[ quick aside before the rp begins: in this first post, i'll ping everyone so that all parties know this is starting now, but the rc patrol should not be pinged again until lark and flower are within the tunnels. Before then, we can play it by ear, but i don't think more than 4 rounds of lark/neo/flower should be necessary. once they're in the tunnels, i'd ask that lark and flower each get one post before the patrol comes in (i'll ping the patrol in my post) and then the patrol can come in whatever order they see fit but we'll stick to that order from then on. i'm not too fussy with how long this takes, but i'd ask that if more than 72 hours have passed between posts ONE PERSON gives the next in line a gentle little bump ^^ alright that's the end of my aside, tysm for helping me out with this plot and Occ for pitching the idea <33 ]
Lark she/her || mind reader, kitty softpaws
Shame and guilt war in her gut as Lark - just Lark. Nothing more. She does not deserve to be called anything more - stands some few paces beyond RiverClan’s boundary line. Would they let her back in? Didn’t they all hate her now? She’d… she’d run away. Sure, she hadn’t been in the right state of mind and had gotten herself injured but she’d still run away. If she were Birdsnow (or, Birdstar by now, surely?) she’d turn herself away the second they locked eyes. Lark doesn’t even know why she’s trying. Deserters have no place in the clan they abandoned. She’s a deserter, is she not?
The eyes had been quieter lately, not absolutely silent, but… quieter. That was the main indicator that gave her the confidence to at least walk to the border, even if she would never cross it. She sees them again now, in the corner of her vision, lurking in her peripherals, bloodshot and staring and loud. Lark is dimly aware that she’s shaking, her tail between her legs and fur puffed out - though that does little to hide the way her ribs poke from her skin. She hadn’t eaten in… how long has it been? Days? She hadn’t even hunted in half a moon, she kept seeing the prey blood in her nightmares, pooling around her in waves as the bodies of every clan member she was responsible for surface in the vast lake of blood.
Yeah, sleep hadn’t come easy to her in moons.
Even standing here now, she feels half insane. They’d never let her back in, but she can’t be alone any longer. She didn’t mean to stay away so long. She didn’t mean to stay away at all, but things don’t always work out the way you intend. Sometimes you stay in camp and deal with the voices screaming in your head. Sometimes you fall in the river and hit your head then get ambushed by a badger, disorienting you beyond anything and everything you’ve ever known.
That night… she didn’t mean to run. She’d been frightened, probably concussed, but she was no medicine cat, she couldn’t be sure. But if the throbbing headache that followed for days after was anything to go by then, yes, she’d had a concussion. It was better now, mostly. The harsh sunlight still brought the pain back sometimes and she was… clumsier. Her coordination had been affected somehow. On top of that, the badger she ran into had left her with a new scar and a bad limp. She’d been lucky the cut had healed at all. Her dazed hunch that cleaning it out with snow as often as she could manage had at least been a little useful. But it would never be as useful as the skilled paws of a trained medicine cat. She wanted to see Tansypaw, to apologize, and to ask if… well, to ask if there was any way she’d rid herself of the limp.
Anxiety prickles at her pelt as she waits, deliberating silently and stressed out of her mind so bad she’s sure clumps of her fur are falling out. She shouldn’t cross the markers, that’ll only make them more mad at her. Besides, Lark’s almost sure she smells more like outsider now than she does RiverClan. She frowns at that thought, remorse swirling with guilt and a little bit of fear making themselves known in her gut. What if they did turn her away? It’s what she’s expecting, but part of her, she has to admit, is hoping they’ll allow her to return. But if they don’t? Where will she go? How will she survive without the companionship of her clan? Would they expect her to explain where she’s been all this time? Or would they take one look at her skinny frame and her new limp and feel sorry for her?
No. No, she can't do it, she can't come crawling back. She thought she'd been ready to try, but she was wrong. Lilyfrost's words ring in her head, taunting her, begging her to take revenge but... but Lark isn't like her mother. She doesn't want revenge, she just wants her home back. But she can't. She's got cold feet.
Maybe it's a sign? Maybe this is how she figures out she really isn't as fit for clan life as she'd believed herself to be. She'd had her chance, she'd been their leader. She'd failed them. She'd let them down. It wasn't... it wasn't really her fault, she knows that. Intellectually she knows it was not her fault she'd been swept down the river with a concussion. That hadn't been her fault. But, staying away for moons afterward..? That was her fault. It was a conscious choice she had made. Sure, for the majority of her first moon away and some of her second, she'd still been concussed and recovering from the badger slash, but she still could've come back. The only reason she didn't was her pride. Her pride was wounded just as much as her physical body.
It wasn't an excuse. It shouldn't have been an excuse, but that's how Lark spun it in her head. She couldn't go back, she just... couldn't. They'd hate her far more than they already do. Better to have them believing that she ran away because she couldn't handle the pressure then to return to them, head hung low, where they could have more reasons to hate her. She was ok with them making up all the reasons they needed to paint her a devil. She was ok with that. She was. Better they believe the stories they concoct in their heads then any of the real reasons they should hate her.
She spins around and starts walking back to the Outskirts. She has no idea where she's going, but she knows she can't return to the barn. Humphrey, the friendly barn cat who had kept her company and graciously shared his home with her while she was recovering, had already bid her farewell before she left that morning. She couldn't go crawling back to him in shame... though part of her suspects the old tom wouldn't mind the company. But the barn is not a place she could ever see herself living. The only home for her is RiverClan.
Suddenly, the tortoiseshell pauses in her tracks, ears pricked and listening. There's crashing through the underbrush nearby, loud and insistent - like someone chasing... or someone being chased. For just a moment, Lark stands rooted to her spot, rigid and unmoving as the trees in the forest, eyes unable to see the commotion that has yet to reach her for just a moment. And then she sees it.
Closing in rapidly, the first thing she notices about the cat is how large he is. Lark herself isn't exactly tiny, but she's not very big either, and the tom racing rapidly toward her is far larger than she is. There's something about him... the way he seems almost tunnel visioned in on his chase... what's he after? Prey? The frantic running reminds Lark more of a cat than it does any prey. Maybe a rabbit is the thing that comes closest. But, no, the next second the thing the tom is in pursuit of comes into view, and it is a cat. Just a kit from the looks of her. Lark has no idea who these two are, but the fear scent radiating of the kit in waves is enough to snap her out of her funk.
Lark had never really been one to be quiet in the face of injustice, she'd never really been one to hold her tongue, not when someone was in danger. And she'd never been one to just let someone die. Her paws were coated in blood, but there'd been reasons behind those kills. It was them or her. And she'd chosen herself those few times.
"What do you think you're doing?!" She shouts, startled by the volume of her own voice - it had been so long since she'd spoken much higher than a murmur. She doesn't stay rooted where she is any longer, and she's fully expecting the tom to turn on her instead, but she can fight, and she'd much rather it be her than the kit. Rushing over, Lark steps between the two in the middle of their pursuit, trying to shove the kit away to the side as she does and bracing for impact. "Leave the kit alone!" Why would a grown tom be chasing a child with what looks like intent to kill?? How could he do such a thing? Lark's dealt with violent outsiders, she knows how vicious cats can be, but a kit? No one should harm a kit.
A dark force that rummaged around the shadows on the outskirts of the clans.
A masked figure that was getting away training apprentices in the art of torture and murder.
Hunting came easy when you had the skillset of stealth this large tom did. Today's prey included one of the feline kind. Not uncommon for the black and white feline, but different in the aspect that this was a kitten. This was a first for him to find. It wasn't everyday you saw kittens stumbling around being useless.
Most cats were burdens to this existence. This was a belief he'd held for as long as he'd been homeless. They felt lonely or useless. He was tired of hearing the same sob-stories. Sometimes he believed he was part of that percentage of cats.
So, taking a life before it'd been given the chance to experience this useless feeling, wasn't a bad thing. He truly believed he was saving this kitten by ending the feeling before it began. Neo remembered that feeling -- before those all left him too. He was stuck in his perpetual emotionless state. He was occasionally humored by his hunts; getting thrills that kept his existence relevant.
So, for a torturous hour, this feline played tricks on the kitten.
A twig snap here.
A growl there.
He built up her fear. Satiating the craving he had by seeing it dance in her little eyes. It was his favorite thing to witness. Neo would drink the fear-scent that radiated from her. It was delicious. It was one of the few things that gave this empty tom excited chills and hunger. He chased this feeling like he did his prey: relentlessly.
One more moment of silence and then an explosion of paws hitting the ground started the pursue of this kitten. She'd stumble then hit the ground running as fast her little legs could take her; it only fed his craving.
Neo was easily closing the distance between them, a growl rising from deep within his chest as his jaws were closing in on her tail. With one loud snap, teeth clenched the tiny kitten's tail, and he lifted her upwards. He found pleasure in her wails of agony and terror. He didn't care if her claws found their way to his face or chest as she dangled from his jaws.
Harder.
Harder.
He bit harder until the satisfying snap of vertebrae finally severed tail from kitten. She fell to the ground with a thud. A good length of her tail hung from his jaws as he stared dark flames at her. Neo's heart was racing, enthralled by the taste of blood in his mouth. He let her process the loss, drank up the horrified stares and wails. A wicked smile slowly crept onto his face; teeth now stained crimson from the crime he'd just committed.
"Run, run, little mouse. . ."
A dark murmur warned.
Neo let the kitten have a head start in her attempt to run. A crunching noise echoed hauntingly after her as he swallowed his prize. It fueled the desire in his chest to keep going.
This was so much fun.
Once more, Neo's paws pounded the ground as he closed the distance between the two. This time, he was clearly aiming to end the kitten's suffering.
BAM!
Neo hated when his plans steered off course. God, he would end lives over the slightest surprise or mishap in his meticulous scheming. In fact, he had.
A flash of grey and Neo felt his head slam into the side of a different cat. The unexpected interruption caused his paws to misstep and Neo went tumbling to the ground. Initially, he was wrapped up with this she-cat. A single yowl of frustration escaped him, and his claws swiped hard at whatever they could get ahold of. Eventually, the cats would tumble apart and finally settled in the undergrowth a few tail lengths from each other.
It took no time for those seething bicolored eyes to meet the shaggy pelt of Lark. It took no time for Neo to get to his paws and begin approaching the she-cat. The power behind his strides and the way blood-lust shone in his eyes spoke volumes. There was no questioning his intentions. There was no swaying what was going to happen.
He was going to kill her if she stayed. Then the kitten would follow.
This wasn't usual. This wasn't normal. Flower admitted, the curiosity had been building up. Building up too much, probably; she shouldn't have done this. But it was so tempting. Mum was out on a walk. Papa wasn't there, either, he wasn't looking. She had been chasing a little butterfly around their little home, pretending she could fly much like it - as if she was exploring a whole new world. Until she reached the edges. She stopped dead in her tracks. The border she never crossed, the border she wasn't allowed to cross. She wanted to turn back. She knew she should turn back. But it felt oh-so-tempting. Oh-so-curious. The little butterfly stopped a few inches from her, flying in circles as if tempting her to cross. As if asking her to follow it. And she wanted to follow it. She wanted to follow it so badly.
But memories ran in her mind. Memories of when she last asked papa about the world outside their home, about why she couldn't go; "the world is dangerous, Flower", "you are far too weak to survive out there, even with my training", "the monsters will eat you up" - the words repeated in her mind, again and again and suddenly she felt frightened; too frightened to cross and she physically recoiled. Flinching under her own thoughts, under her own imagery of the monsters that would eat her, harm her, the ones she couldn't survive. Of mum and papa. She couldn't betray them like that.
And yet... Sky blue eyes opened back up through worried glances, and the little butterfly was still there. Flying. Freely. So very freely. So tempting. Before she knew it, a single pale brown paw was already over the border, heart thumping in her chest; followed by another, and another, and another. Before long, she stood there, just beyond the border of where she was allowed to go, just beyond the border of the place she called home, just before the little butterfly that tempted this freedom. Without much thought, the young kitten stepped further, following the butterfly that was suddenly disappearing all too quickly. Gaze fixed on the little creature, Flower hurried after it - but not for long. She stopped in her steps. Her eyes widened.
That is how it started, not how it ended. Everything beyond that point was a wild blur of colour and sound; present and past mixed in her mind, how he was before and what she saw now -- it was her father, the one who had startled her so, caught in a craze she could only describe as frightening and out of the ordinary as every instinct in her mind told her to flee. And flee she did, run as fast as her little paws could carry her. Her voice rang: "Pap-pappa..! Mum!!"
Tears filled her eyes. Mum was out, she was walking, she did not bear witness to what was happening now; all Flower could do was run, run, run as fast and far as she could, taking windy roads and cooked paths until mother came in sight of her father out of sight.
She did not know how long she had been running for; her cheeks were wet with tears, eyes filled with fear, breaths heavy as brown little paws ached with every slow step she took - her father long out of sight, unknown to her where he may be. She looked around, whiplash and worry making her sight blurry. That was when she met him. Large, imposing, dark. He looked like papa, not much like the monsters she could barely picture in her head, and yet he was everything she had been warned away from and more.
This particular chase began slow, though more arguably as frightening as your own father turning on you - snapped twigs, mystery growls; it seemed to follow her everywhere. Every turn she took, every place she hid - it was there, a constant, tears building and breaths growing shallow as the little one grew frightened to do so much as breath. The monsters papa told her of swirled in her mind; had they found her? Were they after her? Were they going to kill her?
Then it began, the race between survival and death. Flower was exhausted, her paws hurt, her knees scrapped yet fear was the only thing keeping her going. With a scream the young ran once more, faster and faster -- but not fast enough.
Snap.
She wailed. She cried. She screamed.
Lifted in the air by her tail, she was at the monster's mercy.
She could it feel it clear as day as teeth tightened and tightened against the flesh of her tail, thin bones cracking and wails filling the forest and as an agonised kitten could not tell left from right from the pain, paws swiping wherever they could reach - much in vain.
Her screams only grew. Her pain only grew. Her fear only grew.
Louder and louder, vision blurry with tears until inevitably -- she fell.
Stunned. It hurt so, so much. But all of a sudden, she was too stunned to speak. To scream. To cry. Tears numbly ran down her face, she trembled in place. She never should have left. She never should have disobeyed. She should have stayed inside as she was told.
It was gone. Her tail was gone.
Slowly, the pain satiated back into her senses, more and more tears blurring the world in front of her. There was no trace, only blood bubbling from the the stub left behind - he ate it. He spoke.
Horrified eyes widened further, the kitten shaking violently at the sound of his voice. The horror. Without second thought, after several fast-paced, panicked, breaths the kitten ran again. And he made chase. She wanted to scream for help. She wanted to scream for her mama - her papa, had he his senses back. But no sound came from her throat, only heavy sobs as the kitten struggle to keep ahead, to not run and trip over branch and debris - to stay alive.
Until she came.
He came closer and closer and closer - when suddenly, a paw shaved her out of harm's way, tackling her off her feet and to the ground. Another voice sounded, feminine, she looked up. Another cat. Another monster, her mind assured, and quickly she scampered against the ground trying to hide with little luck, wincing beneath the pain of her tail. Sky blue eyes watched Neo and Lark, the showdown between the assaulter and protector -- and protector she did yet know had taken that role, a mind overtaken with fear assuring her both were beyond dangerous.
Lark she/her || mind reader, kitty softpaws, beefed up t2
Tumbling in the grass, the heavy weight now on top of her nearly knocks the breath right out of her. Claws scrabble for purchase in sleek fur, eventually grabbing hold, and sinking into flesh in sharp pin pricks of pain across her shoulders. A moment later, the two forms were separated, and Lark had a brief moment to lock her eyes with a pair of mismatched ones, a brief moment to think oh stars', before the large black and white cat was pelting in her direction again.
She's hunger weak and out of practice, but the adrenaline already fills her veins and her mins starts working in overdrive. This is not a cat she can reason with, she knows that much from the hungry glint in his eyes, from the bleeding stump of a tail she'd glimpsed on the kitten before she shoved her out of the way. Where was the kid? Hopefully safe, Lark has the sinking suspicion that if she looks away from this fight for a moment, loses her concentration even barely, she'd be dead.
Moons of battle training and experience come in handy at times like these, though, and, hardly thinking about it, Lark manages a sidestep out of reach of the tom when he lunges for her. It's not much of a victory, but for now she'll take what she can get. Using her opponents continued momentum forward, Lark makes a grab for his tail, either to bite it and attempt to yank him back or to simply swipe at, it doesn't matter, but she wants to keep his attention on her, she may be smaller, but she's a more even match for him than a kitten.
Should her attempt to grab his tail fail, she'll try and barrel into his side, to make herself as annoying an opponent as she can manage - anything she has to do to make sure he stays focused on her she will do. Her limited stamina right now is already dwindling, and, as she attacks, she tries to look for places to retreat to. Part of her still feels queasy about it, but her best bet right now, she thinks, would be to yank the kitten by the scruff of her neck and run into RiverClan's territory. She'll keep the option in mind.
A howl of annoyance would merely escape the dark figure. His tail had been grasped, nothing similar to what he'd done to the kitten, but annoyingly painful regardless. What was she playing at? Why not make a bold move? Why not run? What was the purpose of defending some strange little kitten over herself?
Baring his teeth, Neo whipped around hard and snapped at whatever was grasping his tail. Had she released, he'd simply stand a moment and stare at her. He'd drink in the panic-stricken eyes; were they desperate perhaps? Either way, he could tell she was starting to lose her wits. He'd take advantage of that given the proper chance.
"Defending another useless life? Intriguing. I must ask why." As rhetorical as they came, he didn't give her a proper chance to answer as he steadily approached her. Daggers for eyes pierced into her soul with nothing but hunger for her blood. He had no interest for the kitten right now, that much was clear. She didn't need to distract him. She was the problem in his way right now, not that little cat he could search out later. In fact, he could tell they were still nearby. The blood and fear scent from them was so strong.
So enticing.
He'd have to make quick work of Lark. So, he'd try. He'd lunged quickly, not aiming for anything in particular. Any piece of flesh or fur from her would suffice. If she didn't run, his teeth and claws would leave marks wherever they'd land. They'd be merciless and barely give her time to react.
Where No One Goes [p]
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