Dusk Syndicate Clearing

[Hexict]

Originally Posted by mirefern

"Oh, you've realized, have you? It only took you a fair few moons." There's no real bite in the large cat's tone; he simply sounds like he's pointing something out. Lusk turns his face downwards, glances over the smaller tom slowly -- almost judgemental.

"...What is there to know?" It's rhetoric. He doesn't wait for a response, instead canting his head owlishly. "Are you still the syndicate's chew toy?" Lusk prompts, referring to Arrow's previous occupation of being a target for cats small and large. Lusk has been a healer for as long as he recalls, but he's never received trouble from the other members for it. He wonders why.

Just kidding. He knows why.

The younger tom wasn't sure what to say when Luck pointed out that it had been moons and yet Arrow hadn't tried to get to know him before. He started to feel bad for that, sure Lusk seemed unapproachable, but that wasn't a real reason to prevent conversations - pr at least Arrow didn't want it to keep him away... any longer.They shared a den and profession, and he believed it was time that they spoke a little. Opening his maw to answer Lusk's question about what wanted to know, but as soon as he did so the larger tom was already moving onto another question. The brownish-red cat widened his deep blue orbs at this, and was silent for a moment. "Uh... well... I-I suppose," he sounded awkward as he answered, and glanced away. "Does anyone bother you?" Arrow doubted it, but Healers were considered the lowest rank anyway.

Arrow turned as Hamlet approached them, and waved his tail politely to his apprentice, offering a friendly smile. He knew that the trainee was looked to get to know Lusk as well, and he did want his apprentice and Lusk to talk too, so he turned and wanted to see if Lusk greeted Hamlet back. He could tell that Lusk wasn't really in the mood for friends, but was he ever?

[vos]

@fenic! / @Hexict

Lusk nearly finds the trainee unrecognizable for a second, up until Hamlet's form clears in his murky sight. He's still unable to put a name to a face, but it's the same with Arrow. He barely knows anyone by their names -- the ones he does recall happen to be cats long gone. Neomora is the first to spring to mind, a name he's unable to forget.

The larger tom shakes himself out, his fur standing on end as Hamlet settles down beside them both, so different from how Lusk remembers. He doesn't question it, instead giving a tiny dip of his head in greeting. Better than nothing. His gaze lingers on the youngest of the group as he responds to Arrow.

"If I recall, one cat was so bold. A fighter, perhaps." Those pale orbs of him slip closed, and for a moment, if's as if he's but a shadow. "...They're no longer around. You'd think they'd be wiser when spouting rude comments to the cats that hold their lives in our paws."

[Caligo Everton]

@Moonfur

Ash walked up to shadow wondering if she would accept her. "I want to be a healer. Your apprentice." She said boldly.

[The Cannibal]

{For @Pandora}

Every day was the same for Wrath, every day appeared to be clouded in a red haze of anger, it took up everything he did, blinded his judgments and everything else, not that he was aware of this, but really, he was helpless to his nature. There was nothing that he could do to change this. He was born angry and he'd likely die angry. Really anger is an understatement of what it is, it's more like absolute, pure hatred, wrath, infinite and violent revulsion. There has not been a time in his life where he's even been remotely close to the soft term 'angry', much less anything close to this emotion that cat's call happy. It was almost as if he was cursed with only feeling one emotion, the one he was named after. One could look upon him with pity, the poor cat couldn't experience any sort of joy in life, any sort of love, all it was.. Was anger. But should you choose to pity him though, make sure you do it far from him, in fact, I advise you always stay far from him. Considering his strong hatred, he tends to be extremely volatile and has been known to violently lash out at others should they get too close and he's in one of his worse stages of wrath, once even killing a kit with a single blow to the head. He's just.. He's a very violent cat and should really be overall avoided.
Wrinkling his nose into a horrendous scowl, the messy-furred, large tom stalked out of the den for the fighters, his head lowered and his muscles rippling beneath his coat of long fur. He gruffly made his way to the tattered pile of prey, sifting through it roughly with one of his large paws before yanking out his choice of prey, a squirrel, and prowling off to a good spot to eat it, plopping down with an audible thud and beginning to rip into it, most of the other cats giving him a wide birth as they passed by, Wrath simply ignoring them.

[Hexict]

Originally Posted by mirefern

@fenic! / @Hexict

Lusk nearly finds the trainee unrecognizable for a second, up until Hamlet's form clears in his murky sight. He's still unable to put a name to a face, but it's the same with Arrow. He barely knows anyone by their names -- the ones he does recall happen to be cats long gone. Neomora is the first to spring to mind, a name he's unable to forget.

The larger tom shakes himself out, his fur standing on end as Hamlet settles down beside them both, so different from how Lusk remembers. He doesn't question it, instead giving a tiny dip of his head in greeting. Better than nothing. His gaze lingers on the youngest of the group as he responds to Arrow.

"If I recall, one cat was so bold. A fighter, perhaps." Those pale orbs of him slip closed, and for a moment, if's as if he's but a shadow. "...They're no longer around. You'd think they'd be wiser when spouting rude comments to the cats that hold their lives in our paws."

He was take aback by Lusk's short story, speaking of a cat that Arrow doubted he knew himself. He wasn't sure what to say when Lusk finished. Arrow didn't need any more information to know that the cat in the story was killed. And the killer... He quickly shook his head, and then stared at Lusk with shocked orbs.

He quickly threw a look towards Hamlet, but then returned his gaze back to Lusk. "Was... was that the only cat who was insulting?" He asked gingerly, not sure if he really did want to know the answer to that, and hoped that it was the only cat to have done that.

[Fel]

Originally Posted by mirefern

@fenic! / @Hexict

Lusk nearly finds the trainee unrecognizable for a second, up until Hamlet's form clears in his murky sight. He's still unable to put a name to a face, but it's the same with Arrow. He barely knows anyone by their names -- the ones he does recall happen to be cats long gone. Neomora is the first to spring to mind, a name he's unable to forget.

The larger tom shakes himself out, his fur standing on end as Hamlet settles down beside them both, so different from how Lusk remembers. He doesn't question it, instead giving a tiny dip of his head in greeting. Better than nothing. His gaze lingers on the youngest of the group as he responds to Arrow.

"If I recall, one cat was so bold. A fighter, perhaps." Those pale orbs of him slip closed, and for a moment, if's as if he's but a shadow. "...They're no longer around. You'd think they'd be wiser when spouting rude comments to the cats that hold their lives in our paws."

Hamlet honestly shrugged at Lusk's story, not knowing the beginning of it nor the meaning of the end- he was growing bigger now, but he kept his own sense of ignorance towards different feelings as he got older, not caring much about what others thought of him- besides, he hadn't made any 'friends' in a long while, anyways. The tom remembered a few snippets of conversation between him and... another cat, in this same spot, moons ago.

Yeah. It is really bright. But isn't it beautiful?" Something prompted him to ask more questions, talk to this mysterious cat who seemed to be a healer; the occupation he had thought of being his only option in this community. Oh, the questions he had to ask were simply daunting for a kit his size, but he wanted to know everything there was about herbs and healing- everything. "Hey... What's your name? I'm Hamlet." He started off with, before continuing with a second question before he stopped to let Lusk reply. "You're a healer, right?"

Oh, they'd talked before.

[vos]

Originally Posted by fenic!

Hamlet honestly shrugged at Lusk's story, not knowing the beginning of it nor the meaning of the end- he was growing bigger now, but he kept his own sense of ignorance towards different feelings as he got older, not caring much about what others thought of him- besides, he hadn't made any 'friends' in a long while, anyways. The tom remembered a few snippets of conversation between him and... another cat, in this same spot, moons ago.

Yeah. It is really bright. But isn't it beautiful?" Something prompted him to ask more questions, talk to this mysterious cat who seemed to be a healer; the occupation he had thought of being his only option in this community. Oh, the questions he had to ask were simply daunting for a kit his size, but he wanted to know everything there was about herbs and healing- everything. "Hey... What's your name? I'm Hamlet." He started off with, before continuing with a second question before he stopped to let Lusk reply. "You're a healer, right?"

Oh, they'd talked before.

Lusk doesn't actually intend to imply that he'd been the demise of a cat (he hadn't, actually,) -- but then again, who hasn't? He turns his head away from the smaller tom, settling it upon his coworker, of sorts. His good eye blinks slowly, as if he's coming back down to reality.

"Insulting?" It clicks after a moment. He recalls the topic they'd never left. "In the syndicate, yes. I joined sometime after Neomora was given her position." He feels he's oversharing, dropping his guard under Arrow's wide eyes. He snorts, catching himself -- Arrow hadn't asked. There's a little voice that gnaws at him, tells him to shut up and turn away from the both of them.

Strangely, he does not.

"Hamlet." Lusk addresses the younger suddenly, turning to stare blankly down at the cat. He recalls the same conversation, the same time, out under the glaring sun with a kit bold enough to approach him. "...Do you still enjoy the sun?"

[lio]

Originally Posted by Duskflight

{For @Pandora}

Every day was the same for Wrath, every day appeared to be clouded in a red haze of anger, it took up everything he did, blinded his judgments and everything else, not that he was aware of this, but really, he was helpless to his nature. There was nothing that he could do to change this. He was born angry and he'd likely die angry. Really anger is an understatement of what it is, it's more like absolute, pure hatred, wrath, infinite and violent revulsion. There has not been a time in his life where he's even been remotely close to the soft term 'angry', much less anything close to this emotion that cat's call happy. It was almost as if he was cursed with only feeling one emotion, the one he was named after. One could look upon him with pity, the poor cat couldn't experience any sort of joy in life, any sort of love, all it was.. Was anger. But should you choose to pity him though, make sure you do it far from him, in fact, I advise you always stay far from him. Considering his strong hatred, he tends to be extremely volatile and has been known to violently lash out at others should they get too close and he's in one of his worse stages of wrath, once even killing a kit with a single blow to the head. He's just.. He's a very violent cat and should really be overall avoided.
Wrinkling his nose into a horrendous scowl, the messy-furred, large tom stalked out of the den for the fighters, his head lowered and his muscles rippling beneath his coat of long fur. He gruffly made his way to the tattered pile of prey, sifting through it roughly with one of his large paws before yanking out his choice of prey, a squirrel, and prowling off to a good spot to eat it, plopping down with an audible thud and beginning to rip into it, most of the other cats giving him a wide birth as they passed by, Wrath simply ignoring them.

A tortoiseshell she-cat looked around, her one amber eye shining maliciously. Her tail flicked and she blinked at Wrath, watching him. With a roll of her eyes and a huff the she-cat, with the name of Mercy, stood up and slowly began walking towards her brother. The younger cat stood in front of him, her tail lashing from side to side. It seemed as if she was in a.. better mood than usual. Her ears flicked and she clawed at the ground as the one amber eye upon her face narrowed. Now, she was truly half blind. From a rather foolish incident when she was a kit, Mercy is niw missing her right eye.
Lowering her head, Mercy cocked it to the side and blinked at her older sibling of a different litter. "Wow, you look like sunshine and rainbows." The one-eyed tortie mewed sarcastically. Ignoring the horrored looks from other cats, seeing these two rather intimidating cats together was like pure horror. Most cats stayed away from Mercy because of her eye. Others, didn't like her bloodthirsty personality. Going hunting with her was like a death sentence. Mercy flicked her tail. "Typical." She mewed aloud, rolling her eye again and glancing over at Wrath. "So," Mercy began, adding a British accent to her voice, "whatcha doin' there Wrath?" A sickly sweet smile made its way across her maw, but then settled down to a smirk. Her amber eye blazed, mischeviousness and ambition in her gaze.

[Appixel]

[open post]

Corazon and Neira sat on opposite ends of the clearing. The sisters were identical in appearance. Tall, slim felines built for speed and stealth. Light brown tabbies leaning more towards a tawny color with piercing amber colored eyes. That is where their similarities end. Stolen from their mother at four moons old, Neira all too readily, in Corazon's opinion, accepted with change of scenery and forgot her old life completely, including any lingering hope of returning hom. She quickly grew cold and heartless. There was not a remorseful bone left in her body. Only bloodlust remained. She was loyal to the Syndicate and the Syndicate alone.

Corazon, on the other paw, hated this place with a burning passion. The dirty streets and loud noises were horrid to her and she clung onto the memories of the quiet forest clearing they had once resided in. Despite her hatred for the Syndicate, she accepted the fact that she would have to play along, so to speak, to some extent if she ever wanted to return leave and return home. Luckily, she had been assigned the role of Hunter. She didn't have to aid in the kidnapping of helpless kittens. Even so, she did have to witness the utter horrendousness of these felines as a whole. They feared weakness. They were so afraid that they either killed the weak or banished them to starve to death or be killed by something else.

Corazon clung to the wall of one of the buildings at the edge of the clearing. She stayed in the shadows, as per usual. She hoped not to be noticed for fear she would be told to do something she didn't want to; told to do something utterly against her morals. Her tail twitched nervously as she slowly groomed her ragged fur. She hadn't taken the time to do so in what seeme like moons. There were no streams or lakes to bathe in here. Just disgusting puddles and slimy sewer pipes. Across the clearing, Neira lounged under a street light. She wasn't afraid to put herself where she would be noticed. All she wanted was to be sent out once again. She needed something to do. The thrill of a kill or stealing a kitten for the Syndicate, ripping it away from a home it would never see again, was what sustained her.

[SuspiciousMindz]

Originally Posted by Duskflight

A slight breeze gusted through the rather quiet, dim-lit Syndicate camp, tugging at a few tufts of Hannibal's short grey fur, though he made no move to groom them down, not just yet, his head turning away thoughtfully as he dwelled on the conversation he was having with his former trainee. It was an interesting one for sure, much better than the simple, mindless speak that some cats come up to him with, and the fact that made it all the more interesting, not necessarily to him, but in general, was that it was the one cat who escaped his claws, even if barely. Did any cat even know that aside from the three that were there? Or had Illusion and Hera been smart enough not to talk about it? Hannibal would know if they have, whether cats know it or not, he listens to everything. Even if he looks like he's simply laying there, grooming, he's listening to the conversations, pulling out information that he wants to know.

With his head still turned, the only indication that he was still listening to her was his swiveled ears that were attuned to her. Whether he looked distracted or not, he was listening to her words very carefully, fully aware that Illusion was watching him just as carefully as he was listening. He thought about the question carefully, allowing her to fully finish what she was saying and then giving it some time afterwards, his head not bothering to turn back to look at her when he finally decided to answer. "You know what, you've been fair in answering my question, so I'll be fair in answering yours. I will give you an honest answer Illusion, hows that? "I don't refuse cats from getting close to me, they can try if they do so wish. They can think I'm their friend, but really. I have yet to find a cat that has caught my intention long enough for me to want to keep them alive. Or perhaps I have, but they ended up breaking the only rule I hold when interacting with other cats, one you should know very well." His orange gaze flashed back to her for a moment. "I'm rather indifferent about having 'friends', it doesn't matter to me. But I don't refuse cats from trying, though usually they just all end up the same."

The white she-cat listened carefully. Another question popped into her mind. Although she patiently awaited for the gray tom-cat to finish talking, knowing that interrupting him would only cause tension she didn't need. That is, if he didn't attack her for it first. It could be considered rude, nonetheless, she didn't speak. It was true after all, she had learned her lesson... for a while at least. It wouldn't be a permanent thing as of any typical feline. Once Hannibal had finished talking, she took in those last few words and almost seemed to write them down in her mind. ...they just all end up the same she automatically knew what this meant. "But Hannibal," she began without hesitation. Her whiskers quivered just the slightest as the question began to fester at the tip of her tongue. "What type of feline could ever hold your attention long enough?" Obviously the white she-cat knew Hannibal would grow tired of her eventually. It was inevitable. She also knew she couldn't just change overnight to be that feline either. Not that she'd want to. Of course she once looked up this feline, but not now. Even this queen of deception wouldn't want to be quite the monster this cat had become over his lifespan. It was simply an innocent question. Perhaps it was a question many wanted to ask, but dared not to. "There won't be another feline like you unless you decide to pass your lineage down one day" she commented with a flick of his tail tip. Although the that statement made her scoff with amusement. Hannibal? Have kits? Nonsense. Of course it could never be out of love. Not for this cat at least. "Even speaking so, you already know how you tick so deciphering a feline similar to you wouldn't be hard," she half murmured, assuming what she was speaking was true enough for even Hannibal to agree on. Turning her attention away from the feline near her, she focused her depths on the clearing. More cats had entered it which brought her optics something new to stare upon.