Copenhagen shrugged, muttering, "Have fun trying to knock some sense into her. What part of the spitting defiance and comments don't you understand?" He just didn't want Thornheart to be killed -- she was she-cat, and more kits was never a bad thing. Every Blackheart knew that. The black tom scoffed. "I think you know perfectly well what 'other things' I mean." His tone was casual, as if he were discussing the weather.
Rampant gave him a cold stare. "Slaves are good for only four things. One, something to claw at, in the name of practice, or simply stop them from making comments, as she was doing about five seconds ago." he listed it off. "Two is kits, if it's a shecat. She clearly is such, but I'm not going to try to force her just yet." he continued. "Three is sacrifice. Usually tom slaves, but we don't have that many." he added. And then... "The fourth is joining. But that won't happen in a million years with her, if behavior is any indication. So what else?" he finished.
"Oh, how witty," Copenhagen answered dully. "You just happened to smack what I was getting at on the head while mulling it over aloud. What a genius." He could think of countless other things he could do with a slave, but he chose to voice them. He had a sneaking feeling that too much information would send Rampant over the edge... of course, to Copenhagen he seemed over the edge already.
Rampant guessed. "It doesn't particularly matter if the shecat feels for it, but I'm not in the mood. If you want to have a go at her, then do it. Nothing's gonna stop you. Just leave me to see how long it takes until she sees sense." he meowed, irritated. He wanted to beat some sense into the slave, and Copenhagen was not making it easy with his remarks.
"I can't really do anything with you looking like you're on the warpath. I swear, you looked like you were going to hang, draw, and quarter her," Copenhagen mewed, fighting down his guffaws. He tried to sound as mad as Rampant, but he just didn't have it in him. There was nothing to be angry about, anyways -- jeez, some cats were so sensitive these days.
Rampant gave the other tom a hard stare. "What the heck does that mean?" he asked. It made no sense. Hang, draw, quarter. He knew what they meant, individually, but it was an expression when put together, and it made no sense.
"That you looked like you were about to kill her," Copenhagen replied jovially, sparing a quick glance in Thornheart's direction as he cheerfully ignored Rampant's venomous tone. He noted that she looked fairly subdued, and he let out a snicker. Sometimes he wished the other Blackhearts would act the same way.
Rampant shook his head. "Nah. Maim her a little, certainly. But I wasn't going to kill her." he meowed, his hackles still up. "Probably." he added, glaring in the slave's direction.
Copenhagen shrugged, letting the subject drop. His eyes wandered back to Thornheart, and his mouth quirked up into a sadistic smile. "Aw, does that hurt too badly?" he sneered. "I didn't know anyone could be so pitiful."
(Dawnpaw, don't teleport. They're smack in the middle of the turf, in the camp. She wouldn't go unnoticed. You'd need to make another thread to join, or try to sneak past. But against the BHR? Rose would probably be outnumbered easy. Also, please don't powerplay. If you have any questions, PM me.
Do not respond to this.)
Rampant calmed himself by grooming his fur, glancing around every now and then.
Kosse sliped in and sneered at the toms. "Shut up, everyone has feelings."
"Yup, totally," Copenhagen drawled ironically, unfazed by Kosse's aggression. "I bet you're having feelings of pity. How weak." The tomcat supposed that Kosse had lost touch with being a Blackheart, and curled his lip. This is why I hate she-cats.
A cream cat appeared from the shadows, watching in terror.
"Oh shut up you overgrown bitc*. I've seen your eyes", Kosse jeered.
The cream she-cat padded towards Kosse.
"Kosse," Copenhagen growled, "You're the one who's putting yourself in the line of fire for a slave. A Clanner who couldn't protect her sorry ass when she 'wandered'-" he spat the word with contempt and distrust, "-onto Blackheart loyalty. That makes you- oh I don't know, a quisling?" He spoke in a patronizingly gentle way in the way a parent would calm a frightened child.