the growing cat, they would become nothing more than the next meal. Or, and this is a very rare matter, Hannibal would let them live. Watch them stumble through the world with no semblance of self. A husk of a cat. How would the clans react to that?

"I see, you thought you were brave. This taught you a very important lesson. Do you think bravery is a good thing to have? Are you happy with where you are?" With a kit so young, it'd be easy to pick apart whatever meager semblance of personality they had formed. It'd be all too easy to reform them into something new. Give it a moon, maybe two. Thunder would be wholly changed.

Hannibal spoke with that same smile though, no condescending note in his voice. He seemed to be simply asking questions. His paws crossed easily in front of him.

"I am still Brave, but coming in here was a not so brave thing to do, it was a stupid thing to do." Thunder mewed. "A brave cat would've stood up to their sister and said 'no', because they'd known it was unsafe and stupid to go in here."

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

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

the trees curved like bare talons, threatening to strike and swallow up the almost too-thin tomcat. his fur was dark, divided by the occasional fleck of silver like a clear night sky. however, the sky tonight was anything but clear, covered in dark, rolling clouds. it was wrathful, and pelted down icy droplets. the ground became mud under his wayward paws, and he winced at the odd vertigo clouding his mind.

stranger had a particularly bad feeling tonight.

the night-pelted tomcat never was a fan of storms. not since the one he lost danger in. he hadn’t anticipated the mizzle growing into a hungry, roaring dounpour that saturated his thin pelt with the afternoon’s autumn wrath. it was just like his mother once chided oh so many moons ago: the rain’ll soak you through and freeze you out. he hadn’t headed her warning then, nor did he heed it now.

he was about an hour chasing-the-setting-sun off of the clan-claimed territories, which had not been his intention. originally, stranger of a forgotten night had been on a mission to find a tolerable den to ride out the storm and the aura that made bright lights swim in his vision. there was the second reason he hated storms: the sensory overload reached down his throat and pulled migraines out of thin air like a rabbit out of a hat. he hated the pin-pricking sharp raindrops that felt like needles through his pelt, and the pressure building behind his eyes.

lightning brightened the horizon, and stranger felt even more lost than before. he would have followed the shadows towards-the-rising-moon, but the dark clouds blotted out nearly all of the sun’s glorious light, leaving him in a dim blue-grey ambiance. the roots here were much more twisted than before, winding like adders, or perhaps chains. the barncat he once knew told of forests so dark that the shadows themselves could eat you. stranger wasn’t one to believe in myth, but he had to admit that the whole. . . feel of this place set a deep, unmistakable unease into his bones. his heart sank like stones in a pool, and he paused to circle a small clearing, hoping to find any indicator of direction.

pathetic. he furrowed his brow, blinking rainwater out of his eyes. he could feel the droplets using the deep scar in his face like a channel from his cheek down his neck, eventually rolling down the crook of his shoulder to the ground. well, stranger thought, trying to stay cool and collected, this couldn’t possibly have gone worse.

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign

How long had it been? Since he had ceased stalking those clan borders, had ceased being a visible presence, slipping like a shadow into the darkness? Moons, many a moon that much was for certain. Leaders had risen, died, others taking their place, borders expanding and shifting as cats squabbled over petty disagreements and vied for more power than their fellow. Yes, he had come to know how the clans worked, had even considered curling in close with one of them to get a true taste of how they were. But boredom, that undeniable apathy and lack of interest, had filled him, and he had disappeared. Not a word, not a hint, aside from the occasional corpse that was picked clean of the best parts. Hannibal had stalked himself right back into the home he had claimed as his own.

The thunderous crack of electricity lit up the night sky, the rain masking his scent and the already quiet sound of his pawsteps. Even the darkness swallowed up his form, all except for those fiery, emotionless mirrors. Small orbs of hellfire with pupils that devoured the world and processed the most minute of details. The rain mattered not. Not when he was following a new individual.

A near silent stalker followed Stranger as he edged his way closer and closer to the shadowy den of a monster that the clans may very well have forgotten about. Intuition was an incredibly important thing for a cat to have, and it seemed that the thin tom cat had some in him. But it was a mistake not to act upon it, the warning it gave-the chill upon the spine that was something other than the rain.

How easy it would be to blindside this interloper, to kill him before he had a moment to screech into the exploding sky. But that was not the sort of cat that Hannibal was. Instead, he watched, followed, waiting until finally. His voice sliced through the darkness, calm, and almost welcoming.

"You would fair this storm better if you were to come to my den. Come, lets get you out of the rain."
The feeling of a tail brushing against Stranger's shoulder could be felt before suddenly a cat that blended all too well with the darkness of this land, came stepping out before him, not pausing, but instead leading him further into the gnarled path of the dark woods.

[redshiftreign]

stranger.

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

it can be worse; and soon, it was.
the lanky tom, who had awkwardly long limbs felt something furred brush carefully against his side. in this state, the touch felt more like a fire melting away his pelt, and his head swirled with confusion for a moment before he reined himself in.

words- it took the night-cat a long moment to process the stranger's words. den? rain? the words were just noise- radio static along with the pouring rain. after a moment they clicked into place, and stranger felt the fur on the back of his neck raise, and a shiver rush down his spine.

a second warning from his intuition.

he didn't have time to debate the offer- the darker stranger was moving already, deeper into the uncomfortable depths. he had to make his choice quick. as much as this stranger could be dangerous, at least cats were somewhat predictable. the storm, however, was unknown, and there could be an infinite number of dangers lurking. silliest of all, in this state, stranger was just as likely to slip off a ridge and get hurt as he was to get attacked. it was one of the many reasons he detested his frequent headaches and the brain-fog that preceded it. he felt painfully old at only thirty or so moons of life. time and sickness had aged him unfairly

he didn't have a choice in this game, for now he was a pawn upon a board.

the storm, or a potentially dangerous individual?

he didn't want to judge someone off of feeling, after all- that seems shallow.

stranger followed swiftly after the figure in the dark, his navy blue eyes not bothering to hide the way they furrowed in concern. he'd seek shelter, be amicable and polite, but as soon as the rain let up, he'd be gone. that was the plan, in any case.

[The Cannibal]

@redshiftreign

Intuition, instinct, what funny things to act against, and yet the other tom followed still. Because what choice was there really? Wandering about in unfamiliar territory with a storm that could shake trees to their core at any given moment was just as much a death sentence as following some loner that you knew nothing about. Hannibal would be the beacon of light that lured the moth to flame. It had been time since he had conversation, a brain to pick.

The dark-furred tom did not speak while traversing the sea of slick, twisted roots and wavering underbrush. With his head turned away from Stranger, it was certainly an endeavor to try and keep eyes on him. But be it by fate, or some other great machination, the both of them would finally pick their way underneath a foreboding tall pine, slipping under the roots and beneath the great giant and into a well protected den of dirt and bark. The den had been recently cleaned, old bones taken away to be forever buried out of perception.

"Bad timing to find yourself in these parts of the woods with the storm," the dark-grey tom's voice finally meowed once more. He gave a few shakes of his pelt to clear the worst of the droplets, a friendly, collected demeanor being worn like a fine jacket. Trust was important, earning it was all too easy when you understood what made other cats tick. He could play the part of the friendly loner. Would this end in a meal? Perhaps, but it wasn't particularly on his mind, not at the moment.

"Do you have a name? Mine is Hannibal, if it puts you at ease." The burning orange-red eyes of Hannibal were focused on Stranger as his tongue rasped over his pelt. The act of grooming itself an act of being calm, friendly. And all the while he was dissecting everything that his guest was doing, how he was speaking, picking up every little piece that he could use.